Shoot Angel!

by Frederick H. Christian

  As the Attorney General’s last telegraph message had suggested, he had picked up Culp’s cold trail quickly, allowing nothing to distract him. The Old Man had a knack of being able to convey his personal feelings even through the mechanical and impersonal limitations of the telegraph’s printed words. Angel had been in no doubt as to the Attorney General’s annoyance. The Attorney General did not like his investigators breaking off from an assignment, unless the circumstances were very exceptional. Angel was left with the distinct feeling that his reasons—a dead horse and the combination of outlaw gang and warring Apaches—lacked what the Attorney General considered to be a justifiable excuse.

  On his return to Yuma Angel had rigged himself up with a fresh outfit and had then painstakingly gone through the motions of tracking Culp. It had taken him three days to cut the trail, winding its dusty way across the heat-seared Arizona badlands, gradually slipping off towards the northeast beyond Lake Havasu, across endless, empty miles. The three days had become five, then six. Angel had managed to gain a little knowledge about Culp at each place he stopped for food or water or somewhere to sleep for the night. Each tiny, desolate town, each isolated ranch, all furnished some information about the direction in which Culp appeared to be heading. Angel couldn’t guess at Culp’s ultimate destination, whether the man intended to meet anyone. Not that those items really mattered. All Frank Angel wanted was Harry Culp and the $75,000 he had with him. Culp was wanted for his part in a complicated swindle involving government officials dealing in Indian affairs, namely the sale of land belonging to tribes in the southwest. The swindle had been broken up after long months of painstaking undercover investigation by the Department of Justice. Angel had only been put on the case during the final weeks, after one of the department’s investigators had been shot down and killed in Tucson. He had been able to assist in the capture of the men involved—except for one. That had been Harry Culp. And Angel intended to right that wrong as soon as he could.

  The town of Liberty, basking in the shadow of the Colorado Plateau, a tiny spot of civilization in the middle of nowhere, was yet another stopover in Culp’s seemingly endless ride. Angel was sure the man had taken time to rest here after the long journey up into the rocky escarpments of the plateau. Beyond lay the dry miles of the Painted Desert and the whole of the way ahead, curving west and east, became a maze of rocky canyons and gorges, a rising landscape of mountainous terrain, It was a wide, empty, savage country, and if Culp intended crossing it he would need to stock up on his supplies …

  ‘Coffee!’

  Angel was dragged out of his reflections by the sound of the girl’s voice. He nodded his thanks and watched her cross the floor on her way back to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee filled his nostrils and he eagerly filled the large china mug she had provided. The coffee was delicious. Angel downed half the pot over the next few minutes, slowly beginning to feel partway human again. It was only now that he realized the grubby state he was in. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, his clothes were dusty, sweat-stale. He decided that as soon as he had finished his meal he would do something about his appearance.

  A few minutes later the girl reappeared. She was carrying a tray holding Angel’s meal. She smiled at him as she came across the floor of the restaurant. Without warning the smile vanished from her face. Angel heard the door rattle open, glanced that way, and saw two men step inside. The first thing he noticed about them was the aggressive, intolerant way they behaved. Nor was he slow to spot the badges they wore pinned to their grubby, creased shirts. The one in the lead was big, a heavy, beefy man with large hands. He grinned wolfishly as he planted himself squarely in the girl’s path.

  ‘Smells good, Jess,’ he said. ‘That steak’ll do right well.’

  The girl’s face flared with anger. She made to move round the huge bulk but the man stepped in front of her again.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, get out of my way.’

  Duggan laughed. ‘My, don’t she get uppity! Now you ought to treat us nice, Jess, ’cause we’re customers. Ain’t that right, Koch?’

  ‘Yeah! Could be we want to spend some money here. Don’t cost a thing to be civil, Jess.’

  ‘How about showing us some civility and letting the lady through with this customer’s meal?’

  The man called Duggan turned at the sound of the strange voice. He eyed the speaker, seeing a tall, rangy young man in the act of rising from his seat at one of the tables. Duggan saw the dusty range clothes, the tanned, high-boned face, and thought he was looking at some out-of-work cowhand passing through.

