Chapter-ette Five: An Unlikely Shootout
We took the cab back to my apartment, with the excuse that I’d drive all three of us out to the OK Corral & Dude Ranch outside the city limits in my own car. It was a lie by omission. I wanted to change out of my grease stained suit, thanks to my run-in with the ex-wrestler turned mentalist Dr. Cadwell in the alleyway. But I also wanted to pick up a little insurance. I didn’t completely trust his change of heart, despite the trust my client Miss Marple’s had in him.
After changing into boots and dungarees, I came out of my bedroom to find Cadwell and Marple sitting in awkward silence. I felt that I had interrupted a conversation where I missed some piece of important information. But they missed a secret of my own, hidden in my Harrington jacket.
“Oh,” Cadwell said, “Can we stop at my apartment. I have a lovely Donegal tweed suit that would be perfect for the countryside?”
I gave Cadwell the hard stare and he fell silent. But then it was Marple’s turn.
“That’s a good point, Steven. Mr. Spade, will these shoes be appropriate for . . .”
“We’re not going for a hike or a fox hunt,” I said.
“Well, it’s kind of a fox hunt . . .” Cadwell began.
“Let’s go,” I opened the door and waved them through before the last of my patience evaporated completely.
When we picked up my car from the garage around the corner, I insisted on Cadwell sitting up front with me. Miss Marple seemed to enjoy being chauffeured in the backseat all by herself. I kept one eye on the road and one eye on Cadwell. As soon as we left the city limits I decided to break the silence.
“How do you know for sure your old wrestling buddy, The Apache, has Siobhan’s dowry? I don’t want to drive all the way out there for nothing.”
“He was the only person I told about the money. And he was staying with me for a few days before he and the money went missing.”
“But how did you know he came out west with the cash?” I continued, knowing he was holding something back, that I hadn’t asked the right question yet.
“I figured he’d head home to the Bay Area,” Cadwell said. “He’s taken one too many blows to the head to be clever. I know he makes his living pretending to be an Indian, so when I saw the ad for a dude ranch looking for circus performers, I went down and interviewed the interviewers.”
“And they just gave up your friend?” I asked, watching him squirm in the passenger seat.
“I’m not really a mentalist, Mr. Spade. But I can be very persuasive.”
“If you say so, Doctor Cadwell,” I snapped, emphasising the ‘doctor’ to good effect.
“My point,” Cadwell shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “is that I have a knack for getting people to tell me things they don’t even know they’re telling me.”
He also had a knack for only telling people what he had to. I knew I was being played. But Miss Marple was paying me and this was her game to play.
“I hope you didn’t bewitch my cousin,” Miss Marple said from the backseat, “with your powers of persuasion.”
“No, Jane,” Cadwell turned and pleaded. “She’s the one who bewitched me. I have to win her back. That’s why I have to get this money and prove that I’m worthy of her love.”
“Save it for Siobhan,” I said. “We’re almost there.”
As I pulled up the long driveway of the ranch, I could see an odd cluster of people behind the main house by a corral. There was someone dressed in khaki fatigues talking to a Keystone cop and a miner in a hard hat. Nearby a tall cowboy was lighting the cigarette of a shorter person dressed in motorcycle leather.
“That’s him,” Cadwell said, pointing at a man with a large feathered headdress a bit farther way from the collection of movie set extras.
“Right,” I said, turning off the engine. “Cadwell, you use your powers of mental persuasion to get your pal away from those others. I’ll let you do the talking. But if you’re not as good as you say you are, I’ll step in.”
“Should I stay in the car?” Miss Marple asked.
“No. I want you to stick close to me . . . on the opposite side from that group of Hollywood extra rejects.”
About halfway to the Apache, as we passed a barn, Cadwell stopped in his tracks and I nearly bumped into him. That’s when I noticed the short person in black leather was a woman. She flung her cigarette back at the cowboy and yelled, “Stefano?”
Cadwell cursed under his breath, but grinned broadly and shouted, “Betty!”
“Who is this Betty woman?” Marple asked.
“I knew you’d come crawling back to me?” Betty smiled menacingly.
“Yeah, who’s Betty?” I asked.
“But are you here for me,” the woman in black asked, “or for the money I had Patel steal from you?”
“And who is Patel?” I asked, feeling more confused by the moment.
“Patel is ‘the Apache,’” Cadwell informed without explaining.
“Patel,” Marple said, “why that’s the completely wrong type of Indian all together.”
“And who is Betty,” I insisted, “to you?”
“That’s Blind Betty the Bullseye Babe. We met in the carnival and talked about starting our own show one day,” Steven said throwing up his hands in defence, “a long, LONG time ago. That was way before I moved to New York and met Siobhan.”
“So it wasn’t a romantic relationship?” Marple asked.
“Not on my part,” Cadwell said softly. Marple and I both stared at him until he continued. “Betty may, or may not, be under the impression that I owe her start up money for a show . . . and possibly a wedding.”
“We’ll talk later, Steven,” Marple said to Cadwell and then turned to Betty. “That doesn’t make my cousin’s dowry yours to steal.”
“Stay out of this queenie,” Betty said dismissively. “Do you got anything to say for yourself, Stefano, before I sick my boys on you . . . and your little friends, too?”
“Please don’t hurt us, Betty,” Steven pleaded. “We loved each other once. Let’s not ruin the memories we have together.”
“You miserable slug!” Betty yelled. “You think you can talk your way out of this? You betrayed me.”
“No, I didn’t,” Steven said as he slowly backed towards the barn behind us and motioned for Miss Marple and I to follow. “Honest. I ran out of gas. I . . . I had a flat tire. I didn’t have enough money for cab fare. My tuxedo didn’t come back from the cleaners.”
