Spencer Shaw stood at the bottom of the stairway on the first floor and listened to the roar of the fire and the explosion of bricks as the building destroyed itself above him. Goddamn, he liked this. He’d never done anything as goddamn much fun as this. He’d done a lot of fun shit in his life, but he’d never burned a whole goddamn building down. Flaming debris blocked the stairs from the second floor up, and the walls along the stairs were burning. A few minutes earlier he had gone part way up the stairs in time to watch sections of the third-floor ceiling collapse. When the second floor caught fire, he retreated to the first floor. It would not be long before the ceiling above him collapsed. The first floor was concrete, but the walls would catch. Cassidy and the broad had to be dead. It pissed him off that he had not seen Cassidy die, but what the fuck? Into each life a little rain must fall. It was time to go.
He started the Studebaker and then went to unbolt the big front doors. He could hear fire engine sirens as they crowded into the street. When he shoved the doors wide, cold wind rushed in. The staircase acted like a chimney, and the new air fed the fire to a higher rage. Shaw got into the car, put it in reverse, and rolled it toward the door. Idlewild Airport in an hour. TWA to Los Angeles. Pan Am tomorrow out to Hawaii and then Guam, Hong Kong, and then finally Saigon. Saigon was going to be fun. Shit was happening there.
A tornado of fresh air swirled up the elevator shaft sandblasting Cassidy and Rhonda with dust and dirt from below. The air was almost too thick to breath, but the wind drove the rain of flaming embers back up the shaft. That was the good part, but the new air fueled the fire higher and hotter. Parts of the walls at the top of the shaft collapsed inwards, and pieces of the shaft ceiling crashed down in flames to the top of the elevator.
‘Go. Go,’ Cassidy shouted over the roar. ‘He opened the doors. He’s gone.’
Rhonda climbed quickly down the last twenty feet to the roof of the elevator. Cassidy was right behind her. He kicked flaming pieces of wood out of the way and led her to the gap between the elevator roof and the first floor. He stirrupped his hands. She put a foot in and scrambled out onto the floor. He levered himself up and rolled out after her. Shaw’s car was gone, and the doors were open. A piece of the ceiling at the back of the first-floor hall fell in a shower of sparks. They ran for the open door and out onto the street that was now flickering with the red lights of fire engines and alive with the shouts of firemen dragging hoses toward the building.
‘Where the hell did you come from?’ one of them yelled in surprise. He did not wait for an answer. His hose bucked tight with water. He unblocked the nozzle and walked the stream up the wall and into a second-floor window. Flames bannered from all the windows from the second floor to the top of the building.
Cassidy pulled Rhonda out of the way of the firemen. She limped alongside him. ‘I’ve got to sit down, Michael. My feet are burned.’
‘Hey,’ Cassidy called to a fireman, ‘we need a medic. She’s got some burns.’
‘Jesus, you sure do. There’s an ambulance on the other side of that pumper,’ the man said.
Cassidy realized what they looked like – black with soot, singed, limping.
‘Come on.’ He put an arm around Rhonda’s waist and walked her around the back of a fire truck. A paramedic saw them and left the ambulance to put an arm around Rhonda from the other side to guide her to sit on the back bumper under the open doors. ‘Her feet are burned,’ Cassidy said.
‘That’s not all of it,’ the medic said. ‘She’s got a couple of nasty burns on her arm, and one on her cheek.’
‘I didn’t feel those,’ Rhonda said.
‘Let’s get those shoes off,’ the medic said, and went down on one knee to help her. He glanced up at Cassidy. ‘What about you? You’re limping.’
‘Just a sprain. I’ll be okay.’
‘You’ve got burns that need attention.’
‘Take care of her. I’ll be right back.’
The Studebaker was fifty feet away. It was blocked by a fire engine. Spencer Shaw stood next to the open door arguing with a fireman. Cassidy took his gun out from under his arm.
‘Hey,’ the medic said in alarm.
‘I’m a cop,’ Cassidy said. He limped away. As he got closer he could hear Shaw arguing with the fireman. Their voices were thin under the racket of the fire, the shouts of the firemen, and the liquid hiss of the hoses.
‘I’m on government business,’ Shaw said. ‘I’m going to miss my plane.’
‘Sorry,’ the fireman said. ‘I can’t help you. I can’t move the truck till my captain gives me the okay.’ The fireman walked away.
‘Shaw,’ Cassidy said to Shaw’s back.
Shaw stiffened without turning. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, ‘what do I have to do, put a stake through your heart?’ He turned slowly. His right hand was under his jacket.
‘Don’t,’ Cassidy said.
Shaw smiled like a wolf and fired through his jacket. The bullet hit Cassidy low in the side and rocked him back a step. Cassidy shot Shaw in the chest. Shaw banged back against the Studebaker and brought his gun up. Cassidy shot him again. Shaw’s legs gave way and he slid down the car and sat with his legs sprawled out and his back against the door. He tried to raise the gun but didn’t have the strength. He looked down at the blood on his chest and then up at Cassidy. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen.’ He toppled over sideways, dead before his head hit the street.
Cassidy touched his side. His hand came away sticky with blood. The gun was heavy in his other hand, and it took an effort to get it back in the holster. He started back toward Rhonda and the medic. After a few steps, it seemed too far. One knee crumpled, and he sank to the street. He managed to break his fall with one hand and as he lay there on his back, he saw the building give up and cascade in on itself with a crackling roar. Flames and sparks flared into the sky.
Cassidy blacked out.