At the same time, though, Mellon twisted, and Mike’s forced shift of position lessened his leverage on the man’s shoulders and arms. Mellon almost got away. One hand grabbed the wrench from von Liegnitz, whose grip had been weakened by the paralyzing pressure of Keku’s fingers.
Mike had no choice but to slam a hard left into the man’s solar plexus. Mellon collapsed like an unoccupied overcoat.
By this time, von Liegnitz had quieted down. “Let go, Keku,” he said. “I’m all right.” He looked down at the motionless figure on the deck. “What the hell do you suppose was eating him?” he asked quietly.
“How’s your shoulder?” Mike asked.
“Hurts like the devil, but I don’t think it’s busted. But why did he do it?” he repeated.
“Sounds to me,” said Keku dryly, “that he was nutty jealous of you. He didn’t like the times you took Leda Crannon to the base movies while we were at Chilblains.”
Jakob von Liegnitz continued to look down at the smaller man in wonder. “Lieber Gott” he said finally. “I only took her out a couple of times. I knew he liked her, but—” He stopped. “The guy must be off his bearings.”
“I smelled liquor on his breath,” said Mike. “Let’s get him down to his stateroom and lock him in until he sobers up. I’ll have to report this to the captain. Can you carry him, Keku?”
Keku nodded and reached down. He put his hands under Mellon’s armpits, lifted him to his feet, and threw him over his shoulder.
“Good,” said Mike the Angel. “I’ll walk behind you and clop him one if he wakes up and gets wise.”