Cover-Up Story by Marian Babson

soothed. ‘It simply means that they’ll have to delay their plans. You’ll just have to wait a bit longer.’
    â€˜We’ve waited long enough! ’ She glanced at me, then, with conscious effort, she relaxed. ‘I take it most kindly of you to let me in on this little secret – and I know Lou-Ann will appreciate it, too. But now, if you don’t mind I think I’d like to go back to the hotel. I’ve sure got a lot of new thinking and planning to do.’

CHAPTER VII
    THE HOTEL was near Fleet Street and the drinks were free, so a reasonable number of journalists showed up for the Presentation. We had about eight photographers, too. Most of them were from Dairyman’s Gazette type of mags, but a few were from actual fan magazines, albeit tending towards the shoestring bi-monthly variety, which would probably fold before they could use the pictures. At least, it gave the Client the impression we were doing a good job for him.
    Just in case nobody showed up, of course, I had Gerry festooned with flashbulbs and on stand-by. He entered too lavishly into the spirit of the occasion for my taste – with all those legitimate photographers around, he needn’t have taken so many pictures. Those flashbulbs cost money.
    Penny had dressed up in her abbreviated best to make the presentation, and looked even younger than her fifteen years. Which was fine, it was the kids we wanted to sell Black Bart to. Sam had made arrangements for a single of ‘Homesteader’ to be released at the end of the week.
    Somehow, Penny had dragooned her three mates back into their school uniforms and kept their make-up to a minimum, so that they looked about thirteen – just the age when pocket-money is being stretched to buy records. They kept together and made a nice background for photos as Penny stepped forward to present the silver guitar to Black Bart.
    Bart grinned at her, with more animation than I had ever seen him display before. I began to wonder if I had wronged him – he obviously had a soft spot for children, and wasn’t going to be difficult over this presentation. If he liked animals, too, it must mean that he wasn’t all bad. Unfortunately, he was bad enough.
    He continued being more lamb than black sheep. He held the silver guitar on high, still grinning with delight at Penny. My first sense of unease came when I caught a glimpse of Sam over his shoulder.
    Sam had gone a nasty greeny-white, and was dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief balled up in one hand, while gnawing at the remnants of fingernails on the other hand. There was an expression in his eyes I never wanted to see again. I was now certain that there was more to this whole deal than the cards Sam had turned face upwards so far. I began to feel rather greeny-white myself.
    The Client seemed to feel that more was indicated than just a simple thank-you. With a quick movement, he caught Penny to him and kissed her. She wriggled back, but couldn’t get away. Imprisoning her, with an arm around her shoulders, he grinned at the cameras.
    â€˜Ain’t she just as pretty as a waterhole on a hot day to a thirsty man?’ he inquired. ‘Honey, you’re so cute, I tell you what I’m a-gonna do – just for you ...and your cute little old friends,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘I’m gonna sing our song just especially for you. Sort of a Command Performance. Now, how do you like that?’ Penny smiled dutifully and tried to slip away to join her friends, who were standing an enviable five paces away, but Bart didn’t let go. He gave the downbeat to the Cousins, with his free hand and, looking deep into Penny’s eyes, began to sing.
    â€˜Homesteader, Homesteader,
    â€˜ Ridin’ alone ...’
    There is nothing worse than being sung at. If you look away, you’re afraid of seeming discourteous and possibly putting the singer off stroke; whereas, if you look back