The Devil's Whelp. Vin Hammond Jackson
when the material ripped. "Oh, great!"
"I suppose there's someone at home who can fix that for you?" It should have been an ice-breaker, a casual note to begin on, but for some reason he had the feeling he had touched one of Presswood's sore points. The toolpusher had become suddenly moody. "Sorry, I didn't mean it to sound as if I was prying."
Del waved off the apology. "You weren't." He went back into the bedroom. When he returned, he was buttoning a fresh shirt. He turned a chair to face Pierce and sat down. "Now, what shall we talk about?"
Jack leaned his elbows on his knees and stared vacantly at the floor. "You're not going to make it easy for me, are you?"
Del frowned. "Come again."
"You might as well say what you're here to say and get it over with." Jack rolled with the pent-up emotions: it was preferable to fighting them. "Don't waste your time with prolonged investigations. I can tell you what you need to know - why he died, how he died. I've already resigned, you know, so there's no point in threatening me with losing my job. Then again, you'll probably want to take it further, get your pound of flesh in court."
Del's hands were up, trying to halt the babbling, self-flagellation. "I don't know who you think I am, Jack, but I sure as hell don't take confessions. And what's all this with the investigations? What investigations? Is this something else I should know about and nobody thought to tell me?" Del leaned back and folded his arms. "Let's get one thing straight, Jack - I transferred for personal reasons. I didn't choose Olympian: it was just available. At least, I thought that was the case. Now I'm beginning to wonder. I feel like I'm being manipulated, and I don't like it."
"I thought...." Jack mumbled himself into silence. Presswood was waiting. What did he give him - the whole truth, or just enough? What was enough? He didn't know. Jack looked up. "You're not here because of Eddie, then?"
"I didn't even know this was Eddie's rig until I met Doug Bromley on the chopper pad. He suggested I talk to you and I was going to get round to it. You seem to have got in first."
The intercom buzzed. Presswood answered it. "Les here," echoed the speaker. "Can I see you in my office? We've got a problem with the kelly."
Del glanced at Pierce. The diving super had started to rise. He appeared relieved by Meyer's interruption, but Del had the feeling that he could never be at peace until he had unloaded whatever problems were troubling him. "I'm tied up right now, Les. Sam should be able to handle it. I'll be there as soon I can." He waved at Pierce to sit down again.
"Five minutes, Del. This is important!"
"Everything is with you, Les. I said I'll be there when I'm ready!" There was a slight sneer on Del's lips as he walked away.
Pierce said: "Eddie was right."
"About what?"
"About you. He said you were hard-nosed, that you'd only take so much stick before you started throwing it back with interest."
Del shrugged. "I just do what I have to. I don't always enjoy it. If people respect me, I'll do the same for them."
"Does Meyer know that?"
"He knows. Les and I go back a way. He was just an irritation before and the odd scratch used to fix him up. I always figured he'd eventually dry up and fall off. The fact that he's still around, places him in a different category, a bit like skin cancer. I'll tolerate him for so long then I guess I'll have no option but to cut him out."
"Will it come to that, do you think?"
Del walked to his chair and sat down again. "I don't know. Depends on how responsible he is for what's been going on here. I need enlightening, Jack, and I think I'd rather hear the facts from you than Les Meyer's version. Take your time." He leered demonstratively at the intercom. "Take as much time as you need. I'm in no hurry."
~o~o~o~o~
Pierce had just got to the part where the chopper returned after losing Eddie's body in the sea, when Meyer burst in. "What kind of a bloody fool are you playing me for....?" He pulled up abruptly when he noticed the diving supervisor in the other chair. After a moment or two, realisation dawned. "I am a bloody fool, aren't I?" He began weaving a figure eight around the room, shaking his head in amazement at his own stupidity. "You set this up, the pair of you! I underestimated you, Jack." He stopped to glare at Pierce. "Those radio messages - I thought you were just trying to make sure your transfer got through without a hitch when, in fact, you were arranging to set your dog on me." He looked pointedly at Presswood so that there was no doubt as to whom he was referring.
Jack could feel the tension building in Presswood. The toolpusher was still seated and apparently in perfect control, but he wouldn't take the insinuations and insults forever - he had said as much before. "Careful, Les," warned Pierce. "You're assuming again, and you're way out of your depth."
"Well, you'd know about that, wouldn't you Jack!" Meyer snarled. "Deep water's your specialty, as long as it's one of your divers in it, divers like MacFarlane. When was the last time you went down, Jack? When did you last go for a swim at the beach, even?"
"What are you saying, Les?" Jack rose slowly from his chair.
"I'm saying you've lost it, Pierce! You've lost your nerve and you've lost touch with reality. YOU killed MacFarlane! You screwed up and now you're trying to land me with the responsibility! I told you it was risky. You should have reconsidered making that dive, but, oh no - you knew better....."
"You lying bastard....!!" Pierce launched himself at Meyer.
Presswood flew out of the chair and tried to separate them. He really did feel like the meat in the sandwich, a very short piece of meat between two very tall pieces of bread. Pierce's bony fingers were around Meyer's neck. Les had hold of Jack's wrists and was heaving and writhing in an effort to break the tightening grip. By the sounds he was making and the colour of his face which was growing ever darker, Del gathered that Les wasn't succeeding too well.
Neither was he. They weren't listening to his pleas for sanity and Jack had hold of Les like a bull terrier which had locked its jaws. Del knew what had to be done and that he would probably hate himself for it afterwards, but there wasn't much choice. Stepping clear, he delivered a short, jabbing punch into Jack's side, just below the ribcage.
Pierce gasped. He released Meyer's throat and staggered back. Ever the opportunist, Les took only a few seconds to regain his breath, then he was rushing for Pierce. Presswood swung a foot. It contacted Meyer's shin and the man was suddenly in a heap at Jack's feet. Del pulled the diving super quickly out of reach before Les recovered. "That's it, gentlemen," he declared authoritatively.
Meyer pushed himself to a kneeling position. "I've had it up to here with your interference, Presswood!" He tapped his forehead to emphasise his point. "I'll deal with you later. Now, get out of my way while I finish putting your friend in his place!"
"The way you were doing before Les? Don't make me laugh. Anyway, I said it's over. You've had your fun, now trundle back to your office and we'll forget the whole incident. What do you say, Jack?" He turned to Pierce who was starting to breathe more naturally. "Bury the hatchet?"
The intercom buzzed. Presswood ignored it, more concerned that the two former antagonists remained calm and separated. Meyer’s focus, however, switched immediately to the speaker on the wall. "Aren't you going to answer that?" he urged.
"If it's important, they'll call back," replied Del, monitoring Jack's recovery carefully, watching for signs of renewed aggression.
"But it could be for me," insisted Les.
"Then you answer it."
Meyer did. A voice said: "This is Jonesy. Is Del Presswood there? There's a call for him. It's some police Inspector. Do I get him to hang on?"
"We'll be right there," snapped Meyer. As he started to move off, he glared at Presswood. "That was the radio shack," he declared unnecessarily in a tone which also said: I told you it was important.