F.B.I. Showdown: A Classic Suspense Novel. Gordon Landsborough
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and in fact had had several wives. The trouble was, they had insisted on remaining well and healthy when it would have suited the elegant Parry to have been a widower. So, Parry eased them into a happier world.
Now Egghead Schiller and Johnny Delcros were helping to ease Parry out of the world, and by all accounts Parry wasn’t liking the idea.
As they shuffled off to get some cleaning materials, Johnny said, “I just bin talkin’ with old Rocky.”
Egghead kept his mouth shut and said, “What about old Rocky?” shuffling along. Rocky—Philip Whitwam, nicknamed Rockefeller because he was forever babbling about the millions that had passed through his hands—was Johnny’s cellmate.
“Rocky’s got on to the breakout.”
Egghead jerked round quickly, surprised. “Ours—on the laundry truck?”
“Naw!” Johnny drew his share of the cleaning rags and tramped out of the room and along the corridor to the lethal chamber. When it was safe he continued, “He’s heard about the Savannah boys’ plan. He thinks we’re goin’ out with them. So he wants us to do something when we get out.”
“Yeah?” They were marking time in the corridor outside the chamber while an officer came up with the keys.
“He’s mad at his brother. Old Rocky says he look the rap because there wasn’t no sense in his brother comin’ with him. But he says his brother ain’t makin’ no attempt to spring him from jail, like it was arranged. So he’s mad at him, an’ he wants us to look up his brother and beat him around the head a bit until he starts to do something.”
Egghead said, “Like hell we’ll beat anyone around the head unless there’s dough in it for us!”
Johnny Delcros got in a final whisper before the guard came along. “Old Rocky says he an’ his brother have got a million greenberries stashed away!”
Egghead was saying, “Hell, he always talks in nice round figures,” when the guard was among them, bellowing to them to keep silent. They stopped marking time. In the distance a thin high wailing floated up to them from Death Row.
The guard grinned a big grim and said, “Jeeze, the fuss dat guy kicks up. You wouldn’t think we wus preparing his suite for him, would ya?” Some of the working party gave back the big laugh he was expecting, and that put him in good spirits.
They went in, and the screams of a man who had less than a day to live were lost as the soundproof door closed behind them.
There were really two rooms inside that soundproof door. One was a big room with a long glass observation panel all along one wall. Here the prison doctor, the Governor, various officials of the State, and even a few Pressmen sat and watched while the prisoner took the last step out of this world. That room had to be prepared, too.
On the other side of the observation panel was a room not much bigger than a closet. One wall was perforated with pipe-inlets, which led to a battery of carbon monoxide cylinders outside. There was one easy chair in the room, with wooden armrests to which the prisoner would be strapped when they brought him in. There was also a small but very heavy table screwed to the floor.
No one knew why there was a table inside the gas chamber, but it appeared to be there out of custom, a relic of the days when a man was supposed to write his last letters before being taken out and hanged. Possibly the table was retained so that the solitary death chair wouldn’t look quite so alone and sinister and so disturbing to the incoming candidate for death.
But Johnny and Egghead weren’t interested in the fittings. They had been here before—many times. On average that gas chamber was used every four or five weeks; for murder was a hobby to some and a profession to many more in North Carolina.
They were taut, now that the moment had arrived. Inside their prison shirts were their guns. They were watching all the time, waiting for the opportunity to get out to the laundry chute.
Then they realized that Joe Guestler, who was in the party, was watching them closely, and they guessed that they must be giving the show away somehow. Egghead was gathering the wall and furniture covers together. He whispered, “Let’s go now. This is our chance. Ef Joe Guestler follows, throw him down the chute, but he ain’t goin’ with us so knock him on the head first, see?”
They went past the guard and started the trek down the corridor to the chute. This was the big moment. Their mouths were dry, and a cold sweat had broken out over their bodies as they walked the long corridor that would seem so short to Parry Galowen the following morning.
After they had shuffled a distance, they heard footsteps behind. Out of the corner of his eye Egghead looked at Johnny, Neither turned; their faces might have given the show away.
They went round the corner at the end of the corridor. The chute was right in front of them, Egghead lifted the hatch and shoved his covers through, then Johnny did the same. Then they turned to walk back.
A man came round the corner. It was Joe Guestler. He started to say, toughly, suspiciously: “You guys are up to somep’n! Louie says for to tell you it ain’t healthy for guys to do things on their own. If you’re plannin’ a double-cross—”
Johnny hit him across the chin. Then Egghead brought the flat of his hand down on the staggering Joe Guestler’s head, only in the palm was his automatic. Blood flooded down into Joe’s eyes, but he didn’t know it because he was unconscious as he was falling.
Working with frantic haste they hoisted Joe into the chute and let him ride down, Then Johnny wiped up a few spots of blood that looked conspicuous on the polished floor and then clambered feet first into the chute and followed their victim, He came down slowly, but all the same his weight, landing on the unconscious Joe, couldn’t have done him any good. Egghead gave Johnny half a minute to get clear, then slid down himself.
They were in complete darkness, standing on a yielding floor of dirty clothing for the laundry. Both started to push with their hands against the walls of the bin, guns ready for action.
Johnny suddenly whispered, “Here!” and a crack of light showed. Egghead stumbled across. They pushed a little harder, and a door suddenly gave and they looked into the brightness of a whitewashed loading bay.
At once someone shouted, “What’re you doin’ there?” and immediately Johnny and Egghead came plunging out, guns raised.
A couple of uniformed guards were directing the loading of some laundry baskets into the back of the big, cream-painted prison truck. Hefting the baskets were a couple of prisoners. Ironically, one was old Rocky, Johnny’s cellmate.
Egghead’s voice crackled, “Don’t make a wrong move, none of yer!”
Four pairs of hands shot up immediately. As Johnny came backing round to where the prisoners were, Old Rocky whispered, “I didn’t know this was the way you planned it. Good for you, Johnny! Don’t forget to see that brother o’ mine!”
Johnny snapped, “Into that bin,” and shoved the two prisoners into the closet where Joe Guestler lay bleeding among the cloths. The bolt outside wasn’t very strong, but Johnny knew the prisoners wouldn’t start to attract attention for a long time, so as to give them a chance to get away.
When he turned, Egghead was prodding the two guards into the cab of the truck, Johnny heard him say, thinly, “You want to live longer’n Parry Galowen? Then you do as you’re told, see? Drive out through the gates as if nothing’s happened. We’ll be behind among the baskets, and I’ll be watchin’ your face in the drivin’ mirror, an’ if I see you so much as bat an eyelid, so help me, I’ll give you every round in this gat!”
The two men looked at each other. Then one said, very earnestly, “Brother, if I so much as cough I’ll know I deserve what’s coming. You betcha we’re gonna be good boys!”
Johnny covered them while Egghead got in behind the cab, then Egghead covered them while Johnny climbed in among the baskets. The engine started. They didn’t move.
After