The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [132]
“Per … ipherally? That me, Doc?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“What about our bargain?”
“Haggens, I will do everything I can to keep our bargain—you know the affection in which I hold you—but if you are threatening me with death if I reveal your name and the Pinkertons are posing the very same threat if I don’t, it is hard to say what will eventually happen.”
Haggens scowled at me for a moment, then clapped his hands to his knees and emitted a bark of a laugh. “Ah! I see! Okay, I get it. Sorry for taking so long. That miteral … what is it?”
“Mitral stenosis.”
“Right. Miteral stenosis. Must be rotting my brain. But I got it now.” Haggens pushed himself to his feet. “It’s been a slow night anyway.” He snickered. “You just wait right here, Doc.” Haggens left the office for a few moments and, when he returned, left the door open so that we could both see the room. Keuhn was leaning sideways against the rail with one elbow on the bar, a refilled whiskey glass in front of him. He seemed to be idly taking in the scene, but I knew he was watching me.
Through the haze, Mike appeared. For a man of his immensity, he moved with great fluidity, seeming to glide rather than walk. He went to the bar, stood next to Keuhn, and said something softly. Keuhn’s hand quickly went to his vest. He was fast but Mike was faster.
Since the dawn of time, man has dreamt of flight. Keuhn achieved it. Mike’s right hand appeared to travel less than six inches, but the force of one blow was sufficient to literally lift Keuhn off his feet and send him backward through air. I actually saw the bottom of his shoes. He landed on a table that broke apart with a splintering crack, sending a combination of wood, two customers, and the Pinkerton man crashing to the floor. Keuhn lay stunned for a moment but, tough as he was, his hand again went for his vest. Mike was again too quick for him. In one step, Mike had reached where Keuhn was lying and, with one short kick of his left foot, sent the derringer that Keuhn had drawn skittering across the floor.
Keuhn was still not beaten. Although I could not see from whence it came, at once he had a knife in his hand and was lunging for Mike’s legs. Mike sidestepped with amazing agility and, as soon as his feet were on the ground, kicked once again, this time his heavy shoe catching the Pinkerton agent square on the jaw. Keuhn rocked backward, teetered for a second or two, then fell flat, and out.
Haggens waited until Keuhn was motionless and then heaved a sigh. “That’s four tables this month,” he muttered. “I wish Mike could learn to be more careful.” Then he motioned for me to go with him to where Keuhn was struggling to blink himself back into sensibility.
Haggens fetched a shot of brandy which, if it was anything like the champagne, was more likely to kill Keuhn than bring him around. I gave him water instead. Haggens leaned down and spoke to him.
“Look, pally,” he said, exuding the same casual menace with which he had first greeted me, “I’ve dealt with you folks before. I don’t eat your soup and you don’t eat mine. You can tell your boss or whoever hired you that you’ve got all you’re gonna get. And as for the doc, here … well, he’s a friend of mine, savvy?” Haggens then spoke to the bartender, and within five minutes a couple of ruffians had showed up to carry Keuhn out.
“Will it work?” I asked, when the Pinkerton man had been carted off. “Will they really leave me … us … leave us alone?”
“Oh, yeah,” Haggens replied, as if I had just asked him if the sun would come up in the morning. “Can’t keep a reputation for muscle if you get out-muscled. They’ll leave you be for now, until you leave town anyways. But they’re gonna remember you … if you run afoul of them again, watch out. But for now … well, I recommend that you just try to avoid nervous stress.”
“Very funny,” I muttered. I walked to the bar to where Mike had downed a series of whiskies to no visible effect. “Thank you, Mike. That was most impressive.”
The giant smiled. It was the first time I had ever seen