Colby - The Captain Must Die

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TheCaptain Must Die

byRobert Colby

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Copyright(c)1959 by Robert Colby

Wildside

http://www.wildsidepress.com/index2.htm

Mystery

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NOTICE:This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the originalpurchaser. Duplication or distribution of this work by email, floppydisk, network, paper print out, or any other method is a violation ofinternational copyright law and subjects the violator to severe finesand/or imprisonment.

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_Other books by Robert Colby_

*Fiction*

_Beautiful but Bad_

_Executive Wife_

_The California Crime Book_

_The Faster She Runs_

_Make Mine Vengeance_

_Murder Times Five_

_Run for the Money_

_Secret of the Second Door_

_The Star Trap_

_These Lonely, These Dead_

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_THE CAPTAIN MUST DIE_

_ROBERT COLBY_

*WILDSIDE PRESS*

_BerkeleyHeights, New Jersey_

Originally published by Fawcett Publications, Inc. in January,1959. That Gold Medal edition copyright (C) 1959 by Robert Colby.This Wildside edition copyright (C) 2000 by Robert Colby.

All rights reserved.

First Wildside Press edition: October 2000

_TheCaptain Must Die_

Apublication of

_WildsidePress_

P.O.Box 45

Gillette,NJ 07933-0045

www.wildsidepress.com

*SECONDEDITION*

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_For Francesca_

_Andfor Roger, Paul, and Nona Crossman_

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Chapter One

The train had barely come to a stop at the Union Station inLouisville, when the tall man with the flimsy black suitcaseshouldered the conductor out of the way and jumped to the platform.

"...hell's the matter with you!" the conductor calledafter him. But, though he heard clearly, the tall man didn't lookback. The anger in him was too large a thing, too deeply banked topermit of small irritations. The thing inside him was quiet andintent, having the power of long development, like a storm thatgathers force in the secret wastes of the ocean and moves stealthilyinland for destruction.

The tall man had a loose-jointed and awkward physical powerabout him as he moved with long strides through the waiting room ofthe depot. His long, high-cheekboned face ended in a narrow jut ofjaw. He had a thin straight nose, a wide mouth, and sullen browneyes. It was a face that at twenty-six had been facile with teasinghumor and boyish pleasantness. Now, at thirty-eight, it was a facedrawn together with shrewd watchfulness and contempt.

The tall man was not aware that the frayed, black suitcase washeavy. He swung it along with him like a child's toy, the bonyknuckles of one great hand jutting from the handle like the knobs ofrailroad spikes.

He set the case down by a cab outside the station. When thedriver had placed it in the trunk, he ducked his angular body insidethe cab and sank onto a corner of the seat, smoothing the trousers ofhis rumpled chocolate gabardine. He gave an address off South Thirdand the hack pulled away sharply.

"You picked a hot one," said the driver over hisshoulder.

"What?"

"Hot day to land here," the driver said.

"Oh," said the tall man. "Yeah. Plenty hot."His voice was flat and remote as though his thoughts were pulled froma difficult problem. He had not noticed that it was hot; was hardlyconscious of the drab buildings of the city he had never before seen.

"Bad summer," the driver said. "Worse thatfifty-four. Me, I'll take San Fran anytime. Gonna take the missus andhead out there soon as we save a few bucks. Never did like this town.Dull as it's hot. Excuse me, mister. You come from around here?"

"What?"

"This your home? I mean, no offense -- "

"Listen, bud," the tall man said. "Why don't youwheel this wreck and just shut up. You got troubles? I'll punch yourcard for you."

"Sorry, George," the driver said. "Didn't knowyou was touchy about the home town."

"Just shut up," the tall man said again withoutanger. The driver mumbled something but the tall man wasn'tlistening. He was wondering now if he should have called from thestation; if Barney had arrived from Los Angeles the night before withthe cunning, evil box; if Cal, who had taken the apartment a weekago, was waiting there for him as planned. Or was he in the booth ofsome dark bar, squeezed against a tight curve of some sweatered yokelhe had picked up the first night in from Denver. Cal was always theoperator.

Well, that kind of stuff would have to wait till later. For athing like this, you needed a certain discipline or it would fallapart. Well, they were all acquainted with discipline. And he wasgoing to enforce it. He was going to hold the purpose together. Hewas going to keep reminding, keep lighting the fire. God! Itshouldn't be necessary. Who could forget! Not Barney. Never. And notCal, really. You just had to keep him in line. And he would havecertain special uses. They would be able to use that handsome pan ofhis. And all of his operating tricks would help twist the knife.

The cab ground tires against the curb and came to a halt. "Thisis it," the driver said. "Twenty-three seventy you said?"

"Yeah. Right." The tall man leaned out the window,studying a tree-storied apartment building that joined otherbuildings like it and seemed to stretch endlessly away in monotonousrepetition.

The tall man paid the driver the exact amount of the fare,lifted the suitcase from the sidewalk, and moved briskly toward theentrance of twenty-three seventy as the cab departed with an angrygrinding of gears.

In the vestibule, he paused long enough to study the mailboxes. Then with a grunt he hoisted himself and the case up threeflights to apartment 3C, rang the bell.

The door was opened by a deep-chested, heavy-shouldered manwith straight black hair. He had small but strongly handsomefeatures, bright, clever eyes, coolly green, full of amusement. Hewas a head shorter than the tall man.

"Cal," the tall man said. "Thought you'd be outboozing with some doll."

"In the afternoon, Brick?" said the one called Cal."Too hot and too early."

Brick, the tall one, gave him a look and pushed past into theliving room, glancing disinterestedly at the twenty-by-fifteen spacewith its anonymous clutter of maple pieces, setting the suitcase onthe oval throw rug. "Where's Barney?" he said.

"Kitchen," said Cal. "Saw you coming. He'sbuilding a cool one."

Brick bent himself onto the sofa. "Lousy trip," hesaid. "Hate trains. Had to sit up all night. Everything set?"

"What's to set?" Cal said. "Waiting for you. MyGod, but you still look pale."

"After twelve years, you don't get colored up in a coupleof weeks," said Brick disgustedly. "Plenty of time forthat."

"Yeah. We'll really live!" Cal said, dropping into achair.

Brick gave him a sharp glance. "Don't be in any hurry,hear? Don't screw this up now. Do I have to keep reminding..."

"Hey! Brick! Welcome home. Brought you one for a dustythroat."

The man who stood in the doorway of the kitchen wasmedium-sized and stocky. His hair was the color of new rope and beganfar back from his forehead. He had bearlike shoulders. A thick neckand powerful biceps. His features were blunt, his eyes flat blue. Hecarried a trio of drinks in the palm of one hand. He set the drinkson the coffee table in front of the tall man and extended his hand.

"How was New York?" he said. "You tie on a bigone, Brick?"

Brick smiled, took the extended hand without rising. "Sameold rabbit hutch," he said. "Everyone on the jump forlettuce. Nah, I took it easy. Nothin' there for me anymore."