by J. T. Edson
‘How about it, Mr. Turtle?’ the small Texan inquired, before the query could be completed. ‘Happen you take us on, you’re going to get a bonus. So do we talk turkey?’
‘What would the bonus be?’ the massive gang leader countered, but was not entirely able to conceal his amusement over the way in which Benedict was being treated.
‘A son-of-a-bitch from the Texas Rangers called Alvin Fog went over to England pretending to be me, and a gal whose big high mucky-muck owlhoot daddy he helped kill got word to me’s how she’d admire to have him made wolf bait,’ the small Texan explained, watching for and failing to see any suggestion that his story was not believed by the man for whom it was intended. 34 ‘But, happen you make the price right and take us on, I’m willing to forget doing that and stirring up more fuss like you’ve got on your hands right now.’
‘That’s most considerate of you, Mr. Clint. Have a seat, please,’ Turtle said, the invitation being given without so much as a glance for confirmation from the other gang leaders. Instead, after the chair left vacant by the departure of Counselor Reece Mervin had been occupied by the newcomer, he pointed to where Sergeant Mark “Comanche Blood” Scrapton still leaned by the bar, although now with the revolver dangling towards the floor. ‘How did your friend manage to bring that gun in here?’
‘He comes from a long line of Comanche medicine men on his great grand—daddy’s side,’ Rapido replied, instead of telling how the weapon had been smuggled in by Rita Yarborough —who had obtained a position as cigarette girl, with the willing assistance of Andrew Mark “Big Andy” Counter,—under the goods on her tray and delivered on the pretense of making a sale to his companion. Then, making it clear he felt nothing more need be added to the subject, he continued, ‘Well, gents. Do we have us a deal?’
‘First of all,’ Turtle said, almost mildly it seemed, before any of the others could express a point of view. ‘Are you a descendant of the “Rapido Clint” my grandfather knew?’
‘Nope,’ Rapido lied, albeit with a convincing simulation of veracity. ‘But, going by what I’ve heard of him, I wish I had been.’
‘I had an idea it might just be a “summer name”,’ Turtle declared, using the old range country term for an alias.
‘Why sure,’ the small Texan agreed. ‘I just took it because I liked all I’d heard about him.’
‘We won’t ask your real name,’ the massive gang leader promised.
‘I wouldn’t want anybody to,’ Rapido stated, this time speaking the unvarnished truth and putting a timbre of warning into his voice. Then, adopting the aura of one determined to get down to business without further delay, he continued, ‘Well, gents, do you want Comanch’ and me to get the Chopper for you?’
‘We do,’ Turtle assented, after having glanced at and received nods of confirmation from his fellow gang leaders; all of whom had shared his unspoken disinclination to use one of their own men for the task. ‘But I thought you professional kil—gentlemen of your occupation—never went up against one another?’ .
‘I’d bill my own mother if the price was right,’ the small Texan declared. ‘And I reckon the price’ll be right for Comanch’ and me to take out the Chopper.’
‘It will be,’ Turtle asserted. ‘The only trouble is, if what I’ve found out is correct, you may have to go to England to get him.’
Chapter Seven – I Was Worried For Your Sake
‘Are you all right, Lady Herban?’ asked a masculine voice.
‘Rather better than that slut you provided is, I’d say,’ a feminine speaker replied, her voice implying satisfaction. ‘She’ll be feeling far worse than I do.’
‘You certainly roughed her up good and proper, Your Ladyship.’ the man went on, but his tone held no suggestion of sympathy for the recipient of the ‘roughing up good and proper’; rather the opposite, in fact.
‘I did rather, didn’t I?’ the woman admitted. Then, her tone suggesting she was indifferent over the possibility of an answer in the affirmative, she inquired, ‘You didn’t mind me doing it, did you?’
