Bodie 1

by Neil Hunter

  ‘Hold the son of a bitch still!’ a man’s voice rasped out of the mist

  ‘Easy for you to talk, Redigo,’ a second voice whined. ‘You ain’t got to hold the big bastard on his feet! ‘ .

  ‘Don’t fret, Banjo, you’ll get your fuckin’ turn. Right now he’s mine!’

  The final word was emphasized by a vicious blow to Bodie’s taut stomach. White hot shafts of pain exploded. Bodie went up on his toes, part out of agony, part out of a realization that if he didn’t start fighting back these unknown attackers were going to beat him senseless. As he stretched Bodie felt the man behind him lose his grip slightly. Coming down onto the soles of his feet again Bodie let his knees bend, then thrust up and back, putting everything he had into the sudden move. He heard the man behind him yell a warning. Then the man was smashed hard against the side of the building on that side of the alley. Bodie felt the hands on him drop away. He twisted round, swinging both arms up, fists clenched together, clubbing the winded man full in the face. There was the sound of breaking bone and the man’s face was suddenly wet with blood, his jaw sagging loose.

  The moment he’d hit the man Bodie dropped to a crouch, turning to face the second of his attackers, the one he’d heard called Redigo. He caught a glimpse of a hulking shape, a tall, big-built man with a gaunt and angry face. Redigo came at Bodie in a rush, arms flailing wildly. Bodie let him come close then stepped aside, easily avoiding Redigo’s bull-like charge. As Redigo lumbered by Bodie drove his right foot up into the man’s groin. Redigo let out an agonized bellow. Before he could control his forward motion he smashed bodily into the building. Following him, Bodie took hold of his shirt, yanking him away from the building. Redigo gave a wild curse and swung a huge fist. Bodie batted it aside, then punched Redigo in the face. Redigo’s thick lips were pulped, blood spurting. He coughed, spitting blood and broken teeth. He was still spitting when Bodie hit him again and again and kept hitting him until Redigo was a moaning, bloody wreck, crawling round the alley on his hands and knees.

  Bodie took out his Colt and went to where the other man, Banjo, slumped awkwardly against the wall of the building. He had both hands cupped against his bleeding face. Banjo stumbled back as he saw Bodie approaching. He stood very still when he saw the gun in Bodie’s hand.

  ‘All right, you bastard, talk to me,’ Bodie snapped. He put his left hand flat against Banjo’s chest, pinning the man to the wall at his back, then placed the muzzle of his Colt against Banjo’s check. ‘Why?’

  Banjo’s eyes rolled in their sockets. He shook his head mumbling through his bloody fingers.

  Bodie cased the Colt’s hammer back. He saw thick beads of sweat form on Banjo’s face. ‘You better start giving me the answers I need, feller,’ he said. ‘Don’t be fooled. I’ll kill you soon as look at you!’

  Banjo stared into Bodie’s angry face, looking beyond the bloody features, and found himself eye-to-eye with Death. ‘Back off, mister,’ he begged. He lowered his hands from his broken jaw. He could only speak slowly, with great difficulty and pain. ‘It was ... Cremont. Ashley Cremont. He wanted you worked over bad.’

  ‘Who the hell is Cremont?’

  ‘The feller. . . you. . .had words with on the street.'

  ‘In the gray suit?’

  Banjo nodded. ‘Cremont walks . . . tall in San Rico, mister. You don’t talk back to Ashley Cremont.’

  ‘How much did he pay you?’ Bodie demanded.

  Banjo groaned as pain flared in his jaw. ‘Hundred dollars each to rough you up and ride you out of town.’

  ‘Give it me,’ Bodie said.

  Banjo fumbled a roll of banknotes from his shirt pocket and handed it to Bodie. ‘What you going to do with it?’

  Bodie put away his gun. He smiled at Banjo. A wolf's smile. Cold and merciless. ‘I’m going to give the man his money back. Got to be fair. You boys didn’t earn it.’

  He turned and left the alley. Crossing the Plaza he went into the jail. Marshal Pritt glanced up from his desk. He stared at Bodie’s bloody face.

  ‘What the hell happened to you?’

