by J. T. Edson
‘Hey!’ the young man yelped, shoving himself erect and turning around. ‘Now I get it. You guys think I’m that Owlhoot nut.’
‘And you’re not?’ Brad said coldly.
‘The hell I am! Do I look like him?’
‘Well now,’ Brad answered. ‘I can’t say about the face, but the clothes fit the description witnesses have given to us.’
‘Clothes?’ Kochek squawked, staring down at his garments as if becoming aware of them for the first time. ‘Hell ! I always wear these duds when I go to the Fast Draw Club’s shoot-outs on Friday nights.’
‘And use a Berns-Martin “Speed” Holster?’
‘I don’t!’ Kochek protested in a furtive manner.
‘What’s this then?’ Brad growled, taking a handkerchief and spreading it over his right palm before picking up the gunbelt.
‘It’s—All right, it’s only a copy,’ Kochek answered.
‘The Berns-Martin “Speed” holster’s protected by a patent,’ Brad pointed out, looking at the long-barreled, white-handled Colt Peacemaker on the belt.
‘There’s a feller in town makes them up special for us,’ Kochek admitted sullenly. ‘But I’m not the Owlhoot.’
‘Who else knows it?’ Brad demanded. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where?’ Kochek asked.
‘Over to the Sheriff’s Office, where else?’ Brad answered. ‘Have one of the R.P. crews tend to his bike, will you, fellers?’
‘G.C.S. to D 24,’ said the detective car’s radio before they could reply.
‘D 24 by,’ Chan answered after going over and drawing the microphone out of the window.
‘Have diverted one R.P. to Lake Drive,’ the Gusher City South dispatcher announced. ‘If other isn’t needed by you, I want to send it there. It’s a shooting.’
‘Not needed by us,’ Chan confirmed.
‘Who’s involved in the shooting?’ Alice asked, running to the detective’s side as he answered.
‘Deputy team from the “psycho-tail”,’ came the reply, for the dispatcher had heard her, ‘No further information.’
‘Advise when there is, please,’ Alice requested. ‘My call sign is S.O. 12.’
‘Will do,’ promised the dispatcher. ‘Over and out.’
Walking back to her partner, Alice let out a low sigh. Joan Hilton and Sam Cuchilo were good friends, but duty came first. So the deputies turned their attention to Kochek once more. The young man stood with his back to the wall, swinging his eyes from one to another of the peace officers.
‘Hey!’ Kochek said. ‘You guys’re putting me on, aren’t you?’
‘What makes you think we would be?’ Brad asked, still holding the gunbelt in his right hand.
‘All you badges want to stop folks owning guns and’re looking for ways to do it all the time.’
‘That’s not true, Mr. Kochek,’ Alice put in hurriedly, sensing that her partner was about to oppose the statement in no uncertain manner. ‘Most peace officers respect the Second Amendment of the Constitution and have no wish to deprive honest citizens of their right to keep and bear arms. It’s armed criminals we’re interested in.’
‘All right, all right,’ Kochek replied, looking slightly less indignant at Alice’s polite, friendly words. ‘So if I was this Owlhoot weirdo, would I be loco enough to ride through the streets dressed like this.’
‘Like you said,’ Brad snorted, his antipathy towards the branch of the shooting sports to which Kochek belonged putting a harsh note in his voice, ‘the Owlhoot’s a nut, a weirdo. Who knows what—’
‘It’s this way, Mr. Kochek,’ Alice interrupted, directing a cold glare at her partner. ‘While I’m sure you are innocent and this is nothing more than a coincidence, everything about you tallies with our description of the Owlhoot. Your height, build, clothes, gunbelt and gun, even the trail-bike. You realize that we have to catch him. He’s potentially dangerous until we do. So I’m sure that you, as a responsible citizen, will be willing to help us.’
‘You can count on it,’ Kochek assured her. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Tell us where you spent the last three evenings and then come over to the Sheriff’s Office so that we can establish your innocence in a way nobody can argue against. Where did you spend the last three evenings, please?’
‘Start with tonight,’ Brad demanded coldly.
‘Stand Mr. Kochek’s bike against the wall,’ Alice told the big blond. ‘I’ll handle this.’