“Is this your idea of being a master persuader?” I asked as I kept myself between Miss Marple and Betty’s boys who were beginning to walk towards us.
“An old friend came in from out of town,” Steven continued, pointing at me.
“Don’t throw me under the bus.”
“Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake,” Cadwell was on a roll now. “A terrible flood. Locusts! IT WASN’T MY FAULT, I SWEAR TO GOD!”
Betty turned to the cowboy, took the six-shooter out of his holster. The tall man in the Stetson protested, but backed off when Betty poked him in the chest with the business end of his own gun. She then turned and pointed the revolver at us.
“Run!” I shouted and shielded Marple as best I could. As soon as all three of us were in the barn and shut the door behind us, a loud boom rang out and was accompanied by splinters of wood flying over our heads.
“Cadwell,” I said, reaching into his coat and pulling out my pistol, “if Betty doesn’t shoot us all, I just might shoot you myself.”
“Oh, a Colt Pocket Hammerless, in .380 I presume,” Cadwell said with an odd hint of delight in his voice as he pulled out his own smaller pistol that seemed to disappear in his large hand. “Look, I’ve got the FN Model 1910. It’s like your pistol’s little brother.”
“Not really relevant,” Mr. Spade said through clenched teeth as two more booms rang out and we heard several pairs of feet running towards us in the barn.
“Well,” Miss Marple said, reaching into my bag, “father will be pleased that this will come in handy.” And she pulled a large service revolver from her bag.
“OH!” Steven’s voice went up an octave. “Is that a Webley-Fosbery Self-Cocking Automatic Revolver?”
“Not the time!” I said, looking around the barn and assessing our predicament.
“Let me see,” Cadwell said as he tossed his smaller pistol to me and took Marple’s revolver from her. “Is it even loaded?” he asked as he unlocked the top break and opened the cylinder, to have eight rounds ejected into in his face.
“Now you pick those up,” Marple insisted, pointing at the bullets strewn on the dirt and hay of the barn.
“Oh for the love of . . .” I adjusted my grip on both pistols and headed towards the barn door. “Load that revolver, in case this doesn’t work.”
“Careful now, man,” Cadwell said. “You’re no Sergeant York.”
“Was always kinda partial to Tom Mix actually. I really like his tall white hat,” I said with a wink towards Miss Marple who clapped her hands together as she was apt to do.
With a pistol in each hand I kicked the barn door open and ran out screaming. I immediately saw that the cowboy was holding a Bowie knife, the miner had a pickaxe, the soldier and cop each had sticks, and Patel was fumbling with a Henry rifle.
I aimed wide on either side of the group and let loose a couple of rounds.
Bang-bang!
Bang-bang!
As dirt flew up on either side of the me, they all stopped in their tracks and dropped whatever implement of destruction they happened to have been holding.
Bang-bang!
Bang-bang!
Four more shots, two on either side of the group sent them running towards the corral. The long-legged cowboy got to the gate first, but when it didn’t open they all climbed over and fell on top of each other.
Bang-bang!
Bang-bang!
Bang-bang!
As I emptied the pistols into the fencing and sent the group of men hightailing it into the sunset, I saw Betty out of the corner of my eye run onto the back porch of the house. I ducked behind a hay bale as she fired the pistol behind her blindly, exploding a plotted plant on the railing.
I waited a moment to make sure Betty wasn’t going to pop back out and start shooting again. This gave me a moment to pocket Cadwell’s little gun and reload my own. Relatively sure that Betty wasn’t coming back out with gun in hand, I ran to the house and entered slowly. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard footsteps upstairs. I took the stair two at a time and got to the first floor landing just as one of the front facing bedroom door’s slammed shut. I made my way cautiously down the hallway, but a squeaky floorboard gave me away. I sprawled on the floor just as another boom and a bullet smashed through the door into a framed photograph on the far wall of the hallway.
The blast forced the bedroom door open. I crawled to the door and risked peeking my head around just in time to see Betty climb out the window onto the roof of the front porch. She threw a bag and the cowboy’s gun onto the ground, and jumped after them. When I poked my head out the window to see if I could get a clean shot, I saw a brightly coloured figure come running around outside of the house.
“Please stop, ma’am!” Miss Marple shouted, holding the large revolver in front of her with both hands.
I saw Betty look up at Miss Marple and then at a motorcycle several yards away. I could almost hear Betty make the decision instead to reach for the revolver at her feet.
Bam! Bam! BOOM!
Miss Marple fired off two quick shots into the motorcycle and the fuel tank burst into flames. Betty was knocked backwards off her feet. Cadwell finally came into view and picked up Betty’s gun and bag.
When I got out front, I found Cadwell searching through Betty’s bag. Marple held her gun on Betty while she talked through the case.
“So you sent Patel to New York City to spy on Steven. When he telegrammed you about Siobhan’s dowry, you instructed the Apache to steal it and bring it to you . . . hoping that the man you know as Stefano would follow and you could have your revenge.”
For her part, Betty nodded her head and checked her partially singed eyebrows in a compact.
“Found it!” Cadwell exclaimed and held up a wad of cash. Marple took the money, counted out Siobhan’s dowry and put it in her purse. She counted off my fee and handed that to me. Then she tossed the rest of the cash in Betty’s lap and walked towards my car.
Cadwell and I caught up to her at the car and we all got in. I took the cowboy’s gun from Cadwell, unloaded it, and tossed it out the driver’s side window.
“Can I at least have my pistol back?” he moaned.
“No,” I said and drove away.