  Bodie waved the crumpled roll of notes under Pritt’s fat nose, ‘That happened! Two bastards jumped me. Names of Banjo and Redigo. They were supposed to beat the shit out of me and get me out of town.’

  Pritt’s face paled. ‘Who in hell would ...?’ His voice trailed off and he stared hard at Bodie, his face coloring rapidly.

  ‘Cremont!’ Bodie said softly, making no attempt to conceal the menace in his tone.

  ‘You expecting me to do something about it?’

  Bodie shook his head. ‘No chance, Pritt! This is all mine!’

  Pritt came halfway up out of his chair as Bodie made for the door. ‘For God’s sake, just take it easy. Cremont ain’t some forty-a-month cowhand! The man owns most of San Rico!’

  Bodie paused at the door. ‘Then he ought to hire better people to do his dirty work. Where will I find him, Pritt?’

  The marshal sighed in defeat. ‘Over the street. He’s got an office in back of the store. After church on Sundays he takes his missus home then spends a few hours working. I tell you, though, he won’t like being disturbed. Nobody ever goes near him on Sunday when he’s working.’

  ‘Well he’s going to have his routine changed today.’

  Pritt grabbed a paper off his desk. ‘Hey! I never did get round to askin’ your name. I need it for the paperwork on these bounty claims. ‘

  ‘Just put Bodie!’

  Marshal Pritt stared after the tall man as he crossed the street. He got up and peered through the dusty office window. Jesus H. Christ! If only he’d known! He would have kept his mouth shut. There he’d been near enough arguing with the deadliest man hunter of them all. The man with a reputation so high he made most of the so called gunfighters look like little old ladies. And now he was here in San Rico. About to walk in on Ashley Cremont and bust his ass! Pritt had no love for Cremont. The man was a damned nuisance. Throwing his weight about all the damn time. Well he wouldn’t get much change from Bodie. Not from the man they called The Stalker! ‘

  Bodie wasn’t aware that Marshal Pritt was watching him as he crossed the street. Not that it made any difference. Ashley Cremont was the only matter to concern him at that moment. The man’s name was painted in big bold letters over the front of the store. The glass-paned double doors were locked. Bodie put his shoulder to the junction of the two doors and shoved. He felt the doors open inwards a little, then hold against the lock. Bodie gave another, harder shove. Something splintered and the doors swung open. Bodie went inside, closing the doors behind him. He crossed the shadowed floor of the store, making his way behind the counter and though the door at the rear. He found himself in a narrow passage. A number of doors led off to various sections of the rear area. At the far end of the passage was a final door. There was a small wooden plaque on the door with gold-painted letters which read: Ashley

  Cremont - Private Office - No Admission. Bodie reached for the doorknob, then paused, listening.

  Whatever work Ashley Cremont indulged himself in on Sunday mornings it seemed that the services of a female were required. The sounds coming from behind the closed door indicated that the work was most likely to be of the physical kind. Bodie put his hand out and turned the doorknob. The door was locked. Stepping back Bodie put his shoulder to the door, the force of his blow snapping the lock and sending the door flying open.

  The girl standing in the center of the office carpet couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old. Her naked body still held the ripe freshness of youth. Creamy white flesh, firm and smooth. Soft dark hair tumbling in thick curls to the upper slopes of her high, ample young breasts. Rosy pink nipples jutting erect and soft, silky hair nestling at the junction of her long, shapely thighs. As the door crashed open she jerked her head towards the sound. Apart from that she exhibited no reaction to Bodie’s sudden appearance.

  Ashley Cremont, however, gave a more positive response. He threw Bodie a wi
ld-eyed look and began to get up off his knees. Cremont was kneeling in front of the girl, naked himself except for a pair of calf-length gray socks held up by suspenders. His thin, pale body looked almost skeletal against the girl’s healthy development. Jerking to his feet Cremont uttered a startled cry and lunged for his clothing draped on a nearby chair. Bodie blocked his way. Red faced, Cremont made a grab for his clothes. Bodie slapped him across the face with the back of one hand. Cremont stumbled away. He suddenly became aware of his exposed manhood, thrusting stiffly erect, and made a vain attempt to cover himself.

  ‘God, man, what kind of an animal are you?’ Cremont blustered.

