by J. T. Edson
‘Do you know?’ Markey asked.
‘Some,’ Clint conceded. ‘About fair games … and cheating.’
‘Here,’ Markey said, as the other set down his empty glass and made as if to turn away. ‘Have a drink on me and tell me some more about it.’
Accepting the offer, Clint started to give Markey an insight into some of the many ways in which one could be cheated in a game of “craps”. By the time he had finished, the jockey was red with anger and convinced that the heavy Josses he had suffered in the past few days were not caused by bad luck.
Learning how Clint had traveled to Little Venner that evening, Markey declined a suggestion that he used the same means to go back. He also asked the Texan not to mention to Olga Flack that he was visiting the Starter’s Hack. Acceding to the request, Clint collected his belongings from the room he had rented and, saying good night to the publican, took his departure. Markey remained at the bar, scowling angrily and muttering to himself. Then, reaching a decision, he called and asked Haggerty to join him.
Chapter Sixteen—The Lady Said Let Go!
Beryl Snowhill could not regard the meeting she had reluctantly agreed to at the Royal Colors Hotel as being a resounding, or even a moderate, success. In spite of the fact that the woman she knew as Olga Garvin was trying to behave in a more sociable manner than she had during the drive from Swindon, she could not hide the fact that she was preoccupied and had not really wished to visit Little Venner.
Although Olga had good cause for her perturbation, it did not stem out of revulsion over seeing three men killed. Throughout much of her life, she had been on the fringes of her father’s violent and often bloody career. In fact, she had been a willing and active participant in it. So she had mingled with some of the world’s most desperate and dangerous criminals. It had been because they were on terms of intimacy that Gaston Porthos had taken the chance of returning to England when her father had requested his services. She had heard of his suicide shortly after the shootings at Charles Wagon’s house, but felt neither regret nor remorse over the news.
One of the reasons for Olga’s emotional state was Rapido Clint. She had never met anybody who had disturbed her as much as he had during their short acquaintance, nor one who could display such terrifying speed when the need arose. Even as she had been throwing the Remington Double Derringer to her father and wondering if he would be in time, she had seen the Texan’s right hand begin to move. Before the weapon had reached Flack, Clint had drawn the big Colt automatic pistol and killed the first of his two victims. There had been something almost inhumanly mechanical in the merciless precision with which he had terminated the second Italian’s life.
Even more than Clint’s deadly skill with firearms, Olga found herself put out by his attitude towards her. Unlike almost every other man with whom she had been brought into contact, he seemed completely impervious to her charms. His behavior had been polite, but far from subservient or respectful. To make matters worse, the way in which he had won over her father’s approval was saving him from the consequences that would otherwise have been the penalty following an expression of her disapproval.
Fortunately, the room in which the shooting had taken place was sound proof. So none of Wagon’s small domestic staff, nor the occupants of the training stable, had been aware of the incident. The Right Hon. Horatio Benner, M.P., had only found out when he and the trainer were fetched by Cyril Gambel. Both had been frightened and alarmed by the unanticipated turn of events. In fact, the M.P. had stated his intention of leaving immediately. He had been anything but pleased when Flack had informed him, in no uncertain manner, that he must stay as had been arranged. Knowing better than to argue, he had been in such a pitiable state of nerves that he had sought solace in a type of cigarette—supplied by Olga—in which the tobacco had been substituted with flakes from the dried leaves of the cannabis sativa plant.
One of the effects produced by inhaling the marihuana’s smoke was to give Benner a kind of bravado which he never knew at any other time, another being a belief that he was irresistible to women. His demeanor, on arriving at Little Venner, was indicative that the narcotic had produced this frame of mind.
Wearing a stylish dress, Beryl looked even more attractive than she had while delivering the parcel that afternoon. On being introduced, Benner’s greeting had been fulsome and his clammy hand shake was more of a suggestive squeeze until she had withdrawn her hand from his grasp. She refused his offer of a cigarette, which he usually found induced a receptive frame of mind, pointing out that she did not smoke. Although she did not suspect the real reason, thinking it to be no more than jealousy over the attentions being paid to her, she noticed that Olga showed irritation when he tried to force her to take one on the grounds that it was time she started.
