Too Close to Home
Chapter 1
The table where the four Americans sat was unusually quiet. The men sipped their drinks and barely spoke to each other. They looked exhausted, which they were. Robbie, the bartender, kept an eye on them. He was almost more concerned with their detachment than their usual frivolities and fights.
"I slept all bloomin' day," lamented Goniff. "I'm still knackered."
"We all are, Limey," said Casino without his usual vigor. He swirled the ale in his glass without taking a sip, eyes watching the clear yellow-brown liquid with disinterest.
Actor did take a sip from his glass. It was warm as always and somehow unsatisfying. They had come to the Dove's thinking it would renew their flagging spirits after this last mission. If anything he was feeling more down. He glanced at the young Indian beside him.
Chief was staring into his glass, lost somewhere and considering where they had been, that somewhere wasn't a pleasant place to be. He had not even played one round of darts.
The other reason they had come to the Doves was to get away from the Sgt./Major. Rawlins was entirely too chirpy and telling them about the workout he had in store for them in the morning. Not to mention the food had not even been up to Rawlins' low standards.
One of the local men, in his tan work pants and plaid wool vest over a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his thick deltoids, approached the table. Chief's eyes looked up tiredly.
"'Ey, Chief. 'Ow about a game, Lad? We got us a nasty bunch. Don't know from where. They don't like 'ow we play." The man's mouth turned up into a conniving grin. "So wot say you show 'em 'ow it's done?"
Chief shook his head. "Not tonight, Bill. I'm just not up for it."
"You sure?" wheedled the man.
"I'm sure," said Chief.
Bill shook his head in disappointment. "Maybe some other time."
"Maybe," replied Chief with little enthusiasm.
The four watched the Englishman walk away. Nobody voiced it, but they were relieved. The last time Bill had talked Chief into a dart game with outsiders, it had erupted into a fight, only that time the girls had been there.
"Well, this is a barrel of fun," said Casino sarcastically.
"I don't know about you blokes, but I'm ready to go back to the Mansion."
"Yeah," agreed Chief. "Maybe the Sgt./Major went to bed already."
"Besides," added Casino, "the booze is free there."
Actor was in total agreement. He had a book he would not mind getting back to with a nice glass of Courvoisier. It wasn't to be.
As they stood up, a trio of rough-looking men approached. The four were on alert. Four more men stationed themselves in a semi-circle around the cons. It smacked of a gang fight in stir. The head man was a burly fellow about Chief's height and about fifty pounds heavier.
"I 'ear you don't want to lose at a game of darts with me," the man sneered.
"We're leavin' now," said Chief. "Maybe some other time."
"Scared?" taunted the man.
Chief shook his head. "No, just not in the mood for a game."
Actor was at his full six feet four inches. He took a step forward. "If you will kindly let us pass . . ."
"I weren't askin' you, Beautiful." The burly bloke eyed the Italian with derision.
Casino shot a glance at Actor. The tall man hated to be called 'Beautiful' and the safecracker was the only one who could sometimes get away with it. This time, Actor did not rise to the insult. He merely eyed the man as if he were a disgusting cockroach. That did not help matters any.
It wasn't the taller man the leader took a swing at, but Chief instead. The agile Indian side stepped the blow but did not return it.
"You bloody Yank!" The man had to catch his balance. He snapped his fingers and the other six men leapt in.
It turned into a brawl. The Englishmen had coshes and brass knuckles. Tired, and with slightly slower reflexes despite the adrenalin rush, Casino, Goniff and Actor had their hands full and were taking some hard hits. Tables overturned and chairs were broken. The leader was going one-on-one with Chief. The younger man had more agility and managed to evade most of the man's attempts to hit him. This only made him angrier.
Robbie was standing on a stool behind the bar. He didn't like this one bit. Bar fights were one thing, but this had a different feel to it. And the other patrons were steering clear, though they stayed and watched from a safe distance. Robbie kept an eye on the fight and reached for the phone. He did not even need to look to dial the 999 emergency number.