  ‘Hey, Koch, you hear something speak?’

  Koch made a great show of staring around the restaurant. Then he shook his head.

  ‘Thought I did. Must have been imagining it.’ He hesitated for an exaggerated moment, then added: ‘Mind—I can smell something.’

  Duggan grinned. ‘You know, so can I. Now what is it?’

  ‘Cow shit!’ Koch stated. ‘Yeah. That’s it—cow shit!’

  ‘I’ve had just about enough of you two,’ the girl, Jess, said angrily. She placed the loaded tray on the nearest table and swung round on the two grinning deputies. ‘It isn’t enough that this town has to put up with you and our so-called sheriff! Now we have to suffer your filthy humor and stupidity! I think it best if you leave my premises right now. One privilege I still enjoy is being able to refuse to serve anyone I don’t wish to. In your language, Duggan, it means you don’t get to eat in here. Now get out!’

  Duggan’s face darkened, his small eyes glittering dangerously.

  ‘The hell you say! Ain’t no damn female going to tell me where I go! An’ I’ll eat here … now … ’ Duggan reached out to snatch the steak from the plate resting on the tray.

  ‘No!’ Jess yelled. In her rage she swung a hand wildly at Duggan. Her small fist jarred the steak from his fingers and it fell to the floor.

  Duggan gave a grunt of annoyance.

  ‘Look what you done … stupid bitch … time someone showed you the way … !’ He lashed out with a huge hand, slapping Jess across the face, hurling her across the restaurant. Behind him Koch uttered a shrill laugh.

  Neither of them noticed that Frank Angel had moved. Silently, with fluid ease, he slid away from his table, crossing the restaurant in long strides. He reached Duggan’s side just as the big deputy was about to move towards the fallen girl. Angel’s right hand, held rigid, chopped brutally across the side of Duggan’s thick neck. It was a powerful blow, delivered with practiced efficiency. It caught Duggan in precisely the right place to paralyze nerves, and the big man went down without a sound. As Koch became aware of Angel’s presence, he made a desperate grab for his holstered gun. Angel twisted round to face him, his right leg delivering a swift kick. The toe of his boot caught Koch’s gun hand, sending the gun flying from dead fingers. Koch howled in pain, but even in his agony he was aware enough to use his left hand to snatch free the slim-bladed knife he carried in his belt. He slashed wildly at Angel’s weaving body, missed, tried to reverse his thrust. By then Angel was on him. He reached out and grabbed Koch’s wrist, twisting brutally. The knife slipped from Koch’s fingers. Before it had touched the floor Angel had smashed a hard fist into Koch’s exposed stomach. The deputy began to choke, gasping for breath. Angel clubbed him across the back of his neck and Koch went face down on the hard floor. He stopped choking and lay very still and very quiet.

  Angel disarmed both men. He placed their various weapons out of sight behind the counter. Then he went across to where Jess was standing, her face white with shock. She regarded him with those startling green eyes, not yet certain how to take him.

  ‘Is breakfast always so energetic in here?’ Angel asked lightly. ‘I’ve heard of working up an appetite.’

  Jess couldn’t help smiling. ‘I don’t know who you are but I’m glad you were here.’

  ‘Frank Angel’s the name.’

  The girl held out a slim hand. ‘Jessica Blake. Though every
one calls me Jess.’

  ‘You feeling all right?’ Angel enquired.

  Jess nodded. She touched her fingers to the sore spot on her face where Duggan had struck her.

  ‘Probably have a black eye in the morning,’ she said ruefully. ‘That man has a kick like a mule.’

  ‘Appears to have the brains of one as well,’ Angel remarked. ‘Is this kind of thing normal in this town?’

  ‘If you asked anyone else you would find they had suddenly been struck dumb.’

  ‘Not something that bothers you?’

