The Whip Hand

by Whip Hand (epub)

  It looks like a man, once't he's got hisself into something big, keeps on gitting in further and further. People keep butting in and won't leave-him alone. All a man needs is being left to hisself to git along.

  Walking out of that there cafe, I shore wished Donald had of waited on me like I said.

  Chapter 7

  Madge Baeder

  I THINK we were in my hotel room before he realized he'd left the joint downstairs.

  He was a bashful kid, but that didn't keep him from having some pretty definite ideas. The first one was real sharp. While I was watching to see what he'd do, he took off his coat, folded it, and laid it on the chair.

  "You only got one chair?" he asked.

  "How many do you want, honey?"

  "Well, I had to put my coat on it; so I reckon we'll have to set on the bed."

  He was about as subtle as a Fort Worth cowhand. Now he started the make in a big way. He put his tie on the chair with his coat, and loosened his shirt an extra button, pulling it apart. He kicked off his shoes, sat down on my bed and leaned back against the headboard.

  "Still lonesome, gal?"

  "Why no, honey. I feel fine with you here."

  "Well, come over and keep closer company!"

  He drew his feet up toward the middle of the bed, scooted over to make room, and patted the place for me to sit. I sat down by him, put my hand on his chest and leaned toward him.

  He was cute. I didn't give him any of the standard patter that goes with the job. I didn't have to. This one carried the ball himself. He wasn't treating me like a pro. Maybe he didn't know how. To him I was just a roll in the hay if he played it right. For me, that's progress.

  He snuggled up confidently and put his mouth to my ear. Finally he whispered hoarsely, "Want a drink of likker?" I managed not to laugh.

  "I could stand one, honey, sure; but this place don't have service. I wouldn't want you to have to go out after a bottle."

  "Shucks, never mind about the going. Slide that there bag of mine over here."

  Oh-- Did you bring a bottle? I'll get it out for--"

  "I'll get the likker, gal!" His voice was sharp. "You got a chaser?"

  "Some cokes. But they're not cold."

  He unzipped one side of his grip, watching me as he brought three fancy flasks and matching cups into view.

  "Git them cokes, gal, and a couple of glasses. These here cups are fancy but they won't hold nothing. I'm gonna make us some highballs."

  I brought two glasses and opened a couple of cokes. He went to work. If six ounces of hundred-proof cut with a splash of warm coke is a highball, that's what he made.

  "Well, I'll be! I ain't even asked what your name is. What do they call you round here?"

  "Call me Madge, honey. And how about a little more coke in this? You sure mix them strong."

  "Shucks, Madge, we don't never worry about mixing likker up where I live. Most times we ain't got nothing to chase it with a-tall. I just mixed these here cause I'm drinking with a lady." He filled my glass with more coke.

  "Where are you from?" I asked him. "And I guess you have a name, too, don't you?"

  "I'm from Oklahoma." He seemed proud of it. "My name's Donald. Here's how, Madge."

  He reached out to touch glasses with me, and it was important to him. We drank, me sipping, but he went all out. He swallowed half that glass of whisky before he stopped. The bed jerked but he held back the cough.

  "Don't drink so fast, Donald. You'll think I'm a bad drinking partner."

  "Okay, Madge, I'll sort of wait on you. You know, you look a lot prettier now than you did down in that old café."

  I knew why. The light was softer in the room.

  "Maybe that's your whisky flattering me," I said, sipping at my drink.

  "Maybe, and maybe not, but you sure do look nice."

  His eyes wandered around the room. "Who's the little gal in that pitcher on your dresser?"

  "My baby sister. That's about ten years old. She's fourteen now."

  Donald's mind seemed to wander, and he looked sad again. I smoothed his hair with my hand until the shy smile came back into his eyes and lips. He was sweet that way, and I wanted to keep him cheerful. For just long enough, I let my hand wander into the V of his shirt. Then a soft pat on his cheek widened his grin a little more. He squirmed with pleasure at the attention he was getting.

  "Heck, Madge, you're shore a nice gal. Real settling, being here with you."

  I mixed another drink but not as strong as he'd made them. He toasted me again and my drink had a hard time getting around the swelling I suddenly felt in my throat. Funny, how every so often you get a sample of things the way you'd like to have them--the things you've kicked around till they're dead.

