Heroes by David Hagberg (books under 200 pages .TXT) 📕

sipping a small bourbon, as he stared out the window, down at the sleeping town and at his car.

The wind was really blowing now, whipping the snow around.

Two snowplows kept going back and forth up the main street, out to the city limit where they would turn around and come back.

The cop was no longer parked there.

As they had each evening, Schey’s thoughts drifted back to Catherine and the baby. So far he had been able to resist the nearly overwhelming urge to telephone the doctor and find out about his son by keeping himself busy, by pushing toward Santa Fe, although getting any information out of Los Alamos would be difficult, if not impossible. He had set his mind to the task, all but blocking out thoughts about his child, except at times like this. But to call back there would be suicide for him.

He sipped his drink.

Catherine and Eva were two totally different women. Where Catherine had been meek, Eva was brash. Where Catherine had been dull and on the frumpy side, Eva was definitely a big-city girl, smooth and good-looking. Where Katy was soft, Eva was hard … or was she?

A snowplow came by again, and a minute later the police cruiser went slowly past and stopped in front of the Hudson.

Schey put his drink down. The cop definitely suspected something. He stubbed out his cigarette, grabbed his coat where it was tossed over a chair, and went back to the window.

The cop had gotten out of his car. He went back to the Hudson and looked in one of the windows. He opened the door.

There was no one with him. He was alone. And except for the snowplows, there was no one out on the streets.

“Hmm?” Eva said, opening her eyes. She sat up. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“Where are you going?” she said in sudden alarm. She reached for the light.

“No! Don’t turn on the light. It’s the cop; he’s looking at our car.”

Eva jumped out of the bed and came to the window. The cop was in the back seat of the Hudson now. She swore softly.

“What’s he looking for?”

“I don’t know. But I have to find out.”

“And then what?” she asked, looking up into his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Schey said grimly.

“Don’t go. Please, just stay. He’s not going to find anything.”

“He’s suspicious. We can’t just go to sleep and wait until morning. He could have the FBI up here. It means our lives.”

“In this weather?”

“They’d get here sooner or later,” Schey said. He pulled away from her. He hesitated at the door. “Get dressed. We might have to leave in a hurry.”

She came to him. “I’m frightened, Dieter …”

“Robert,” he said automatically. “And so am I.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll be back,” Schey said, and he slipped out the door, silently went downstairs, and let himself out the front door, the house dark and still.

The wind was blowing very hard. It seemed like another planet outside. Schey reached inside his coat pocket, his fingers curling around the grip of the .38, and he crossed the street.

The cop saw him coming and got out of the car. He was half a head taller than Schey and fifty pounds heavier. He put his hand on the butt of his gun at his side. He looked frightened.

“I saw you down here going through my car. Can I help you with something?” Schey asked. He was going to have to get the cop off the street as fast as possible. Every moment they stood here out in the open increased the risk that someone would spot them.

“Where’s your missus?”

“Asleep. Say, can we get in the car and talk. It’s damned cold out here.”

“In my car,” the cop said. They went up the street and climbed in the cruiser. It was warm.

“Now, what’s this all about, officer?” Schey asked.

“I want to see some identification.”

“What for?” Schey asked. If he could not get past a small town cop, how in the hell would he be able to operate in Santa Fe which would be crawling with FBI?

“Because I asked for it, son,” the cop drawled, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Schey slipped out the pistol, cocked the hammer, and pointed it at the cop, whose eyes went wide. The man started for his own gun.

“I will kill you the instant your hand touches your weapon,” Schey said softly.

The cop stiffened.

“Now. Turn around there. I want you to drive out to the edge of town where you stopped me this afternoon.”

“What have you got in mind?”

“Just do as I say.”

The cop put the car in gear and headed down the street. His Adam’s apple was going up and down.

“Why’d you search my car?” Schey asked. “What were you looking for?”

At first the man said nothing. Schey raised the pistol to the man’s temple.

“I’ll blow your brains all over this car.”

“It’s a stolen car. I got the report on my desk. There was supposed to be radios and things like that …”

“What?” Schey asked incredulously.

“It was stolen last week in San Antonio. A Hudson with New Jersey plates. Or Connecticut or someplace out east like that. It belonged to a salesman. RCA Victor.”

Schey could not believe his ears. It was all a mistake! The cop had made a mistake! He could have checked and found that out in the morning. There would have been no trouble. After the storm cleared up and the highways were plowed, he and Eva could have continued.

But now it was too late.

They had come to the city limits, and the cop slowed down.

” No,” Schey snapped angrily. “Keep driving.”

“We’ll get stuck …” (

Schey prodded him with the gun barrel, and the car lurched forward. Almost immediately they bogged down in a snowdrift. ‘ It took them several minutes of rocking the car back and forth before they got free.

Another couple of hundred yards and the road was impossibly blocked by a long, sweeping drift. The cop pulled up.

“We can’t go any farther. You can