Howdy folks, and welcome back. If this is your first time here, feel free to check out this handy index post, with all the previous episodes listed. If you’re a long time reader of Matt Slade’s adventures, then dive in and enjoy!
Episode 16
They say there is no honor among thieves, and yet that’s exactly what saved my life as I fought my way up off the low settee in the fancy estate’s library. Two thugs held machine guns on me, ( a Thompson and a BAR, if it matters,) but their partner, the brutal little ex-bantamweight had fouled their line of fire. Now I had Shorty by the short and curlies. They should have just blasted me right through him. The .30-06 BAR would do the job handily, and little as he was, even the Thompson would probably punch through. It would probably also do for Claire Brazelton, the wealthy heiress next to me on the couch, and they seemed to want her for something. They hesitated. And we all know, he who hesitates is lost.
I boiled up off that couch like my life was at stake, which it probably was. I shoved Shorty in front of me, pushing him right into the BAR man, and doing my best to keep the two thugs tangled with each other, and between me and the Thompson-toter.
I had to hand it to the little man. Even being forced backwards and off balance, with me trying to twist off his pride and joy, he kept swinging. The lead filled leather sap gloves punished my ribs and kidneys. I’d likely be pissing red for a week. Then the BAR muzzle thrust over the little man’s shoulder, trying to reach me. I gave him a final knee as I grabbed for the gun with both hands. I tore it free of its previous owner’s grasp as he flailed for balance. Like Little John and his quarter-staff, I gave the pint-sized pug a bash in the teeth with the heavy Browning, then I had it around. One quick blast was all it took, three or four rounds, and all three were down. The mess it made of the beautiful book-lined room was tragic, but less so than what they were gonna do to me. I know. Selfish of me.
“Claire! Quick! We’ve gotta get out of here!” She seemed in shock, still sitting where she had been, staring at the carnage.
I wrenched open the drawer of the heavy oak library table and found the two rods they’d taken off me. I holstered the big .45 automatic and hesitated over the cut-down .32 Iver Johnson. I turned back to see Claire still frozen.
“You… You killed them!”
“What was I supposed to do? Kiss and make nice?”
“Well, no, but…”
“They grabbed you and were beating on you. When I showed up, they started beating on me, too.”
“What were you doing here anyhow?”
“You still hadn’t answered my questions, lady. What was I gonna do?” I wrapped her unresponsive hand around the little gun’s butt and dragged her upright. “If someone grabs you again, give ‘em this. Just jam it in their ribs and start yankin’ on this part.”
“I do know how to fire a revolver, Mr Slade.” Oh. Good. She wasn’t too far gone to sneer in that aristocratic, bluestockinged way.
“Then snap out of it, lady! We’ve got to get! I don’t imagine these were Kavanaugh’s only men out here.”
“They’re the only ones I’ve seen.”
“That don’t mean much, not in a joint this big.” I didn’t dare go through the big house, so I led her to the big double door to the garden, the one they’d dragged me in through. I scanned the garden, looking for any more of Kavanaugh’s goons, but didn’t see any. Just rose bushes and fancy bushes carved like green statues.
“Where are we going? And what are we waiting for?”
“Where? I don’t know. Away from here. You got any ideas on that one? But I’m waiting to see if there’s anyone out there. With all that stuff in the way, it’s hard to tell, but a man on watch will probably move around a little. More likely to see that.”
“I want to go home.”
“Back to your apartment? That’s where they grabbed you.”
“Well…”
“But we’ve got to get out of here, first. And that means out of Chestnut Hill. All these old money estates… not exactly the place to be seen walking.”
“Especially carrying that.” She nodded at the big automatic rifle. “They’d probably think you were some kind of pinko or anarchist. Few things make the people out here clutch their pearls faster than seeing the lower classes armed.”
“We get out of here, I’ll ditch it.”
All the while this lip flap was going on, I hadn’t seen anything bigger than a robin, or a chipmunk move outside. “Come on. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
I strode out, erect and bold as I could manage after the bantamweight beating. Claire hunched and scurried after me.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Stand up. Walk normal. Nothing attracts more attention than trying to sneak. Unless you’re really good at it. Act like you’re supposed to be here. Just a nice morning stroll in the garden.”
“Never mind the torn dress. Never mind the black eye. Never mind the man with the machine gun.”
“That’s it. You’re getting the idea.”
We strolled, as casually as possible under the circumstances, out of the garden, into the lawn. I had a prickle at the back of my neck, but couldn’t see anyone watching. Heard no alarms raised. We cut across a hundred yards or so of clean mown green expanse before we met the tree-shaded winding drive.
“Cue more casual strolling.”
“Just out for a morning walk with my man and his machine gun.”
“I think it was Thomas Jefferson said: ‘Let your gun therefore be the constant companion of your walks…’”
“I’d be very much surprised if that were what he meant, Mr Slade.”
“Laugh gaily now. There you go!” We rounded the last bend in the drive and the gate came into sight. Huge stone gateposts, a spiked wrought iron gate, and it was closed. The gay laughter, forced as it was, died away.
Then came the voice from behind. “Put down the rifle, Mr Slade, and step away from the lady. No sudden moves, please.”