  "I'm glad you like me, Donald."

  "Yeah-- Ain't it a little stuffy in here, Madge?"

  "I could fan you with the newspaper, Donald." The windows were open but there was no breeze.

  "Naw, I don't want you fanning me. I want you touching me. But we could get out of some of these hot clothes."

  I took his glass and set it down for him. Looking straight into his eyes, I started unbuttoning his shirt. One button at a time, letting my fingers touch the flesh beneath. It bothered him. It bothered me too, and I haven't been bothered in years.

  He raised up and let me pull the shirt from under his belt, and I took it off over his arms. I tossed it over on the chair, waiting.

  "You hot, Madge?" "Yes, Donald, I am. Maybe if my blouse--do you think it would be all right? It is stuffy in here." "Why sure, Madge, sure! A few old clothes ain't nothing to us. Turn around here and I'll unhook it for you, like you done for me."

  I did as he said and his hands fumbled with the tiny buttons. I cursed silently at the goose bumps rising on my arms. He slipped the blouse down over my shoulders, and threw it aside. I felt his fingers touch, then hesitate, on the fastner of my bra.

  But his nerve didn't hold out.

  "Go on, Donald."

  Suddenly his hands were at my breasts. Tenderly and exploringly at first, then hungrily. My nipples stood erect and I lunged across his body, my mouth pressing on his. His arms were strong and fierce as he tore at my skirt. I wrenched myself away. "Please, Donald, you'll tear it."

  "Well, take it all off, then."

  I kicked my shoes away and pulled the zipper at my side. My skirt fell to the floor, leaving me completely bare.

  "Now you, Donald." I helped him, eagerly.

  His hands were busy on me again, touching and exploring. I could feel my breath quicken, but I wasn't faking. With Donald my business was a pleasure. I touched him and he gasped.

  "Not so fast, sweet love," I murmured.

  He must have had the same desire to prolong our joy.

  "Okay, Madge," he grunted, "fix us another drink first, huh? A stiff one."

  I made us one, which I intended to be our last. I didn't know how much beer he'd had in the cafe and I didn't want him going under. Not this boy. He tossed his drink off too fast and handed me the glass. I took it and walked across to the window to pull down the shade. Halfway there I turned in time to see the empty flask fall to the rug as he tried to set it down. He'd finished it.

  All of a sudden Donald was drunk. I was sore. I wanted him, sober. Now I'd waited too long.

  He had been quiet and sweet, but now he started talking as fast as he could. His tongue was thick. His babbling meant nothing to me at first. Then parts of it sank in.

  He was telling a wild story about being a no-good kidnapper and a murderer, and wishing he'd never left Oklahoma. He rambled and raved. I didn't want to hear. I put my arms around him--the Madge Baeder solution to every problem. That seemed to free the tears he was holding back.

  He laid his head on my breast and sobbed. The gentling that boy got from me would have made me the permanent laughing stock of Dallas, but cheering him up was the most important thing in the world right then. No matter what kind of trouble he was in.

 
After he cried it out, I went to the bathroom. I wet a rag and washed his face and eyes and cooled his forehead. He was watching me with a haunted look in his eyes.

  "You must figger I'm a awful damn fool, Madge. Coming up here and shooting off my mouth with a whole mess of lies, and getting you all tore up over nothing."

  "Hush, Donald, honey. I don't think that. What you said didn't make sense, and everybody tells me their troubles."

  He smiled, but his eyes were frightened. "You ain't gonna tell my brother the stuff I raved about, are you? He'd think I was going stark-starin' crazy."

  "I don't know your brother, honey. And as far as I'm concerned, you didn't tell me a thing."

  I wondered about that brother, though, and just how much of what Donald said was true.

  "Come on, Donald, cheer up. You didn't murder anybody. Let's have fun together."

  "Suits me, Madge-- Let's seal the bargain with a drink first, straight out of one of them other bottles."

  I hesitated, but he seemed in a lot better shape after his crying jag, and I didn't want to make him mad. So I took a small slug out of the second flask before I handed it to him. I had to pull it away from his mouth, and he coughed up the heat.

