Free Arkansas Assault by Jon Sharpe

part you left unfinished, Mr. Ekert?”
    Tillman could imagine what was going through Ekert’s mind. This was the ultimate final exam. Ekert had to know that if he failed to answer correctly, there would be hell to pay. And it would be a hell much more fiery than getting a simple “F” on a progress report. He had to know that Tillman would have two or three of his men take Ekert somewhere out of the county and kill him. He’d be buried so deep that he’d never be found. And everybody involved would proclaim with great dramatic innocence that they had no idea where Mr. Ekert had gone to.
    Ekert smiled anxiously. “I’m almost afraid to answer, Mr. Tillman. If I said the wrong thing—”
    “But you have to answer, Mr. Ekert.”
    “It’s just so hot in here—” Ekert’s face gleamed with sweat. Even his neck glistened with moisture. You could almost feel sorry for him.
    “It’ll be worse for you if you don’t answer at all, Mr. Ekert. Let me assure you of that.”
    Ekert, obviously unable to deal with the tension anymore, blurted out, “Is it that I didn’t kill Fargo?”
    The silence was thunderous. It squeezed even more sweat out of Ekert. And it made his entire head twitch, as if it might just rip free of his neck.
    For a ham like old Noah, this was a moment to enjoy and extend. Maybe he could get Ekert to twitching like a chicken that had just been beheaded. Maybe Ekert would start running around the study, stumbling blindly into things and finally falling on the floor and going into spasms so severe, his spine would snap. Now that—for a man like Noah who wanted to amuse himself with new and novel situations—that would be something to see.
    Ekert said, “Would you just please tell me if I answered right, Mr. Tillman?”
    “Well, before I tell you, let me ask you if you want to change your answer.”
    Ah, genius. Another way of prolonging Ekert’s suffering.
    “You’d let me change it?”
    “Yes, I would, Mr. Ekert.”
    “Does that mean that my answer was wrong, Mr. Tillman?”
    “Not at all. It just means I’m in a generous mood and I’m willing to give you another try.”
    “If my answer was right, would you tell me now?”
    “I will if you’d like me, too, Mr. Ekert. But if it’s wrong, I wouldn’t be able to give you that extra chance.”
    “Oh, God.”
    More brandy. “It’s all up to you. I can tell you if your answer is right—or I can give you a second guess.”
    “I’ll take a second guess.” Ekert glanced around the study, as if the answer might be hidden somewhere in its appointments and furnishings.
    “I’ll give you two minutes.”
    Tillman took his watch from his vest pocket. “Ready, Mr. Ekert?”
    “Ready.”
    The sweat glazed Ekert now. And the shaking and the twitching—spasms, real spasms now. Except for a man who was about to hang, Tillman had rarely seen anybody look so forlorn.
    Ekert licked dry lips. Smiled anxiously up at Tillman. “I’m real nervous.”
    “You’re wasting your time and mine, Mr. Ekert.”
    Once again, Ekert blurted his answer. “It’s because I didn’t kill Fargo.”
    “You’re sure of that, Mr. Ekert? You’re sure that’s the answer I’m looking for?”
    But Ekert didn’t look sure at all. And he didn’t need to tell this to Tillman, either.
    Noah Tillman smiled. “You managed to give me the right answer, Mr. Ekert.”
    “I did?” He sounded shocked.
    “Yes, now go clean yourself up, Mr. Ekert.”
    From the stain on the front of his pants, it was clear that Ekert had wet himself.
    “And now that you know what I want you to do, I want it done right away.”
    “I understand that, Mr. Tillman. I’m sorry I didn’t kill him this morning.”
    He walked bow-legged from the study. Tillman went over and opened a window. Some fresh air, even if the day was hot, torpid. Fresh air was what he needed.

10
     
     
    Fargo had spent time on waters of various kinds. On wide creeks with Indian friends, on rivers working as a hand,