Calico Palace (78 page)

And she had thought—they all had thought—he came to the Calico Palace because he liked Hortensia and her music! Of course, this was what he had meant them to think.

What did he want? Whatever it was, his plan had served him well. She was alone with him and he was holding the gun. He glared at her, full of hate, and she saw his eyes.

His eyes were open wide, so wide that she could see white above and below the blue irises. With rising terror Marny realized that Pollock did not look quite sane.

He began to talk.

“You are an evil woman.” His voice was harsh with rage. “Now you are going to pay for what you have taken from me.”

Marny knew it was no use to answer. Pollock went on voicing his fury.

“You have taken everything good I ever had.” He still spoke roughly, unevenly. “You have killed my ship. You have destroyed my prospects. Since you forced yourself upon the
Cynthia,
I have had nothing but misfortune.”

“Do you think I can work—black magic?” she exclaimed.

He went on as if he had not heard her. Probably he had not.

“I tried to repair the blight you brought upon me,” he said. “I went into business. Honorable business. Not like your career of wrecking men’s lives. I dealt in brick and lumber. I wanted to help build this city—”

While he talked, her thoughts were taking shape. Pollock had made the same mistake as so many other men: he had chosen to deal in goods of which the supply had outrun the need. Since the Eastern shippers had overloaded the market, prices of brick and lumber were ruinously down.

Kendra had shown her that absurd item about the five hundred dozen fans. Pollock did not deal in fans. But like many other men lost in the swamp of unwanted merchandise, he was bankrupt or nearly so. And he was blaming her for this, as he had blamed her for the fate of the
Cynthia.

With utter hatred, he was telling her so. His present trouble, like the other, was her fault. She had demonized his destiny. He believed every word he was saying.

Whatever he wanted of her, Pollock intended to get it or kill her. Maybe both.

At her side, below the level of her elbow, Marny heard little protesting sounds from the hut. Geraldine did not understand Pollock’s words, but she had sensed that he was not a friend. Geraldine was saying to Marny, “I don’t like this man. Make him go away.”

Pollock heard Geraldine too. “What’s that?” he snarled.

Marny said, “A cat.” (—What stupid conversation, she thought, when he may shoot me dead any minute.)

“Cat!” Pollock repeated. He spat out the word as if it were a dirty word. “Fit company for you. You look like a cat.”

The sounds of hilarity rose from the floors below them. Marny was agonizingly conscious of the little weapon at her belt. If only she could put her hand on it! She could whip out the gun and fire it in a second. But oh, how to get that second?

If somebody would only come to the door! Hortensia, to say, “Kendra left us a plate of raisin tarts.” Or Lolo: “Marny, Norman says what’s keeping you so long?” Or Norman himself, to tell her he was taking coins out of a safe to replenish a table where the play was going against the house.

Coins. Gold. Of course, this was what Pollock wanted. If he told her to open the safes she would have to do so. This was what he was telling her now.

“You are going to pay me in gold,” he thundered at her. “I shall walk away from this den of sin with what is rightly mine. It will be no more than what I should have had today if you had not destroyed my ship and my hopes. You she-devil!” he roared.

Such hatred was deadly. And Marny was realizing that if he killed her here he would have a good chance to get away. He could rob the safes and then shoot her, and run down the iron staircase at the back while the guards were rushing up the main stairs from the gambling rooms.

Or maybe he would not need to flee by the back stairs. He could crack her head with that gun as easily as he could shoot her with it. She would crumple up silently, and Pollock could walk down the main stairs and leave by the front door, his coat over his arm to hide the pokes of gold he was carrying.

Marny’s heart was pounding and her skin felt clammy under her clothes. She did not know how much longer she could breathe without choking. In the hut Geraldine mewed angrily. Geraldine had plenty of breath.

Pollock was saying, “Do as I tell you.” He turned his command into a question. “Will you do as I tell you?”

Stiff with fear, Marny gasped, “Yes.”

(—If I am quite docile, she thought, maybe I can hold him until somebody comes up to this floor. Somebody will come up here for something, sometime—if only I can stay alive that long.)

Pollock was speaking again. “You will give me your gold. Gold nuggets, gold dust, gold coins. First I want your nugget necklace.”