‘You’re the boss,’ Brad grunted bitterly and obeyed. Watching the by-play from one side, Smith and Chan exchanged knowing grins and winks. They recognized a well-performed hard- and soft-sell technique in operation even if Kochek did not.
A modern peace officer worked in an age when the news-media attached great importance to the ‘rights of the individual’ and were all too eager to make use of any story about official ‘persecution’. So the deputies knew the value of taking precautions even when dealing with a man who might be a dangerous criminal. If it should come out that, despite the many similarities, Kochek was not the Owlhoot, Alice wanted to avoid a complaint being lodged against them to the County Commissioners. Sure they had acted in good faith and with the best interests of the law-abiding members of the community at heart, but a complaint must still be answered before the Commissioners’ Disciplinary Board. So the deputies had applied the same technique that had won over Ivy Monoghan, but with Alice playing the sympathetic role. No matter how the incident turned out, it would be simplified if they received Kochek’s willing cooperation.
‘Can you tell us where you spent the last three evenings, Mr. Kochek?’ Alice asked in her most friendly, winning manner.
‘Easy enough,’ the young man answered, looking relieved. ‘I was at the Fast Draw Club’s weekly shoot-out at the Wills Street Armory from seven tonight. Last night and Wednesday I was working in the Stewpot Diner up to midnight. I do it part-time to get the money for cartridges.’
Glancing at the detectives, Alice saw that Smith was writing in a notebook. Catching his eye, Alice received a wink and a nod of agreement to her unspoken request that the local men checked out the alibi. Brad joined her, the gunbelt hanging across his right shoulder.
‘What now?’ the blond asked.
‘Mr. Kochek has agreed to come with us to the Office,’ Alice replied. ‘Sergeant Chan will look after your bike until a police truck can collect it and take it to the station house. Naturally, well have transport to take you to collect it when we’re through.’
Clearly the hard- and soft-sell had worked. Kochek seemed to take on stature and beamed with delight at the prospect of being taken further into the peace officers’ confidence.
‘What do you reckon, Brad?’ Chan inquired, watching Kochek climb into the rear of the Oldsmobile. ‘Is he the Owlhoot?’
‘What do you reckon?’ the big blond countered.
‘If he is, he’s a mighty cool one,’ the Chinese detective said soberly. ‘They do say that the Owlhoot’s a nut doing it for kicks. Watch him mighty careful on the drive to the Office.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Brad promised, wondering if they had caught the Owlhoot and whether he planned to attempt a spectacular escape in transit. Such a stupid act might be in keeping with the character of the man, if Doctor Hertel had guessed correctly about it. ‘I’ll watch him all the time, Charlie.’
Twelve
Even without Brad or Chan mentioning it to her, Alice was aware that Kochek must be kept under constant observation during the journey to the Sheriff’s Office. There were questions that could be asked before they arrived and, whether he was the Owlhoot or not, he would answer more readily if they came from her. So she went in by the front passenger-door and motioned for Brad to take the driver’s seat. Accepting Kochek’s gunbelt from her partner, she draped it across her knees. Then she rested her left arm on the back of the seat and turned to face the rear. While Alice held Kochek’s attention, Brad circled the car, locking the rear doors, climbed in a
nd started it moving.
‘That was real neat, the way you took me,’ Kochek complimented, relaxing on the back seat as if he did not have a care in the world.
That could have been a pose, adopted to lull the deputies into a sense of false security before he made his escape bid. Whatever the reason, Alice intended to go along with the hard- and soft-sell until something happened.
‘It’s all part of our training,’ she smiled.
‘I know why you came out holding your guns,’ Kochek announced. ‘They teach you to do it that way because it’s easier than learning a real fast draw.’
Feeling her partner’s body stiffen, Alice jabbed her concealed right fist into his ribs as a reminder to keep quiet. Despite the gravity of the situation, or the possible danger, she saw its humorous side. Throwing a quick look at the big blond, she could hardly hold down a smile at the expression on his face. Then she gave her attention to Kochek once more.
‘Why that’s the truth,’ she replied.
‘Shucks, a fast draw’s not so hard to learn,’ Kochek said. ‘All you need is practice and good coordination.’
‘I bet you’re real fast,’ Alice remarked admiringly, feeling Brad writhing on the seat at her side.
‘I can get off a shot in twenty-one hundredths of a second,’ Kochek told her in a mock-depreciatory tone.