  ‘Wasn’t me on my knees smelling the daisies, ‘Bodie reminded him, glancing at the girl. She had retreated to the big desk standing in one corner of the room and had leaned her firm buttocks against one edge. Her eyes caught Bodie’s and she smiled at him as if to say, I don’t give a damn!

  ‘Just what do you want?’ Cremont demanded, though his tone lost a lot of power due to his nakedness.

  Bodie held up the crumpled money he’d taken from Banjo. ‘For a businessman, Cremont, you make lousy decisions. Next time you want somebody beaten up pick men who can do the job. I’ve brought your money back. Those tramps didn’t earn it!’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Cremont insisted.

  ‘The hell you don’t,’ Bodie said, losing all patience. He punched Cremont In the mouth. Cremont went flying back, blood gushing from his pulped lips. He stumbled and fell, then began to crawl away from Bodie’s advancing figure, whimpering softly. Bodie reached down and hauled Cremont to his feet. He spun the man round to face him then hit him again. The force of the blow spun Cremont across the room. He banged up against the wall, clawing at the wood panels. His legs gave and he slumped to the floor where he lay in a lewd, sprawled out position. Bodie crumpled up the money in his fist and dropped it on Cremont’s blood streaked body.

  ‘Hey, what about me?’ the girl asked.

  Bodie glanced at her and smiled. ‘Honey, if I had the time you wouldn’t need to ask that question. I was you I’d get the hell out of here, because when that son of a bitch wakes up he ain’t going to be in the best mood.’

  The girl crossed the room and began to get dressed. ‘I think you’re right, mister,’ she said. ‘He isn’t all that cheerful when he’s happy. You know what I mean?’

  ‘I sure do, honey,’ Bodie said, and left. He had an appointment at the barbershop and he didn’t want to get there and find the damn place closed, it being Sunday and all.

  Chapter Eight

  Anderson’s Halt was an unlovely collection of buildings squatting on the north bank of the San Saba. The river ran west to east across the Edwards Plateau and the grubby little town, with little that could be called appealing, deposited its rubbish in the muddy waters of the meandering stream. From the original way station Anderson’s Halt had mushroomed into a hybrid town. A hotchpotch collection of structures, each built where its particular owner or company decided was best for his or its interests. There had been little planning during the new construction, so that the main street of Anderson’s Halt was a crooked, dusty ribbon winding its way through the buildings.

  Riding in, late in the evening, Bodie noticed with weary eyes that there was at least a telegraph office. He pushed his horse on down the street. It may have been late, but Anderson’s Halt was far from being ready to retire. A train was standing in the depot, muted lamplight showing behind blind-covered carriage windows. The locomotive belched clouds of smoke from its stack and white clouds of steam from hissing valves. A small knot of passengers moved from the train, across the street and into the semi-comfort of the Transit House, a hotel run by the railroad and the stage line. Riding on by the depot Bodie moved along the street. Here and there he saw businesses still open for custom: a couple of restaurants, gambling parlors and, of course, the saloons. They blazed with light and hummed with activity, and none more than the Traveler’s Choice. It was the largest and the most garish of the lot. Light spilled from every window. So did noise. There was a constant roar of men talking, shouting, laughing, arguing, and shrill sounds coming from female throats. Somewhere, almost lost beneath the uproar, Bodie could hear a piano.

  Bodie was almost deafened as he stepped inside. He threaded his way through the crowd, making his way to the bar where he ordered a beer. He was surprised to find it cold. In most saloons beer was usually flat and lukewarm.

  As he drank Bodie scanned the saloon. It didn’t take him long to locate what he was looking for. At the far end of the big room a section had been partitioned off. On the other side of the partition were the gambling tables. Every table was busy, too. Bodie saw a girl, dressed in a flimsy, scarlet dress, cut low at the front to reveal most of her full white breasts. She caught Bodie’s eye and came over. She was about twenty-five, with curly red hair and eyes that had seen a lot for her age. She stood, one hand on her curved hip, surveying Bodie as if she was sizing up a champion bull. .

  ‘Ain’t seen you round here before, big boy,’ she said. Her voice was soft, with a pleasing drawl to it.

  ‘That’s because I ain’t been here before,’ Bodie told her. ‘Now, you wouldn’t be in the mood for a drink, would you?’

