Downing thought that they should. Ace awakened Frankie and Johnnie.
He was very good at waking people. Even those who seemingly would never waken again. The boys were on their feet in a matter of seconds, howling and dodging and making many of the same kinds of noises that Teddy had made.
Ace took them out in the high-walled alley.
"Now that," said Downing, a hundred yards away, "is a test!"
23
Darkness…
Black wet no dark light and…
Smothering strangling and breath wind downup up up biting slicing legs burning yank high low…
Racing air and light light joggle run bump slam sound of slam mumbles and shouts voices light light breath and coughing strangling burning chest and…
Voices whiskey coughing brush knock away…
Mitch kept his head ducked, lips clenched against the pressing whiskey. He kept his eyes closed peevishly, mumbling with simulated incoherence. Fully conscious but wanting time to size things up.
He was soaked, dripping with the oily slime from the well. Several people were around him, cowhands seemingly; mumbling and fumbling as they tried to revive him. He was sitting slumped on a leather lounge. The room he was in was apparently a large one, for Gidge Lord's voice drifted to him from a considerable distance away.
"… Oh, no! Certainly not. There's nothing at all wrong. He just stepped outside for a… Just a moment, please. I believe he's coming in right now…"
She laid the phone down on the desk, as Mitch at last opened his eyes. Frantically, motioning for the cowhands to get out, she hastened across to him.
"I'm sorry as hell, Corley! I swear to God I didn't know that hole was-"
Mitch weaved to his feet-weaved deliberately. There was something that had to be figured out here: the reason for Mrs. Lord's alarm, her downright panic. The clue that might lead to that one-in-a-million chance.
"Please, Corley…" She was hanging onto his arm, her magnificent torso moving against his, as she guided him toward the desk. "Don't crumb me with him, please! Don't knock me, for God's sake! Tell him everything's okay, and I swear I'll…"
She smiled at him with her leathery face. The milky eyes pleading, beaming good will.
Mitch picked up the phone, and spoke into it. A harsh, strangely musical voice came over the wire. And immediately he had the clue to the riddle.
The banks were loaded with Gidge Lord's paper. They would lend no more, so she had been beating the state of Texas for big private money. And one of the most obvious prospects for a huge private loan, a man who would instantly know the worth of the Lord holdings and see the opportunity in their mismanagement, was-
"Mr. Zearsdale," Mitch said. "It's good to hear from you so soon."
"It's nice of you to say so," Zearsdale purred. "Your sister told me I might catch you there."
Mitch said that the call had come just in time. He might have been gone in another minute. Zearsdale said he was glad to hear it.
"As long as you're through there, you can come to a little party I'm giving tonight. Your sister wants to come, if it's agreeable with you."
"Well, thanks very much," Mitch said. "What-eight o'clock? Hang on for a moment, will you?'
He started to turn to Mrs. Lord. Zearsdale's suddenly sharp voice stopped him. "Is there some trouble there, Mr. Corley? Be frank with me, please. The ranch doesn't have a reputation for friendliness."
"Well-" Mitch hesitated.
"I suggest that you tell Mrs. Lord I've invited you to a party at my home tonight. Tell her I'll be very disappointed if you're not there."
"Well, the fact is," Mitch said, "we have a little business to wind up. It could be wrapped up in no time, if we could get right down to it. But-"
"Then tell her to-No, let me talk to her."
Mitch passed over the phone. As she took it, spoke into it almost cringingly, he added her attitude to Zearsdale's peremptory one and arrived at the only possible conclusion.
She already had her loan, or a big part of it. Made on demand notes, naturally, since Zearsdale would accept no term paper in a situation that might go sour overnight. So she was over a barrel, Gidge Lord was. She had to be nice, very very nice, or she would take a painful pecuniary paddling right on her astonishing ass.
She handed back the phone, smiling, grimacing rather; literally groveling in appeasement. Mitch winked at her, and she went to a wall safe, begun turning the combination.
"Mr. Corley…" Zearsdale said again. "I'm sure Mrs. Lord understands the situation now."
"I'm sure she does, too," Mitch said. "Thanks very much."
"Not at all. By the way, I've got a jet over in Midland. Give you a ride home, if you like."
"Thanks," Mitch said, "but I may as well use the other half of my round trip. I'll tell you what I might do, if it won't inconvenience you…"
"Yes?"
"It's a long, rough ride back to Big Spring. Why don't I check with you from there in two or three hours, so that you'll know I haven't, uh, haven't had any accidents."
"You do that." Zearsdale caught his meaning immediately. "You do that, Mr. Corley."
They hung up after a moment or two of polite nothings.
Mrs. Lord closed the safe and came back to the desk. She counted out thirty-three thousand dollars, and pushed it across to him.
"Would you like to clean up a little? I can give you some other clothes, too."
Mitch said that sounded good to him, but his immediate need was for a drink and a cigarette. She provided them quickly, also pouring a drink for herself. Then, spoke to him nervously as he settled back in his chair.
"Maybe you'd better sort of hurry, hmm? You've got to be back in town in a few hours."
"Oh?" Mitch took a deliberate taste of his drink. "You think I might have trouble getting there?"
"You'll get there, all right! You'll get there if I have to carry you on my back!"
Mitch chuckled wickedly.
He wasn't inclined to pour it on anyone when they were down, but Gidge Lord wasn't just anyone. She was damned near a murderer. His. He felt entitled to needle her a bit.
"I'm a professional gambler," he pointed out. "I come out here alone, and face up to an army of your thugs. And I make you pay off like a slot machine. I think the experience should prove very good for you, Mrs. Lord."
"So?" She left it at that, not saying any of the things that she might have said. That Zearsdale probably didn't know he was a gambler, that it was Zearsdale, and Zearsdale alone, who was making her behave.
She had had to take a beating. That was the fact, and to hell with the why.
"You're not even curious?" Mitch teased. "You don't wonder why a man like Zearsdale would go to so much trouble over me?"
"No," she said flatly, "I'm not curious, Corley. But maybe you should be."