‘Mercy!’ Alice gasped, looking suitably impressed. ‘As fast as that. Why I just bet you’re the champion of the Fast Draw Club.’
‘I sure am. ‘Fact I’ve only been beaten once.’
Again Alice’s fingers stabbed into Brad’s ribs and she cooed, ‘Why who could have done that?’
Obviously Kochek felt that he would lose nothing by answering, especially as he had a perfectly valid reason for his sole defeat.
‘It was a feller came along six months back. He was only in the one time. It was him that put me on to how good the ‘‘Speed” holster is. Until I got it, I couldn’t go better than twenty-six hundredths. I’d sure like to meet him again. Might get a chance next year.’
Awesome rumblings came from Alice’s side, but she ignored them. ‘Why wait so long, Mr. Kochek?’
‘He was in town on vacation, he told me. Come to see some of his kin-folk.’
‘Where in town?’
‘I dunno. Out Evans Hill way I think he said. He’d got a Berns-Martin rig, let us look it over and a few of us had copies made up.’
‘Whoever made them’s contravening the Patent laws,’ Brad growled, unable to keep silent any longer.
‘That’s not in our jurisdiction,’ Alice informed him, then reverted to her most charming manner and continued to Kochek, ‘How many of you have had these kind of rigs made up?’
‘Four or five ‘
‘Cen Con to S.O. 12!’ interrupted the radio.
Alice and Brad tensed slightly. If she turned to answer the call, Kochek might pick that moment to jump them. However they were not in an area of heavy traffic so there was a simple solution to their problem.
‘S.O. 12 by,’ Brad replied, steering with one hand and holding the microphone in the other.
‘G.C.S. have asked us to inform you that Sandwich was shot, seriously wounded and Zingel arrested. Joan Hilton’s a mite roughed up, but she and her partner are all right.’
‘Thank god for that!’ Alice breathed.
‘What is your location, S.O. 12?’ Central Control asked, before either deputy could start wondering who had roughed Joan up.
‘Coming in with suspect,’ Brad answered. ‘Have Latent Prints specialist meet us at the Sheriff’s Office with his gear and the partial print found on Hoopler’s wallet. Code One?’
Instead of jabbing her partner with the hidden hand, Alice dropped it to the butt of her Commander and freed the safety strap. However Kochek betrayed no concern at hearing that the peace officers possessed a fingerprint left by the Owlhoot on one of his robberies. Central Control confirmed that they had understood Brad’s request and he returned the microphone to its hook without the man in the back seat making a hostile movement. So Alice decided to go for broke.
‘We’ve a fingerprint left by the Owlhoot on the wallet of his first victim, Mr. Kochek,’ she remarked in a cheerful, conversational tone.
‘Just one?’ Kochek did not seem too impressed, but that could be caused by ignorance if the deputies guessed correctly about his lack of criminal connections.
Guessing what his partner intended to do next, from the fact that she kept her hand on the Commander’s butt, Brad removed his right fist from the steering wheel again and unbuttoned his jacket in a casual-appearing movement.
‘The one’s enough,’ Alice explained. ‘Our Latent Prints specialists will take your fingerprints and by comparing them with the “partial”, as we call a single print found at the scene of a crime, establish your innocence. Of course your prints will be destroyed, in your presence, when we get through.’
‘That’ll be a relief,’ Kochek grunted, directing a scowl at Brad’s back. ‘Making sure everybody knows I’m not the Owlhoot, I mean.’
‘We hope that you can help us some more,’ Alice remarked.
‘Any way I can, lady.’
‘We want the names of all your buddies who use those “Speed” rigs,’ Brad put in. ‘And to be told who makes them.’
‘I don’t rat on my friends!’ Kochek snorted indignantly.
‘It’s not a question of ratting on anybody,’ Alice pointed out mildly. ‘He may have made one for the Owlhoot, without knowing it of course. And we want to clear your friends of suspicion. The anti-gun bigots can find enough ways to make trouble for you shooters without giving them openings.’
‘Yeah, they can!’ Kochek spat out, eyeing Brad as if the big blond was the king of all the anti-gun bigots. ‘I’ll help you all I can, Miss—’
‘Fayde,’ Alice supplied and left it at that.
‘Say. Why don’t you come down to the Club one Friday? I can maybe give you a few pointers on how to make a fast draw.’
