Phantom Point
by Gary Inbinder
Chapter 27: The Posse
part 2
Moose was crushed under the barricade’s debris and the front wheels of the auto wagon. Louie and Aldo, their bodies riddled with bullets, lay dead in a pool of blood. The skirmishers ceased fire and began to advance cautiously on the roadhouse.
Max and Karl heard the roar of the Jack Rabbit as it raced out of the garage. Karl had taken a few shotgun pellets in the shoulder. Max started to help him up.
“Get back to the Mercedes. I’ll be all right,” Karl said.
Max ran back through the advancing deputies, a couple of whom stopped to aid Karl. When Max reached the Mercedes, Eve was behind the wheel, revving the engine and raring to go.
“Come on, Max,” she shouted.
As soon as he jumped into the passenger seat, Eve put the car in reverse and started backing out to the highway. The marshal and four deputies followed in the Packard.
Back on the pavement, Eve shifted into first and opened the throttle. The big engine thundered. The Mercedes accelerated rapidly through the gear changes, first, second, third and fourth, until they were blazing up the road at a heart-stopping seventy miles per hour. Max glanced back down the dark roadway and saw the Packard fading in the distance.
Wind beat against their faces and whistled in their ears. Every bump in the road announced itself through the stiff suspension. In the darkness, trees, telephone and telegraph poles, fences and sign posts flashed by in a vague blur.
They approached the railroad crossing and heard the warning whistle of a high-balling express.
“Hold on tight,” Eve shouted as she opened the throttle all the way.
Max gripped the dashboard handle. The Mercedes flew over the rails seconds before the engine barreled through the crossing. The car came down with a bone-jarring thump and flashed up Main Street.
Spectators cheered the racing automobile. Patrolling deputies tried to maintain order. Horses reared in panic and bolted down the alleys and side-streets. A few idiots stepped out into the street for a closer look, and barely missed becoming statistics.
The Mercedes sped through the town and its northern outskirts, then back onto the highway snaking its way up through the forest and on to Phantom Point. They made the sharp right turn at The Eyrie and the point came into view. The junction with the dirt road appeared on their right. Eve slowed down and Max watched and listened for signs of Placco in his Jack Rabbit. The Mercedes came to a sudden stop where the pavement ended, just north of Phantom Point.
Max grabbed his Winchester and kept his eye on the dirt road. In an instant, he heard the roaring engine as the racing car emerged from the dark woods. He squeezed off three quick shots. Two hit the radiator, the third grazed Placco’s forehead. The Jack Rabbit fish-tailed and swerved across the highway, where it came to rest on its side in a drainage ditch.
Max spotted Placco through a cloud of steam hissing from the perforated radiator. He drew a bead on the gangster and shouted, “Raise your hands, Duke, and come up out of the ditch.”
Placco rolled over and took cover behind the wreck. Max’s shot missed by an inch. Placco drew his .44 revolver and fired twice. Max grabbed Eve and pulled her down onto the seat as the bullets whizzed overhead.
“Take the Winchester and cover me,” Max said. “I’m going after him.”
“But, Max—”
“No buts! Stay here and wait for the others.”
Eve took the rifle and said, “All right, Max.” She moved over and took cover behind the driver’s seat.
Max drew his Mauser pistol. He stepped to the roadway and hunkered down, hiding behind the car on the passenger side. Crouching, he worked his way to the rear where he could peek around the fender and scan the other side of the highway. The others can’t be far behind, he thought. We’ll have him cornered.
Max had ten rounds in the pistol’s magazine and a stripper clip with ten more, an advantage over Placco’s six-shooter. “Eve,” he said softly, “I’m going to take two shots at the car to draw him out. If he shows himself, shoot. We’ll have him in a cross-fire. OK?”
“OK, Max.”
Max was about to shoot when he noticed some movement in the ditch. Placco appeared to be crawling away from the car in the direction of the Phantom Point settlement.
“He’s moving toward Phantom Point. Do you have a clear shot?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Damn! I’m going to rush him. Cover me.”
Max sprinted across the road. Placco heard footsteps on the pavement. He stopped, turned and fired up in the direction of the sounds. The bullet whizzed by Max’s ear. Max spotted Placco and fired two rounds. The second shot winged the gangster’s left arm, making him drop the bag with the fifty grand. Max ran up to the ditch and aimed his third round at Placco’s exposed head. He squeezed the trigger. His Mauser pistol jammed.
“So long, sucker.” Duke Placco raised his .44 and flashed his golden grin.
“Hit the dirt, Max!” Eve shouted.
Eve’s shout distracted Placco for an instant. Max dropped to the pavement. Eve and Placco fired. Placco’s bullet ricocheted off the car. Eve’s .35 Winchester round hit her target dead center; the force of the shot knocked the gangster backward into the mud.
Max got up from the pavement and looked down into the ditch. Blood bubbled up from the hole in Placco’s chest; blood ran from his gaping mouth. Wide open eyes stared at Max.
“Have a hot time in hell, Duke,” Max said to the soon to be corpse.
Eve came up next to Max. “What happened?” she asked.
Max glanced at the pistol with disgust. “This fancy foreign gat jammed on me. I should’ve brought my Smith & Wesson.” He smiled and paused before adding, “That was a damn fine shot, Detective. I owe you. Again.”
“Think nothing of it, Detective. With this moon and the Winchester I couldn’t miss.”
“It is quite a moon, isn’t it?” Max put his arm around her and looked up at the sky.
A car came rumbling up the road.
“A little late to the party, aren’t they?” Max said. He removed his arm from her waist.
The car halted with a screech of brakes and a backfire. The marshal and his deputies jumped from the car and ran over to Max and Eve.
“Where’s Duke?” the marshal asked.
“Over there, in the ditch.” Max pointed, adding: “He’s dead or close to it.”
“Good work, Max,” the marshal said.
“I didn’t finish him, Marshal. Miss Sinclair put him down with her Winchester.”
“I’ll be jiggered. First time I deputize a gal, and she takes out the head desperado. Well done, miss.” The marshal raised the brim of his hat, scratched his forehead and grinned.
“Thanks, Marshal. Max and I can share the credit. I couldn’t have done it without him. By the way, what happened to your Packard?”
“Motor conked out trying to keep up with you. We had to commandeer a Ford. Couldn’t get the darn thing to go more than fifteen uphill. Just how fast were you goin’, young woman?”
“You don’t want to know,” Eve said with a sly smile.
“Reckon I don’t,” the marshal said. He turned to his deputies. “All right, boys, the party’s over. Time to pick up the trash and head on home.”
Copyright © 2022 by Gary Inbinder
