The Righteous Cut by Robert Skinner Page B

and droppin’ stuff where you can see or hear it. And then I got kind of a long memory.”
    Farrell nodded. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Any one of those guys might have the resources and manpower to undermine Richards. There’s only one thing missing from the picture.”
    â€œWhat’s that, man?”
    â€œThere’s not a really brave man in the bunch. Whoever’s behind this has brains, but he’s got more than his share of guts, too.”
    â€œCan’t argue with you there, brutha. But I got one more name. Remember Fletch Monaghan?”
    â€œSure. He was hooked up with old August Milton during Prohibition. He’s a gambler now. What’s his beef with Richards?”
    Little Head reached behind his head with a huge brown paw and massaged his neck. “From what I can tell, he just hates his ass on general principles. What they call a personality conflict.”
    Farrell gave the Negro a wry look. “Have you been reading the encyclopedia again?”
    Little Head shrugged. “There might be a better reason for the hate, but that’s a piece of information that ain’t walked through the door yet.”
    Farrell grinned. “The night’s young. And you’re not the only man in town who soaks up loose talk.”
    â€œLet’s have another drink then,” Lucas said. “You can tell me about Cuba and maybe that information will come sit down beside us.”
    â€œLittle Head, I like the way you think.”
    ***
    Whitman Richards lay on his back in Meredith Baker’s bedroom. She sat astride his thighs and ran her fingers through the thick dark hair on his chest. Pale amber light from a lamp with a mica shade gave her skin a golden glow. Her head was bowed and blonde hair fell over her face, shading it from his view.
    â€œWho is this horrible man, Whit? Why is he doing this?”
    â€œHis name is Pete Carson. We were partners—once.”
    She moved her hips slightly, causing the breath to catch in his throat. “There must be more to it than that.”
    â€œBe sure you want to know before you ask, Merry. I’ve told you enough about me by now for you to know I’m no angel.”
    â€œI love you, baby. I can take it.”
    He looked up, trying to see her bright blue eyes within the shadow of her hair. “There was a man named Tarkington, eight or nine years ago. He had a business that I needed in order to give myself a respectable front. I tried to buy him out, tried to go partners with him, but he was stubborn. He wouldn’t give in.”
    â€œHe sounds like a stupid man,” she said.
    He smiled. “He was that. Pete was for killing him outright. But then, Pete was getting too big for his britches. I found out he’d been shorting me on the take. I’d trusted him and he’d been stealing from me.”
    She began to move above him, her breathing quickening. “So what—did you—do?”
    â€œI had somebody else kill Tarkington. Then I found a way to let the cops believe Pete had done it. He had to leave town, of course. Since I didn’t have as many cops or judges in my pocket then as I do now, I couldn’t help him.”
    She laughed. “Not that you wanted to.” Her fingers kneaded the muscles of his chest.
    His own breathing was starting to quicken. “No. I needed him gone, and once he was, things began to fall into place. I even got word he’d been killed. Cut in half by a train, but that was crap. Somehow, he figured out how I tricked him, and now he’s back. It’s too bad.”
    Her face was right over his now, and he could see her eyes were closed as she worked up and down on him. His body didn’t seem to belong to him now, it felt like it was floating past him. He grappled and clutched at her, giving in to the convulsions tearing through him, trying with all his heart to blot out the fear that sucked at his mind like a