Hawk 12, page 5
‘How long back?’ asked Hawk.
‘How long since?’ asked Dent.
Loretta leaned her bulk back against the soft cushions and slid her thick fingers along the length of the saber blade. ‘Three, four days.’
Her eyes set firm on Hawk’s face, daring him to challenge the truth of what she said.
‘You ain’t seen him since?’ Dent said.
Loretta shook her head, pressed her thumb against the saber edge and drained down the last of her brandy. ‘What are we wastin’ our time talkin’ ’bout old Jack for when you just got yourselves into town and are hot and itchy for a good time?’ She reached an arm out for Dent and pulled him towards her, planting a red-lipped kiss full on his mouth. ‘Fetch me another drink, Matt, there’s a dear. One more and I’ll introduce you to the best new girls working the house.’ She released Matt from her arms and he stood up a little shakily, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. He took up Loretta’s glass and walked the short distance to the bar.
As soon as his back was turned Loretta proved that she could talk quietly enough if there was a reason.
‘He should’ve taken that off you at the door,’ she said, glancing at the shotgun at Hawk’s belt.
‘I’d like to have seen him try.’
‘Tough, huh?’
‘Tough enough.’
‘Then save it for somewhere else. There ain’t been no gunplay, no knife fight in this place since it opened. The fellers get into the odd brawl now and again when they gets too liquored up, but that’s all.’ Her voice became little more than a hiss. ‘Whatever business you got with old Jack Emery, you keep it for the street. Not here.’
With Dent on his way back, she lifted her head clear and set a smile back on to her face.
‘Let’s take a look around, Matt,’ said Hawk, getting to his feet. ‘Give these ladies the once-over.’
Dent nodded, said goodbye to Loretta and left her squatting amidst her cushions, caressing her saber and drinking her fourth brandy of the past hour.
‘Pleased to see you,’ Hawk commented as they wandered away.
‘Looks like,’ Dent agreed.
‘Spend a lot of time here way back, you an’ Emery?’
‘Some.’
Hawk looked around, scanning the balcony. ‘Pretty fancy place.’
A tall Negress wearing a white wig winked down at him and opened the front of her peignoir to reveal what she didn’t have on underneath. Hawk smiled and turned away.
‘What was Emery’s taste in women?’ Hawk asked.
Dent gave it a few moments’ thought. ‘Guess he liked ’em young. Young-lookin’ anyway. Small too. ’Part from that, he weren’t too worried when the blood was risin’ and there was money in his pants pocket.’
Hawk’s eyes searched the room. ‘How ’bout redheads? He have a hankerin’ after them as well?’
Both men looked at the little redhead Loretta Hogan had pointed out earlier. She was kneeling on a plum-velvet sofa with one of her high-heel shoes toppling sideways from the curve of her foot and the tip of her pink tongue protruding slightly from between her painted lips as she smiled knowingly at the two men sitting alongside.
Dent nodded slowly. ‘Could be, Jared. Just could be.’
Chapter Five
MIST WAS RISING lazily off the river, blue-gray wraiths that curled about Hawk’s boots as he stood in the deep shadow of the wharf. Unevenly, the water rocked and turned against the legs of the jetty like a succession of small slaps. Cloud filtered across the moon. Footsteps echoed dully from the sidewalk but they weren’t hers.
Hawk pulled at his shirt collar, hunched his shoulders, coughed into the palm of his hand.
It was almost half an hour since the sound of the three-piece band had ceased, the fiddle bringing things to a close with a slow, sweeping flourish. Since then there had been bursts of laughter, shouts of parting, horses, steel-rimmed wheels drawing away. The glow of a cupped cigarette in the hand of a tall, bald man walking briskly along past the wharf front.
Hawk’s eyes were narrowed to little more than slits, piercing the encroaching dark.