The nugget necklace was in the pocket of her skirt, where she had dropped it when she came into the bedroom. But Pollock did not know this.

“I’m not wearing the necklace,” said Marny.

“You are not wearing it
now,
” he retorted with contempt. “But you were wearing it tonight while you dealt cards. You were wearing it when you opened your bedroom door. You took it off after you came in. Now,” he commanded her with an evil smile, “you will tell me where it is.”

Marny felt starved for air. She tried to draw a deeper breath, but she could not. If only she could think of some excuse to move her hands, she could reach her gun.

“All right, I’ll give you the necklace,” she said. “I’ll get it.”

“You will not!” Pollock snapped. “I will get it. And I will not move my eyes from you while I am getting it. Tell me where it is.”

Again Marny tried to draw a deep breath. It was no use. She could not.

“Do you hear me?” Pollock demanded. “
I want that nugget necklace.
Tell me where it is.”

In Marny’s mind, from out of the depth of her breathless terror, rose an idea.

She wet her lips. “I hid the necklace when I took it off,” she said. “When I take it off I always put it in a secret hiding place.”

Pollock gave her a smile of triumph. The smile was like a cut across his face, showing his teeth. “Where is this hiding place?”

“It’s in this room,” said Marny.

His eyes did not shift and his gun did not waver. “Tell me where it is.”

“It’s a place where nobody would ever think of looking,” said Marny. “My cat is in this little hut here by me, with her kittens. They are lying on a blanket. I hid the necklace under the blanket. If you will slip your hand under the blanket you can find the necklace and take it out.”

Still watching her to make sure she did not move, Pollock took a step farther into the room. He took another step, and another. He reached the table on which stood the hut. He was very careful. Still looking at her, still holding the gun on her, he lowered himself on one knee to the level of the little doorway at the front of the hut. Marny followed him with her eyes.

Pollock held the gun in his right hand. Without looking into the hut, with his left hand he felt along the front edge until he found the doorway. He felt the edge of the blanket on which lay the kittens and Geraldine. His face upturned toward Marny, he slipped his hand under the blanket.

With a cry of rage Geraldine leaped at him. She leaped right at his face. Her claws went into his cheeks. Pollock gave a gasp of shock, his head jerked, and by this time Marny had her gun in her hand. She fired.

T
HE REPORT OF HER
gun was the most welcome sound Marny had ever heard. At almost the same instant she heard another and louder report, as Pollock’s hand dropped to his side and his gun went off. Pollock stumbled to the floor. His bullet whacked the rug with a violence that nearly threw Marny down beside him.

She caught her balance against the wall, dizzy but not hurt. Her relief was so overwhelming that at first she did not notice anything around her. But as the spinning in her head began to lessen she saw that she had struck Pollock in his right leg, slightly below the knee. Blood was seeping from the wound and making a splotch on the rug, not far from the place where his bullet had torn a jagged hole in the rug and splintered the planks beneath. Pollock’s face showed the marks of Geraldine’s claws. Drops of blood were trickling across his cheeks.

As for Geraldine, she had gone down to the floor with him, and the shots had sent her ducking under the table. But hearing no more shots she had crept out again, and stood glaring at Pollock and growling awful threats of what she would do to him if he troubled her kittens any more. Though Pollock had been half stunned for a minute, now Marny saw that he was moving, pushing himself toward the spot where his gun had fallen.

The sight of him cleared the last confusion from her mind. Swooping like a bird of prey, she grabbed the gun before he could do so. Pollock tried to stand up, but his injured leg doubled under him and he fell on the floor again. Marny heard him groan, less in pain than in rage because he could not reach her.

At the same time, she became aware of other sounds—banging doors, hurrying footsteps, cries and questions from a multitude of throats. Into the room burst Troy Blackbeard and Norman, demanding to know what the gunfire was about. From outside the room she heard Duke Blackbeard shouting to the gamblers who were suddenly crowding the halls, “Keep back! Stay where you are!”

Norman was staring down at the man on the floor. “My God, Marny!” he exclaimed, almost doubting what he saw. “Is that Captain Pollock? What’s been going on here?”

