Rockabye County 3

  The Home of Great Western Fiction!

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  About the Book

  Copyright

  About the Author

  The Rockabye County Series

  Author’s Note

  One – You Won’t Be Fighting Tonight

  Two – Take Off Out and Get Him

  Three – That Was Sudden

  Four – He’s Taken to a Tree

  Five – Just a Trifle Risky

  Six – Can You Hold Him?

  Seven – It’s My Man

  Eight – You Might Be Recognized

  Nine – It Isn’t Me You’ve Got to Convince

  Ten – That’s What Got Him Killed

  Eleven – Do Good By Stealth

  Twelve – All Loaded for Bear

  Thirteen – Nobody is Going to Get Hurt

  Fourteen – The Woman’s Coming Up

  Fifteen – Trouble for the Sheriff

  Sixteen – It’s That Bastard, Jack Tragg

  Appendix One

  Appendix Two

  Appendix Three – Radio Codes

  Jack Tragg, sheriff of Rockabye County, Texas, was a powerful, sun-bronzed six foot one. Although he owned traditional cowhand style outfits, he usually wore a business suit or khaki uniform. His gunbelt was a modern combat-shooter’s rig, with a single Smith & Wesson .41 Magnum. Jack had a stable of fine horses at his disposal, but most of the time he travelled by car, airplane or helicopter.

  Like his Old West predecessors, Jack’s duty was to keep the peace and maintain law and order in his bailiwick. Tough—fast with a gun—Jack was the jet-aged lawman!

  Author’s Note

  To save our ‘old hands’ from repetition and for the benefit of all new readers, we have given details of the careers and special qualifications of Woman Deputy Alice Fayde and Deputy Sheriff Bradford Counter, also the main police radio calls and relevant articles of the Texas Penal Code in the form of Appendices.

  We realize that, in our present ‘permissive’ society, we could include the actual profanities uttered by various people. However, we do not concede that a spurious desire to create ‘realism’ is a valid reason for doing so. Lastly, as we do not conform to the current ‘trendy’ pandering to the exponents of the metric system, we will continue to use pounds, ounces, miles, yards, feet and inches where weights and distances are concerned unless referring to the calibers of such weapons—e.g. Luger 9mm—which are gauged in millimeters.

  J. T. Edson

  One – You Won’t Be Fighting Tonight

  The girl who had adopted the professional name, ‘Rona’, and who had spent several years residing in the Manhattan Island district of New York City, never felt at ease when walking alone after night had fallen. Despite the competence she had acquired in the somewhat unconventional form of employment from which she now derived a satisfactorily high standard of living.

  Even though, on this occasion, she only needed to traverse the otherwise deserted tunnel leading from the Galleria Mall to the parking lot, where a car was waiting to collect and deliver her to an unknown destination, she wished she could have left through the main entrance of the Houston Oaks Hotel—under the watchful eye of the ever present doorman—instead of having, as she had been instructed, to take such a roundabout route. As was the case with downtown New York, in addition to muggers and other kinds of criminals willing to employ physical violence against their victims, a city the size of Houston, Texas, probably had its share of sexually motivated creeps who would be eager to select a lovely and shapely lone young woman like herself as acceptable prey for rape. The Galleria Mall being in the center of the downtown area would be a prowling ground sought out by such criminals and creeps.

  However, Rona was aware of why it was considered necessary for her to employ such precautions when she was being collected. Taking into consideration that she was only one who would receive a substantial sum of money in cash for services rendered, also probably supplemented by sizeable gratuities upon which the Agency would not levy any commission, she was willing to concede there was a justifiable reason for the instructions she had received.

  Contemplating the size of her likely earnings that evening, and the gratuities which she felt sure would be forthcoming, put Rona in a more cheerful frame of mind. Under the circumstances, she told herself as she glanced over her shoulder and then returned her gaze to the front, there were still many people within hearing distance, even though none was in sight at that moment. Furthermore, she had heard that—unlike the majority of New Yorkers, who were traditionally disinclined to become involved in the problems of others—many male Texans would immediately dash to the rescue on hearing a woman screaming for help.

  Having drawn the latter comforting conclusion, Rona continued to divert her anxieties still further by thinking about the event which was responsible for her having to walk along the tunnel. In spite of the somewhat restricted number of women who were engaged upon her specialized line of work, she had never met her opponent for this evening. She had heard the other was called ‘Marla’ and had a skill equal to her own, but she knew nothing more than that. Even the venue at which they were to appear had not been disclosed.

  With three years of experience behind her, Rona found nothing out of the ordinary about her lack of knowledge. Because of the secrecy which enshrouded her type of employment, the full names of the competitors were rarely used when they were being presented to the audience. In fact, like herself, most of them were introduced by a selected pseudonym. However, she found satisfaction from having been informed that Marla was also a professional and not a ‘silver spoon’. Not only was this conducive to a greater willingness on the part of the spectators to hand out gratuities, but the other girl would have learned and could be relied upon to stay within the code of conduct evolved and accepted by all those whose income was derived from their unusual sporting activities.

