“Yes, Clete?” She answered that question anyway. Longarm might not know the fellow, but Mrs. Fulton certainly did.
“You changed clothes.”
“Yes, Clete.”
“Don’t you think you aren’t working the rest of tonight, bitch. And don’t you ever think you can go off without giving me my share. Try that, bitch, and I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp. You know I’d do it too, don’t you, bitch?”
“Yes, Clete. I know you’ll do what you say. I know you would.” Angela squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment, then stared down at the ground once she reopened them. She seemed not to want to look at Longarm.
For his part, Clete seemed to be enjoying showing off in front of this stranger. Longarm suspected he was one of those men who like to keep a woman in line by smacking her around and proving to her just how much power he holds over her. But then, hell, the bitches are only women, right? And women all need a little smacking around now and then.
Clete strutted a step or two forward and, to emphasize his warning, pulled a heavy clasp knife out of his pocket and with a flick of his wrist snapped it open. The blade had a locking arrangement on it so that once opened it was as sturdy as a skinning knife. And as deadly.
Angela took a look at the blade shining in the lamplight. She shuddered and bit her lower lip.
Longarm drifted a bit forward and to his left, putting himself between Clete and Angela as casually as if he hadn’t noticed it happening. He yawned and reached into his pocket. “I haven’t paid the lady yet, Clete. Whyn’t I make this easy on everybody an’ just give you the money. Then you can hand over her split later.”
“Now that sounds fine to me, fella,” Clete said. “You agreeable to that, bitch?”
“Yes, Clete. Whatever you say.” Mrs. Fulton’s voice was timid, and Longarm could hear a tremor of fear in it.
“Pay it over then, mister.”
“Five dollars was the piece we agreed on,” Longarm said. “Does that sound right?”
“Five for a piece of that stupid bitch’s miserable ass? Mister, I don’t know where you come from, but I’d sure as hell like to run a stable of girls there.”
“The five was to be for all night,” Longarm explained patiently.
“Shit, you’re probably still being overcharged. But yeah, that sounds better. So okay, mister. Hand it over and get the bitch outa my sight.”
Longarm smiled and counted five dollars in change into the man’s palm. “We’re straight now, right?”
“Yeah. Right,” Clete grunted, dropping the coins into his pocket.
“I just wanted to be sure.”
His smile was lazy now. Slow and easy. And stopping short of reaching his eyes. “The little lady’s out of it now, right?”
“Yeah, sure, buddy. Whatever.”
“Good. Mind if I take a look at that?” Without waiting for an answer, Longarm reached out and gently extracted the lockblade from the big man’s fingers.
“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re …”
With no attempt to answer, and still smiling, Longarm bent over to place the knife point-down in the soil, leaning the handle against the base of the lamppost.
“What the …”
One quick jab with the heel of Longarm’s boot and the lockblade broke in half at the hinge, the now useless blade driving partway into the ground and the empty handle skittering away in the dirt.
“You son of a bitch!”
Clete had barely started forward when Longarm spun, the momentum of his turn and the weight of his body adding impetus to the wicked left that hooked forearm-deep into Clete’s belly.
Clete cried out, his voice amazingly high-pitched and squeaky, and doubled over gasping for breath.
“It’s something a man oughta remember,” Longarm suggested in a deceptively soft tone of voice. “When you pull a knife in front of another man, Clete, it’s a real good idea to think ahead of time about how he’s gonna take it. You know?”
Clete still couldn’t breathe. He dropped to his knees, sucking air and clutching his midsection.
“You ain’t much of a man with a knife, Clete,” Longarm continued. “Next time you oughta try with a gun.” He grinned, the expression nonetheless cold and chilling. “If you feel real, real lucky.” Longarm looked at the bullying whoremaster a moment longer. Then turned and walked away. If he heard the oily snick of a pistol hammer being cocked …
But there was no such threat. Not from Clete. Not when it was a grown man instead of some poor, cowering little whore to be faced.
Longarm walked away and left Angela Fulton to catch up in her own good time.
Chapter 16
“It’s time for you to go to bed now, son.”
“But Ma, it’s only …”
“Eric!” The sharpness in her voice was as cutting as the lash on a bullwhip.