Mist slid up his legs, coiling round his thighs and clinging to the soft leather of his single glove. Hawk’s breath patterned miniature clouds on the air. As the steps came nearer he tensed, concentrating on the sound. Two women side by side, fast and staccato. Hawk shifted his position carefully as the sound neared. Deep in the shadow, he saw the two through a shifting blur, one taller, broader than the other, the second one slight and … he glimpsed, softened by the mist, the swift red of her hair.
Hawk’s right hand opened and closed and when it closed it was around the grip of his gun. He waited until the women were some distance off and stepped out from alongside the wharf and followed the sound of their feet along the boards.
For a moment he thought he had lost them: all sound of their movement disappeared and he stopped quickly, searching the haze for a sign of them but could see nothing.
Anger welled up in him, annoyance that—
A voice drifted slowly back towards him; a second’s pause and then the footsteps again, but separate now and moving off in opposite directions. Hawk moved forward as quickly as he dared, trying to see which woman had gone where.
It was impossible. Hesitation kept him still for several moments before he plunged off at a steep angle to the river, hurrying after the rapidly diminishing sounds of someone walking alone, hurrying, possibly experiencing the beginnings of fear.
She was almost running, one hand holding the front of her coat up to her neck, the fur trimming of the collar laced with cold beads of river mist. The other hand was bunched into a small fist and pressed hard across her chest. Her head bobbed up and down as she scuttled home, an occasional jolt of red the only color amidst shades of gray.
She was cursing the customer who had selected her at the last moment, breath reeking of drink and the remnants of his meal arranged in haphazard splotches down the lapels of his cheap coat. She had tried to avoid him, suggested that he would have a better time with one of the other girls, been as rude to him as she dared. Of course, the fool had started kicking up a fuss and when she’d darted a glance over towards Loretta, the expression on the owner’s face had made it pretty clear that she’d better stop moaning and take the man upstairs fast.
Loretta Hogan wasn’t known to leave until the last piece of business had gone down, so the longer the girl kept the man waiting, the longer she was keeping Loretta waiting.
She had grabbed him by the sleeve and hustled him up the stairs, the band starting up a waltz and a few tired and sad customers lifting reluctant women into their unsteady arms to dance.
Inside, she scarcely left him time to close the door and become accustomed to the narrow, low-ceilinged room before she was on her back on the crib bed, one leg arched into the air as she rolled down one white stocking.
‘Not so fast, honey! Not so fast!’
His voice, half-joking, under laden with anger, was as blurred and uncertain as his movements.
She ignored him and started taking off her other stocking.
He swayed over her and caught hold of her foot at the third attempt.
‘I said not so fast.’
Green eyes blinked out from the pale face and she nodded agreement, rolling down the stocking more slowly. The man gave a grunt and a smile, pleased to have established his authority. He reached into his pocket for his wallet and made a show of taking five dollars from a stack of bills. By the time he’d set the dollars on the small rickety table alongside the head of the bed, she was down to her white drawers and waiting.
It took him an age to remove his pants and boots. She turned her head aside with an expression of distaste as his belly plopped pinkly down the moment he unfastened his belt. Carefully and with difficulty he set his stained coat over the back of the solitary chair.
She lay on her back, legs raised at the knees, the cold beginning to get to her as the night mist from the river seemed to penetrate even the walls of the building.
‘Come on,’ she urged, making a half-hearted attempt to sound encouraging rather than merely impatient.
She could see from his state as he lowered himself on to the mattress beside her that it was still going to take an age. The musicians below had finished their work for the night and she thought about them packing away their instruments and going to one of the bars for their final drink. She imagined Loretta’s practiced eye going over everything carefully before starting to dismiss her staff. During the next moments she thought of a great many things and none of them were linked to what she was doing.
When she was finally able to heave him away and slide out from underneath his newly-sweating bulk, she could hear Loretta’s voice summoning her from below. Quickly she snatched up the money, grabbed at her clothes. With more force than was necessary she brought the flat of her hand down on the sagging, pimpled behind, making him jerk his head round and shout.