  I leaned over to kiss him and he put his arms around my neck and wouldn't let go. It was a long kiss. Too damn long.

  By the time it was finished he was out. Wouldn't you just know it? The only man I'd wanted in--oh, hell! Running my hands over his young body, I had to laugh. Bitched up by the Sandman! Well, he'd wake up sometime. Resting beside him, I thought back over the stuff he had raved about earlier.

  Several pieces of the jigsaw puzzle started falling into place. Cute as Donald was, he was still a hayseed and not used to fancy things like the grip he was carrying. Or those nice clothes, for that matter. He was too proud and anxious to show them off. And his fear of his brother hadn't been acting.

  Donald had been nervous when I started to open the grip to get the whisky. Why? Maybe he had dirty clothes in it and was ashamed for me to see them? Then I sat straight up in bed.

  He'd said something about ransom money. Could that be in his bag? Pipe dreams. I lay back down and cuddled up to him. But Donald, passed out, limp and unresponsive, was not as interesting as Donald awake, shy, rough and fumbling. I couldn't shut off my curiosity about that bag of his. If he would only wake up. But he didn't.

  I had to face it. There was just one way to find out. I rolled away from Donald and got up and walked around to his side of the bed. If he woke up I could tell him I wanted a drink. I even went so far as to spill a stiff slug into one of the glasses and poured the rest of one of the cokes on top of it. Then I slid open the zipper on the other side of the grip.

  Money. No clothes at all. Nothing but money! Neat stacks of fives, tens and twenties. I zipped the bag closed in a hurry and set it just like he'd left it. Then I grabbed for the drink and swallowed it like water. Weak in the knees, I went back around the bed and crawled in beside Donald. So it was all true!

  I tried not to let my thoughts get into the old rut, but I'm human. I'd always said that if I ever took enough dough off some sucker I would shake the dust of Dallas off my heels and quit this crummy racket.

  I felt like I was still young enough to go legit without too much trouble, but I'd need a long vacation to erase the crust of hardness that had become a part of me. Nobody had offered to foot the bills for a deal like that in a long time. The bag standing beside my bed would foot a lot of bills if I could talk Donald into it. Maybe I could. Then I remembered his brother.

  Would that brother stand by and watch the kid leave for parts unknown with me and a grip crammed full of ransom? Yes he would--not! I doubted if Donald would scram out of here with me without seeing his brother. His brother seemed to be Donald's own private hero.

  Blood money--it had no identity or legal ownership. Did anyone ever go to the cops and report losing money they'd collected in a kidnapping? Well, I'd been trying to dodge it, but there it was.

  If I didn't? Donald would wake up after a while and we'd have a few hours. It had been silly for me to think I could interest him permanently.

  If I did? Would they find me and put a part in my throat? They would if I was handy. Their movements might be limited, because they were probably being hunted themselves. I was beginning to jump at every sound in the hotel and realized I was expecting the big bad brother to pop in, raising hell in general. I made up my mind in a hurry.

  Once I started I didn't waste any time, and Donald kept snoring away. Except for the bag I intended to borrow from him and a couple of changes of clothes, I was going to travel light. It was a matter of very few minutes until I stood, dressed and ready to leave, looking down at the sleeping boy.

  I had quite a battle with myself over leaving him that way. I settled it by making a bet with myself. If he woke up, I'd stay; if he didn't, it just wasn't supposed to be for the kid. I leaned over and pressed my lips against his--and I didn't short him on his chances.

  It didn't even pay for the effort. His mouth stayed limp.

  So I patted his cheek for the last time, picked up the bag that held my future, and walked from the room, closing the door softly. I wouldn't want him to wake up now that I'd gone this far.

  I walked to the elevator and pushed the button. Me for the airport and the first plane west--a long way west. San Francisco, maybe--new clothes--a nice little apartment and a long rest--a new name, and a fresh start.