After a bit, Chief was beginning to get tired of playing with the stockier man. The more he evaded, the brighter red the man's face got and the wilder his punches. The man tried to barrel into Chief. As the Indian tried to side-step, a broken chair slid across behind him, tripping him and he went down. Robbie saw the hand reach up and pull a blade from beneath the Englishman's collar. The bloke dove at Chief, blade arcing. Chief tried to roll away but the chair was in the way and the tip of the knife sliced through his shirt and across his ribs. The hand reached back for a better stab. Instinct took over and Chief's blade was in his hand and coming up. Chief jerked his head away and the man came down with his knife and just missed slicing his ear. The man landed heavily on the Indian's blade, sending it up deeply under ribs. A wide-eyed look of surprise stared into the younger man's eyes before the life went out of them.
"Bloody 'ell," breathed Robbie in shock.
Chief shoved the body off him and got to his feet. He stared down in his own state of shock. He had just killed a man. This wasn't Georgia. It sure wasn't Germany. This was England and he had just killed an Englishman.
A loud whistle screamed through the barroom as British Bobbies pour in the door. By the time Robbie's attention turned back to the fight, the Indian was gone.
GGGGG
Garrison tried to tune out the agitated whine of Sgt./Major Rawlins. It was impossible. Craig did not even know what the man was complaining about this time. It was a welcome relief when his phone rang.
"Lieutenant Garrison."
"Leftenant? This is Robbie at the Doves. You best be meeting me at the police station in Brandonshire. It weren't your blokes' fault. I'm going there to tell the police that."
"Of course they're fighting. Just let them cool their heels until morning. I'll get them out then," said Garrison with resignation.
"No, Sir, you don't understand. One of the blokes who jumped them is dead. And the Indian is missing."
"Dead!" exclaimed Craig in disbelief
"Yes, Sir. It was self-defense. I watched the whole thing. I'll explain it at the station."
"I'll meet you there," said Garrison.
Craig ignored Rawlins' sputtering to find out who was dead and what was going on and where was the Leftenant going.
"You stay here," ordered Garrison. "If any of the men show up, keep them here!"
GGGGG
Even with the blackout and no headlights to speak of, Garrison made it to Brandonshire in twenty minutes. The inside of the police station was chaos. There were Cockney voices raised and whining above the strident voices of Casino and Goniff. Garrison's men were being held in a corner of the main room while five rough men were being shoved into the back room where the cells were. Goniff spotted Garrison and yelled to him.
Robbie was trying to make himself heard to a police sergeant over the ruckus.
"Knock it off!" yelled Garrison. There was immediate silence from everyone. Craig pointed at his men. "You three shut up!"
Robbie straightened and waited for Garrison to join him. Sgt. Gleason watched, hoping there would be peace now the Yank army officer was there.
"What happened?" demanded Garrison.
Robbie took a breath and started over. "I don't know who they were," he said. "They came into the Doves and I just had a feelin' they were trouble." He looked at Garrison. "Your blokes were just fine. They were keepin' to themselves. Bill went over to the table. I don't know what he wanted but after he left, these ruddy idjits started a fight. Your men were trying to leave. They wouldn't let them. The dead one took a swing at Chief. The rest of his men lit into your lads, Leftenant."
"So how did one of them end up dead?" asked Garrison with a hard voice.
"I saw the whole thing," said Robbie. Now his attention turned to the police officer. "He got Chief down and pulled a knife and went after the lad. I think he got him too. He went back after the lad again and ended up on top 'o him. Chief must have had a knife out. The bloke ended up on top o' it. It wasn't the lad's fault. It was self-defense plain and simple. I want to press charges against the other six. I don't want any charges against Leftenant Garrison's men."
"What about the one who killed the man?" asked the Sergeant, just to make sure. "He ran."
Robbie nodded. "I know. But I don't want any charges brought against him."
Sgt. Gleason was new to the station, but he had heard tales of the Americans living in the old mansion. He wasn't sure he wanted the headache of dealing with them. If this Robbie, who was the owner of the Doves, something that was not common knowledge, did not want charges brought against Garrison's men, then that was fine with him.