‘Come on!’ she cried. ‘You can’t sleep here. We’re closing.’
The man grunted and wiped saliva from the side of his mouth across the blanket. She shuddered and waited until his head had turned away before lifting his wallet from the pocket of his coat. Seconds only to remove the remainder of the bills and push them down into the front of her drawers. The wallet she slid back as the man groaned. Below, she handed three of the five dollars to Loretta and indicated that the customer was still in the room.
While the mulatto climbed the stairs to hurry the man on his way, the redhead hustled into her coat. Downstairs was all but deserted and her friend was waiting impatiently to walk her part of the way back to her room.
‘Cherry, honey, come on!’
She fastened the front of her coat and frowned; it seemed as if everyone she’d come across had done nothing all day and night but tell her to hasten on.
Now, alone in the still-rising mist and with a couple of hundred yards still to go until she arrived at the building where she roomed, Cherry herself wished she could move faster. She told herself, her mouth forming the silent words, to run. Something other than the cold night air was getting to her and she didn’t feel at all easy.
Cherry ran.
She ran right into Hawk, who stepped out of the mist with a suddenness that forced a scream from her lips even before he could clap his gloved left hand hard across them.
Green eyes startled their fear up into his face.
He could feel the jerk of her body against him as she trembled.
Smell the fright as it escaped from the pores of her skin.
‘It’s all right,’ he said firmly, quietly.
He could tell from her reactions that he could as well have saved his breath.
‘I saw you earlier. My friend and me, we was talkin’ to Loretta.’
She fought to control her breathing, half-smothered still by the hand across the lower half of her face. She was no longer trembling her body against his. Only easing her hand away from where it had been trapped across her chest and where the hardness of his belt buckle was hurting her.
She tugged her head as far as she could from side to side. Hawk began to loosen his grip and then pressed the glove back fast as he heard someone approaching along the street. Two figures. Men. He gave her a warning look and pulled her even closer. The two men were close enough to identify as separate shapes, their faces turned questioningly towards Hawk and the girl. As they continued to stare, Hawk lowered his face beside hers as if he were kissing her, shielding the glove that covered her mouth.
One of the men nudged his companion and laughed.
The sound faded in the mist as their outlines hazed to nothing.
‘Your room,’ Hawk said urgently.
The eyes flashed and she shook her head as best as she could.
‘I want to talk.’
Her expression showed how far she believed him.
‘I’ll pay for your time.’
She didn’t believe that either.
He felt in his pants pocket and came up with a five-dollar bill. ‘That’s the price, ain’t it?’
She stared at him.
‘Loretta said you weren’t cheap.’
Hawk pushed the bill down into the top of her dress.
‘I’m goin’ to take this hand away,’ he said, ‘an’ I don’t want to hear a sound. You got no cause to be afraid. I want to ask questions, that’s all. You understand me?’
Cherry nodded that she understood. Hawk sighed and pulled away his hand. Immediately she opened her mouth as wide as she could and screamed. He hit her on the side of the jaw with his fist and she staggered back, falling into the mist, unconscious.
Before the sound of her scream had melted away, Hawk had the girl in his arms and was carrying her towards the two-story building she’d evidently been heading for. She was light as a child, her head spilled over to one side and her red hair falling straight down, masking her face. The main door to the building was stiff but nothing more. A rat scuttled away from the stairwell and the treads complained a little under the step of Hawk’s boots.
She opened her eyes gingerly, blinking at the light from the candle close by the wall. When she tried to move her head a pain jolted through it like she’d been punched a second time. The side of her jaw was swollen up like a bruised peach. Her finger ends leapt away at the merest touch.
The stranger with the black glove was standing at the entrance to the room, his back leaning against the closed door. She could see his face more clearly now, handsome and dangerous as hell. She remembered noticing him earlier that evening, hoping for a few minutes that he might wander over and pick her out.
