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.’
Louella sighed.
‘I think you and me are going to be good friends. How about buying me a drink on it?’
‘Wasn’t drinking I had on my mind,’ Angel said. ‘Can’t we find somewhere a little more private?’
‘Why sure, honey.’ Louella pouted. She grabbed Angel’s hand and began to lead him towards the stairs on the far side of the saloon. ‘One thing I do admire is a man who knows what he wants and just goes out to get it!’ She prattled on as they climbed the stairs, moving along the landing. Reaching the far end of the passage, Louella paused at a door. ‘Well, here we are, honey.’
Angel pushed open the door and gestured for Louella to precede him. She waltzed ahead of him, swinging her rounded hips. Angel followed, closing the door quietly behind him. He watched Louella cross the small room and absently stroke her hand across the faded cover on the bed. She turned, a frown on her pale young face when she realized he hadn’t moved from the door.
‘Something wrong, honey?’ she asked.
‘No.’ Angel glanced quickly around the room. A thin smile touched his lips as he spotted the heads of the nails that had been driven through the lower frame of the window, securing it firmly to the sill. A simple, but effective, precaution against a dissatisfied client skipping without paying for his pleasure.
Louella, with all the instincts of an alley cat, sensed there was more to this situation than just a young cowboy seeking a quick roll under the sheets. She lost her smile very suddenly and the young face turned hard and cold.
‘Hey, what’s going on? Who the hell are you?’
Angel eased away from the door.
‘Just someone who wants to ask you a couple of questions—honey!’
‘Ain’t no questions gettin’ asked,’ Louella snapped. ‘Now you just get out of my way, ’cause I’m leavin’!’
‘Just tell me where Harry Culp is, Louella,’ Angel said, and watched her expression change. Before she spoke he knew Louella had met Culp—but she was about to deny it.
‘Who the hell is Harry Culp? I never heard of him!’
‘Harry’s an old friend of mine,’ Angel lied. ‘I know you met him when he came to Liberty. All I want to know is where he got to.’
Louella’s eyes flickered around the room. She wore a trapped, frightened expression. Watching her Angel realized that there was even more to this situation than he’d first thought. Just what had happened between Louella and Harry Culp?
‘Louella, just tell me where Harry is and I’ll be out of here before you know it.’
‘Go to hell, you bastard!’ Louella yelled. ‘I don’t know anybody called Harry Culp! Now, just let me alone! I got a job to do and you’re wastin’ my time!’
Angel took a step towards her. Louella took one look at him, then started to scream. She had a powerful pair of lungs to match her more than ample exterior dimensions. Her high, seemingly endless screaming filled the room. Angel shook his head sadly. There was little a man could do against a female in full voice. He knew too that anyone hearing the sound was going to assume the worst. If anyone came into the room he wasn’t going to be given any chance at all to state his side of the argument. He placed himself in front of her, still shaking his head. His right fist came up in a swift, restrained arc. He clipped Louella across the rounded tip of her chin. Her eyes glazed and she fell back across the bed. Silence descended.
Only for a few seconds. Angel heard a sudden pounding of footsteps in the passage. Matters were getting very rapidly out of hand, he decided.
He moved to the window and peered through the dusty glass. A few feet below the window he could see the sloping roof of an extension to the main building. Beyond that lay a dusty alley. Recalling what Jess had said about the men hired to keep the peace at Jinty’s Palace, Angel figured it was going to be wiser to take the quick way out. He stepped back a couple of feet, hunched his shoulders, and went through the window headfirst. Above the shattering glass he heard the door crash open behind him, voices raised in anger. Then he was outside, dropping in a controlled roll on to the sloping roof. He let his momentum carry him forward: towards, then over the edge. As he fell clear he heard the solid crack of a shot. The bullet clipped the edge of the roof, splitting the weathered wood. The alley rushed up to meet him. Twisting his body Angel hit on his feet, absorbing the impact in another roll forward.
