Strange Highways

it's also sure exhilarating!"
     His friends said he was iron hard, nail tough. But that was only part of what they said about him.
     Overhead, Karl Skagg hurried along the tops of the boxes. Frank was close enough to hear the heavy footsteps above the ceaseless rumble of the rain.
     Even if he had heard nothing, he would have known that Skagg was on the move. The two-crate-thick wall trembled with the killer's passage - though not violently enough to shake Frank off his perch.
     He started to climb again, feeling cautiously for handholds in the darkness, inching along the pile of plumbing supplies. He got a few splinters in his fingers, but it was easy to screen out those small, stabbing pains.
     From his new position atop the wall, Skagg shouted into another shadowy section of the warehouse to which he apparently thought Frank had moved, "Hey, chickenshit!"
      You called?
     "I have something for you, chickenshit."
      I didn't know we were exchanging gifts.
     "I got something sharp for you."
      I'd prefer a TV set.
     "I got the same thing for you that I used on all the others."
      Forget the TV. I'll settle for a nice bottle of cologne.
     "Come and get your guts ripped out, you chickenshit!"
      I'm coming, I'm coming.
     Frank reached the top, raised his head above the edge of the wall, looked left, then right, and saw Skagg about thirty feet away. The killer had his back to Frank and was peering intently down into another aisle.
     "Hey, cop, look at me, standing right up here in the light. You can hit me with no trouble. All you have to do is step out and line up a shot. What's the matter? Don't you even have the nerve for that, you yellow bastard?"
     Frank waited for a peal of thunder. When it came, he levered himself over the edge, on top of the stack of crates, where he rose to a crouch. The pounding rain was even louder up here, and combined with the thunder it was enough to cover any noise he made.
     "Hey, down there! You know who I am, cop?"
      You're repeating yourself. Boring, boring.
     "I'm a real prize, the kind of trophy a cop dreams of!"
      Yeah, your head would look good on my den wall.
     "Big career boost if you brought me down, promotions and medals, you chickenshit."
     The ceiling lights were only ten feet above their heads, and at such short range even the dim bulbs in the security lamps cast enough of a glow to illuminate half the crates on which they stood. Skagg was in the brightest spot, posturing for the one-man audience that he believed was below him.
     Drawing his .38, Frank stepped forward, out of a shadowy area into a fall of amber light.
     Skagg shouted, "If you won't come for me, you chickenshit, I'll come for you."
     "Who're you calling chickenshit?" Frank asked.
     Startled, Skagg spun toward him and, for an instant, teetered on the edge of the boxes. He windmilled his arms to keep from falling backward into the aisle below.
     Holding his revolver in both hands, Frank said, "Spread your arms, drop to your knees, then lay flat on your belly."
     Karl Skagg had none of that heavy-browed, slab-jawed, cement-faced look that most people associated with homicidal maniacs. He was handsome. Movie-star handsome. His was a broad, well-sculpted face with masculine yet sensitive features. His eyes were not like the eyes of a snake or a lizard or some other wild thing; they were brown, clear, and appealing.
     "Flat on your belly," Frank repeated.
     Skagg did not move. But he grinned. The grin ruined his moviestar looks because it had no charm. It was the humorless leer of a crocodile.
     The guy was big, even bigger than Frank. He was six five, maybe even six and a half feet. Judging by the solid look of him, he was a dedicated, lifelong weight lifter. In spite of the chilly November night, he wore only running shoes, jeans, and a blue cotton shirt. Damp with rain and sweat, the shirt molded to his muscular chest and arms.
     He said, "So how're you going to get me down from here, cop? Do you think I'll let you cuff me and then just lay up here while you go for backup? No way, pig face."
     "Listen and believe me: I'll blow you away without the slightest hesitation."
     "Yeah? Well, I'll take that gun off you quicker than