by J. T. Edson
There was a low rumble of concurrence from five of the other six, each—apart from the abstainer—the leader of a criminal organization in a section of Texas, who were seated with the speakers!
Glancing from one to another of the group., Turtle was pleased he had taken the precaution of insisting neither they nor any of the bodyguards—limited to three apiece—he allowed them to bring were armed. Insisting the same be done by their representatives to himself and his trio, he had had them all searched and whatever weapons they carried removed on arrival. Either it had not occurred to any of his visitors, or whoever thought of it had also decided against mentioning the matter, but nobody had pointed out they were in a place he owned and that its employees were not included in the searching. Having been placed in a waterproof bag, all the weapons removed from them had been concealed beneath the mass of cubes in the large ice box and Turtle had described them with his heavy-handed sense of humor as ‘frappe hog-legs.’
Having grown increasingly concerned over the amount of calls over the telephone being made by his somewhat less powerful contemporaries from various parts of Texas, and being aware that the lines connecting them could be ‘tapped’ by law enforcement agencies, the leader of the largest organization had called them together to discuss face to face the worsening of the situation which had arisen after the killing of Sergeants Jubal Branch and Hans Soehnen. Earlier optimistic hopes that the peace officers would soon slacken their activities had failed to materialize. In fact, the harassment had grown worse. There was no field of crime which had not suffered disruption and serious loss of revenue from the onslaught. Therefore, every one of the gang leaders present—and those who had not been invited, or declined to come—were feeling the pinch to a far greater extent than when Talbot ‘Dapper Dan’ Sharmain made his first telephone call of protest to Hogan Turtle.
‘Goddamn it!’ growled Royston Benedict, whose organization controlled much of the criminal activity in the Texas Panhandle county. Shortish, thickset, dark of complexion, even more than Horopolis, he seemed unsuited to the semi-formal attire he too had been compelled to wear. ‘For what you get paid, you goddamned shysters ought to be able to do something about stopping the bastards.’
‘There are limits to how much we of the Bar can help criminals to get away with,’ replied the man to whom the comment was directed, not having troubled to conceal the distaste he felt over hearing members of his profession referred to as “goddamned shysters”. He had a well-deserved reputation for being the most unscrupulous defense attorney in Texas, fully conversant with every means by which the course of justice could be perverted and always willing to employ them for the benefit of those clients able to meet his high fees. Nevertheless, he always kept up a pretense of being completely honest and incorruptible. ‘The law is undoubtedly an ass in many respects, but there are limits to how asinine it can be!’
‘I’ve a notion all that goddamned fancy lip flapping mean’s how you can’t do nothing for us,’ Benedict interrupted dryly.
‘It means, the lawyer corrected with the offended dignity of one who knew he was safe from reprisals under the circumstances. ‘That, unless the authorities should go outside the proscribed bounds in doing so—which I assure you I have checked they have not so far—there is nothing we can legally do to prevent them from interfering when dealing with what we all know are the committing of various crimes.’
Six foot tall, broad of shoulder, in his mid-fifties, Counselor Reece Mervyn was the best dressed of the gathering and, with the exception of Turtle and Sharmain, most at ease in such surroundings. He had the appearance of a former athlete whose good living had made him run somewhat to seed. There was a tinge of grey in the thick brown hair set in a series of precise waves. While otherwise good looking in an obvious way, it was apparent his nose had resisted setting after being badly broken. Everybody present knew this injury had not been caused by an accident in sport, but had come about as a result of his proclivity for feminine company other than that of his wife. 30
‘Like Roy said, fancy lip-flapping like that don’t help,’ Horopolis grumbled. ‘Goddamn it, can’t any of those politicians we’ve been sloughing cash to for years do nothing to stop ’em?’
‘Unfortunately, they have always been in a small minority,’ Mervyn answered, the question once again having been clearly meant for him. ‘And, like all politicians, especially of their kind, they know when it wouldn’t be wise for them to go against the tide.’
‘Well something’s got to be done and pronto!’ Benedict stated.
‘And we all know what that something is,’ Turtle claimed, running his gaze in a pointed fashion around the table.
‘Er … if my legal services are no longer required …?’ Mervyn put in, concluding the reason of the gathering was about to be raised and, having no desire to be present while whatever illegality might be decided upon was discussed, starting to ease back his chair.
‘Very well, Reece,’ Turtle assented. Knowing the lawyer invariably kept up the pretense of honesty, requiring every client to pretend to be an innocent victim of circumstances, he was aware of the true motive behind the intended departure. Deciding against exercising his sense of humor by pretending to insist Mervyn remained, he was on the point of authorizing the absence. Then, seeing the direction in which the Counselor was gazing, he continued in a manner which was clearly prohibitive, ‘If you have any notions about her, I’d advise you to forget them.’
‘Don’t tell me that you’ve put your brand on her, Hogan?’ Sharmain inquired, also having had his eye on the cause of the comment.