Troy had put an arm around Marny’s shoulders. “Did he hurt you, Marny?”

She shook her head. The Colt Army Revolver felt terribly heavy in her hand. She gave it to Troy, and leaned on him, glad of his support. Her other hand, still holding her own little gun, hung limply at her side. Troy took that gun too. She was glad he took it, for she felt hardly strong enough to hold anything. Now that her danger was past, it seemed to her that she had never been so tired in her life.

Norman went to the door and began to give orders.

“Tell them there’s been a little trouble but everything’s all right now. Burglar tried to get in and Marny fired. She got him, and we’re about to throw him out. No, she’s not hurt. Tell them to go on with the games. Everything’s under control.”

Except for her own tremulous nerves, Marny observed that everything really was under control. Pollock had managed to raise himself on an elbow, and was mumbling furiously, but with his leg wound he was helpless and no menace to anybody. Geraldine was on her way back to her maternal duties, climbing the little staircase that led to the table top where stood her hut. Geraldine too had observed that everything was under control. No doubt she attributed this to her own excellent management, and she was right.

Duke Blackbeard came to join Troy. Norman gave more instructions.

“Him,” Norman said with contempt, indicating Pollock by a gesture as if such a villain did not deserve to be identified by a name, “we can’t have him bleeding all over the place like that. These rugs are expensive. Tie him up with a towel or something. That horse-doctor—Wardlaw—he’s been playing roulette in the parlor. Tell Wardlaw to put on a bandage. And him,” Norman continued, with another jerk of his thumb toward Pollock, “drag him out of here.”

While Duke Blackbeard brought towels from Marny’s washstand to stanch Pollock’s bleeding until Dr. Wardlaw could attend to the wound, Troy continued to take care of Marny. With clumsy gentleness, while she leaned on him as though on a crutch, Troy led her into the bedroom. Norman followed them. Troy helped her sit down in an armchair, and spoke in a reassuring tone.

“We’ll get that man outside, Marny. He’s not much hurt. He won’t die of it.”

“Too bad,” said Norman.

Marny did not ask herself whether she was glad or sorry she had not given Pollock a fatal wound. She was too shaky to care.

She must have looked as weak as she felt, for Troy was saying to Norman, “You’d better bring her some brandy.”

Norman went out. Laying Pollock’s gun and Marny’s on the dressing table beside her, Troy returned to the other room. Through the open doorway Marny saw the two Blackbeards raise Pollock between them and drag him outside.

Norman came in with the brandy and poured a drink into Marny’s toothbrush glass. As he brought it to her he caught sight of the army revolver on the dressing table. Norman picked it up.

“He came at you with
this,
Marny?”

She nodded.

Norman profanely voiced his wrath. “What did he want?”

“He wanted me to open the safes.”

“Thieving bastard,” said Norman. “What’s the matter with him anyway? He’s a leading citizen. At least he puts on airs like one. Well, it just goes to show, you never know who you can trust.”

Norman sighed as he contemplated this evidence of human depravity. Marny reached for her own little gun and drew it nearer. She did not expect to need it any more tonight, but it was a six-shot revolver and still held five cartridges. She liked having it close by.

Lulu and Lolo and Hortensia came to ask if they could do anything. Norman said no, and told them to go on as if nothing had happened. He himself stayed with Marny until Troy came back to report that all was well. Dr. Wardlaw had put a bandage on Pollock’s wound. The Blackbeards had searched his pockets and confiscated all the keys they found there, to be sure of getting the one with which he had entered Marny’s room. This done, they had put him into a wheelbarrow kept at the back of the building to carry off rubbish, and had trundled him to the hotel where he lived, nearby on Jackson Street. He was out of the Calico Palace and they had warned him that every soul who worked here would be given orders to shoot if he ever crossed the threshold again.

The gamblers were back at their games. Shooting sprees were too common in San Francisco to cause much concern except to the persons involved. Norman said, with wistful chivalry, “I don’t suppose you feel like dealing any more tonight, Marny?”

“No,” she answered, “I don’t,” and she ignored his disappointed face. “I’d like to see Kendra when she comes in,” Marny added, “but in the meantime, please, I’d like to be by myself.”