*
Detective Longworry, with some ugly clicking in the worn out bearings of his hard-driven Ford, roared back into the bootlegger’s farm; his trip into Sacksville had taken much of the afternoon and had imparted a satisfied smirk on his face that was all but engrained. He had dropped in at his Sacksville Hotel room for a shave and a fresh double breasted suit: he had buttoned the white silk shirt two buttons lower than usual. He wanted to look as clean as he felt. He left the car in the middle of the driveway and put on his grey Fedora as soon as he was on his feet. He headed urgently into the barn, wanting to see nothing more inside than boredom and perhaps a little sleep thrown in. And, to his relief, that was what he got. A battered George Hope was still bound to his chair and the full contingent of the Buster and the Treatment were sitting around the barn with nothing better to do than clean their weapons or curled up in sleep in the corners.
‘All’s well?’ he queried, his eyes flittering about his team before settling on Hope so delightedly that a guest of honour would have surely been touched. ‘Everything is arranged,’ he continued. ‘You will be presented to the press two days from today at New York’s Citizen Hall. The press have been told to expect the arrest of the decade. Bigger than any Pancho Villa by far and there will be champagne and caviar freely served to celebrate the moment - and I’ve made sure they’re going to be the best of quality. Invitations are immediately going out. The editors will be well aware their front pages are already spoken for. You’ll be marched onto the stage with a hood over your head, speeches will be made by myself and Errol Jones and at last your identity will be revealed. Gasps are going to fill the hall.’
‘Well done, boss,’ said Stevens.
Longworry’s attention did not flinch from Hope. ‘My priority now is to continue ensuring you do not get roughed up any more. When that hood comes off I don’t want the press drawing the conclusion that a confession might have been coerced out of you. They’ll see a nasty, hard living thug, and they’ll be more than happy to campaign for having the key tossed away for keeps. Thus, the gag stays and I keep the boys away from you, which won’t be hard as I’ve brought a few bottles of whiskey along to break the monotony.’
Cheers spontaneously filled the barn.
‘And don’t worry,’ continued Longworry to Hope, ‘none of the boys are bad drunks. I refuse to work with someone who can’t be happy in his drink. After all, it is only the bad things we do that deserve a sober condition.’
‘And we have been sober way too long,’ murmured Randi as he completed reassembling his Browning rifle in fast order.
‘The crates are in the boot,’ said Longworry. ‘And take it easy,’ he added as Randi sprang for the door. ‘You’ll put your back out again.’
He turned to the rest of the unit, who hadn’t minded the boredom enough to move.
‘He’ll need some help. They’re big crates. Enough for the night and to hide the hangover tomorrow.’
‘Allow me,’ said Davedas, pulling himself off a crate of his own. He holstered his revolver and busily filled the void left in his hands with cigarettes and matches. ‘It’s not his back I’m worried about.’
Longworry turned to the others. ‘You’d better get out there too. There are rifles and ammo on the backseat and provisions in the boot. Cheese, ham, and olives. Take them into the house.’
His team picked themselves up with varying degrees of enthusiasm. He had rarely nailed a case as perfectly as this and he wondered if they were starting to tire of the efficiency. He usually enjoyed the rough edges as much as anyone. But this case was too big to fool around with. It was going to be his legacy. It deserved to be as polished as Chinese jade. He stood over his team with hands on hips and an uncompromising drill sergeant’s stare dissuading protest.
‘There’s a suit mixed in with the rifles on the back seat,’ he called out as they were just leaving the barn. ‘Leave that where it is.’
He smirked wryly at Hope. ‘The suit is for you. A brand new one. Before you thank me, however, let me tell you the new suit will be necessary because I’m not letting you out of the chair no matter what. I don’t even care if you soil yourself. There’ll be no toilet trips for you. And don’t worry, the stench won’t offend me none. After all, we’ve got you locked up in a barn. But when it comes time to present you at the press conference, it will be a different story. Your stench will not go well at all with the caviar and champagne.’ The smirk reinvigorated itself. ‘The suit was off the rack at the Sacksville variety store. Brown check and a material as stiff as canvas. The smallest in stock. That is how the world will see the new you. They are unlikely to be impressed. But by the time it comes to leave the barn, you’ll be so saturated in your own filth you won’t be able to make the exchange of clothing fast enough. New York tailored silk for Sacksville handicraft. The press will be flummoxed as to how such a wretch could so completely fool the hard heads at Oregon Prime to be in a position to defile the Stars and Stripes upon our nation’s most iconic buildings. Shock will turn to anger. And the headlines will only be kind to your capturers. To me.’
Longworry back handed Hope’s jaw hard. ‘That’s another reason I sent the boys out. I don’t want to set a bad example. It’s funny how hitting you is like reaching an itch right in the middle of my back. It just feels so good. And I’m not one bit sorry about it. Unlike some of the softies in the camp. Chained to a chair, smelling your own funk with the occasional slap to the head, all I’m doing to you is exactly what you did to me. In my case, it was for two hellish years and it was only because of this perfectly planned enterprise that I am free of it.’
He drifted backwards, towards a side door. ‘I’ll leave you alone to do some planning of your own. After all, what else do jailbirds have but the endless opportunity to make plans? In case those plans include thoughts of making a nuisance of yourself, however, you should know I’m still thinking of shooting off one of your feet. That would be a real limp, wouldn’t it? The press would realise the man they had interviewed fresh off the city’s rooftops was already half way to the obituaries. But I daresay I have created that impression already. Sit there and behave yourself and you might just be spared from the full nightmare.’ He stepped through the doorway and dragged the door closed, pausing with just room enough for his shadowy profile to be visible. ‘It might cheer you to know that everyone wants a piece of you. The Sacksville cops want you locked up in their cells, the National Guard top brass want to be in trophy photographs with you and the press sure as hell wants to take them. For me, this case has been personal, but it’s nearing the time to share you with the rest of the world. You’d be advised to take your rest. And if you’re still thinking to instead turn your efforts to busting out of your chair, you should know the wood is ship-grade oak. It is a chair in which many have bled in and some have died for their troubles and no one has escaped.’ He grinned cruelly. ‘A well used chair. But I just may retire it after this occasion, put it pride of place at my dining room table and from it say my grace and enjoy my three square meals a day.’ He paused for something else to say but nothing came to mind so he abruptly scraped the door the rest of the way closed.
Death of the Extremophile Page 46
