might've started out working for your guvamints, is what I think, but I think when you'all come to realize just how much gold and money was involved here, I think it was all of you got really greedy, real sudden-like. Now, you trying to scare Fitz into telling you things so's you wont have to bring any other bunches in on this here, sos you can all divvy it up between the five of you."
While the old soldier had been talking, Fitz had been watching the two men. Biscuitt had become a greenish pale and was repeatedly gulping. The Greek had darkened to lividity; both of his big fists were tight-clenched and knots of muscle stood up at the hinges of his jaws. Fitz was dead certain that Gus had hit the nail precisely on the head.
To Fitz, Gus said, "Maybe I shouldn't ought to of said all this out here tonight, but I just couldn't take no more of that damn Greek sod and all his anti-American commie crap, is all. Way things is now, maybe I better sleep out here tonight and take one your cars to drive back in the morning, huh? Someway, I don't think it would be too healthy for to get back in that car with these fuckers tonight."
Biscuitt regained a usable quantity of aplomb first. "Mister Tolliver, to ... to just whom did you speak of ... of these wild, utterly groundless suspicions of me and my colleagues, may I ask?''
Gus grinned. "Sure, you can ask . . . but I ain't gonna tell you. I will say this, though, the guys I talked to a'ready done toF me that the guys they talked to was all damn int'rested and said they meant to get on it right away, too. So, was I you bunch, I wouldn't go making no long-term plans.''
"These persons with whom you spoke are, I would assume, connected with some Federal agency, Mis-
ter Tolliver, so tell me this: are they aware that you have been, via most circuitous channels, some of which are less than legal, shipping large sums of money out of this country?" asked G. Rowland Biscuitt, adding, "As you—neither of you—are not without sins of your own, you would assuredly have been better off to not have thrown stones at others.
"But throw them you did, I'm sure. Therefore, since time is now very important, I would suggest that we all make an even distribution of the remaining gold. Then we can go our separate ways rapidly. Now, we know that there is very little of the ancient gold in the smaller, most cleverly disguised safe in Mister Tolliver's shop, although there is a bit more in his bank box. Is that all not sold? Or is there more . . . perhaps in a hidden recess of that stone root cellar or whatever it is in the backyard here?"
Fitz drew from under the cushion of his chair a M1911A1 .45 caliber service pistol. In one smooth movement, he pointed it at the two on the couch and palmed back the slide. Within the confines of the room, the metallic sounds rang loud and ugly. Biscuitt regained every bit of his earlier greenish pallor and, this time, even the Greek—staring down the black, nearly half-inch bore that was being steadily held only some seven feet from him—lost color in his face.
Between spasmodic gulps, Biscuitt gasped, "What does th . . . this mean? I am a . . . federal employ . . . ee in performance of. . . his duties . . . and—"
"It means, my crooked friend," grated Fitz, "that this interview is at an end. Unless one or both of you wants to make it a very final end, I'd advise you to get up and leave my house and my property while you can still do so under your own steam.
"The gold is mine, all mine, and I came by it and
the other things completely legally. If there are any crooks about . . . and there are!—it's you and your cohorts, Biscuitt.
"Gus, go get the Garand. You know where I keep it. It's loaded. I want some backup when I let these two out the gate. There's a bandolier hanging on the barrel, armor-piercing and ball, three clips of each/'
"Damn right!" The short man hustled down the hall, his beer belly flopping, to come back with the military rifle.
At the
While the old soldier had been talking, Fitz had been watching the two men. Biscuitt had become a greenish pale and was repeatedly gulping. The Greek had darkened to lividity; both of his big fists were tight-clenched and knots of muscle stood up at the hinges of his jaws. Fitz was dead certain that Gus had hit the nail precisely on the head.
To Fitz, Gus said, "Maybe I shouldn't ought to of said all this out here tonight, but I just couldn't take no more of that damn Greek sod and all his anti-American commie crap, is all. Way things is now, maybe I better sleep out here tonight and take one your cars to drive back in the morning, huh? Someway, I don't think it would be too healthy for to get back in that car with these fuckers tonight."
Biscuitt regained a usable quantity of aplomb first. "Mister Tolliver, to ... to just whom did you speak of ... of these wild, utterly groundless suspicions of me and my colleagues, may I ask?''
Gus grinned. "Sure, you can ask . . . but I ain't gonna tell you. I will say this, though, the guys I talked to a'ready done toF me that the guys they talked to was all damn int'rested and said they meant to get on it right away, too. So, was I you bunch, I wouldn't go making no long-term plans.''
"These persons with whom you spoke are, I would assume, connected with some Federal agency, Mis-
ter Tolliver, so tell me this: are they aware that you have been, via most circuitous channels, some of which are less than legal, shipping large sums of money out of this country?" asked G. Rowland Biscuitt, adding, "As you—neither of you—are not without sins of your own, you would assuredly have been better off to not have thrown stones at others.
"But throw them you did, I'm sure. Therefore, since time is now very important, I would suggest that we all make an even distribution of the remaining gold. Then we can go our separate ways rapidly. Now, we know that there is very little of the ancient gold in the smaller, most cleverly disguised safe in Mister Tolliver's shop, although there is a bit more in his bank box. Is that all not sold? Or is there more . . . perhaps in a hidden recess of that stone root cellar or whatever it is in the backyard here?"
Fitz drew from under the cushion of his chair a M1911A1 .45 caliber service pistol. In one smooth movement, he pointed it at the two on the couch and palmed back the slide. Within the confines of the room, the metallic sounds rang loud and ugly. Biscuitt regained every bit of his earlier greenish pallor and, this time, even the Greek—staring down the black, nearly half-inch bore that was being steadily held only some seven feet from him—lost color in his face.
Between spasmodic gulps, Biscuitt gasped, "What does th . . . this mean? I am a . . . federal employ . . . ee in performance of. . . his duties . . . and—"
"It means, my crooked friend," grated Fitz, "that this interview is at an end. Unless one or both of you wants to make it a very final end, I'd advise you to get up and leave my house and my property while you can still do so under your own steam.
"The gold is mine, all mine, and I came by it and
the other things completely legally. If there are any crooks about . . . and there are!—it's you and your cohorts, Biscuitt.
"Gus, go get the Garand. You know where I keep it. It's loaded. I want some backup when I let these two out the gate. There's a bandolier hanging on the barrel, armor-piercing and ball, three clips of each/'
"Damn right!" The short man hustled down the hall, his beer belly flopping, to come back with the military rifle.
At the
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