Much to Beryl’s relief, none of her friends were at the Flying Colors Hotel that night. In fact, she and her companions had the lounge to themselves. For all that, she had been pleased when Olga—demanding rather than suggesting—elected to make use of a small alcove table instead of staying somewhere in more open view. Knowing Benner when he was under the influence of marihuana and wanting to avoid any chance of an unpleasant scene, Olga sat alongside the girl. The precaution did not entirely work. On the first occasion Benner’s foot touched Beryl’s, she thought it was an accident. After it had happened the fourth time, each having been accompanied by a lascivious leer or a sly innuendo, she had responded with a sharp kick to his shin. Anger had diffused his sullen face, but a coldly prohibitive glare from Olga—who had known what was happening—caused him to control his temper and lapse into scowling silence which did little to make the evening more enjoyable.
After only a short while, Beryl began to wonder why Olga had insisted upon the meeting. It had soon become clear that they had no common interests. Nor, with the exception of Wagon, had they any mutual acquaintances. Olga claimed that she and Benner were partners in the ownership of a horse and had come to spend a few days watching it being trained for an unspecified race. However, although Beryl had suspected Olga’s motives, she did not appear to have any interest in obtaining information regarding the animals in training at General Snowhill’s stable. All she had done was to give a broad hint by saying that she and the M.P. would not have time to become involved in the social life of the district.
All in all, Beryl was not sorry when ten o’clock came. Excusing herself on the grounds of having to rise early the following morning so as to watch some of the horses at work, she announced that she would have to be going home. In spite of Olga expressing reluctance to break up the party, the girl had sensed that she too was relieved for a chance to bring it to an end.
However, as the party were leaving the alcove, a waiter came over and told Olga that there was a telephone call for her.
‘I’ll see Beryl to her car while you take it,’ Benner offered.
‘There’s no need!’ the girl stated definitely and, hoping she sounded more sincere than she was feeling, turned to the woman. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Olga.’
‘Perhaps we’ll have another chance to do it before I leave,’ the woman replied, without enthusiasm or a great deal of conviction. ‘I’ll give you a call if I’m free. I won’t keep you waiting long, Horatio.’
‘All right,’ the M.P. answered and swung on his heel to go into the gentlemen’s toilet.
Turning, as Olga strolled across to the telephone, Beryl left the hotel by the side entrance which gave access to the car park. Walking towards the MG Super Sports tourer, she heard masculine footsteps approaching rapidly from her rear. Then, as she remembered that the toilets could be entered from the car park, a hand caught her right bicep and she felt herself being jerked around.
‘What—?’ the girl began; having guessed the identity of her assailant. Then, as the M.P. caught hold of her other arm and began to drag her towards him, she let out an angry hiss, ‘Let go of me!’
‘What’s wrong, you rotten little Roedean snob?’
Benner snarled, surprised by the strength with which his captive was struggling. ‘Aren’t I good en—?’
‘Hombre, the lady said let go!’ drawled a quiet voice which both of them recognized. ‘So you just sort of take your cotton-picking hands off her.’
Spitting out a low curse, Benner swung his head around without complying. Both he and the girl stared to where, having placed his suitcase in the boot of 0lga’s car, the small Texan was approaching out of the darkness.
Normally, particularly as he had been told of what Rapido Clint had done to the two Italian gangsters, the M.P. would have showed discretion. However, the marihuana was working on him and giving him a false courage. Considering only that height and weight were in his favor, he decided to teach the interloper a lesson and prove to the girl he was a man with whom it did not pay to trifle.
‘You mind your own something-or-other business!’ Benner snarled, shoving Beryl away from him and striding to meet the Texan. His voice began to rise as he went on, ‘No dirty little hireling killer’s—!’
Which was as far as the M.P. was allowed to go with his indiscreet comment.