‘Not at all,’ the man answered. ‘In fact, Nickerson’s been getting idle recently and needed to be taught a lesson. But I’ll admit, even though you told me about those unarmed combat lessons you’ve been taking, I was worried for your sake when you asked if you could have a go at it with one of them. That’s one reason why I picked on her and told her to take it easy on you. She’s done them before with the other girls and, being idle like I told you, I reckoned I could count on her not to be too rough.’
‘You didn’t need to tell her to “take it easy” on my account, Churgers,’ the woman protested, in a way which indicated she considered the other a social inferior. ‘As you saw, I know how to take care of myself. By the way, considering what I did to her, I don’t suppose there’s any danger of her complaining to the police?’
‘You’ve got nothing to worry about on that score. She may be stupid as well as bone idle, but knowing what’d happen to her if she did, she’s got more sense than try anything like that.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. Somehow, I don’t think my darling husband would be any too pleased if he should get to kn… Not that he would give a hoot, of course, Churgers. We go our separate ways and…!’
‘I understand, Lady Mary,’ the man claimed, as the woman’s amendment to what she had clearly realized—almost too late—would have been a most indiscreet remark was brought to an equally indecisive end. His tone indicated his understanding of all its ramifications, and that he was seeking to reassure her. ‘And you don’t have noth—anything to worry about from Nickerson.’
‘Or anybody else, I hope,’ the woman said and there was a note of warning in her voice.
Without either speaker realizing it, their conversation was being overheard by the attractive girl they were discussing!
Having finished drying herself, after taking a shower which had done little to relieve her suffering, Molly Nickerson had crossed to where her underclothing lay on a chair at the dressing table. The words came to her through the wall which divided two of the small rooms provided for the benefit of entertainers appearing at the Pinhole Club on Leicester Place, not far from Leicester Square, in London. Despite the words being a trifle muffled, she could identify the speakers by their voices.
Although they had met for the first time that evening and only exchanged a few words, there was a very good reason why the beautiful and shapely girl was able to recognize the upper class accent of the aristocratically named woman next door. Furthermore, having been employed by him ever since she was brought into what—due to a disinclination to accept any kind of gainful occupation which entailed work—had become her main occupation, even the unusually solicitous tone used when the first question was put would not have prevented her from knowing it was William Maxwell ‘Billy’ Churgwin speaking. Regardless of his efforts to conceal it with a more cultured timbre for the benefit of the wealthy clientele drawn to the club, there was no mistaking his nasal Cockney intonation.
A growing sense of resentment and annoyance assailed Molly, caused by the disclosures she heard whilst eavesdropping. It was aggravated further by the sight of her face reflected in the mirror of the dressing table. She had known while taking the shower that her right eye was closed to no more than a puffy slit. Now she could see there was a blackened discoloration around it which, in conjunction with her badly swollen top lip, would not help her regular business. Nor, because of what had happened to her at the hands of Lady Mary Herban, was she in any condition to think of going and attending to it. What was more, even if she felt like arriving at her usual ‘pitch’ with every muscle and fiber of her shapely body giving off a dull, throbbing ache, there was no way she could conceal the facial injuries sufficiently for her to attract the kind of customers who paid best.
Being as lazy as Churgwin had claimed, Molly was normally not vindictive by nature. In fact, even when engaged in the kind of activity by which she had—albeit with relucta
nce, due to the strenuous activity it involved—recently started to supplement her earnings as a prostitute in the wealthiest part of the West End, the other participants belonging to her profession considered her to have a pleasant disposition. However, what she had overheard aroused her to anger and a desire to be avenged upon the cause of her misfortunes.
Having seen the reaction of the other customers when two ‘ladies of the evening’ were separated after having come to blows in the main dining room, Churgwin had decided—in his capacity as owner—such a thing offered an opportunity to provide an unusual form of entertainment which he felt certain would be much appreciated by his wealthy clientele. Therefore, after the pair had been allowed to resume hostilities and settle their difference of opinion, he had announced that in future the Pinhole Club would hold a ‘Cat Fight Night’, featuring similar events, at regular intervals. As ‘apartment house’ and mud wrestling would be a few decades later in the United States, 35 the ‘sport’ had caught on and ensured a full house every time it was offered.