  ‘Excuse me, young lady, would you-all care to make a donation to a most worthy cause?’

  Hearing a feminine voice with a Southern accent coming from inside the entrance passage to the women’s restroom which she was passing, Rona was jolted from her reverie and looked around. She was aware that mugging and other forms of armed robbery were not the exclusive preserve of male criminals, but the sight which met her gaze aroused no suspicions.

  Holding forward a collecting tin bearing the label of a well-known charity with her black gloved left hand, the right being behind her back, the speaker standing a short distance along the passage wore the black and white habit of a nun. Matching Rona’s height of five foot seven, she appeared to be much more bulky than Rona and, although her attire did not help, far less curvaceous in build. She peered in a shortsighted fashion through spectacles with thick horn rims. These, added to an almost too large nose and a scar along the left cheek marred what might otherwise have been good looking—albeit pallid to the point of being pasty—features.

  ‘Certainly, sister,’ Rona replied without hesitation, stopping to open and reach into the bulky shoulder bag she was carrying.

  Although she had attracted the attention of the shapely young woman and received an answer in the affirmative, the nun did not offer to come forward and collect the donation. Instead, she continued to stand with the collecting tin extended and the right hand remained concealed. Oblivious of her earlier misgivings, because of the way in which the other was dressed, Rona felt no qualms over turning into the passage and approaching. Taking out the wallet containing her credit cards and money, she extracted a five-dollar bill. As she was inserting it through the slit in the lid, the tin slipped out of the nun’s hand and fell to the floor between them.

  ‘I’ll get it, sister,’ Rona offered, obeying the in
stinctive reaction of one whose early education had been in a convent school.

  As the young woman started to bend down, thereby being unable to see what the nun was doing, the behavior of the nun was far from what was to be expected of one who had taken holy orders. Coming from behind her back, and also covered by a black glove, her right hand flashed up and down. Descending with the added impulsion supplied by its spring-loaded shaft, the leather wrapped head of the billy she was grasping struck Rona at the base of the skull.

  Allowing the weapon to dangle from her wrist on its carrying strap, as her victim collapsed like a steer felled by a skillfully handled pole-axe, the bogus nun walked swiftly to the entrance of the passage and looked in each direction along the still deserted tunnel. Having satisfied herself that there was nobody in the immediate vicinity, she went back to where Rona lay crumpled and motionless. Grasping her beneath the armpits and lifting her, with an ease suggestive of considerable strength, the ‘nun’ dragged her through the doorway of the restroom and deposited her inside one of the cubicles. Fetching the collecting tin and the property dropped by her victim, which might otherwise have suggested something was amiss, she returned to the room. Retaining the wallet, she tossed the shoulder bag on to Rona’s unconscious body without offering to check its contents.

  ‘You won’t be fighting tonight,’ remarked the woman whose selection of attire had lulled the suspicions of her victim. She no longer employed the accent of a Southron, but spoke in the fashion of one born and raised in very affluent circumstances somewhere much farther west. Closing the door of the cubicle to conceal its contents, she went on while reaching towards her bulbous nose, ‘So I should think they’ll be only too pleased to have me pinch-hit for you.’ i

  ~*~

  ‘Now you’ve got her, Marla!’ enthused a man, from among the three dozen or so elegantly, formally and expensively dressed and bejeweled people who were standing or seated on the settees lining three sides of the otherwise almost unfurnished sitting room of a large mansion in the most wealthy district of Houston. ‘Make the most of it!’

  Considering the luxurious surroundings and the social prominence of many of the party, the activity which had provoked the comment might have struck one who was unaware of the facts as being unusual to say the least.

  Although the beautiful, very shapely and now practically naked blonde to whom the words were directed was probably too engrossed to have paid any attention, she showed signs of trying to follow the advice. Having contrived to twist Sharon Sparswith’s left arm around and up in a hammerlock, she held it there with her right hand. Bunching the left into a fist and crowding in closer to retain the advantage offered by the grip, she thrust it sharply forward. The knuckles struck just above the perspiration soaked leopard print briefs which were all that remained of the skimpy bikini worn by her captive. While the squeal elicited by the blow offered an incentive to continue inflicting the punishment she was not allowed to do so. Before she could deliver another, Sharon’s head jerked back to catch her in the face. Giving a gasp of pain, the short and curly brunette hair having done little to cushion the impact, she lost her hold. Beginning to retreat instinctively, with blood starting to trickle from her nostrils, she raised both hands involuntarily towards the stricken area.

  For the past seven minutes, without anybody having offered to stop them, Marla and Sharon had been embroiled in a savage rough and tumble struggle which had seen each lose the brassiere portion of the brief bikini, that was their sole attire at the commencement of the fight!

  However, despite the ruthless vigor with which it was conducted, the conflict was not caused by a long-standing animosity having finally erupted into physical violence!