Rapido Clint gave another demonstration of how effectively he could fight without the need for weapons other than his hands. Knotting his right fist as he ducked under Benner’s inept round arm swing at his head, he hurled it forward. The M.P. had never been kicked in the stomach by a horse, but the sensation he experienced was a close approximation of how it would feel. Driven backwards by the force of the blow, he was also folded over at the waist. Nausea threatened to engulf him as he collapsed, winded and helpless, at the girl’s feet.
‘You!’ Beryl gasped, staring at her rescuer.
‘Me, ma’am,’ Clint agreed, glancing at his victim and deciding no further attentions were necessary. ‘I reckon you-all can head for wherever you were going. He won’t be bothering you anymore.’
‘Th-Thank you,’ the girl replied, then dropped her gaze to the huddled and moaning figure of the M.P. ‘But what about him?’
‘Don’t pay him no never-mind, ma’am,’ the Texan drawled. ‘I’ll see that he gets back.’
‘Back!’ Beryl repeated, an interrogative note in her voice. ‘I’ve got me a riding chore over to the place where he’s staying,’ Clint explained.
‘A riding chore—?’ Beryl said, sounding puzzled. Then realization came to her. ‘Do you mean that you have gone to work for Charles Wagon?’
‘Shucks,’ Clint drawled, deciding that the girl’s tone and attitude were anything but complimentary to his supposed employer. ‘He’s not such a bad hombre happen you-all get to know him.’
‘Perhaps, but—’ Beryl began, then heard the side door of the hotel open.
Turning her head, the girl saw Olga was coming from the building. The woman stopped for a moment, staring from Beryl to the two men, then strode forward showing signs of anger. Much as Beryl wanted to leave the vicinity and avoid becoming any further involved in the unpleasant incident, she stood her ground. She intended to make sure that her rescuer’s actions were not misunderstood by Olga nor misrepresented by Benner.
‘What happened to him?’ the woman demanded, halting and indicating the moaning M.P. with an almost contemptuous gesture.
‘He got something in his stomach that disagreed with him,’ Clint answered, before the girl could speak. ‘Fellers often get took that way when they start in to pawing and mean-mouthing a lady against her wishes.’
Knowing Benner, Olga had suspected that he had followed the girl when she found he was missing at the conclusion of her telephone call. She had followed, hoping to arrive before he behaved in a stupid fashion. From what she could see and had been told, her fears were justified. However, the Texan must have intervened. While indifferent to how this had been done and considering the M.P. had in all probability deserved whatever punishment he had received, she wanted to prevent Beryl from complaining that he had tried to molest her when she reached her home.
‘You must have misunderstood Horatio, dear,’ Olga told Beryl, forcing herself to sound more pleasant than she was feeling. ‘If he likes a person, he tends to be a little demonstrative. But he doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just his sense of humor.’
‘I didn’t find it funny,’ the girl stated.
‘I’ll bet he doesn’t—now,’ Clint commented dryly and opened the MG’s door. ‘Anyways, ma’am, we’ll see him safe to home.’
‘This young man hit him in self-defense,’ Beryl declared, looking straight at the woman.
‘I’m sure he did, dear,’ Olga replied. ‘But none of us want to be involved in a scene, do we?’
‘I don’t,’ Beryl admitted.
‘Then I’d suggest that we forget it,’ Olga proposed. ‘And that we all go before somebody comes along to see us.’
‘Very well,’ Beryl acceded, boarding her car. She looked up at the woman for a moment and went on, her voice holding a note of warning, ‘There won’t be any repercussions for this young man, will there?’
‘I’ll see that there aren’t,’ Olga promised. ‘Good night.’
Confident that she had achieved her purpose, Beryl started the MG and drove from the car park. Not until she had covered about half a mile did she remember the way in which Benner had referred to her rescuer. She wondered if the Texan had tried to impress his employer, or the M.P. and Olga, by pretending to be a gangster. Then she dismissed the notion. Nobody, she felt sure, would take seriously a claim made by such a small and insignificant looking person that he was a hired killer.