  Jess smiled, eyes sparkling. ‘I come from a long line of ancestors who believe in calling a spade a spade. There’s been too much dirt swept under the carpet in Liberty. I’ve not been one of those doing the sweeping. Trouble is, nobody in this town wants to listen.’

  ‘Try me,’ Angel suggested.

  She studied him intently, frowning slightly.

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t. You could already be in more trouble than you realize. Perhaps you ought to get on your horse and leave before those two wake up. They won’t leave it as things are. I’m not trying to scare you, Frank Angel, but Liberty isn’t your problem. Why ask for trouble?’

  Angel grinned at her. ‘You let me worry about my troubles,’ he said. ‘Tell me about Liberty.’

  Jess sat down. ‘Something tells me there’s more to you than a dirty shirt and a couple of days’ growth of whiskers. Just who are you, Frank Angel?’

  ‘Might be better if you didn’t know.’

  Jess wagged a finger at him, ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘You don’t get off so easy.’

  ‘Let’s just say I’m looking for someone.’

  ‘Here in Liberty?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘Man or woman?’

  ‘Man. Name of Harry Culp. Does it mean anything to you?’

  Jess thought for a moment, then she shook her head.

  ‘For a moment I had a feeling I knew the name. Now I’m not so sure. Let me think about it. Thing is I get a lot of people in here who are just passing through. They buy a meal, then leave. It isn’t often I get to know their names. How recently was this man in Liberty?’

  ‘A week back near as I can figure,’ Angel said.

  ‘Do you think he’s still here?’

  Angel shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He came this way and I’m certain he must have stopped here. It might only have been for a while. If he did then someone in Liberty must have seen him.’

  ‘Maybe one of the saloons,’ Jess suggested. ‘Wait. I have heard the name.’

  ‘From whom?’

  ‘I remember now. It was just a snatch of conversation I overheard. Between a couple of the girls who work over at Jinty’s Palace. It’s one of the big saloons. And it was about a week ago. The girls sometimes come in here for an early breakfast after they’ve been working late. I was clearing a table and I heard one of them say something about … what was it … yes, she said she’d earned fifty dollars of easy money thanks to that Culp feller. That was all. The only reason I recall it is because the name was new to me. Liberty’s small enough for everyone to know all the local names. There isn’t anyone around here named Culp.’

  ‘Do you remember the name of the girl doing the talking?’ Angel asked.

  ‘Louella Brill. You can’t miss her. She has red hair—and I mean red—and she’s extremely—how can I put it—well developed for her tender years.’

  ‘Where could I find her?’

  ‘Most probably in the saloon,’ Jess told him. ‘Be careful in that place. It has a reputation for being pretty rough. Jinty McCall is a very tough character. He employs some violent people to keep the peace over there. They’re the kind who hit you first and ask questions later.’

  ‘Sounds like a fun place.’ Angel picked up his hat. ‘Sorry about the meal. You mind if I call back later?’

  Jess smiled warmly. ‘You call any time you like, Even if I’m closed!’

  Angel indicated the sprawled figures on the floor.

  ‘You want me to move them?’

  ‘No,’ Jess told him. ‘I want to be here when they wake up.’

  ‘That might not be advisable.’

  ‘They don’t scare me.’ Jess crossed to the counter and retrieved the weapons Angel had placed there. ‘Just dump these somewhere when you get outside.’

  Angel took the weapons.

  ‘You get any problems, just yell,’ he said.

  She followed him to the door, watched him untie his horse and move off along the street.

  ‘Hey, I hope you find what you’re looking for,’ she called after him.

  Angel smiled to himself. He had a feeling that whatever he found in Liberty it was sure to mean nothing but trouble for him. And as usual he was right!

  Chapter Three

  Jinty’s Palace stood at the far end of town, a three-floored, garish wooden structure. It was saloon, gambling-parlor and hotel, all under one roof. Angel was able to hear the noise emitting from the place long before he reached it. He left his horse at the crowded hitching rail and headed for the door. On the boardwalk he paused, remembering that he was still carrying the weapons he had taken from the two deputies. He turned, stepped to the edge of the boardwalk and casually deposited the weapons in the horse-trough he’d spotted beside the hitching rail.

