James Axler – Bitter Fruit

“I shall keep that in mind, my friend.”

“This, then, is that important?”

Doc eyed the man squarely. “Yes, it is, friend Ellison.”

Grudgingly the toy maker gave him directions. “Best you watch yourself in there. The Globe is not a good place to be,” he warned.

Chapter Eighteen

J.B. was catching a quick catnap when the intruders tried to break into the room where he guarded Tarragon. He sat in the corner of the room, across from the small bed where the boy lay, wrestling through a fever that had turned him burning hot.

The scratching at the window didn’t carry far into the room, warring with the noise of the three-piece band below and the yelled encouragement of the men as they watched the dancers.

J.B. had already turned down two women who’d offered to entertain him, not only because Milly was his woman and because he was watching over the boy, he also hadn’t missed the angry stares of the men who’d watched him walk the boy up to the room with Krysty.

Ryan and Krysty were next door. The companions had been offered two rooms and had taken them both.

The Armorer pushed himself into a standing position, taking up the shotgun he’d been holding across his knees. He adjusted the fedora, reseating it. Personally he was glad for the action. The last while he’d spent too long thinking about Mildred.

He’d positioned a mirrored chest of drawers across the room from him, angled so that the reflection covered the room’s only window.

A grizzled bear of a man with a yellow-orange beard drooping down to his chest was working the heavy blade of a bowie knife under the window. He slipped the knife through as quietly as he could, then started pulling up.

J.B. figured they were standing on the narrow walk outside the rooms. He’d noticed it earlier and had closed the window in spite of the heat because of it. Glass might not keep an intruder out, but it made a good alarm system.

There were three men behind the bearded guy, and all of them were armed.

With a creak and a splintering that left fracture lines running across the glass, the window rose inches at a time.

J.B. wanted to make a positive and direct statement. None of the men seemed inclined to use a gun, and the boy wasn’t in direct line of fire. The Armorer had seen to that.

Moving more quietly than one of his bulk should have been able to, the big man started easing into the room, turning his head from side to side.

J.B. let the guy get just a glimpse of him. Not enough time to move out of the way. Then he swung the shotgun around in a hard, tight arc that caught the man full in the face.

Blood exploded from the man’s nose, cascading over his face. Propelled by the blow, as well as his own efforts, the big man went stumbling back, crashing through the balustrade and going over the edge of the roof with a piercing scream of fear.

The Armorer dropped the shotgun at waist level, covering the other three men while they froze in surprise. “Easy or hard,” J.B. said in a casual voice. “You hum a few bars of it, and I’ll join right in.”

The three men raised their hands and put them on the tops of their heads. All of them declined, then started moving back down the way they’d come.

J.B. shut the window again. He picked up the broad-bladed knife the big man had dropped and used it to jam the window from being opened from the outside again.

Ryan and Krysty came through the door of the adjoining room, both with their blasters in hand.

“Problem?” the one-eyed man asked.

“Overly interested parties,” J.B. said. “I convinced them to find new hobbies.”

“The boy?”

The Armorer nodded.

“There’s no love lost in this ville,” Ryan said. “That’s for sure.”

“I’m beginning to think there’s none to be had,” J.B. stated. “Seems like Gehrig has taken a shine to our company, though.”

“Mebbe so,” Ryan said. “But that’s one commitment I’m not interested in.”