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Authors: Keith Laumer
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to get even.” He thumbed back the hammer of the big pistol with an ominous click.
“You’re out of your minds!” O’Leary protested. “I’ve never been to this water-logged slum before in my life!”
“Tell it to Duke Rodolpho.” The sword poked Lafayette painfully. “Pick ‘em up, Dude. We got a short walk ahead.”
O’Leary glanced toward the ladies’ room as he got to his feet: the door was closed and silent. The landlord stood furtive-eyed behind the bar, polishing a pewter tankard. Lafayette caught his eye, mouthed an urgent message. The man blinked and made a sign as if warding off the evil eye.
“You fellows are making a big mistake,” Lafayette said as a push helped him toward the door. “Probably right now the man you’re really after is making a fast getaway. Your bosses aren’t going to like it—”
“You either, chum. Now button the chin.”
A few furtive passersby gaped as the two cops herded O’Leary up the narrow, crooked street which wound sharply toward the grim pile towering over the town. They passed through a high iron gate guarded by a pair of sentries in uniforms like those of the arresting patrolmen, crossed a cobbled courtyard to a wooden door flanked by smoking flambeaux. It opened on a bright-lit room with hand-drawn WANTED posters on the walls, a wooden bench, a table stacked with curled papers in dusty bundles.
“Well, look who’s here,” a lean fellow with a yellowish complexion said, picking up a bedraggled quill and pulling a blank form toward him. “You made a mistake coming back, smart guy.”
“Coming back wh—” A sharp jab in the back cut off O’Leary’s objections. His captors grabbed his arms, hustled him through an iron-barred door and along a dark passage ending in a flight of steps that led downward into an odor like the gorilla house at the St. Louis zoo.
“Oh, no,” Lafayette protested, digging in his heels. “You’re not taking me down there!”
“Right,” Yockwell confirmed. “See you later, joker!” A foot in the seat propelled Lafayette forward; he half-leaped, half-fell down the steps, landed in a heap in a low-ceilinged chamber lit by a single tallow candle and lined with barred cages from which shaggy, animal-like faces leered. At one side of the room a man wider than his height sat on a three-legged stool paring his nails with a sixteen-inch Bowie knife.
“Welcome to the group,” the attendant called in a tone like a meat grinder gnawing through gristle. “Lucky fer you, we got a vacancy.”
Lafayette leaped to his feet and made three steps before an iron grille crashed down across the steps, barely missing his toes.
“Close,” the receptionist said. “Another six inches and I’d of been mopping brains off the floor.”
“What’s this all about?” Lafayette inquired in a broken voice.
“Easy,” the jailer said, jangling keys. “You’re back in stir, and this time you don’t sneak out when I ain’t looking.”
“I demand a lawyer. I don’t know what I’m accused of, but whatever it is, I’m innocent!”
“You never hit no guys over the head?” The jailer wrinkled his forehead in mock surprise.
“Well, as to that—”
“You never croaked nobody?”
“Not intentionally. You see—”
“Never conspired at a little larceny? Never wandered into the wrong bedroom by mistake?”
“I can explain—” Lafayette cried.
“Skip it,” the turnkey yawned, selecting a key from the ring. “We already had the trial. You’re guilty on all counts. Better relax and grab a few hours’ sleep, so’s you’ll be in shape for the big day tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? What happens tomorrow?”
“Nothing much.” The jailer grabbed Lafayette by the collar of his bedraggled plum coat and hustled him into a cell. “Just a small beheading at dawn, with you as the main attraction.”
Lafayette huddled in the corner of the cramped cell, doing his best to ignore his various aches and pains, the itching
“You’re out of your minds!” O’Leary protested. “I’ve never been to this water-logged slum before in my life!”
“Tell it to Duke Rodolpho.” The sword poked Lafayette painfully. “Pick ‘em up, Dude. We got a short walk ahead.”
O’Leary glanced toward the ladies’ room as he got to his feet: the door was closed and silent. The landlord stood furtive-eyed behind the bar, polishing a pewter tankard. Lafayette caught his eye, mouthed an urgent message. The man blinked and made a sign as if warding off the evil eye.
“You fellows are making a big mistake,” Lafayette said as a push helped him toward the door. “Probably right now the man you’re really after is making a fast getaway. Your bosses aren’t going to like it—”
“You either, chum. Now button the chin.”
A few furtive passersby gaped as the two cops herded O’Leary up the narrow, crooked street which wound sharply toward the grim pile towering over the town. They passed through a high iron gate guarded by a pair of sentries in uniforms like those of the arresting patrolmen, crossed a cobbled courtyard to a wooden door flanked by smoking flambeaux. It opened on a bright-lit room with hand-drawn WANTED posters on the walls, a wooden bench, a table stacked with curled papers in dusty bundles.
“Well, look who’s here,” a lean fellow with a yellowish complexion said, picking up a bedraggled quill and pulling a blank form toward him. “You made a mistake coming back, smart guy.”
“Coming back wh—” A sharp jab in the back cut off O’Leary’s objections. His captors grabbed his arms, hustled him through an iron-barred door and along a dark passage ending in a flight of steps that led downward into an odor like the gorilla house at the St. Louis zoo.
“Oh, no,” Lafayette protested, digging in his heels. “You’re not taking me down there!”
“Right,” Yockwell confirmed. “See you later, joker!” A foot in the seat propelled Lafayette forward; he half-leaped, half-fell down the steps, landed in a heap in a low-ceilinged chamber lit by a single tallow candle and lined with barred cages from which shaggy, animal-like faces leered. At one side of the room a man wider than his height sat on a three-legged stool paring his nails with a sixteen-inch Bowie knife.
“Welcome to the group,” the attendant called in a tone like a meat grinder gnawing through gristle. “Lucky fer you, we got a vacancy.”
Lafayette leaped to his feet and made three steps before an iron grille crashed down across the steps, barely missing his toes.
“Close,” the receptionist said. “Another six inches and I’d of been mopping brains off the floor.”
“What’s this all about?” Lafayette inquired in a broken voice.
“Easy,” the jailer said, jangling keys. “You’re back in stir, and this time you don’t sneak out when I ain’t looking.”
“I demand a lawyer. I don’t know what I’m accused of, but whatever it is, I’m innocent!”
“You never hit no guys over the head?” The jailer wrinkled his forehead in mock surprise.
“Well, as to that—”
“You never croaked nobody?”
“Not intentionally. You see—”
“Never conspired at a little larceny? Never wandered into the wrong bedroom by mistake?”
“I can explain—” Lafayette cried.
“Skip it,” the turnkey yawned, selecting a key from the ring. “We already had the trial. You’re guilty on all counts. Better relax and grab a few hours’ sleep, so’s you’ll be in shape for the big day tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? What happens tomorrow?”
“Nothing much.” The jailer grabbed Lafayette by the collar of his bedraggled plum coat and hustled him into a cell. “Just a small beheading at dawn, with you as the main attraction.”
Lafayette huddled in the corner of the cramped cell, doing his best to ignore his various aches and pains, the itching
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