Chapter Seventeen—Chomped, Whomped and Stomped
Standing side by side in silence, Olga Flack and Rapido Clint watched Beryl Snowhill taking her departure. After she had gone beyond their range of vision, the woman let out an angry snort and turned towards the small Texan with the intention of giving instructions. However, without waiting to hear what she was going to say, he bent over the figure which was crouching huddled and moaning at their feet. Grasping the Right Hon. Horatio Benner by the back of his jacket’s collar and the seat of his trousers, Clint displayed the strength of a Hercules in miniature by hauling him into an upright posture. Nor did the Texan allow his attentions to end there.
Before the M.P. could begin to comprehend what was happening, he found himself being hustled towards the black 1927 Daimler Royal Double-Six-50 car—the Gambel brothers had cured its engine’s malfunction shortly after Olga’s arrival from Swindon—in which his party had traveled from Charles Wagon’s training stables. All the false courage induced by the marihuana had been driven from him by the Texan’s blow, but he started to struggle weakly and babble a protest just as he reached the vehicle. Instantly, he was twirled around with an irresistible force and rammed backwards against its side. The powerful hands left their holds on his garments, but his assailant’s right forearm was thrust savagely across the front of his throat, effectively silencing him.
‘Keep your god-damned mouth shut!’ Clint commanded, his softly spoken words charged with more menace than many a larger man could have attained with shouted threats.
‘Just make one more sound, or cause me another lil mite of fuss, and I’ll kick your teeth down your throat, then stomp your face flat for mumbling. Get the hell into that back seat. Pronto!’
On being released, although he had no knowledge of Spanish, the rapidity with which Benner responded suggested he was aware that the word pronto meant with all haste! when employed in such a manner. Nor did he offer to point out that, on the way to Little Venner, he had automatically claimed the right to ride at the front alongside Olga. Instead, he turned as soon as he was released and jerked open the appropriate door. Practically diving in, he moved straight across and crouched in the furthest corner. Nor did he say a word when, throwing an anything but sympathetic look at him, the woman took her place behind the steering wheel.
‘Looks like we’re not any too soon in lighting a shuck, 55 ma’am,’ Clint remarked, as he sat on the Daimler’s front passenger seat and
closed the door, nodding to where the bulky shape of the village constable was approaching. ‘And it’s real lucky I was on hand to cut in when I did.’
‘I hope for your sake that my father agrees with you,’ Olga answered, setting the vehicle into motion. She realized that the Texan had acted in their best interests, but wanted to try and destroy his attitude of calm assurance.
‘You know he will,’ Clint corrected, with the kind of relaxed self-assurance which—particularly as she knew he was right—irritated the woman. He indicated Benner with a contemptuous jerk of his right thumb. ‘Fact being, lady, I’d say your daddy’ll allow I didn’t hit that muggle-smoking 56 son-of-a-bi… gun hard enough, what I found him doing.’
‘He was only having a little harmless fun,’ Olga protested, determined not to show her agreement with the Texan’s summation of how her father would react to the news, but her voice lacked conviction.
‘That wasn’t harmless, nor fun,’ Clint contradicted firmly. ‘And you-all know it. From what I saw of her and the way you-all’ve been telling it, that lil lady’s for real high toned quality. Her kin-folks’d get’s riled as a tail-stomped and stick-teased diamondback 57 was she to go home and tell them’s how that loco yahoo’d started to lay hands on and mean-mouth her like he was doing.’
‘You seem very concerned about her,’ Olga sniffed, seeking for some other way to avoid conceding that the Texan was correct.
‘Seeing’s I’ve been took on’s hired help, I’m concerned about anything that could spoil whatever it is your daddy’s setting up,’ Clint replied, increasing the woman’s annoyance by displaying neither resentment nor any other visible emotion over what she had hoped would be a counter irritant. ‘She did me a good turn this afternoon, for sure. Happen she hadn’t helped me to get clear, there’d’ve been fuss with Wagon and his two yahoos—’