  The girl laughed. ‘I declare you read my mind!’

  Bodie beckoned the closest bartender over. ‘Drink for the lady,’ he said. ‘Hey, don’t charge me two dollars for a glass of colored lemonade. Give her a real drink.’

  ‘Thanks, big boy, I could do with one. Jesus, I’ve been on my feet so damn long, my behind don’t remember what sitting is any more. ‘

  Bodie waited until her drink arrived. He picked up his own glass and motioned for the girl to follow him. Bodie stopped by a table where two grizzled cowhands were stolidly sitting over empty glasses.

  ‘The boys here won’t mind movin’ on now they’ve finished their drinks. Not when there’s a lady waiting to sit down. Will you, boys?’

  ‘Go to hell, mister, and take the ass with you!’ one of the cowhands said.

  Bodie leaned over and spoke softly in the man’s ear. When he straightened up the cowhand stared at him, his face paling a little. After a few seconds he stood up, still glaring at Bodie. His partner rose, too. For a few seconds the two parties stared at each other. Then the cowhands turned and pushed their way out of the saloon.

  Bodie placed the drinks on the table and they both sat down. Facing the girl Bodie watched her drink.

  ‘Hey, what did you say to those cowboys to make ’em move so fast?’ she asked.

  A smile flickered across Bodie’s face for an instant. But he didn’t say a word. The girl dismissed the question from her mind and concentrated on her drink.

  ‘You don’t know how good it is to be sitting down,’ she began after a minute. ‘You want anything tonight you just ask for it.’

  ‘If you feel like trading all I want is information,’ Bodie told her.

  The girl shrugged. ‘And I thought you were going to be fun.’

  ‘The night ain’t over yet,’ Bodie smiled.

  ‘I’ll keep you to that,’ the girl said. ‘Now what’s all this about information?’

  ‘You’ve got a feller working here on the tables. Name of Jim Kelly.’

  The girl nodded. ‘Yeah! Old quick fingers himself! Mister, it just isn’t safe to get near that creep. He’s the kind who sees a girl in a skirt and just has to put his hands up it!’

  ‘Point him out for me,’ Bodie said. ‘But don’t make a thing of it.’

  The girl frowned, wondering if she ought to get involved. She decided there was no reason why she shouldn’t.

  ‘See the first table? There’s a big man in a gray suit. Bald head. On his right is a skinny feller in black. Shirt with a lacy front. Black hair all greased down. Little moustache. That’s Kelly. Makes me shudder just looking at him. I don’t know what it is but he upsets me. Maybe I don’t like his wandering hands. Or his wandering eyes. You’d think I
’d be used to it working in this game. But not with him. Not in a hundred years.’

  ‘Not one of your favorite people?’ Bodie took a good look at the man named Kelly. Just another gambler. A fancy dresser who most probably imagined himself a real ladies man. Kelly had a sharp, almost sly face. There and then, Bodie decided that Jim Kelly was not a man to trust.

  ‘You got business with Kelly?’ the girl inquired, studying Bodie across the rim of her glass.

  ‘A little,’ Bodie answered. ‘Won’t take long.’

  The girl smiled at that. She leaned forward a little. ‘I’m kind of pleased about that.’

  ‘What time does he quit for the night?’

  ‘Kelly? Oh, usually around midnight. He’s no late night bird. Got a room at the hotel just up the street. ‘

  ‘Thanks,’ Bodie said. ‘You want another drink?’

  The girl tapped her empty glass on the table. ‘Guess so. This one seems to have sprung a leak.’ She grinned suddenly at him. ‘Hey, big boy, you trying to get me drunk or something?’

  ‘Never know your luck.’

  ‘What do they call you, big boy?’

  ‘Bodie.’

  ‘Well, Bodie, I finish around midnight, too. And they call me Sherry.’

  They shared a second drink and then Sherry reluctantly went back to her job. Bodie watched her move from table to table, coaxing the customers to buy drinks. Laughing with them, flirting, teasing. He could see she was a popular girl. There was enough of her genuine personality coming through to conceal the cold facts of her ultimate aim. To get the customers to spend their money. On drink. Or on gambling. Or on one of the girls who might be willing to provide more than just casual chatter.