"Okay," Gleason called to his other officers. "I want statements from all of these men, then you can let those three go with the Leftenant."
The relief from the men in the corner was palpable. They settled down to give their statements so they could leave as soon as possible.
Garrison ran his fingers through his hair and went to the phone on the wall. He called the mansion and waited for the Sgt./Major to answer.
"Is Chief there?" Garrison did not bother with amenities.
"No, Sir."
"Well, watch for him. There's a possibility he's been stabbed."
"Stabbed, Sir?"
Garrison didn't answer him. He hung the phone up without saying anything more.
GGGGG
It was two hours before the paperwork was completed and Garrison could take the men home. The three cons were subdued as they walked out and got into the Packard. Garrison had finally gotten a good look at them. They all had bruises and abrasions. He should take them to a hospital to be checked up, but as they were all walking, talking and making sense, he decided they would take care of the cleanup at the Mansion. As he started the car up, he glanced at his second sitting in the front passenger seat.
Actor was leaning back, eyes closed. "Did I hear Robbie say Chief was stabbed?" he asked in a quiet voice.
"What? The Indian was cut?" demanded Casino. Apparently, Actor's voice had not been quiet enough.
"We don't know," said Garrison.
He put the car into gear and pulled into the street. Instead to going straight for the main road out, Craig drove to the Blue Fox and parked at the curb, leaving the engine running. "Stay here," he ordered the men. Getting out, he trotted to the door of the pub.
Terry and Kit were both behind the bar. Terry looked up sharply at her brother.
"What are you doing here?" she asked concerned.
"I need you at the mansion. Now. There's been some trouble."
"What kind of trouble?" asked the girl, setting down the glass she was drying and hanging the towel on a hook under the bar.
"There was a fight."
"There's always a fight."
"Not like this," said Garrison wearily. "They were outnumbered and are pretty roughed up. Chief's missing and the one who started the fight with them is dead."
Terry stared at him, speechless. "Oh my God," was whispered by Kit beside her. Terry reached under the bar and grabbed her purse and keys.
"Go," she said. "I'll catch up."
Garrison went back out to the Packard as Terry headed for the alley. Craig got in the Packard and pulled away from the curb.
"Was she there?" asked Actor.
"Yes," replied Garrison.
"Is she coming?"
"Yes."
They had just left the edge of town when the MG tore past them and never slowed.
"Somebody needs to teach that girl how to drive," remarked Casino.
GGGGG
Terry parked by the wooden gate to give the Packard room closer to the steps. She bounded up to the door and pushed inside, tossing her purse on the side table. The Sgt./Major came out of the kitchen to see who it was. He didn't get a chance to say anything first.
"Chief here?" asked Terry urgently?
"No, Miss," replied Rawlins. "What's going . . ."
"I need warm water, towels and at least three aid kits," ordered the girl.
By now Rawlins had learned if Terry was flinging orders it was for a good reason. He turned back into the kitchen to get basins of water. Terry took the stairs two and three at a time. A couple minutes later she came back downstairs carrying several aid kits in her arms. She had just set them down on the game table when the sound of the Packard's horn reached her.
A few minutes later, the front door opened. The three injured men dragged themselves inside, followed by Garrison. Terry motioned them to sit at the table. They were a mess. Casino and Actor had torn clothing. Casino was sporting bruises and abrasions on his face. Goniff's face was even worse. Like the pickpocket, Actor had a bruise on his left cheek, a split lip and an abrasion on his jaw and forehead.
Garrison tossed his jacket on the coat tree and took one of the aid kits to start on Goniff. Terry was closest to Casino so she opened another kit to begin with him. The Sgt./Major bustled out with a basin of warm water and some cloths. He went back for two more basins.
Terry tilted the safecracker's face to one side for a closer look. "Brass knuckles?"
"Yeah."
Garrison's head snapped around to stare at his sister. She caught the movement. "New York," was all she said.
