Wanted! Belle Starr! (9 page)

Crossing to the counter, Icke thought he
detected a somewhat strained air about the solitary, gray haired
and parchment-faced teller and wondered whether he might, in fact,
have arrived too late. With some trepidation, he explained the
reason for his visit. Anxiety bit at him as the elderly man he was
addressing directed a look towards the guard at the front door.
However, after having next glanced in a surly and disgruntled
fashion at the clock on the wall, the teller picked up a small
bunch of keys and came through the gateway giving access to the
customer’s section.

“
Are you all on your own
today?” Icke inquired, accompanying the still scowling old man to
collect his property from the safety deposit box he had rented
which was kept with the others in the well protected basement of
the building.

“
Yes!” the teller answered
shortly, concentrating upon selecting and manipulating the keys
necessary to gain admission to the vault.

“
Where’s the young man I
saw when I took the box?”

“
He sent word this morning
that he’s gone down with the grippe!”

“
And you don’t believe he
has?”

“
It isn’t for me to say
whether he has, or hasn’t!” the teller stated, having been reproved
by Cockburn for making such a suggestion when the message from
Hobert had arrived. It had done nothing to decrease his animosity
towards his younger and more forceful colleague, nor had having
been required to deal with the extra work caused by the absence.
“But his grippe came on very suddenly, if you ask me!”

Satisfied that the peculations had not yet
come to light, Icke decided against continuing the conversation. He
had no desire for his interest in Hobert to be mentioned to the
Federal bank examiners. If this should happen, it might cause them
to want to check upon the leather dispatch case he had come to
collect. Therefore, he lapsed into silence and his informant showed
no signs of wishing to continue speaking, Instead, each used the
key he had brought to unlock and open the safety deposit box.

Taking out the case, although the box no
longer held any of his property, the receiver announced he would
continue the rental. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary about the
instructions and being only interested in finishing work for the
day, the teller raised no objections to him pocketing the key.
Returning to the ground floor and passing the guard, who was
waiting with obvious impatience to close and lock the door, he left
the bank satisfied he had been in time to avoid having his money
impounded along with the rest of its assets and holdings.

Hurrying to the hotel, Icke
felt his anxieties ebbing away and being replaced by a sensation of
elation. He was sure that, on hearing the story he was concocting,
the beautiful blonde would be putty in his hands as soon as she
heard that the visit supposedly to extract her brother from
difficulty had been ‘successful’. Nevertheless, in the event that
gratitude and a judicious plying with the brandy she had promised
to acquire did not prove sufficient to render her compliant, he was
convinced that the presentation of a marijuana cigarette from the
case he always carried would induce a condition wherein she would
become sexually forthcoming. Such tactics had only failed him once,
but he had contrived to avoid suffering the consequences of his
narcotic-induced attack upon the sister of Geoffrey Crayne. He
promised himself that, being in an area where he could exert less
influence, he would ensure nothing of a similar nature occurred on
this occasion.

Entering the Railroad House Hotel, David
Icke was not allowed to follow the line of action he had planned.
It was his intention to make arrangements with the reception clerk
at the desk to have the leather dispatch case put in the safe,
before going upstairs to carry out the seduction he believed would
soon be his for the asking. However, as he came through the front
entrance, he saw Darlene-Mae Abernathy walking down from the second
floor.

“
Hello, Dav—‘Mr. Wilson’,”
the blonde greeted, hurrying towards the receiver. “I saw you
coming from the bank and I just couldn’t wait any longer. So I came
down to meet you. Were you successful with—with—?”

“
With my negotiation?”
Icke suggested.

“
With your negotiation,”
Darlene-Mae accepted.

“
Completely successful,”
the receiver replied, truthfully as far as it went. That, however,
was the end to his veracity. “Don’t worry, Darl—Miss Abernathy.
Everything is settled and, providing your family are willing to
make good the money, your half-brother has nothing to
fear.”

“
Well thank heavens for
that!” the blonde declared, coming forward to take Icke by the left
arm. “Or, rather, thank you, David!”

