Read Online Fool's Gold by Ted Wood - Free Book Online Page B

middle, like a Parris Island pugil stick, ready to block or swing in any direction, up, down, across. Still nobody moved. Whoever had set me up had sabotaged the lights. They had probably left one plugged in, most likely the one that switched on from the bed. That way they could have sat back and put the lights on to prod my body with one toe and laugh when they had me on the floor, moaning.  
    There was no alternative. I swung the stick, trying to be silent, cutting the air in front of me in every direction as I inched for the bed. When I felt it against my shin I edged along and found the bedside switch.
    As I clicked it on, the other man sprang for me, leaping across the bed, swinging his club sideways at my head. Maybe if we'd been somewhere high enough for him to come overhand he would have decked me, but the ceiling was too low. I parried his swing with my stick and then windmilled him with both ends, twice each in the head, scattering his teeth across the floor. He gave a half scream of pain and collapsed, bleeding from his mouth and his nose.  
    I ran back to the bathroom and threw up, dry bile and undigested fear and horror at my own ferocity. Once I'd spent hours in boot camp working with a padded pugil stick, wondering why the hell they wanted me good with the thing, learning it only so the DI wouldn't: be able to pound me anymore. But it was a boxing glove compared with the bare knuckles of the post I had used tonight. Even the day my training and practice had paid and I squared myself with the DI, knocking him on his butt, he had been on his feet shouting orders, first bounce. Now I had used a raw club without pads and smashed a man. The fact he had been trying to kill me didn't stop me from being sick. But I beat it, soon. And though I felt filthy, I kept the club in one hand in case either of them got up and tried again.  
    I was wasting my worry. Neither one of them moved and I came back into the room and turned the first one face up. It was Carl from the night before, moaning soundlessly, both hands clutching his groin. I left him and checked number two. He was conscious but shocked beyond speech.  
    He looked at me blankly and I let go of him and picked up the phone, dialed the operator,, and asked for the police. Surprisingly, I got right through to Chief Gallagher, patrolling in the scout car. In the instant he responded "police chief," I realized he must have a shunt through the radio at his station and thought about getting one installed in Murphy's Harbour.  
    "This is Reid Bennett at the motel. Two guys jumped me with clubs in my room, number thirty-four."
    "Two of them, eh?" His interest was clinical. "Both still there, are they?"
    "Yeah, I think they could use an ambulance."
    "If it'll wait until I've been there, hold onto them for five minutes, I'm down at the mill."
    I hung up and looked around. They had broken into my case and taken out the bottle of Black Velvet I had brought with me. Both the motel glasses were on the table, used, so I took a slug straight from the bottle. It calmed me and I sat and waited until Gallagher arrived. The men moaned in pain, but I've seen guys with worse injuries waiting hours for the choppers to come in.  
    Gallagher came in without knocking and checked both of them. "Shit," he said respectfully. "Remind me not to get you mad. What'd you hit them with?"  
    I showed him the post I'd taken off the first man. He whistled, surprised but not shocked. It looked as if I'd been right in my instincts about him. He was the typical copper. His presence in the room was like the return of daylight after a bad night. The blood on the carpet seemed less vivid, the two men less grotesque in their pain. I held out the whisky bottle without speaking and he took it and pulled himself a good taste. "Thanks. What happened?"  
    I told him while he reached for the phone and called the hospital. He asked them to send somebody to the motel, pick up a couple of