While she might be giving the Owlhoot a chance, Alice removed her hand from the Commander to deliver another stab into her partner’s side. Then, looking as if butter would not melt in her mouth, she answered the suspect.
‘Why that’s a real great idea. I’ll fix it with you the first chance I get.’
‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ Kochek went on. ‘None of the fellers who own “Speed” rigs’s the Owlhoot.’
‘How do you know?’ Alice asked.
‘If he’s my build, dresses like I do and totes a Cavalry Model Peacemaker, that lets them out. None of them look anything like me, or dress this way and they go for guns with shorter barrels than my old plow-handle.’
‘Huh huh. How about the other one, the kid who beat you to the draw?’
‘Him? But he’s not in town.’
‘Maybe he came back,’ Alice suggested. ‘What kind of gun did he use?’
‘A Cavalry Model Peacemaker—hey! I see what you mean.’
‘What did he look like?’ Alice asked patiently.
‘About my height, not so well-built. Plain-looking. Not ugly, just, well—’
‘Plain,’ Brad suggested.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Kochek. ‘Like plain.’
‘How did he dress?’ Alice wanted to know.
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Try—please.’
‘Lemme see. Yeah, I’ve got it. Buckskin shirt, jeans and a Stetson.’
‘What color was his hair?’
‘Brownish, you know, hair color brown,’ Kochek answered after a brief pause to think. ‘That’s what it was. Not too long. He’d a Viva Zapata moustache. When he came into the Armory, I had him pegged as a soft-shell [xx] looking for ways to knock us. But not when I saw him handle a gun. He was a snake.’
‘That good, huh?’ Alice said.
‘Real good,’ Kochek confirmed. ‘He licked me to the draw. And did he know plenty about the old West. All the stories, the way they talked, the whole bi
t.’
‘What was his name?’ Alice inquired.
‘Teddy—No. Terry Telfer, he told me,’ Kochek answered. ‘We talked about trading addresses, but didn’t do it that night and he never came back.’
On arrival at the D.P.S. Building, Alice kept Kochek talking long enough to let Brad leave and unlock the rear doors. She had spent the remainder of the ride trying to learn more about the mysterious stranger whose one appearance had aroused the members of the Fast Draw Club’s interest in the Berns-Martin ‘Speed’ type of holster. She learned little of use. Kochek left the car without knowing that, even if he had wished to, he could not have opened the doors during the journey.
Taking the young man up to the third floor, Alice and Brad escorted him into the deputies’ squad-room. McCall and a detective belonging to the Latent Prints Detail stood by the door to the Watch Commander’s office and the latter’s kit was on Alice and Brad’s desk. Leaving Alice to take Kochek to the desk, Brad joined the First Deputy and detective.
‘How about it, Brad?’ McCall asked, looking at the gunbelt in the big deputy’s left hand.
‘He’s right,’ Brad replied, examining the belt, holster and revolver closely for the first time. ‘It’s only a copy, not a genuine Berns-Martin.’
‘Well we don’t know whether the Owlhoot uses the real thing,’ McCall reminded him.
‘Nope,’ Brad agreed and removed the revolver to look into the front of its cylinder. ‘Just like I thought. Wax bullets. I’ll bet these,’ he tapped the belt’s loops, ‘are only dummies. He’s a blank-popper, nothing more.’
In the game of ‘fast draw’, only speed counted. Its exponents tried to produce and fire a hand-gun—a single-action revolver in the style of the Peacemaker, regardless of caliber, was de rigueur—as fast as possible regardless of where the barrel pointed at the moment of the shot. They used either blank cartridges or bullets with wax heads.
To competitors in the serious sport of combat shooting, speed was necessary but accuracy, at various distances and under as near actual gunfighting conditions as could be simulated, rated as equally important. ‘Fast draw’ was a harmless pastime; ‘Combat shooting’ a serious affair that had developed techniques, equipment and skills from which peace officers in many countries had profited. So combat masters like Brad had little but contempt for the ‘fast-draw’ experts, with their passion for pure speed, fancy-dress clothing and obsessions over one hundredths of a second difference between one draw and another. Brad knew that such minute fragments of time would be meaningless in a gunfight and he could not believe that any corpse-and-cartridge affair had ever been won by a sudden noise.
