"Shove it!" Gaskin squinted at Tremaine, his upper lip curled back to
expose the gap in his teeth. "You tryin to make more trouble for my
boy, I hear. Been over to the jail, stickin your nose in."
* * * * *
Tremaine dropped the locket in his pocket and stood up. Gaskin hitched
up his pants, glanced around the room. Half a dozen early drinkers
stared, wide-eyed. Gaskin squinted at Tremaine. He smelled of unwashed
flannel.
"Sicked the cops onto him. The boy was out with his friends, havin a
little fun. Now there he sets in jail."
Tremaine moved aside from the stool, started past the man. Soup Gaskin
grabbed his arm.
"Not so fast! I figger you owe me damages. I--"
"Damage is what you'll get," said Tremaine. He slammed a stiff left
to Gaskin's ribs, drove a hard right to the jaw. Gaskin jack-knifed
backwards, tripped over a bar stool, fell on his back. He rolled over,
got to hands and knees, shook his head.
"Git up, Soup!" someone called. "Hot dog!" offered another.
"I'm calling the police!" the bartender yelled.
"Never mind," a voice said from the door. A blue-jacketed State Trooper
strolled into the room, fingers hooked into his pistol belt, the steel
caps on his boot heels clicking with each step. He faced Tremaine, feet
apart.
"Looks like you're disturbin the peace, Mr. Tremaine," he said.
"You wouldn't know who put him up to it, would you?" Tremaine said.
"That's a dirty allegation," the cop grinned. "I'll have to get off a
hot letter to my congressman."
Gaskin got to his feet, wiped a smear of blood across his cheek, then
lunged past the cop and swung a wild right. Tremaine stepped aside,
landed a solid punch on Gaskin's ear. The cop stepped back against the
bar. Soup whirled, slammed out with lefts and rights. Tremaine lashed
back with a straight left; Gaskin slammed against the bar, rebounded,
threw a knockout right ... and Tremaine ducked, landed a right
upper-cut that sent Gaskin reeling back, bowled over a table, sent
glasses flying. Tremaine stood over him.
"On your feet, jailbird," he said. "A workout is exactly what I needed."
"Okay, you've had your fun," the State cop said. "I'm taking you in,
Tremaine."
Tremaine looked at him. "Sorry, copper," he said. "I don't have time
right now." The cop looked startled, reached for his revolver.
"What's going on here, Jimmy?" Jess stood in the door, a huge .44 in
his hand. He turned his eyes on the trooper.
"You're a little out of your jurisdiction," he said. "I think you
better move on 'fore somebody steals your bicycle."
The cop eyed Jess for a long moment, then holstered his pistol and
stalked out of the bar. Jess tucked his revolver into his belt, looked
at Gaskin sitting on the floor, dabbing at his bleeding mouth. "What
got into you, Soup?"
"I think the State boys put him up to it," Tremaine said. "They're
looking for an excuse to take me out of the picture."
Jess motioned to Gaskin. "Get up, Soup. I'm lockin you up alongside
that boy of yours."
Outside, Jess said, "You got some bad enemies there, Jimmy. That's a
tough break. You ought to hold onto your temper with those boys. I
think maybe you ought to think about getting over the state line. I can
run you to the bus station, and send your car along...."
"I can't leave now, Jess. I haven't even started."