The Mugger 87th Precinct Series, Book 2 - By Ed McBain Page 0,41

was wearing a hat, too, and she cursed the hat because it hid his hair.

His fist lashed out suddenly, exploding just beneath her left eye. She had heard about purple and yellow globes of light that followed a punch in the eye, but she had never experienced them until this moment. She tried to move away from the wall, momentarily blinded, but he shoved her back viciously.

“That’s just a warning,” he said. “Don’t scream when I’m gone, you understand?”

“I understand,” she said levelly. Willis, where are you? her mind shrieked. For God’s sake, where are you?

She had to detain this man. She had to hold him until Willis showed. Come on, Willis.

“Who are you?” she asked.

His hand went out again, and her head rocked from his strong slap.

“Shut up!” he warned. “I’m taking off now.”

If this were Clifford, she had a chance. If this were Clifford, she would have to move in a few seconds, and she tensed herself for the move, knowing only that she had to hold the man until Willis arrived.

There!

He was going into it now.

“Clifford thanks you, madam,” he said, and his arm swept across his waist, and he went into a low bow, and Eileen clasped both hands together, raised them high over her head, and swung them at the back of his neck as if she were wielding a hammer.

The blow caught him completely by surprise. He began to pitch forward, and she brought up her knee, catching him under the jaw. His arms opened wide. He dropped the purse and staggered backward, and when he lifted his head again, Eileen was standing with a spike-heeled shoe in one hand. She didn’t wait for his attack. With one foot shoeless, she hobbled forward and swung out at his head.

He backed away, missing her swing, and then he bellowed like a wounded bear, and cut loose with a roundhouse blow that caught her just below her bosom. She felt the sharp knifing pain, and then he was hitting her again, hitting her cruelly and viciously now. She dropped the shoe, and she caught at his clothes, one hand going to his face, trying to rip, trying to claw, forgetting all her police knowledge in that one desperate lunge for self-survival, using a woman’s weapons—nails.

She missed his face, and she stumbled forward, catching at his jacket again, clawing at his breast pocket. He pulled away, and she felt the material tear, and then she was holding the torn shield of his pocket patch in her hands, and he hit her again, full on the jaw, and she fell back against the wall and heard Willis’s running footsteps.

The mugger stooped down for the fallen purse, seizing it by the shoulder straps as Willis burst into the mouth of the alley, a gun in his fist.

Clifford came erect, swinging the bag as he stood. The bag caught Willis on the side of the head, and he staggered sidewards, the gun going off in his hand. He shook his head, saw the mugger taking flight, shot without aiming, shot again, missing both times. Clifford turned the corner, and Willis took off after him, rounding the same bend.

The mugger was nowhere in sight.

He went back to where Eileen Burke sat propped against the wall of the building. Her knees were up, and her skirt was pulled back, and she sat in a very unladylike position, cradling her head. Her left eye was beginning to throb painfully. When she lifted her head, Willis winced.

“He clipped you,” he said.

“Where the hell were you?” Eileen Burke answered.

“Right behind you. I didn’t realize anything was wrong until I heard a man’s voice shout, ‘Shut up!’”

“He packs a wallop,” Eileen said. “How does my eye look?”

“You’re going to have a hell of a mouse,” Willis told her. “We’ll get a steak for it whenever you feel like going.” He paused. “Was it Clifford?”

“Sure,” she said. She got to her feet and winced. “Ow, I think he broke one of my ribs.”

“Are you kidding me?” Willis asked, concerned.

Eileen felt the area beneath her breasts. “It only feels that way. Oooooh, God!”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“Too dark,” she said. She held up her hand. “I got his pocket, though.”

“Good.” Willis looked down. “What’s all this on the sidewalk?”

“What?”

He bent. “Cigarettes,” he said. “Good. We may get some latents from the cellophane.” He picked the package up with his handkerchief, carefully holding the linen around it.

“He was probably carrying them in his pocket,” Eileen said.