Chapter 14

Terry lunged at the big man as he cleared his revolver from the holster. They tumbled to the floor.

Terry grabbed Elvis' right wrist with both hands, exerted pressure to keep the gun's muzzle away from his head.

Elvis' left hand chopped at Terry's neck.

Terry winced. He exerted more pressure. Then he lowered his head and sank his teeth into Elvis' fleshy hand. The Marshal screamed. His hand opened and the gun fell from paralyzed fingers.

"You bastard," Elvis screamed.

Terry scooped up the gun as Elvis' hands found his throat. Terry managed to get the gun between them. Elvis' fingers were digging into his windpipe. Terry dug the gun into Elvis' belly and squeezed off a shot.

The pillowly stomach muffled the explosion.

Elvis' eyes opened wide in amazement. His fingers started to relax. He licked his lips. "You ... you...."

Terry got free of the Marshal's hands, struggled to his feet. He took deep breaths, forced air into his lungs.

Elvis tried to rise. Blood started to pour from his mouth. Then he fell back, twitched slightly, then was still.

Terry knelt on one knee, felt for the man's pulse. There wasn't any.

He quickly left the Marshal's office, walked calmly out of the building. He found Leona waiting for him in the car. There were no packages. He got in beside her. "Didn't you buy anything?" he asked.

"I couldn't find what I wanted," she replied. She turned the motor over and the car pulled away. Terry lit a cigarette and was silent. "Where did you go?" she asked idly. "I just took a walk."

"Did you enjoy your walk?" She stared straight ahead.

Terry studied her face but couldn't determine if she knew anything or not. "It was a walk," he said indifferently. "It was just something to do."

"Just passing the time of day," she said. "Just killing time. Just felt like taking a walk. You wanted to go to Fleetwood so you could take a walk, is that it?"

"Nobody has to know I went to Fleetwood," Terry said.

"I won't tell," she said.

"Besides,' 'Terry added, "Gall wouldn't like it if he knew you took me."

"Are you going to hold that on top of me?"

"Of course not," he snapped. He put his hand in his jacket pocket for cigarettes and felt the Marshal's gun. His fingers glided over the cold metal. Here was insurance. Good insurance. He took out the pack of cigarettes and lit a fresh one after throwing away the butt he'd lit before.

"You smoke too much," she commented.

"I know."

"Give me a cigarette."

He gave her one, lit it.

"Just who are you?" she said.

"Don't you know?" Terry felt apprehension. Leona was suspicious of him because he'd let the car. But there had to be more than that. Why didn't she believe him when he'd told her that he'd taken a walk? For a wild moment he had the urge to seize the wheels of the car and drive off in the opposite direction at the maximum speed.

"No, I don't know," she answered. "I don't think you are what you say you are." She glanced at him for a fleeting second. "You're playing with dynamite, do you know that?"

"Why don't you get to the point?"

"Forget it. I guess you know what you're doing."

"Thanks. For nothing."

She drove the rest of the way in silence.

Soon, they could see the Den of Iniquity.

"I'll leave you off where I picked you up," she said.

"Okay."

"I like you, Terry. I don't know why. You must believe me. I do like you."

"All right, I believe you."

"I hate Gall. You must believe that too."

"What are you leading to?" he wanted to know.

"The point is ... what are you leading up to?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Okay, Terry. Just remember. You can trust me."

She stopped the car and he got out. He walked around the building, crossed the grounds, went into the House. He went to his room and opened the door.

There were two men seated on his bed.

One of them said, "Come on in, Terry. My name is Flager. This is Joe Hurtze."

Terry walked in, closed the door, leaned his back against it. "What's the idea?"

"We have a business proposition," Flagler said. He was a slim man. His lips were thin his jaw pointed. "It's about that opium of yours."

Joe Hurtze said, "We want to buy it." He was a big man with sandy hair.

"Are you boys in the narcotics game?" Terry said.

"I am," Flagler said. "Joe is in the banking business, if you know what I mean."

"I'm just puttin' up some dough," Hurtze said. "I have some extra cash and figured I'd let it work for me.

"I suppose you gentlemen have talked to Gall and Elvis?" Terry said.

"We have," Flagler said. "We know you already have a deal cooking. Well, so what? This character is abroad someplace. And we're here. With money. Remember that old saying? "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush?"

"Give me time to think," Terry said.

"I can't give you too much time," Flagler said. "I want to start operations soon. I have my pushers and a good mixer all lined up. They're waiting for me now in Chicago. I either come up with some good hop or buy myself some marijuana. So what do you say, Terry?"

"I still need time," Terry said. "I'd feel like I was double-crossing this chap."

"I see his point," Hurtze said. "Let's give him a few days to make up his mind."

"Sure. Just a few days."

The men got up. Terry ushered them to the door, showed them out, closed and locked the door.

He sighed. Things would have to come to a head soon. That opium wasn't his to sell. Here was just another complication.

Terry felt that with Elvis' death things would have to move and move fast.

He hid the Marshal's gun under the mattress.