"Now, give me the real version," said Craig to his men, ignoring that answer from his sister for now.
"Nothing different than what you heard at the station, Warden," said Casino. 'Hey, watch it, Sister!"
"Well quit swinging you head around," she shot back.
Garrison dabbed at an abrasion on Goniff's cheek with a wet cloth. He shot a glance at his second.
The Italian shook his head.
"What happened with Chief?" demanded Garrison.
"I don't believe any of us know. We were a little preoccupied with our own problems," said Actor. "Robbie was the only one who saw Chief."
"Yes, but he didn't see him disappear." Garrison dabbed some salve on the abrasions.
"You know Chiefy," said the pickpocket. "You blink an' 'e's gone."
"Lieutenant," said the Italian resignedly. "Chief had just killed an Englishman on English soil. He probably assumed he would be thrown back in prison."
Terry finished with Casino's face and used a finger to pull back a tear in the man's shirt. There was a dark bruise underneath. "Rib broke?"
"Naw," he shook his head. "Just feels sore." He leaned back in the chair. "Thanks, Babe."
Terry smiled at him before turning toward Actor. The Italian was very tired. He looked up and apologized. "I am sorry, Teresa. I can take care of this myself."
"Actor . . .," started the girl.
"Can it, Actor."
Both turned their heads to look at Garrison, who was concentrating on what he was doing. The con man looked back at Teresa. She had an amused grin on her face.
"What he said, Actor," she said firmly.
The Italian attempted to raise one eyebrow, but thought better of it as it wrinkled an abrasion on his forehead. Terry began to clean his wounds so he sat still and allowed her to do so.
"Do you need anything, Miss?"
Nobody had paid any attention to the Sgt./Major standing by the stairs. Terry and Garrison looked up at him.
"Cold packs for their faces," said Garrison.
"And warm packs for their ribs," added Terry. "Thank you, Sgt./Major."
The non-con went back to the kitchen. Now they could talk freely again.
"So wot do we do about Chiefy, Warden?"
"We'll give him as much time as we can," said Garrison. "And we look for him ourselves."
"Aw come on, Warden," objected Casino. "The longer we give that Indian, the farther away he gets."
"Not necessarily," said Garrison.
"Warden,' said Actor, involuntarily wincing when Terry touched a raw spot, "Chief cannot leave England. He has no money and no means of transportation. If he could hide on a freighter, where would he go? He would not make it on the Continent. He does not speak any of the languages. Go back to the States? He would be hunted down even if he survived the trip."
"So where is he?" asked Casino.
Garrison looked hard at Terry.
"What?" asked the girl, catching the look out of the corner of her eye. "I don't know where he is."
"But you know how to get hold of our sister." Craig gave her an insincere smile. "He'll contact her."
"How would he know how to?" she asked, hedging.
"Come off it, Terry," said her brother. "I know what goes on between those two. Just like I know what goes on between you two." His eyes swept between the girl and his second.
"Lieutenant! I object to that. . ."
"Can it, Actor," interrupted Garrison. "You're still breathing, so don't worry."
At any other time, Casino would have been jabbing it into the con man. He was too tired and sensed the Lieutenant was not going to see it humorously.
Terry carefully stuck a finger into the hole in Actor's shirt and moved the opening around to see inside as she had done to Casino. "Bruised, but nothing open."
"Apparently the one on Chief was the only one with a knife," observed the Italian.
"Good thing, I say," piped up Goniff. "If 'e was able to cut Chiefy, he'd 'ave sliced the rest of us to ribbons."
The Sgt./Major came around the corner with warm wet towels stacked on one upturned palm and cold towels in the other. The men took the towels and made pads out of them for their injuries. Terry started gathering the aid kits to put them back together.
"Leave that," said Craig. "Call your sister."
Terry looked at her watch. "Craig, it's two in the morning. Let her sleep."
"Call . . . her." The tone of voice had Terry shaking her head. "Knowing Chief, he probably made it to London already."
The girl got up and shut herself in Garrison's office, with the phone.
8