Free The Avenger 31 - The Cartoon Crimes by Kenneth Robeson Page B

said Smitty, “blow up your jalopy?”
    Nellie’s head bobbed up and down. “ ’Fraid so.” She pointed to her left. “I recognize the fender.”
    A jagged, twisted chunk of metal had imbedded itself in the ground about ten feet from her.
    “Geeze, that could have mussed you up good.”
    “Harmon must have taken a shot at the gas tank.” Gritting her teeth, she got up.
    “Well, as long as we’re both in good shape, the heck with the car,” said the giant. “That tracking gizmo of mine’ll help us find Harmon again sooner or later.”
    “Not this particular one.” Nellie poked her foot at an object on the ground.
    Smitty stooped to pick it up. “Huh, look at that.”
    “I dropped it when the concussion came,” said the girl. “And then I suspect I subsequently sat on it.” She rubbed her fingertips over her hip. “Yep, I’m sure I did.”
    “Only one I got handy, too. Others are back in Manhattan at our Bleek Street offices.”
    “Sorry.”
    “That’s all right, Nellie. Long as you’re okay.” He glanced around. “Now we got a more immediate problem.”
    “Right . . . what do we do for transportation?”

    As the fog climbed away, the early morning light found its way into the big white kitchen. Jeanne Lewing, zipping up her skirt, crossed to the refrigerator. She took out a bottle of milk and set it on the table.
    She liked being up by herself at this hour of the morning, especially with Gil still sleeping and not out in the studio ending up one of his all-night sessions at the drawing board. She liked to fix herself a cup of cocoa and take it out to the back patio facing the sea.
    Life really could be quite pleasant. Especially here in their new house, if only . . .
    Footsteps in the hall.
    Not looking around, she said, “Did I wake you?” She took a saucepan out of a cupboard. “I really thought you’d slumber on till noon.”
    The footsteps came closer.
    “Want some— Wayne! What are you doing here so early?”
    The freckled young man gave her a strange, incomplete smile. “This isn’t exactly a social call, Jeanne.”
    “I hope not, since I don’t like the idea of your walking into the house like this. I’m afraid—” She saw the gun then.
    Harmon had brought a .38 revolver into view from behind his back. “I’m on a tight schedule, Jeanne,” he told her. “So if you’ll just come on along.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    He gestured impatiently with the gun. “Come on, out to my car.”
    She put the pan on the sink edge. “Is this some kind of prank? You can’t be serious.” She said that, but she knew he was serious.
    “Come on, Jeanne.” He looked at the electric wall clock, then at his own wristwatch. “I wouldn’t like to involve you in a shoot-out. And I don’t know when some of the Avenger’s buddies may come trooping in.”
    “You don’t expect to come into our house and drag me off,” she said. “Gil’s not going to—”
    “Gil’s not going to do a damn thing,” said Harmon. “Except sleep. I saw to that, Jeanne. My lord, you don’t think I’m that inept! I’ve been through the whole house, making sure there’s nobody else here. Then giving Gil something to make him go on slumbering. So, let’s move out.” He came near to her and prodded the air between them with the gun barrel.
    Jeanne began to walk toward the hallway. “I don’t . . . I really don’t understand what you’re doing. Do you?”
    “Yes, Jeanne dear, very clearly,” said the young artist. “Things, unfortunately, are not going quite as planned. They weren’t supposed to kidnap you until later.”
    She walked along the hall. “They?”
    “The people I work for. Their reasons for taking you are somewhat different from mine,” he explained. “All I want is a hostage. Somebody I can use to bargain with. Forgive me, Jeanne, but you were the first person who came to mind.” He actually touched her with the gun barrel now. “On out the front door, please. Then