Clad in an even more abbreviated version of the attire worn by a ‘French maid’ on the stage, particularly in farces or musical plays supposedly based in that country, the girl carrying a tray with various smoking materials, about whom the remarks were being passed, was worthy of the attention she was receiving from practically every male customer. The décolleté of her black satin dress was bordering on the indecorous and its hem—above shapely legs in sheer black silk stockings—extended barely two inches below the well-rounded curves of her buttocks. Although they were all picked for their looks, she stood out from the other similarly attired female employees moving about the room. Not one of them, conforming as they did to the modern trend for a slim figure, could match the rich curves she was displaying. Attractive and with rather more fiery red hair than might currently be considered fashionable, as she passed between the tables carrying her tray of wares, the skimpy nature of the garment established beyond any doubt that her Junoesque contours were produced solely by nature.
‘Not at all, Talbot,’ Turtle denied. ‘Beau Wiggins tried to yesterday, just after she’d arrived to take the job and changed into her costume.’
‘Tried?’ Sharmain repeated, knowing the man in question to be his host’s chief bodyguard and had a less than savory reputation where treatment accorded to female employees was concerned.
‘Tried,’ Turtle confirmed. ‘It seems that, when he walked up behind her and slipped his hands under her skirt to … er, well you know what he meant to do … she turned ’round, rammed her fingers into his eyes and kicked him where he’d know he’d been kicked.’
‘And she’s still walking around?’ Benedict inquired incredulously, equally aware of Wiggins’ habits.
‘Beau didn’t feel up to doing anything about it straight away,’ Turtle explained. ‘Which was fortunate.’
‘She sure was,’ Horopolis grinned, being equally well informed about the bodyguard.
‘Not just for her, Dimitri,’ the host of the gathering corrected, one of his traits being never to employ a sobriquet unless intending something bad would befall the person he was addressing. ‘In fact, as soon as he was able to understand, I told Beau he mustn’t touch her.’
‘Getting kind hearted, Hogan?’ another of the lesser gang leaders suggested with a sly grin at the rest of his contemporaries.
‘Not so you would notice it, Wilbur,’ Turtle replied and t
here was a trace of warning in his voice. ‘I gave her the job as a favor to young Big Andy Counter, who it seems has designs on whatever virtue she has left, and, with the heat that’s on these days, the last thing I need is to have more of it coming my way because she wound up in hospital after Beau had worked her over.’
‘Times have changed,’ Benedict commented dryly, although he realized how much pressure a member of the oil rich Counter family could bring to bear on the local peace officers if they felt it was necessary. 31
‘They have,’ Turtle confirmed. However, although he did not add a warning of, ‘But I haven’t’, it was implied in his tone and attitude. ‘And there’s only one way we can get them back to normal.’
‘That’s why we’ve got together,’ Sharmain conceded, turning his gaze reluctantly back to the table from a sight he had found much more diverting than the grim faces of the men around it.
Having halted not too far away to serve a customer who was lounging alone at the end of the bar, even though nominally standing still, the rear view which the fiery haired cigarette girl was presenting was made even more sensually attractive by the rotating motion she was contriving to impart to her shapely buttocks.
Even though the customer was of a striking appearance, it was unlikely at that moment if any other man in the room was taking the slightest notice of him. Clearly young, he was tall and slim. Having his shining coal black hair parted straight down the center, his handsome brown face and moustache added to the Hispanic flavor of his attire. He had on a snugly fitting black bolero jacket much decorated by gold and silver braid as were the outer seams of his tight legged, albeit flaring bottomed, grey trousers. His frilly bosomed white shirt was clearly silk and each ‘wing’ of his black bow tie was embellished by what appeared to be a diamond. Not unexpectedly, for one dressed in such a way, his well-polished black boots were sharp toed and high heeled.
Considering subsequent developments, it might—depending upon one’s point of view—have proved advantageous if more attention had been paid by some of the men present to what happened while the cigarette girl was serving her current customer, rather than enjoying the view she was offering!
Pausing at the entrance to the main dining room of the Turtleback Cottage, Sergeant Alvin Dustine ‘Rapido Clint’ Fog was dressed in the style required before one was granted admission to one of the most expensive ‘night spots’ in the seaport of Brownsville!
Having glanced in the full length mirror alongside the alcove of the hat check girl in charge of the cloakroom, the young Texas Ranger had been pleased by the appearance he saw reflected. Studying the excellent fit of his tuxedo and its accoutrements, he had wondered whether his illustrious grandfather had also given the impression of being better dressed than was usual—no matter what the quality of attire being worn—when adopting the personality of their mutual alter ego, Rapido Clint. He considered, with satisfaction, that he looked much more impressive than usual in the semi-formal garments he was wearing. Certainly the men positioned on either side of the main entrance, obviously keeping watch to prevent unwanted arrivals, had seen nothing about him to which they could object. What was more, as had proved the case on other occasions, if he had been searched, he was confident that something seemingly innocuous he was carrying in the right side pocket of his trousers would not be recognized for the most effective weapon it could become in hands as skillful as his own. 32
Glancing around the room, Rapido received in passing a nod from one of those already present which signified a prearranged precaution had been taken. Satisfied on that most important point, he strolled forward exuding nonchalance and with his right hand in his trousers’ pocket. Apparently by accident, he made his way towards where Hogan Turtle and the other gang leaders were seated at a table some distance away from everybody else. However, before he reached the open space separating them from possible eavesdroppers, he was brought to a halt.
