Chapter 6

Ben Argon was dimly aware of being lifted and dragged by more than one pair of strong arms. He heard voices in the far distance, some laughing, some joking, some mocking. An angry pain was running through his head and no matter how hard he tried to raise it, to pry open his eyes, he could not. Then suddenly he was no longer as far from the voices. He could hear them apologizing to other voices and explaining that someone had had one too many and that he needed fresh air. And then he realized that it was he who was being dragged.

He felt the hands propping him against a wall and holding him there while they went through his pockets. The noise was gone and the room that they had brought him to was quiet. He tried to open his eyes again but they were still weighted. He wondered who had hit him over the head and what they had used and how they had had the nerve to do it in a crowded nightclub.

He heard a door open and then a smooth voice speak. "Okay, who is he?"

Another voice, just to his left, answered. "His name's Ben Argon and he's a cop."

"Wake him up."

Argon felt his head clear as a hard hand jolted and stung the side of his face. His eyelids rose slowly and he had trouble focusing his vision. The room was small and dusty and a single bulb hung down from the ceiling. Two rugged characters flanked him, each holding on to one of his arms. They looked like professionals and he wondered what hoods of their type were doing in a town like Whitebank.

A third man stood across the room, half in shadows. He was tall and slender and impeccably dressed and vaguely familiar. He tossed Argon's wallet to one of the hoods. "Put it back in his pocket." He waited until his order was obeyed before speaking again. "What business do you have with Julie Miller, cop?"

Argon tried to formalize some plan of action. The dark-haired man's shadowed face continue to nag at his memory. "I wanted to ask her a few questions," he mumbled, finding his tongue thick and uncooperative and coated. "Who hit me?"

The tall man smiled. "Nobody hit you, cop. You just had one drink too many. You'll be all right in a little while." The smile faded and the dark eyes glittered. "Suppose you ask me those questions you wanted to ask Julie."

"Who are you?"

"Let's say I'm a friend of the family."

Argon drew a deep breath and estimated how much of his strength had returned. Not enough, he thought. Not yet. He forced a wry smile as he squinted at the darkly handsome stranger standing across the room. "Okay, so there weren't any questions. I was just trying to ... well, renew an old acquaintance."

The man studied him a moment. "I don't believe you, cop." He turned and opened the door of the room and stepped outside for a few moments. When the door opened again, he escorted Julie into the room. She was wearing a silken kimono and her face was still heavily coated with make-up from her performance. The man held her arm with unmistakable possessiveness. "You know this guy?"

The young blonde dancer grimaced. "And how. He's the cop who arrested me. He tried to put me in jail."

The dark man smiled. "I get it. You came back to see if you could do a better job the second time around, huh?"

Argon shook his head. "No, not really. As a matter-of-fact, I was bringing her a personal message."

"From who?"

Argon knew it was crazy but he also knew he might never have another chance to determine whether or not his wild hunch was right. He looked pointedly at the big breasted girl. "From Judge Aiken...."

The blue eyes sparked anger. "He's got a nerve, that old goat! What does he want from me anyhow? I gave him all he had coming and I'm not about to do it again. You tell him that if he tries anything cute with me, I'll ruin him. You tell him we're square and if he don't think so, he'd better get smart real quick."

Argon drew little satisfaction from the furious speech. In a way he was sorry that his suspicions had been proven valid. It made him a little sick to think of Judge Aiken and this wild-eyed and lustily formed young dancer together. Especially when he remembered the handsome Helen Aiken and the confused Kathy Aiken.

The dark stranger eased Julie to the door again. "Okay, that's it. Go wait in your dressing room for me, baby."

Julie smiled happily. "Yes, Marty."

The name rang the bell and suddenly Argon knew the identity of the well-dressed man who had such disregard for an officer of the law. It seemed impossible but it was true. Marty Jex was in Whitebank. Not New York or Miami or Chicago or Las Vegas or Los Angeles, but Whitebank. He watched Jex close the door and turn to face him again and realized that he was staring at one of the most celebrated and powerful racketeers in the state.

"You heard the kid, didn't you, cop? You got the message?"

"I heard."

"Good, I'm glad. Let me underline it a little. You tell your friend, the judge, that Julie Miller is off-limits to him or anybody else from now on. She's private property and there's a great big no-trespassing sign posted. That clear?"

Argon nodded slowly, his mind still whirling with guesses as to why a man with Marty Jex's contacts should be in Whitebank and involved with a scatterbrained young nympho like Julie Miller. "Very clear," he answered tersely.

Jex moved to the door. "You boys see that the officer makes it to his car. I wouldn't want nothing to happen to him." A final smile flirted at the edges of the handsome face and then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

"Okay," one of the hoods grunted, "let's move, cop."

They led him out a side door of the roadhouse into the snow-covered parking lot and the frosty night air cleared Argon's head of the last lingering effects of the drugged drink the cute waitress had given him on Jex's orders. He caught the two hoods exchanging a meaningful look as they led him toward his car and he knew that they meant to work him over before releasing him. He continued his unsteady steps, hoping to lull them into a state of over-confidence, knowing that it was going to be rugged no matter how he conned them.

"This is my car," he mumbled, stopping with them.