“
It was nothing,” the
receiver claimed, once again with truth.

“
But it means so much to
dear Dennis!” Darlene-Mae gasped, squeezing at the arm she was
holding. “Why I could just give you a great big hug and
kiss!”

“
Here?” Icke asked,
glancing around the reception lobby.

“
Oh heavens to Betsy, what
you must think of me!” the beautiful blonde gasped, looking around
her with such innocent alarm it seemed butter would have a hard
time melting in her mouth. Nevertheless, retaining her grip on his
arm, she continued, “Come, let’s go upstairs first.”

“
First?” the receiver
queried.

“
I promised that I would
have a bottle of brandy waiting in my room so we could toast your
success with Banker Cockburn,” Darlene-Mae explained. “Or had you
forgotten about it?”

“
No, of course I hadn’t
forgotten,” Icke stated, but dropped his gaze to the case in his
right hand. “But I meant—”

“
Don’t you want to come
with me?” the blonde demanded, a touch of petulance coming into her
voice.

“
I most certainly do want
to come—!” the receiver confirmed, but was not allowed to say
anything more.

“
Then let’s go and do it
straight away!” Darlene-Mae ordered rather than merely requested,
her manner that of a person long accustomed to having every whim
fulfilled immediately and who was likely to go into a fit of sulks,
if nothing worse, should she not get her own way.

“
Whatever you say, my
dear,” Icke assented, being unwilling to forfeit the opportunity he
was confident he had created, and struggling to control his
resentment. Then he told himself that, as the money would not be
out of his sight until it could be put into the safe, he need not
feel concerned over it. “Come on then. Let’s go up to your room and
drink to my success and your half-brother’s salvation.”

On the way to the second floor, possessing a
suspicious and untrusting nature, the receiver started to worry
over the insistence of the blonde in going to her room. The feeling
was intensified when she asked about the dispatch case. However, on
being told it contained documents concerning the business he had
carried out with Banker Cockburn as a prelude to rescuing her
half-brother, her attitude implied she was not really interested
and had merely been making conversation.

Allowing Icke to precede her into her room,
Darlene Mae closed and locked the door. Before he could register
any concern over the actions, she turned and smiled with a mixture
of demure provocation which drove the suspicion from his head.
Removing and draping his cloak over a chair, he forgot his earlier
misgivings and contemplated only the benefits he anticipated would
soon be coming his way.

“
Have a seat, David,” the
blonde offered.

“
Will here be all right?”
the receiver hinted, crossing to sit on the bed with the case by
his side.

“
Wherever you wish,”
Darlene-Mae assented, going to the dressing-table. “I had the
brandy brought up while you were away, being so sure you would be
successful. I trust what they brought is a satisfactory vintage. Is
that what it is called?”

“
One doesn’t usually refer
to the vintage of a brandy,” Icke corrected, looking at the bottle
for which the blonde was reaching. Neither it, nor the tray and two
glasses had been on the dressing-table when he had left to visit
the bank. “But it’s the best brand they have in the
hotel.”

“
I’m pleased to hear
that,” the blonde claimed. “I know so little about such things and
I do so want us to have the best.”

“
You got it there,” the
receiver assured, watching the bottle being uncorked by his
hostess. “But wasn’t there something said about me getting a hug
and a kiss for saving your half-brother?”

“
Why there most certainly
was,” Darlene-Mae affirmed. “Although it seems such a small price
to pay for having poor Dennis’s good name saved from being
besmirched. I’m sure my family would feel you deserve a far better
reward than just a hug and a kiss from lil ole me.”

“
What better reward could
anybody ask than that?” Icke asked.

“
But it’s so little!” the
blonde protested. “I know a gentleman like you would be offended if
I was to offer you money on behalf of Dennis and the rest of the
family, but perhaps we can think of something else?”

