Algernon Swafford by F. R. Jameson

Author:F. R. Jameson [Jameson, F. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-17T22:00:00+00:00

Five

The night-time streets of Monterey had a raucous feel to them. A few hundred feet from us, the Pacific stretched out seemingly to eternity: the country of America had come to an end. There was no more road for this great nation, so the populace was going to enjoy their freedom while they could.

That cannery plant had closed for the night (although I noticed that the big chimney continued to pump out black smoke, maybe it never stopped), but such was the infectious gaiety all around us, I could only assume it was payday. Everywhere I peered there were people having what they’d term ‘fun’. A mix of blacks, whites and Latinos, who had hit the cheap liquor and were determined to treat each other to the best time possible. Yelling about how much they were enjoying themselves, in a fashion which sounded somewhat forced to my ears.

It reminded me of my time in the London police after The Great War. Occasionally we’d head into the West End and break heads in a brothel. Some of them had a greater reputation for salaciousness than others, so much so that stories were spreading which were certain to alarm the custodians of polite society. That meant they had to be dealt with, no matter how much in bribes they’d paid. The entire town of Monterey had the feel right then of one of those brothels – as if everything was on offer and you simply had to make your preference known.

On another night, this Hollingshead character would undoubtedly have revelled in it. Now he shuffled through the cries and raucous laughter with all the forward momentum of a man shuffling to the gallows. He’d slipped onto his heels as we left the bar, maybe intent on making me think twice just through childish stubbornness. The Remington soon put a stop to any nonsense. I shoved it to his belly and told him that I could find other ways to get to Ravens if I had to. After all, I was a patient man who had come this far alone. If he knew what was good for him, he’d understand that he was utterly expendable.

The damned idiot put his hands up as if being robbed – trying to play the damsel in distress, no doubt – but I spun him around and made him walk. My gun hanging as unobtrusively as possible at my side, Hollingshead was kept a stride or so in front of me. I made it clear that if I started to suspect we were going in the wrong direction, or that he was leading me around in circles, I’d put a bullet in his ankle. Then I’d haul him close to upright and make him hobble me to the right location.

He swallowed loudly, knowing I was a man of my word. But as we walked, although I’d have preferred quiet acquiescence, he couldn’t resist pleading.

“You don’t want to do this, you know?” He glanced over his shoulder at me, a fringe of hair having flopped down so he was peering out from beneath it.

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