He came to gradually, and wasn’t surprised that he had a whopping headache. Henson groaned, shaking his head to clear the fog congealed in it. He was tied spread-eagle to the secured upright frame of a Murphy bed, sans mattress. The room was sparsely furnished, but then again, Henson knew this place wasn’t used to entertain guests. His shirt was on but unbuttoned, the sleeves loose as well. On a small wooden table there was a coffee cup, an alarm clock, and a pair of black gloves. There was a water pitcher and bowl for washing your face on a nearby sideboard. Bulldog, his snap-brim hat off, sat at the table leafing through a newspaper. He closed it as Henson tested his bonds.
“I win the bet,” he said.
“What bet?” Henson croaked.
“That you’d wake up before midnight. My partner said I whacked you too hard, and that maybe you needed medical attention. I said that burr head of yours was hard like a Mississippi mule’s ass.” He tossed the paper aside, letting it flutter to the floor. “Now I can get to work on your black hide.”
“Fuck you,” Henson growled.
Bulldog shook a finger at him. “Now you should know, hell’s comin’, boy, comin’ for you.” He slipped on the gloves. Stepping over to him, he hit Henson in the stomach causing him to vomit. “Ain’t so tough now, are you? Shoulda been doing this to you sooner as far as I’m concerned. You gonna spill all your guts tonight, darkie.”
Henson tasted the bile on his mouth and spat. “Like I said, fuck you.”
Bulldog hit him in the jaw, snapping his head back, and making the springs in the fame squeak. He reared back to strike him again when a door to Henson’s right opened. In stepped Fremont Davis, who coolly regarded the prisoner.
“That’ll be enough for the moment. I’m sure I can reason with Mr. Henson.” He paused, as if receiving a telepathic communication. “You are, after all, a responsible sort, aren’t you, Matt?”
Before Henson could respond, the other half of the Mutt & Jeff team entered the room. He was carrying a paper bag and removed his fedora. He put the bag on the table and plucked a chair from a corner of the room. He turned it around so the straight back was toward Henson and straddled the seat as he sat. He folded his arms atop the edge of the chair’s back, and regarded the explorer.
Henson was looking at Davis. “Taking off the kid gloves, Fremont?”
“You’ve forced my hand, old son.” he said.
Henson considered this probably meant he wasn’t going to get out of this alive. Even if he did, who would believe him that government men and a millionaire had kidnapped him to give him the third degree to find a meteor of cosmic power?
“What exactly can I do for you, Mr. Davis?” He knew the answer, but any delay from getting wailed on gave him a better chance of recovery.
“Where can we find the space rock? The special one?”
“I don’t know. And why do you want it, now? I’m guessing you’ve known or suspected its existence for a while.”
“You know, all right.” Bulldog came forward again but Davis held up a hand. Jeff remained sitting, watching.
“Hear me out, Mr. Henson. Nobody’s looking to cut you out of the recognition like what Peary did to you. You want to name the find after you, okay, I can make that happen. You want your picture in the paper standing next to the stone from space, fine, I can make that happen too.” Davis knew negroes liked their baubles.
“You know me enough to know I could give a shit about that. If that’s what I wanted, I could have had that years ago.”
“Then what?” the goateed man said.
“You know damn well what. I want my cut, Davis.”
“Really?”
Henson huffed. “Yes, really, white man. You think I’m a fool? You think I don’t know what the Daughter is capable of? Sheet,” he sneered.
Bulldog jabbed a finger at him. “You best watch your tongue. You ain’t got the upper hand here.”
“I don’t?” Henson challenged. “You gonna beat me within an inch of my life to talk? I’ve suckled on polar bear tit and ate raw dog and smacked my lips for more…boy. I’ve marched through weather thirty below and took out my stiff dick to satisfy two Eskimo broads at the same time in a lean-to igloo while slurping down boiling penguin stew. Afterward, I had enough left over to chase down a walrus just so I could catch and skin ‘em to wear his big teeth around my neck. You figure to make me all aquiver like that dame you hired to have me drop my guard? Go ahead.”
“Bragging sonofabitch,” Bulldog groused. “We’ll see.” At a nod from Davis, Bulldog went to work on him. “You and that Daddy Paradise think your shit don’t stink,” he grunted, driving a fist into Henson’s ribs. “Well I got news for you, sambo, you’ve been falling down on the job.” Another blow to the body wracked the prisoner.
After more than a minute of steady pounding, he paused, panting from his exertions. Henson’s head hung low, and blood dripped from his mouth and cuts on his face. Davis, who’d been standing off to the side watching, came back over. He gripped Henson’s chin and lifted his head. He was surprised the beaten man wasn’t glassy-eyed.
“You can take it,