Finding ‘combatants’ had not been difficult for a man who controlled the majority of the prostitutes working the West End. They were supplied from members of his ‘stable’ and supplemented by girls in the lower echelons of the theatrical world eager to earn payment for making appearances. While they were required to give realistic and vigorous performances, Churgwin, wanting to avoid repercussions from the law, had warned them to keep their aggressive tendencies under control while performing and avoid inflicting pain that would cause tempers to be lost. He had also taken precautions to reduce the chances of even an accidental serious injury.
Molly was a compulsive gambler, and despite the not inconsiderable remainder of her earnings after Churgwin had deducted his ‘cut’, she was sufficiently in need of extra money to acquire it by volunteering to take part on ‘Cat Fight Nights’. Until her recently ended ‘bout’, she had found it a satisfactorily lucrative—although more strenuous than she liked—way of increasing her income. Like the other girls involved, she had felt no animosity towards her ‘opponent’ and none of the previous events had gone beyond tussling with as little pain inflicted as possible. Even the added titillation of having clothing torn off, which distracted the male customers in particular from noticing the lack of serious efforts at harming one another, was brought about as painlessly as possible by having their garments suitably weakened at various points.
Such conditions had not prevailed that evening!
On arriving at the Club, Molly had been told that her ‘opponent’—a girl with whom she had worked twice previously and knew to be experienced in all aspects of the ‘sport’—could not come. Having a substantial gambling debt for which a bookmaker was demanding payment, she had raised no objections when she was asked to take part in a bout with Lady Mary Herban who wanted to participate. Knowing how the wealthy customers were always seeking some new form of experience, or thrill, she had not been surprised at such a request. On the other hand, needing the ‘appearance fee’ and feeling confident she could deal with any pampered member of the upper class, she had felt sure that she would have nothing to fear from accepting the aristocratic beauty as a substitute for her absent opponent.
Once the bout started, the girl had quickly found it was far different from those in which she had previously participated. The way she had been sent crashing to the well-padded floor with a wrestling throw, was dragged up by the hair and was sent down again, warned she was not involved in the usual kind of lively and yet friendly tussling. In fact, it was a serious fight which the other woman was clearly intent on winning.
What was more, her earlier belief that she would have nothing to fear from a sensation seeking ‘posh bird from Up West’ had quickly been dispelled.
Not only had Lady Mary proved far stronger than Molly expected, but she also appeared to possess a knowledge of fist fighting as well as wrestling, which had put Molly in serious difficulty before she realized the full extent of the danger. By the time she knew what she was up against, although she fought back vigorously and, in part, repaid some of the suffering being inflicted upon her, she was too weakened to stave off the inevitable defeat. It had not come quickly and, before she was rendered hors de combat, both had had their attire reduced to just badly torn stockings and French knickers. Furthermore, this time when—she was carried out at the conclusion of the fight as she had been on those previous occasions, when she took her turn at ‘losing’—she really had been rendered unconscious by a knockout blow.
Brought around in the smaller of the dressing rooms by a doctor from the audience, the girl had been told she was not seriously hurt. However, although sore and aching, she had refused the offer of a sedative. Instead, left to her own devices, she had taken a shower and was about to dress when the conversation between Churgwin and Lady Mary came to her ears. From what she had heard, not only had Churgwin known of the skill in unarmed combat acquired by her first serious opponent, but he had also been willing to let the fight take place in the hope that Molly would be ‘taught a lesson’.
Regardless of her normally slothful and amiable nature, Molly was furious at the discovery. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she swore that she would be avenged upon both Churgwin and the ‘posh bird from Up West’.