They released his arms and stepped back a short distance, smiling with anticipation. The stockier one looked around and then inched forward. Argon jolted him with a sudden punch and quickly followed it with a vicious knee into the groin. The man groaned and crumpled. The second man had his automatic out and raised in clubbing fashion. Argon dodged but the butt glanced off the side of his head, bringing a blinding pain. Argon pivoted and hooked the taller hood in the pit of the stomach, pounding the breath from the man's lungs. A hard judo chop to the base of the neck doubled the hood over the fender. Argon turned him around carefully and applied the finisher, feeling the crush of bone as his fist hammered down on the hood's face.

A few moments later, Argon steered his car out of the parking lot and headed it back toward White-bank. His head was ringing and he could feel an ugly bump rising and when he took his hand away, his fingertips were wet and red. He put a folded handkerchief to the wound and held it there as he continued to drive with one hand.

Marty Jex. In Whitebank.

Charles Aiken and Julie Miller.

He had a lot to think about. Too much to entertain any thoughts of going home to bed. The ringing gradually turned to a dull and persistent throbbing, adding to his restless discomfort. He'd been lucky not to catch the blow squarely, damn lucky. It would have torn his face apart in its deliberate descent. Those boys played rough, but it figured considering who they worked for. He wondered what he ought to do about Jex.

He could go to the Chief or possibly to Mayor Bauer ... but then, Jex never moved into a town without prematurely greasing the path. Some sort of a fix would be in, the only question was with whom. Progress, he thought, was most certainly coming to fast-growing Whitebank in a big way.

And what about Aiken? It was obvious that Julie Miller had been let off the hook in return for her energetic favors. How many others? The hit-and-run case, for example. It had sounded peculiar, very peculiar, judging from the circumstances. Was she another young and beautiful and desperate female?

Okay, so it was true. What now?

What was the profit and how would he go about gathering the necessary proof of his charges? Julie would be the last to cooperate. Another woman, if there was another woman, would be equally as difficult to nail down. Hell, was it really any of his business? Being a cop was just a job, not a form of all-out dedication. What about Aiken's wife arid daughter? They'd have to be dragged through the mud if he started an investigation. The kid, Kathy, had enough troubles.

Kathy....

Her face continued to haunt him.

Crazy. Crazy. She was only a kid, only a brat, only an immature child. He'd met her once and then only too briefly and he was making a mountain out of one fleeting brush of her young lips. It had only been a kiss of gratitude, nothing more. She'd needed someone to talk to and he'd been there and she was showing him she appreciated his patience. That was it, period. He had to stop acting like a moon-struck schoolboy.

Argon saw the lights of the all-night diner ahead and slowed his car. The snow was falling heavier and he remembered hearing a radio report that afternoon that a cold wave was coming down from Canada. He looked at the blanketed road ahead of his lights and estimated there'd be four or five inches by morning at the pace it was falling. Bad, real bad, he thought, remembering the accident described to him earlier that night.

Argon laughed sourly at himself for thinking in such everyday police terms when his head was split open and a big-time mobster was in town and a respected judge was guilty of misusing his authority.

The diner was warm and thick with the smell of brewing coffee. Argon saw a familiar profile in the next booth and searched his memory, wondering whom he was about to meet.

It seemed that Al Rudd, the court bailiff, was also having a restless night.

Argon joined him, a move which seemed to please the older man. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee," Rudd urged. He sounded lonely, eager to hear the sound of his own voice. Ben accepted the coffee, not talking. Rudd filled the silence. "You look like you had an accident," he commented. "Somebody give you a fight?"

"Not really." It struck the policeman that Rudd was always in the neighborhood of Judge Charlie Aiken, at least during working hours. Was there some tie between them? In the days when older values had prevailed, the tie could have been a sentimental one. Before the likes of Marty Jex had come to Whitebank, there had been things like affection and loyalty in town. People took care of old acquaintances who were not doing well.

"Last couple years or so," Al volunteered, "I was in night court. Boy, did I gripe. Finally they transferred me. Now I have nights to sleep, I can't sleep. I like this place. They keep it clean."

"I didn't know you lived around here," Argon said.

"I don't. But nothing's open around my way. And these long nights can be murder." Except for Clem, the counterman, they were the only two people in the place. The snow outside was still constant.

"You're in Judge Aiken's court again?" Argon made it sound like casual shoptalk.

Rudd uttered a cackling sound that was meant for a cheerful laugh. "I sure am. You know something? He's a fine judge. I always admired Charlie. We went to school together. I don't mean we were close, but I knew him when. It makes me feel bad to see Charlie getting older. That means I'm getting older, too."

"How do you mean, older?"

Rudd waved his hands, as though to indicate that he meant something too obvious and axiomatic to bear explanation. Then a secretive hostile look crossed his face. He was angry, not at Argon, but at life. "Just older," he said sullenly.

"The town is changing fast," Argon helped him out. Rudd's problem, he guessed, was inarticulateness, sheer lack of practise in other than the most superficial communication.

"That's for sure." Rudd looked relieved. "My whole family used to be here. Now they're all gone but me. Some as far as Florida." He reached for a lump of sugar, tucked it in his jacket pocket and rose. "Nice talking to you. Now I can probably sleep."

He went to the counter and paid for Argon's coffee. Then he went into the snow and Argon had the diner to himself. The counterman, a youngster, leaned against a wall and let his eyelids droop. Suddenly too tired to do otherwise, Argon decided to stay where he was for a while and rest in the warmth.