  A sour blast of warm air enveloped Angel as he stepped inside the saloon. He stood for a long moment while his eyes and his senses adjusted to the subdued light and the heady atmosphere. The air was hazy with cigar smoke and reeked of beer and cheap whiskey. Over in a far corner an out-of-tune piano was struggling to make itself heard above the cacophonous din. The big main room was crowded and every man seemed to be talking, or laughing, or singing, or groaning, each according to his mood. There were women too, moving from table to table in their bright, skimpy dresses, pausing every so often for a word here, a smile, a teasing caress. Yet beneath the loose, friendly mask it was all hard business. The girls were there to sell drinks, or the thrill of the card-tables, even themselves if that was the customer’s desire. They peddled their various wares easily, enticing with glib words, with persuasion, flattery. Whatever the customer wanted, he was promised the best, and the girls worked hard to prise him away from the bottles of cheap whiskey. If it was to the gambling-tables the unfortunate individual would soon be able to watch his bankroll dwindle to zero. He would be up against skilled gamblers, men who lived with a pack of cards in their nimble fingers. The suckers, who never were given a break, wouldn’t even realize that they had been well and truly taken. The glassy-eyed, self-styled stud, on his way upstairs with some simpering, doe-eyed young girl, might figure he was getting more for his money than the poker-player, might just as well have saved his money. The girl, even as she was slipping out of her clothes, simulating heated passion and desire, would most probably be figuring out her percentage of the day’s take. While she lay beneath his straining bulk, making out that she was half-way to paradise, her moans and cries urging him on, she would be smiling because she’d worked out that she could turn at least two more tricks before she completed her shift. And after she had overplayed her frenzied climax, waiting for her client to finish his own panting efforts, she would stare up at the ceiling, inspect the glossy sheen of her fingernails, or even make the momentous decision to have her hair done before she started work the next day.

  All in all, Jinty’s Palace, for all its pretensions, was nothing more than a come-on. An expensive, gaudy set-up. It was for the losers.

  These were only superficial observations as far as Frank Angel was concerned. He was here on a different matter. He stood just inside the door, his eyes searching the crowd of faces before him. He wasn’t interested in what Jinty’s Palace had to offer. He was simply looking for someone.

  A girl. A girl named Louella Brill. Someone who, it appeared, had been in contact with Harry Culp. And that contact might have resulted in some kind of communication. It didn’t matter how slight. There might have been a
word, a phrase spoken which might give Angel some indication as to Culp’s destination. He knew that there was also the likelihood that Culp hadn’t said a word to the girl. But until he asked her there was no way of knowing.

  Angel caught sight of a young girl with bright-red hair. She was standing beside a table, nudging a balding, middle-aged man wearing the clothes of a cowman. The man, half-embarrassed by her attentions, was making a mess of trying to fill a glass of whiskey. The girl leaned over to whisper something to him, giving the other men at the table an unrestricted view of her full, ripe white breasts, straining against the thin bodice of her cheap, tight dress. Whatever she said to the man caused his hand to shake even more. Whiskey spilled on to the tabletop.

  Threading his way through the crowd Angel approached the table. The girl, fast realizing that the elderly cowman wasn’t going to respond to her performance, began to ease away from him. As her eyes drifted away from the cowman they came to rest on the tall figure of a young, travel-stained individual. The girl’s smile returned. This one looked more hopeful, she thought. And a damn sight more interesting than the bald-headed old coot she’d just wasted five minutes on. She wet her full lips with the tip of her pink tongue and fluttered her long lashes.

  ‘Louella?’ the young man said. He had a soft drawl to his voice that brought a warm feeling alive in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘How d’you know my name?’ she asked.

  Frank Angel smiled easily at the girl.

  ‘Got it from a friend,’ he said. ‘Told me that when I rode through Liberty to look up Louella. Said it wouldn’t be hard to find you. Said to look for the prettiest girl with the prettiest red hair a man was ever likely to see. So here I am.’