However, the problem was, how to take the desired revenge? Molly felt sure letting Lady Mary’s husband know of the incident would serve her purpose in that direction in spite of the fact that Lady Mary pretended he would not be infuriated or even interested in what had taken place, especially if he knew how scantily they both had been clad at the end of the fight. Nevertheless, one thing was obvious. Before she could do anything about the woman, her employer must be out of the way. There was, she concluded after a moment’s thought, probably only one man who could affect his removal. Certainly none of her criminal associates would even make the attempt., no matter what inducement she offered. He was too ‘big’ for any of them to be willing to tackle.
The man whose name came to the girl’s mind not only could, but would, willingly do what she required!
What was more, Molly believed she had all the inducement necessary to persuade Mr. J.G. Reeder to take on the task!
Getting dressed quickly, her resolve becoming stronger with the added suffering inflicted upon her shapely and aching body by the donning of her far from excessively thick garments—the clothes destroyed in the fight having been supplied for that purpose by the Club—the girl left the dressing room. Nobody was in sight, so she went and knocked on the door of the manager’s office. Receiving no response, she opened it and looked inside. Satisfied it was unoccupied, she closed the door behind her and hurried to the desk. A check on the directory supplied her with the number she required and, lifting the receiver of the telephone, she dialed it. Listening for the slightest indication of anybody being about to come in, or even walking along the passage outside, she waited with baited breath for somebody at the other end to answer.
‘That was a most impressive display this morning, Colonel,’ commented what appeared to be the youngest of the four men seated around the table in the dining room of Daffodil House. ‘Of course, it will need a considerably better aeroplane before it reaches its full potential.’
‘The trouble with you military chaps, John … with no disrespect to you and our honored guest, of course,’ put in the one who gave the impression of being the second youngest and who bore a strong family resemblance to both the previous and the next speaker. ‘Is that you will insist on getting ready to fight your next war with equipment based upon what could have been useful in the last. Don’t you agree, Jimmy?’
‘Yes, I am inclined to … um … agree with you, Jason,’ asserted the host of the dinner party who was, apparently, the oldest of the quartet. ‘As I believe the late and … um … unlamented Crazy John Flack is said to have pointed out with regards to the Encyclopedia Of Crime he wrote while … um … incarcerated in Broadmoor, because of the strides forward science is continua
lly making, its doubtless plethora of information would only be of use for a few years at the most. 36 And the same applies to the development of … um … military devices.’
To the other residents of Brockley Road, the occupant of Daffodil House was a source of pride in one respect and an irritant in many others. For one thing, although he had a lengthy occupancy which extended for a great many years—generally a condition calculated to grant acceptance in such a middle class, middle management portion of suburbia—he had what most of his neighbors considered to be less than desirable traits. For one thing, even in an area where casually dropping in for a cup of tea and a chat—known to be a trait of the lower classes—was not regarded as socially acceptable, he was accounted stand—offish in the extreme. With only two exceptions, he had never consorted on friendly terms with anybody in the vicinity.
Considering the difference in age involved, the first association had hardly been calculated to meet with the approval of the other residents. However, Miss Margaret Belman had taken employment elsewhere and, as a subsequent announcement in the Times proclaimed, had married somebody else. 37 Later, although he apparently shared a no longer practiced interest in raising chickens, and had helped his next door neighbor out of a serious predicament, even John Southers had never been granted access to his home. 38 Every attempt by others to become more closely acquainted had ended in failure. When requested to attend a function, no matter what kind., he invariably declined politely on the grounds that he had a previous and unavoidable engagement.
Like all their class, the residents felt an antipathy and resentment towards anybody who differed from the norm and who could not be classified as being either above or below their respective personal status. They preferred everybody to be in a niche similar to their own and to which they could relate. Mr. J.G. Reeder of Daffodil House most definitely did not come into that position. The uncertainty he created was most annoying, all the more so because various things implied he almost certainly could claim—if he wished—a social standing superior to their own.