Free Snowjob by Ted Wood Page B

turn his head and look back but Sam snarled and made a little lunge at him and he pulled his head forward with a yell of alarm. “Stay still and you’re gong to be all right,” I told them. “Move and he’ll have your head off before you can open the door.” It wasn’t true. Sam’s a police officer. He’s not trained to savage people, just to show enough force to keep them in line, but those two were prepared to believe he’d kill.
    I slammed the door and went back to the third guy who was moving away up the line of cars. “Hold it,” I said and he stood there while I scooped up my parka off the ground and put it on. “Right. Let’s find a phone.” I gave him a contemptuous shove toward the steps of the bar.
    I was hoping he was demoralized. If he got noisy and a bunch of people thought I was picking on him, he would get away. I couldn’t handle a crowd, not without Sam. On top of that, I was walking a high wire. This guy was known here, I wasn’t. I had to keep the whole thing low-key until the cops arrived. Then I could relax a little, knowing that Huckmeyer had dug himself in a little deeper and I was closer to getting the attention of the mob.
    Fortunately there was a phone booth right inside the door. I shoved him inside and reached past turn to pick up the phone and stick a quarter in the slot. I was up against him and could smell his after-shave, some cloying lime scent, guaranteed no doubt to cast some spell on women. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, just to make him fed smaller. Then I dialed the operator and asked for the police.
    She put me through and I said. “My name’s Bennett. I’m at the front of Brewskis. Three guys just tried to mug me. Send an officer.”
    The guy at the other then tried to get details but I said, “I’m holding one of them now. Just hurry,” and hung up.
    I hooked the guy out of the booth and pushed him toward the door. “Outside, scumbag.” I don’t usually talk like a TV show but this was not the way I usually did business anyway. It was a play in which this guy had a different part from the one he’d expected.
    “Listen, I can explain,” he said as he went ahead of me, spreading his hands like an Armenian rug dealer.
    “Good. You’ll get your chance when the cops get here.”
    There must have been a car on patrol close by. He was there in a couple of minutes, lights flashing, but mercifully no siren. He pulled up in front of me and when he got out I gave the big guy another push, just to indicate who was in charge. The cop took the hint. “You Bennett?” he asked me.
    “Yeah. This guy and two of his buddies tried to mug me with this.” I held up the pistol by the butt, between my finger and thumb. The cop reached for it and I let it drop into his hand.
    “Three guys and a gun and you stopped ’em?” He was young and shorter than a Canadian policeman would have been, only around five-seven, and chunky. He was chewing gum.
    “My dog is police-trained. I’m a police chief from Canada. I deal with punks like this all the time.”
    “Sheeit.” The cop stopped cheating for a couple of beats. “The detectives are on their way. You can talk to them.”
    Suddenly my prisoner got vocal. He had an educated voice and articulated very clearly. “This is crap,” he snarled. “I don’t know what this guy’s been smoking. My friends and I were just coming in for a drink and he came at us with that dog of his. I figured he was holdin’ us up. The dog’s worse than a gun. I was scared. I’m a member of the pistol club and I had my gun with me. So I pulled it and the dog grabbed me. Then this guy laid into us. That’s what happened. Ask my buddies,”
    Another pause on the cop’s chewing gum while he weighed the story. It made more sense to him than mine, I could see that.
    He asked the man, “What’s your name, sir?”
    “Jack Grant. I know you. I’ve seen you in our store.”
    “The hardware store, right.” The cop nodded. I could see the local