When the Pirate Prays. James B. Johnson
She looked at me. “Possibly because Mr. Birthday had already started an argument with them and with Trooper—”
“That ain’t exactly how—” I began.
“Trooper needs help,” Tapes said mildly. “Here’s the way it happens. Orlo, you tell one of your friends to take the dog out, understand?”
“I do,” Orlo said and tried to nod. He hadn’t shaved in a week and looked like a pirate. Tapes’ knife scraped his throat at the base and Orlo grimaced. “Deacon. Go ye with Axe. Axe, ye put the Deacon in the van, hear?”
“Yessir, Orlo, I heard. C’mon, Deacon.” Axe simply walked off and the beast didn’t follow. He still had the blood lust upon him.
“Orlo?” Tapes prompted with a gentle flick of his knife.
“Deacon, now, baby. Go with Axe.” Orlo motioned with his left hand.
The dog obeyed and the tableau remained frozen. He trotted to Axe waiting at the entrance to the lounge.
Mary Lynn stood there. She’d been watching. She hiccupped twice.
I saw Axe pull the side doors to this the south wing open and the wind and rain burst in. It didn’t bother Axe. He leaned against one of the screen doors and pushed hard, not an easy task. The door opened and he held it for the animal. The weather didn’t seem to bother either.
The rain and wind poured in. Ionata went through the entry to the saloon and shouldered the heavy doors closed. The lashing rain soaked his slacks and the front of his white shirt.
“I don’t know if you’ll have to answer for assault on a lawman or not,” Ionata said to all of us. “But I want that knife out of sight right away.”
Tapes caressed Orlo’s neck for a split second sending a message, and thumbed the blade closed and the knife disappeared.
Angie and Ionata were bending over Trooper.
Tapes was watching Orlo.
I stepped over to Pigtail. He was lying quietly on the floor, apparently concentrating on breathing. But his color was good and he’d recover soon. One of his hands was rubbing his knee I’d kicked. I hoped he’d have a lifetime limp.
“Now that’s what I call rapid dissipation.”
“He’s unconscious,” Angie Maple said. “I suspect he’s got a concussion from that kick to the head.”
“Trooper’s tough,” said Ionata. “We’ll put him in his room and maybe you can keep ice on his head, Angie?”
“You’re going to run out of nurses soon,” I said.
Mary Lynn Messenger shook herself and hurried into the bar. Her eyes were wide and I wanted to drown in them. “Sandra Dee’s having contractions. Her baby’s coming.”
“Oh, shit,” I said.
Something is always interfering in my love life. Tapes saw my look at Mary Lynn and his eyes narrowed. He knew I hadn’t had time to get over Becky and was prone to fall in love anyway.
I didn’t know what the hell to think.
All I knew was that I didn’t want to deliver a baby, not a bit; but if that’s what it took to be in Mary Lynn’s presence, I’d do anything it took.
“Come on,” Mary Lynn urged. Her eyes drew me like a hypnotist.
Two quick witticisms jumped to my lips but I found myself suddenly tongue-tied.
The three hunters were after blood, my blood, not to mention their attack beast. There was absolutely no law to stand between us and them. I thought about their van. Most hunters have guns to hunt with.
It also occurred to me that there was a murderer running around loose, too.
I looked at Mary Lynn Messenger and felt very vulnerable.
5: MONDAY, 3:00 P.M.
“Tapes argues in favor of steel bridges,” I was telling Mary Lynn. “He’s very precise, mathematically oriented. He allows that steel bridges are engineered and designed to an inordinate exactitude.” I wondered if there was such a word as “exactitude” but I didn’t let it stop me from keeping Mary Lynn’s attention. “I, on the other hand, prefer wooden bridges. They’re better looking, rustic while functional, and usually develop their own character.”
“I have to listen to this?” asked Granny from Sandra Dee Kowalski’s bedside.
Mary Lynn glanced at Mizz Maple.
“Besides,” I continued desperately, “your average wood bridge lasts seventy years and—”
“How in Heaven do you know that?” demanded Angie Maple.
Mary Lynn looked between me and Granny.
“Statistics show it,” I said, an edge coming into my voice. “Road salt corrodes steel bridges and—”
“Excuse me?” said Sandra Dee Kowalski, retching to the side.
Granny held a pie plate out to receive the bile.
“I want a drink of water,” Sandra Dee said.
“Give her some more ice,” I directed. We’d been through this a couple of times.
“Yes, sir,” Angie Maple said, voice dripping.
“Gimme a break, Granny. Look, we’re almost done with the first stage of labor—”
“First stage?” asked Mary Lynn, rubbing her eyes. Which told me she’d never gone through childbirth herself.
Pointing, I said, “She’s had what you call your ‘show’,” which was the bloody discharge occurring after the mucous plug goes, “and sometime recently the membranes which surround the amniotic fluid have ruptured—”
“She broke her water,” Mary Lynn said.
“Well, yeah, if you want to put it that way.”
“You certainly know the terminology,” she added.
“Call it malarkey,” said Angie, wiping Sandra Dee’s brow with a wet cloth.
Ignoring the elderly “Granbo,” I nodded to Mary Lynn. “After I assisted in the emergency birth that time, I went to the library and read up on it. I, um, kind of have a didactic memory for some things.”
“You can say that again,” said Angie.
“Damndamndamndamndamndamn,” said Sandra Dee.
“You better check again, Billy,” said Mary Lynn. Her pony tail bobbed, distracting me for a moment.
Wishing I really did know what the hell I was doing, I checked again. I was wearing a pair of disposable plastic gloves from a package Tapes had found in the kitchen. He’d microwaved ’em for a few seconds to insure their sterility.
“Drop your knees to the side,” I directed Sandra Dee.
Granny shot me a scathing look; but Sandra Dee was in too much pain now to be modest. Soon she’d pay any price to be done with the labor.
Awkwardly and reluctantly, I felt around in there. “The infant’s head’s right there waiting. Her—” I regrouped. I wasn’t playing to an audience, even though it included the fair Mary Lynn. I should be concentrating on the one person who really needed my help. “Your,” I corrected, “cervix is dilating well. You certain you never had a baby before?”
“Yes, I, damndamn, mean no, I mean, damndamndamn, I don’t know what the hell I—”
“I know what you mean,” I said, and pulled the sheet down over her. “You’re close to ten centimeters—”
“What’s that mean?” asked Sandra Dee panting.
“Beats