Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

“Etta ain’t got nothin’ to do with this!”

“So you must’ve been in a hurry?”

“It’s dark down there at the best of times. Irummaged about with a lantern, but couldn’t find the French boozeanywheres. By now the commotion above me’s gettin’ wild, so I popmy head out the taproom door, settle everybody down, an’ holler atPeck. I hear Mrs. Budge comin’ back from upstairs, so I figureshe’ll take over the bar an’ keep Nestor from gettin’ injured.”

“Mrs. Budge reckons she come back down abouta quarter to ten.”

“Sounds about right. Anyways, I’m backlookin’ for the wine an’ cursin’ that captain, when I happen toglance out the little window at the back.”

Cobb tensed. “The one that looks out onto thealley?”

“Yeah. And I see two pair of trousers withlegs attached – you c’n see nothin’ above the waist from where Iwas – an’ from the way they were scufflin’ together, I figured Iwas seein’ a couple of drunks pushin’ an’ shovin’ each other.”

“You must’ve heard somethin’, bein’that close.”

“Loud voices, mad as hell – but that’s theway drunks are, ain’t they?”

“You didn’t think to try an’ stop them?”

“Never crossed my mind. We get a dozendust-ups around here every week.”

“So you went back upstairs?”

“No. I knew the missus’d be livid – she’sforever tellin’ me to get all the stuff down there put in someorder – so I went over to the other side an’ kept lookin’.”

“That would account fer the fact that yermissus thought you didn’t come up till almost ten o’clock.”

“She has too damn many thoughts, thatwoman.”

“An’ you found the wine?”

“No. I was gettin’ set to come upempty-handed when I glance over at the window again – curious, Iguess, about the drunks. I damn near dropped the lantern.”

Cobb braced himself.

“I see a big stick – like somebody’s cane orshillelagh – comin’ up an’ down an’ thumpin’ on somebody’sbones.”

Cobb felt his breathing tighten. “That’s allyou could see? An’ no sounds?”

“None. I figured one of them drunks wastakin’ a terrible beatin’.”

“Surely you tried to help?”

“What’d you take me for? I run to thebay-doors an’ tried to push ‘em open. But they jam sometimes, so Igive a loud whoop an’ scuttle about lookin’ fer my crowbar, which Ican’t find.”

“And?”

“And I see the beatin’s stopped. The guyusin’ the cane must’ve gone.”

“But you’ve still got an injured man in yeralley.”

“I keep on lookin’ fer the crowbar, but Ican’t find it. I go back to the bay-doors an’ pound on ‘em. Idecide I better go up an’ face the music over the wine – and assoon as I get a chance, I’ll deke out to the alley an’ check on thedrunk.”

“Mighty decent of ya.”

“When I get up here, a dozen sailors areyellin’ fer drink, Mrs. Budge is screamin’ at me an’ Nestor, an’then you come sailin’ in with the news about a body in thealley.”

“An’ you refused to come with me tohave a look,” Cobb said sharply. He gave the barkeep such a fiercestare he forced him to look down at his hands spread upon thebar.

Finally Budge raised his eyes and said with adefiant whine, “I reckoned I’d spent the whole night bein’ bossedabout by my wife an’ shouted at by ignorant sailors an’ looked downon by sea-captains, an’ that body out there’s now police business,so I say ‘fuck it!’ – I’ll let Missus Budge take care ofsomethin’ fer a change!”

“And it didn’t occur to you somewheres in yerthick skull that you oughta come an’ tell me what you saw?”

“But I just told ya, I didn’t see anythin’that’d be of use to the police!”

Cobb nodded towards the freshly tapped keg.Budge frowned, but turned around and filled a flagon with ale -with an inch-and-a-half head. He slid it over to Cobb, who droppeda coin on the counter. Cobb took a hearty sip, leaving the foam tohighlight his upper lip.

“I hear you an’ the dead fella got into afracas here last week,” Cobb said after another noisy sip.

Budge’s black gaze narrowed. “So what? He gotfrisky with Etta, so I grabbed him by the throat, give him a goodshakin’, an’ tossed him out – fer good. Somethin’ I’ve done to ahundred customers since we opened up here.”

“I’m sure you have. But yer missus said youwere particularly upset because of somethin’ Duggan said to Etta,”Cobb said, stretching the truth just a bit.

“She thinks every woman under forty is out totumble me,” Budge said, and for the first time flashed hiscarefully manicured bartender’s smile at Cobb, as if to say ‘Ican’t help it, can I, if I’m too handsome for my own good?’

“Duggan was seen in here before thatweek.”

“I suppose so, but I didn’t know him fromAdam.”

“Didn’t know he was Nestor’s cousin an’housemate?”

Cobb thought he detected a flicker of anxietyin Budge’s face.

“Not until now. I never seen them together inhere. Nestor worked mainly in the mornings, doin’ some of the heavywork.”

“An’ this Duggan never made eyes at Ettabefore last week?”

“Just what the hell are you drivin’ at,Cobb?”

“I’m thinkin’ that maybe you had a grudgeagainst Duggan an’ when you heard that argument in the alley, yourecognized Duggan’s voice an’ somethin’ snapped inside – you werealready mad at yer wife an’ feelin’ grumpy an’ put-upon – an’ youpushed up them basement doors, stepped into the alley an’ foundDuggan alone and unconscious with a cane lyin’ handy beside him -”

“ Get out! ” Budge bellowed, and if hehad not been so big and bulky might have vaulted over the bar toget at Cobb. “Get out of here before I take a cane an’ beat you to death!”

***

Cobb was still shaking two blocks distant from TheSailor’s Arms. He had left – slowly and deliberately, he wassure – but only because he had asked all the questions he neededto, and one or two he shouldn’t have. His principal regret, though,was leaving his ale unfinished. His shaking was due mostly to hisanger at himself for pushing Budge further than he had intended andletting his personal dislike of the barkeep get the better of him.As he walked towards The Cock and Bull for his luncheon, he thoughtback on the interview and had to admit that Budge’s account jibedwith the time-line Marc had laid out. The argument between Dugganand Brodie must have taken place somewhere between nine-forty-fiveand nine-fifty, as they had assumed. And if Budge was telling thetruth – a big ‘if’ in Cobb’s mind – then Duggan was clubbed todeath minutes after Brodie fled. And that suggested that someonehad been watching the initial tussle between the two men and hadmoved in immediately to dispatch Duggan with Brodie’swalking-stick. It was too bad they couldn’t use the blackmailbusiness as a motive for any of the five people who seemed to havean opportunity to commit the murder. But without Nestor tocorroborate the suspicions raised by Duggan’s list, Cobb had toagree with Marc that that angle could not be used to help dissuadethe magistrate from charging Brodie tomorrow morning.

Cobb spent the afternoon in variouswatering-holes tracking down his lesser snitches and bribing themto keep a sharp lookout for any signs of Nestor Peck. Nestor wasthe chum of another snitch, Itchy Quick, who hung out at TheCrooked Anchor on Bay Street at Wellington. Quick was a two-hundredpound sloth of a man whose shambling manoeuvres were unrelated tohis surname. His nickname, however, was apt, as he suffered fromscrofula, and spent much of his limited energy scratching anditching. But Itchy had not been seen at his favourite tavern oranywhere else, it turned out. Were his disappearance and Nestor’smere coincidence? Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not.