  In fact, apart from a short and less than amicable conversation which had ensued when the brunette had volunteered to act as a substitute for the girl who should have been Marla’s opponent—but was unable to attend as she was suffering from a concussion resulting from being attacked, presumably by a mugger, in a restroom of the Galleria Mall—they had never so much as met, much less found a reason to dislike one another.

  The brief period of their acquaintance had not led either girl to hold back from separate efforts to win the bout of what was known as ‘apartment house wrestling’ in which they were participating. What was more, despite Marla being a professional contender of considerable ability and Sharon the last of the invited guests to arrive at the mansion, the former had soon discovered that winning a victory would be far from the sinecure it might at first have seemed.

  Apartment house wrestling had its origins in the mid-1960s, when a few very wealthy aficionados of female combat had sought for something more than was offered by the women who appeared in the professional ring, and had put on private bouts at their penthouses in New York City. Although they had avoided publicity, word of their activities had spread by invited guests from out of town until other rich devotees throughout the United States were putting on similar clandestine events. Over the years, in fact, it had developed into what was said by those in the know to be the world’s most exclusive and, arguably, expensive spectator sport. ii Its rules differed greatly from those governing all the more conventional styles of wrestling, considerably greater latitude in the behavior of the combatants being permitted than in the public matches.

  Wanting to obtain the best possible performance, but acutely aware of the need to maintain a low profile where non-aficionados were concerned, much money was expended upon achieving both objectives. Chosen for their looks, curvaceous figures, excellent physical condition, and the possession of a keenly competitive spirit and discretion, the girls who indulged professionally were given training which prepared them for the specialized nature of the sport. They received instruction in basic wrestling methods and tactics, but the main emphasis of the lessons was placed upon instilling the retention of self-control under conditions of stress, provocation and aggravation. While they were generally expected to go all out to win, there were limits to how far they were allowed to take their efforts towards attaining that end. Therefore, their training taught them how to strive for victory without endangering life or limb in the process.

  Earning a very lucrative living from their participation, along with other financial benefits which never reached the records of the Internal Revenue Service, the girls were equally aware of the need to avoid any incident which might prevent the goose from continuing to lay its golden eggs. With that in mind, they had evolved a code of conduct to which they all adhered. Even in the heat of combat, with only rare exceptions, they avoided attacks which might cause disfigurement or could result in a serious injury. For this reason, they preferred to be matched with one another and not against a female guest who wished to indulge. Such amateurs could not be relied upon to obey the dictates of the code. What was more, as the audience considered the odds to be in favor of the professional, a win against a ‘silver spoon’—the derogatory name they gave to amateurs—rarely produced the gratuities which were given at the conclusion of a successful encounter with another professional.

  Having a professional’s antipathy towards being matched with a ‘silver spoon’, Marla had not hidden her displeasure when Sharon volunteered to replace Rona. As was generally the case, she knew at least two of the guests had brought girls with them and, as she had beaten both in previous encounters, she had hoped one or the other would be selected. The purse offered for the bout was five thousand dollars, to be split three thousand five hundred/fifteen hundred although generally the girls shared it equally regardless of who won the bout; the victress considering the tips she received as her profit margin.

  Apparently the brunette had sensed something of the blonde’s feelings and had suggested in a loud voice that, if she felt so god-damned sure of winning, they should fight for the purse on a basis of winner takes all. Even if she had not seen the eagerness with which the host for the evening and spectators were greeting the offer made by Sharon, the derisive delivery of the challenge would have
been sufficient inducement for Marla to accept. It had been obvious that the brunette had hoped for such an opportunity. When asked if she needed to send for suitable attire, she had said this had been brought with her. Without any further discussion, they had retired to the rooms provided to change into their bikinis. On their return, following the usual examination to ensure they wore no jewelry and their nails were cut too short to scratch, they had been told to commence.

  Marla had soon become aware that she was in contention against a worthy opponent. At five foot seven each, with equally well-developed figures which would not have disgraced a ‘sex symbol’ actress, they were evenly matched in height, weight and strength. What was more, unlike some of the ‘silver spoons’ who took part in bouts, Sharon clearly was not doing so to impress her friends with expertise acquired at karate or some other exotic martial arts system. No matter what her motive might have been—and, as she was the only child of a famous movie star, it seemed unlikely she needed to compete for the money—she had fought as well as any professional without attempting to employ such fancy tactics.

  From the beginning, the struggle had been carried out with vigor and a mutually ruthless determination to win. Whether on their feet, or churning over and over across the padded carpet in a tangle of wildly waving arms and legs, the two beautiful young women had handled each other with a primeval savagery and disregard for suffering inflicted or received which had held their audience enthralled. Watching them and the reactions of the spectators, the organizer had soon lost his original misgivings. While such was not always the case in a bout between a professional and a ‘silver spoon’, he considered he was receiving excellent value for his money regardless of which girl won.

  As was the case all through the bout, the application of the hammerlock had not allowed Marla to gain more than a brief ascendancy. Equally in keeping with the way the fight had progressed, having escaped from a potentially dangerous position, Sharon set about making the most of her opportunity.