He came to his feet quickly, hugging the wall below the sloping roof as he cut off towards the street. He didn’t hesitate but stepped on to the street and walked straight to where his horse stood at the hitching rail. Calmly he loosened the reins and led the horse away from the front of Jinty’s Palace. He was working on the assumption that it was going to take a couple of minutes for the men up in Louella’s room to got themselves organized and to follow him. They would probably decide against following him through the window and across the roof in case he happened to be waiting for them in the alley. So they would have to retrace their steps back through the saloon, making their way through the crowd of customers. And by that time …
~*~
Angel walked his horse on by the restaurant. He would have liked to stop off for another talk with Jess but he didn’t think the time was right. He needed to find a place where he could sit and think things out. He hadn’t forgotten about the two deputies either. From what he’d seen of them and the way Jess had spoken of the local sheriff, Angel ruled out enlisting any kind of help from Liberty’s law.
He found a dingy, run-down hotel up at the north end of town. It was close to the complex of cattle-pens that had been built during the early years of Liberty’s existence. A toothless old Mexican waited with inborn patience while Angel unstrapped his gear and took his rifle. As Angel kicked dust from his boots on his way inside the old man led the horse away to the stable at the rear of the building. Wrinkling his nose at the stale air inside the stuffy lobby Angel banged his rifle butt against the scarred top of the desk. A listless figure levered itself from the shadows in back and shuffled into the dim light.
‘You want a room?’
‘They do tell me that’s what these places are for,’ Angel said.
The desk clerk sneered, the closest he could get to a smile, and fished a key off the board behind him.
‘You stayin’ long?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Two dollars a day.’
Angel paid for a couple of days.
‘You let me know when that runs out,’ he said.
The clerk nodded. ‘Up the stairs. First door on the left.’
Inside the shabby room Angel dumped his belongings on the bed. He turned and locked the door. He crossed the room and spent a couple of minutes fighting the warped window, eventually getting it to open.
There was a washstand leaning against one dirt-streaked wall, with a chipped mirror hanging above it. The water in the big jug had a film of dust on its surface. Angel poured some into the basin and rinsed his face. He peered at himself through the mirror, stroking his face. He turned to his saddlebags and pulled out a rolled towel. Inside the towel was his razor and a cake of soap. He spent long minutes working up a lather with the cold water, then carefully shaved. When he’d finished he took off his dirty shirt and pulled on the remaining clean one from his saddlebag. He unbuckled his gun belt and draped it from the corner of the tarnished brass bed head. Then he stretched his long frame out on the worn blankets. Somewhere in this town was the answer to his question: what had happened to Harry Culp? Angel had established beyond doubt that Culp had stopped off in Liberty. He wasn’t so certain now that the man had ridden on. If that was true then where was Harry Culp? And where was the $75,000 the man had been carrying with him? Had somebody found out about Culp’s money? It could be a reason for his apparent disappearance. Men had vanished for a lot less than $75,000. Even killed for less. Angel didn’t rule out the possibility. He decided to wait until it was dark and then make another try at getting Louella Brill to talk. He was sure she knew more than she was prepared to admit. He wanted to know what she’d done to earn the fifty dollars Jess had overheard her mention. Angel wanted another chance to talk to Jess too. There were things he wanted to find out about Liberty and its law.
He let himself relax. He had a few hours before nightfall. A chance to catch up on some of the sleep he’d missed over the past few nights. He couldn’t go on forever without some rest and now was as good a time as any. He didn’t realize how tired he was. How much in need of sound sleep.
He didn’t see the afternoon shadows lengthen. Nor was he aware of the softening light, the setting sun bathing the town in muted orange tones. He slept through the dusk as lamps were lit against the approaching darkness, and only stirred restlessly at some near-at-hand noise. At first it didn’t register … and when it did he fought against the drug of sleep, clawing his way to consciousness … but he was too late.
They came at him out of the shadows, harsh whisperings reaching his ears. Angel lunged up off the bed, snatching for the Colt, but he didn’t have a chance to reach it. Hard, brutal blows smashed at his body, caught his face. He was thrown back across the bed, stunned, wild with anger. He lashed out with booted feet, satisfaction surging hotly as he felt flesh connect with the hard leather. A man yelled obscenely. Hands caught hold of Angel, dragging him from the bed, He grunted in agony as a crippling blow took him in the stomach. He stumbled to the floor. Someone kicked him, pain flaring across his ribs. Now he could taste blood in his mouth. Christ, he thought, they’re going to kill me! The thought flashed a warning across his mind, and he made to reach for one of the slim-bladed throwing knives concealed in the tops of his boots. There was no chance. A great weight smashed down across his skull, driving him face down on the dirty floor, and he knew no more.