‘The bar’s over that way, mister,’ Beauregard Wiggins stated, rising from where he sat at a table with the senior bodyguards of his employer’s guests. Towering over the young Texan he was addressing, his eyes were still inflamed from having the knuckles of the cigarette girl thrust and ground into them when he tried to molest her the previous afternoon. ‘There’s nothing for you over that way.’
‘I’d reckon I’m the best, judge of that, hombre,’ Rapido replied, his manner deliberately cocksure and arrogant.
‘The hell you are … short stuff!’ Wiggins denied, reacting as the sergeant had planned, and giving a gesture intended to bring over two of the night club’s bouncers.
‘You figure on making me change my mind all by your lonesome?’ Rapido challenged derisively. ‘Or do you reckon you’ll be needing those two jaspers you’ve just wig-wagged to come on over?’
‘I’ll be enough!’ Wiggins stated in a snarl, conscious of the other senior bodyguards watching him and aware that his reputation for toughness had been weakened by his being unable to take revenge for the treatment he had suffered at the hands of the cigarette girl.
Saying the words, the big man reached out to grip his much smaller intended victim by the shoulders!
As Wiggins did so, it seemed a change came over the other!
Suddenly, such was the strength of his personality, Rapido no longer appeared small to his would be assailant!
Instead, the small Texan gave the impression to the burly bodyguard of having taken on size and heft which made him loom larger than anybody else in the room!
The sensation caused Wiggins to freeze into immobility!
Making the most of the situation he had hoped might be created, as it often had in the past at times of similar stress, Rapido brought his right hand from the pocket. It was not empty, but grasped the object which he had counted upon having been dismissed as innocuous if he had been searched on entering the night club. About six inches in length, it resembled a piece cut from the oak handle of a broom. Although his hand concealed them, there were several grooves carved around the middle to offer a firmer grasp and each end was rounded. Harmless though it appeared, it was a most effective—albeit basically primitive—weapon which he had been taught to wield very effectively.
Driven forward in a sharp and thrusting motion, the rounded end of the yawara stick protruding before the small Texan’s thumb and forefinger rammed with considerable force into Wiggins’ solar plexus. Letting out a strangled croaking profanity, he reeled back with his hands going to the point of impact. Unfortunately for him, his retreat was neither fast nor far enough to avoid what happened next. Whipping up his right arm, Rapido directed the opposite end of the weapon in a backhand swing to the center of the bodyguard’s face. Sent onwards by the powerful blow, blood spraying from his nose—which subsequently proved to be badly splintered rather than just broken—Wiggins twirled and ran headfirst into the wall with a force which rendered him unconscious.
Looking from one to the other of the converging bouncers, but paying no discernible attention to the commotion aroused by his actions throughout the rest of the room, the small Texan pointed elsewhere and said in a mocking tone one word which came out as, ‘Nooo!’
Swinging their gaze in the direction being indicated, the bouncers received a surprise!
Startled exclamations burst from the other senior bodyguards as they too looked towards the bar!
Although his attire was so tight fitting it seemed impossible for him to have been able to bring such a large firearm undetected past the experienced watchers at the front entrance, the slim Hispanic looking young man by the bar was pointing one towards the table occupied by the gang leaders. Without knowing it was a British made Webley-Fosbery ‘automatic’ revolver, but realizing the danger it posed to their employer, the bouncers came to a halt. Drawing a similar conclusion and all too conscious of being unarmed themselves, the senior bodyguards also decided it was advisable to take no hostile action.
‘Sorry to disturb all you good folks,’ Rapido called, when satisfied the s
ituation was in hand. ‘Go on with what you’re doing. There’ll be no more fuss.’ Having waited until his suggestion was being acted upon, he returned the yawara stick to his trousers pocket and crossed to the table for which he had been making when interrupted by Wiggins. ‘Howdy, you-all, Mr. Turtle, gents. The name’s “Rapido Clint”. My bueno amigo Comanch’ over by the bar and I’ve just recently got back from fighting for General Lee Christmas in a revolution down to one of those “banana republics”. 33 We’re needing work and reckon there’s something we can do for you-all.’
Concluding the introduction, the small Texan was ready to take whatever action might be called for as a result of the name he had given to make himself acquainted. He had used it the previous year while engaged upon a case which took him to England and he had been exposed as being a sergeant of the Texas Rangers by a message he believed had originated from Turtle. He also realized the gang leader was aware of the true identity of the original ‘Rapido Clint’. However, despite having an explanation for both which he hoped would be acceptable, he was alert for any indication of trouble.
‘And what might that be, Mr. Clint?’ Turtle inquired, waving away those of his employees who were approaching.
‘Getting the Chopper for you,’ Rapido supplied. ‘Because you gents have gotten together here tonight to talk about how to have it done.’
‘Who the hell told you tha—?’ Royston Benedict commenced, anticipating a similar question from the other gang leaders.