Killer's Town Read Free

jungle was not in his jurisdiction.
"That's the place," said Eagle proudly.
Koy stared at the ghost town. It was already being transformed as a small army of workmen moved among the ruined buildings.
"That's my town?" said Koy in disbelief. "That dump heap?" He turned angrily on Eagle. "Is this your great idea?"
"Patience, Killer," said Eagle, retreating a step. "They're fixing it up. Wait till they finish it."
"Yeah, meantime, am I supposed to sleep under a bush?" shouted Koy.
"Now take it easy, boss," said Sport in his deep rumbling voice. "Eagle got you a fancy suite at the hotel in town."
"Yeah. We stay there till this is ready. You'll love it."
A barefoot man tottered toward them. He tottered because he was drunk.
"Mr. Eagle," he called. "Where's my money?"
"Who's that bum?" growled Koy.
"Matthew Crumb, the guy we bought this place from," said Eagle.
"Mr. Crumb, this is Mr. Koy, the new owner," said Eagle.
Koy looked contemptuously at Crumb, the ragged pants and soiled shirt, dirt from head to foot, tobacco juice leaking from his mouth.
"Pleased to meet you," said Crumb, putting out his hand.
Koy chewed his cigar, looked stonily at Crumb, then spit out a wad of tobacco that hit Crumb's waist. Crumb pulled back his hand, and retreated a step from the menacing face of the new owner.
"My money?" he said.
"You'll get all that's coming to you," said Eagle.
"My room, too. Don't forget my room," said Crumb anxiously.
"What room?" demanded Koy.
"Part of the deal," said Eagle apologetically. "He wanted a place to live. I promised him he could have a room in the new hotel."
Koy looked at the anxious watery eyes, at the trembling tobacco-stained mouth of the barefoot derelict. Koy knew bums. He'd known them all his life.
"Sure," he said, suddenly gentle. "Why not?"
Then he looked around at the alien jungle, the big trees, the strange colors. "Let's get back to town," he said.
Mawitaan's principle hotel, the Queen's Plaza—the name was a relic of the old colonial days—was in the center of town. It was a large sprawling comfortable place with huge rooms, high ceilings with revolving fans, broad colorful gardens. Koy felt more at home. Modern plumbing, wall-to- wall carpeting, room service. Liquor and ice were served, the men took off their coats and shoes, and were about to order lunch when Police Chief Togando knocked politely and entered. The Chief was black and his accent was strange, but he was a cop. Koy and his men were silent and wary.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Koy?" said the Chief.
"Passing through," said Koy.
"You all have visitor's visas. They expire in three months."
"We know that, Chief," said Eagle brightly.
"We're private citizens, and we like privacy," said Koy, Blaring at the Chief.
The jungle-bred Togando was not to be put down by a foreign hoodlum.
"No funny business in this town, Mr. Koy. We obey the law here. We don't want any trouble from you," said the Chief quietly, his fingers idly playing with his gunbelt.
Koy nodded. The chief looked coolly at the standing men —Eagle, Sport, the tall one called Slim, the fat one called Fats, the bald man called Baldy, the stocky one with curly hair called Spaghetti—a walking rogues gallery.
"Good afternoon," said the Chief politely, and left. Koy spat on the carpet, smashed his burning cigar into the veneer finish of an end table, and swore.
"That damned cop," he growled. "I'd like to let him have it."
"Easy, Killer," said Eagle. "We're in his country."
"Not for long," said Killer. "Where's my lunch?"
Chief Togando's department policed the capital city of Mawitaan and its suburbs. Beyond that lay a thousand miles of jungle, bordered by seven nations. This was policed by the Jungle Patrol, an elite organization, two and a half centuries old, that was financially supported by all seven nations. This area of the world had been a haven for centuries for pirates, bandits, and escaped criminals. The Patrol's jurisdiction covered the long jungle borders and extended ten