Free A Catskill Eagle by Robert B. Parker Page A

said.
    Mrs. Costigan looked uncertain. She shook her head. I raised the .25 and aimed it carefully at her. Gary in the door crouched a little and moved his gun toward me.
    “Tell me about the lodge or I’ll shoot you,” I said.
    Costigan said, “Gary, bring the rest in. If he shoots, kill him even if I die too.”
    Gary made a waving gesture with his left hand, behind him, and the other guards moved into the bedroom. The nervous guy with the Uzi moved up beside Gary in the doorway.
    “Where’s the lodge,” I said.
    Mrs. Costigan said, “Jerry, make him stop.”
    “You pull that trigger,” Costigan said, “and everything stops here. All of us are gone and your girl friend’s on her own.”
    I looked at Hawk.
    He said, “This is as good as it’s going to get.” I nodded. And jumped for Mrs. Costigan. Holding Costigan still by the collar, Hawk dropped his right hand, gun and all, and jammed it from behind into Costigan’s crotch and heaved him at the doorway where Gary and the Uzi stood. I spun Mrs. Costigan toward me and shoved her in the same direction. Gary, Costigan, Mrs. Costigan, and the Uzi all collided and tangled in the doorway. The Uzi bubbled out a cascade of shots that stitched a line across the ceiling. Hawk was out through the French doors with me behind him, bearing left along the patio toward the driveway and the Bronco. One of the perimeter guards came around the corner of the house and Hawk shot him with the big .44. A bullet came from behind us and rang off the flagstone patio and ricocheted off the low stone wall that rimmed the terrace. We were around the corner before another shot carne, and below us was the driveway and the black Bronco parked there. Hawk vaulted the low fence and landed softly on his feet beside the Bronco. I landed beside him and felt the impact jolt my stomach and then we were in the car, Hawk driving, and heading down the driveway. “Gate’s closed,” Hawk said.
    “Jam the Bronco up against it, take the keys and we’ll jump the fence,” I said.
    Another bubbling cascade of fire from the Uzi sounded behind us and I felt the Bronco lurch and begin to sway.
    “Tires,” Hawk said.
    We reached the gate and Hawk braked, slamming the Bronco into a skid and jamming it against the gate sideways. With a sharp twist he snapped the key off in the ignition and we were out of the car and up onto the hood. The gate was chest-high from the hood of the car and no razor wire. We went over it without trouble and landed again with a soft thump on the other side. In ten feet we were out of the light and hidden by the darkness, running full out for the Volvo. Behind us the two Uzis sprayed fire through the fence into the dark. We could hear bullets cut the leaves and snap twigs as we rounded the bend of the road, and the Volvo was still there. The heavier crack of the handguns sounded and above it, in the distance, the sound of sirens. We were in the Volvo and driving back along Mill River Boulevard when the first police car passed us going in the other direction.
    “Figure they got the Bronco out of there yet?” Hawk said.
    “Somebody probably popped the ignition,” I said.
    “I don’t know,” Hawk said. “Got to be city to know about popping ignitions. They don’t look city to me.”
    We were heading for 101 again. I was getting used to the trip. Hawk kept the car at fifty-five and we went sedately through the quiet California night, moving briskly, going no place special.
    “Got to look at this lodge,” I said.
    “They know we coming,” Hawk said.
    “Still got to look,” I said.
    “They’ll have something set up for us,” Hawk said.
    “And they’ll have taken Susan somewhere else,” I said.
    “Still got to look,” Hawk said.

CHAPTER 14

    “IT BOTHERING YOU THAT WE DON’T KNOW where this lodge is,” Hawk said, slouched down in the Volvo.
    We were in the parking lot of the Fisherman’s Wharf Holiday Inn, parked in a slot near the building where a passing