The Maine Massacre Read Online Free PDF

Leroux's forearm snapped up and the bearded head turned slightly, but the movement was arrested by a second chop when de Gier's right hand hit the side of the big man's neck. There was less force in the second chop, but it had enough strength to block the flow in Leroux's artery. Leroux's eyes closed and he fell slowly. He rolled over once, as if he were trying to find a more comfortable position on the cold road. Then he sighed.
    "Out," the sheriff said. "Thanks. Good move. I hope you haven't killed him."
    "No."
    "You've hit subjects like that before?"
    "Not too often."
    "I usually hit them with my flashlight." The sheriff showed the flashlight. The stem was a foot long. "Give them a swipe on the temple. Knocks them out and it doesn't hurt my hand. Let's move him."
    They dragged the body to the cruiser and maneuvered it onto the back seat. Leroux groaned and smacked his lips. His eyes were still closed as his hand rubbed bis bruised neck.
    "Did the rider knock me out?"
    "He did. How do you feel?"
    "Bad."
    "You going to behave now?"
    Leroux's groan became a bark. "No! I'll kill you both."
    "Handcuffs," the sheriff said and ripped the metal rings from his belt. "Hold him, sergeant."
    Leroux's hands were fists again, but they had no power and de Gier's long, muscular ringers pried them open and applied a twisting pressure so that the body on the backseat turned halfway and the arms met in the back. The handcuffs touched his hairy wrists and snapped shut. Leroux slumped back.
    "Watch him, sergeant. I'll get the Oldsmobile started and drive it to the jailhouse. Can you handle the cruiser?"
    De Gier looked at the controls. "Perhaps."
    "Have you driven automatic cars before? They have them in Europe, don't they?"
    "Yes, I have. Not often. The P is Park, isn't it? What's the N?"
    "Neutral. Shift in D for Drive and be gentle with the accelerator. If you have to brake, pump it—just touch it with your toe. Can you do that?"
    "Yes."
    The sheriff walked over to the Oldsmobile, opened the hood, and adjusted the cable Leroux had used to start the car. When the engine caught, he reversed the big car out of the bank, allowing the engine to idle so that the wheels just moved and didn't spin. De Gier eased the cruiser behind the Oldsmobile. The radio crackled and he fumbled with the microphone, having trouble finding its button.
    "Caught him, sheriff?"
    "The sheriff is in the suspect's car. We are on our way back."
    "Who are you?"
    "Sergeant Rinus de Gier, Amsterdam Municipal Police."
    The radio crackled emptily.
    "Come again?"
    De Gier came again.
    "You the guy the sheriff went to meet on the airstrip?"
    "Right."
    "You got the subject?"
    "Yes, man named Leroux."
    "Leroux. He's big. Did he fight?"
    "A little."
    "Okay, ten four."
    De Gier put the microphone back. 'Ten four," he mumbled.
    "Means 'acknowledged,'" Leroux said. "Ten three means 'go ahead.' Sheriff's talk. I have a CB radio. Everybody has. It's fun to listen in sometimes, not always. They talk a lot of shit too. You really from the Amsterdam police?"
    De Gier adjusted his rearview mirror so that he could see Leroux's face. The small beady eyes twinkled back at him.
    "Yes."
    "That's close to France. How come you're here?"
    "An exchange. I am learning."
    Leroux laughed. "On me, hey? I would have murdered that little bastard."
    "Maybe not. How do you feel?"
    "Bad. Take the cuffs off and I'll feel better."
    "No."
    Never trust a suspect when he's just been arrested. A golden police rule. An arrested suspect feels threatened, his nerves are ready to break, his reasoning is impaired. Better to humor him.
    "You French?" de Gier asked.
    "Not French French, local French."
    "American."
    "Yes, everybody is American. But I'm French. They don't like us here; they say that we are niggers but we've been sandblasted so the color doesn't show."
    "What's wrong with black?"
    "Black isn't white," Leroux said. "Take my cuffs off. Bastard put them on too tight."
    "In a minute."
    Leroux leaned forward.