  Chapter 8

  Elsworth Mercer

  BY God! That ain't no way to treat a damn dog, let alone a man. Sticking fingers in a man's nose thataway is just about the meanest thing a man can do to a man. Cinch I ain't never had nobody treat me mean as that big black-headed thief done. Stealing all my money in my suitcase--and then that wasn't enough! Oh, no! He even taken the little bit I had in my pocket. Hitting me in the stomach the way he done was bad--but worst of all was them big old stiff fingers gouging plumb up in my nose where it's too dang little for them to go. Nothing but a danged Injun could be that mean. Junior'll kill that feller as sure as God made little green apples--I'm gonna stand and look and laugh when he does it. I got to find Junior--I must of already walked twenty mile and been through fifty clothing stores around this town. Sure hope he ain't changed his mind and taken out from Dallas already. Iff'n he has it's just the end of it all for me. It cain't be thataway. It just cain't! I cain't go back to Oklahoma now without no money. I ain't even got my old car no more. If Junior was to give it back, which I reckon he never would, it'd only git me in more trouble, likely--Bet that dirty, long-fingered coward ain't aiming to give me none of my money back, not a dang penny, I bet. I wish I could shoot that feller, right where he hit me. I'd stand there cool as a cucumber and blow the smoke out of the gun while he died--and laugh and laugh --But if I cain't find Junior and Donald pretty soon that big devil's gonna be coming back to the bus station to see me. I cain't figger what to do. Should of knowed better than to give that thief my suitcase in the first place. Must of been plumb out of my fool head, the way I let him git it. And him coming around later to laugh at me and ram his damn dirty fingers up my nose.

  I'm so dumb I need one of them keepers like they got for people in the state 'sylum. I even give him a quarter tip. By God, I did! I give him a tip for stealing all my life's savings right away from me! Junior'll only tell me I'm a clabberhead if I ever find him, and it looks like I ain't. But he said he wasn't leaving today. Iff'n I don't run onto them, I just got to check every dang hotel in town tonight--a hundred more miles of walking, I reckon. I wonder if I could outsmart this feller and git some of my money away from him? Maybe I could tell him Junior has went back to Oklahoma and git him to go up there. Once't I had him in Oklahoma there might be some way--Aw! I reckon sometimes a man would just as well be dead as not, to have no more brains than me. I cain't figger out no way to git even with that big bully without Junior. I swear if I had some money I'd buy me a pistol right now and shoot him when he comes ba
ck. But it don't do no good to figger like that when I cain't buy no pistol. Just supposing this and supposing that ain't gitting me nowheres--I wonder if he put my money in another one of them lockers? If he did I could watch, and when he's fixing to git it out, I could bash his head in with something. He's got my money someplace, shore, and I'm gonna hang onto him. He ain't about to git out of my sight from now on--My belly's shore sore. I wish I was twenty year younger, we'd see then, dang it. I don't know what I can do by myself, but I ain't gonna find Junior and Donald, seems as if, so I might as well git on back down thataway. Donald wouldn't be no help much, nohow; but I'd shore love to see Junior. He'd help me. He's smart, that Junior is, and can figger ways-- Wonder how smart that other feller is? How'd he know my suitcase was full of money? He might be most as smart as Junior, to figger that out--My dang head's going around and around, and my nose is sore as a boil, and I'm so doggone sleepy I cain't hold my head up. Might as well git on down to the bus station and set and take a load off my feet for a spell. I wish I never had to think no more. My nose is throbbing like it was full of Injuns beating tom-toms for a war dance--I really got troubles, and when I keep thinking about it all, I just want to cry. And I cain't help it if I am crying! Let 'em look, damn em--damn everybody! They don't know how bad I feel, and I just cain't help it--

  Chapter 9

  Junior Knowles

  AT the hotel where that gal had took my brother I punched the elevator button. Right away I heard it coming down.

  It stopped and the door opened, and a gal was standing in my way. She wasn't a bad looker and I give her the once-over, but I never got as far as her legs.

  At the end of her arm I seen the twin suitcase to mine! I figgered it had to be Donald's.

  I throwed a quick look over my shoulder and seen the room clerk wasn't watching, and I hit that gal hard, right in the stomach. The air come out of her like a engine coughs when it runs out of gas. Time she hit the floor of the elevator, I was in and had the door slid shut. I punched the button for the third floor and we started up, slow but sure.

  The gal was sort of green around the gills. I jerked her to her feet and twisted her arm behind her back.