Well, now he had but this wasn’t exactly what she’d meant.
When she pushed herself up the bed and into a sitting position she moaned aloud as the movement shook a little more pain from her face. She felt something just inside the top of her dress and saw the fold of a five-dollar bill. She remembered he’d put it there just before he punched her. She supposed that was what he’d done.
She blinked some more and steadied her breathing; she waited.
Hawk said, ‘Sorry about your face. I warned you not to scream. You said you wouldn’t.’
‘I tell a lot of lies,’ she said, reaching one hand nearer to the swelling.
‘I should let it alone,’ Hawk said.
‘Yeah,’ she agreed ruefully. ‘You should’ve done.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry ain’t much good for a bruise.’
‘Tell me—’he began.
‘How’d you find the room?’ she asked, cutting across him.
‘The number. It was scratched on your key.’
She stopped trying to touch her jaw and pointed across at the small dresser, the bowl and jug on top. ‘I wouldn’t mind a drink,’ she said. ‘I think if I try to get it myself I might not make it.’
‘Water?’ Hawk asked, moving towards the dresser.
‘That side drawer. There’s a bottle an’ glasses.’
He poured her a shot of whiskey and handed it across. ‘Can I?’ he asked, looking at the bottle.
She shrugged and then moaned a little at moving too energetically. ‘Why not? You ain’t exactly been standin’ on ceremony.’
While Hawk poured himself a drink, she looked round the room for the bag she’d been carrying and pointed a finger towards it. Hawk lifted it with his gloved hand and dropped it into her lap. She opened the bag and took out a pink kerchief and set it carefully against her jaw.
‘I should put some water on that,’ Hawk said.
‘You think I’d take your advice on what to do with my face?’
‘Just tryin’ to help.’
‘It’s a little late for that.’
‘Okay.’ He downed the whiskey in a single swallow and set glass and bottle down on the dresser, chinking the glass against the patterned bowl.
‘Here,’ she held out the kerchief. ‘Put some water on it.’
Hawk shook his head and took the thin cotton, dunked it down into the jug, squeezed away the excess water and carried it back. She tilted her head towards him and said, ‘Your hand might be steadier than mine. Put that thing over the swelling so’s I can hold it.’
‘You’re goin’ to trust me to do that?’ Hawk half-grinned.
She shrugged again, winced again. ‘The worst you can do is lay me out again.’
He rested one knee beside her on the bed and gently covered the swollen jaw with the pink cotton. As he did so her hand slipped out from her bag and in towards his stomach. The needle-sharp point of a four-inch blade pierced his shirt and drew a prick of blood from his skin.
‘What—?’
Hawk pulled back and as he did so her hand moved more swiftly than before and the knife was at his throat, resting alongside his Adam’s apple, creasing the slightly stubbled skin.
Hawk held his breath, seemed unable to breathe at all. One thrust with the blade could take his life out. His eyes sought the girl’s, reading from them what little he could. They didn’t flicker, no longer blinked; they were concentrating on the precise spot where the knife point was lightly pressing against his flesh. The way his weight was balanced it was pressing downwards upon the blade. Little strength would be required to slide it alongside his windpipe, air bloodily hissing out of him.
‘Better tell me what you want and fast,’ she said softly, not looking away from his throat.
Hawk tried to shift back from the knife, but its point followed him urgently.
‘Fast!’
‘Feller name of Emery. Jack Emery.’ The act of speaking was forcing the point through the outer layers of skin. ‘Used to be a lawman. Old guy. Friend of Loretta’s, I guess.’
He stopped and looked down at her; the spring of the mattress was edging awkwardly into his left knee and his leg was beginning to go numb. Not for the first time in the last few moments he figured out how fast he could pull his Colt from its holster; no matter how many times he went over it, he never managed it before the blade drove into his neck.
‘What about him?’
‘You know him?’