While carrying out the conversation,
Darlene-Mae had opened the bottle. Pouring out two liberal
quantities, she set it back on the tray and took up the two
glasses. If her guest had been watching closely, he still might
have failed to detect the small white tablet which she had been
palming as deftly as a magician specializing in sleight of hand
being slipped into the drink on the left. Moving both glasses in a
rotating motion, apparently trying to duplicate how she had seen it
done when serving such a liquor, she speeded the process of
dissolving.

“
Not that it matters and I
certainly didn’t help your half-brother with any idea of being
rewarded,” Icke said, trying to sound sincere in the declaration.
“But what else did you have in mind?”

“
Heavens to Betsy, I’ve no
idea,” the blonde replied, eyeing the receiver coyly and yet also
conveying an impression that she had given thought to the form of
reimbursement. “I’ve never before been involved in any such a
thing. However, shall we drink our toast first?” She paused, but
did not allow time for anything to be said by her guest. “My old
daddy always used to claim a drink made a kiss so much more
enjoyable.”

“
Then who are we to argue
with the wisdom of your daddy?” Icke inquired cheerfully, feeling
even more certain that the seduction he was planning would be a
sinecure. Accepting the left hand glass, but seeing not the
slightest trace of the addition to its contents, he went on, “Do
you want to propose the toast, or shall I?”

“
Why not you first, then
I’ll propose one in return?” Darlene-Mae suggested.

“
Ladies first, I always
say,” the receiver countered.

“
Very well,” the blonde
agreed. “There was something else my old daddy used to say, though
for the life of me I can’t imagine what he meant. He always claimed
that, if you wanted to know what kind of lover a man is, watch him
drink and, should he drain off his glass straight away, you’ll know
he’s a good one.”

“
That sounds excellent
advice to me,” Icke declared, suspecting the beautiful Southron was
less innocent and naive than she seemed. However, the supposition
did not cause him any concern at that moment. It merely led him to
believe his plans for the immediate future, as she appeared to be
compliant and even eager to provoke what he had in mind, would be
so much easier. “And we should drink to it!”

“
So we will, eventually,”
Darlene-Mae promised, raising her glass. “First, however, let’s
drink to the success you had at the bank and may we both get what
we want.”

“
I’m all for the last!”
the receiver asserted eagerly. Wanting to impress the blonde, he
raised and drained his glass. Coughing a little, he noticed
something which caused him to say, “Aren’t you
drinking?”

“
I’ll finish it in a
moment,” Darlene-Mae answered, having merely wet her lips on the
glass of brandy she was holding. Placing it on the tray from which
it had come, she reached up to start unfastening the neck of the
white silk blouse she wore. “But I feel just a little warm and
thought, providing you don’t object of course, I would make myself
a little more comfortable first.”

“
Now why should I object
to the—!” Icke commenced, then frowned and stared as if at
something which was moving. Blinking his eyes, which were becoming
glazed, he tried and failed to stop the glass slipping from his
fingers. A look of dull alarm mingled with puzzlement came to his
face and, trying to shove himself erect, he continued,
“Wha—Wha—Whash—Whash hap—happen—?”

Before the question could be completed, the
receiver crumpled backwards to lay half on and half off the bed
breathing stentoriously.

“
You’ve been drugged is
what’s happened, you Yankee son-of-a-bitch!” the beautiful blonde
explained, her face and voice as coldly implacable as that of a
judge sentencing a criminal to a death that was well deserved. “But
that’s only the start of your troubles!”

For several seconds after consciousness
returned, David Icke felt as if he was being twirled around and up
and down rapidly. Having forced apart lids reluctant to obey the
dictates of his mind, he closed his eyes quickly to block off the
dazzling effect of a bright light from somewhere in the center of
the whirling vortex above him. Then the sensation of dizziness
began to ebb away. As this happened, he found his faculties were
starting to function. Apart from a slightly unpleasant taste in the
mouth and a temporary lapse of memory, the comment made by
Darlene-Mae Abernathy after he had passed out notwithstanding, the
potion added without his knowledge to his brandy was producing no
serious after effects.