Shooting For Justice, G. Tilman [best historical fiction books of all time .txt] 📗

and relocked it as they disappeared up the stairs. He noticed the carpeted steps did not make any noise as they climbed them. He hoped it would be the same for his larger frame. It was.

He waited, crouching at the top step out of sight.

“What kind of wine do we have?” Sarah asked.

“It’s a Pinot Noir. A ’71. I understand it was a good year.”

“I’ve never had expensive wine before. I hope it does not make me act unladylike.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will have a wonderful effect on you,” he said trying to smile, but pulling off a face better described as leering.

She sat on the bed, ugly shoes still on. Sarah showed a shoe to hip length of long, beautiful white leg and Nelson spilled the wine he was pouring. The work shoes were hideous, if Nelson even saw them. They would be useful if she had to kick him. She suspected she would, even with Pope backing her up.

Sarah accepted a glass and took a sip. It really was a good year.

“You look like you are ready for a romantic evening, Roger,” she said signaling Pope to make his appearance.

Pope stood and burst into the room, yelling, “What are you doing here?” to Sarah.

He had the .44 double-action Smith & Wesson out, but Sarah was between him and Nelson.

Nelson realized his only opportunity and dived for the nightstand drawer.

Suspecting he had a gun there, Sarah tackled him and they both went down, her shift around her waist and her bare bottom up in the air.

Pope stuck the .44 in Nelson’s ear as Sarah moved to straddle him.

He rolled the big revolver so his hand was on the frame and smacked Nelson in the jaw with it. Pope intentionally did not hit him hard enough to either knock him out or damage his ability to converse. Nelson had a lot of important talking to do tonight.

Sarah stood as Nelson tried to clear his vision. She went downstairs and brought her dress back over her arm.

By the time she returned, Pope had handcuffed Nelson’s hands behind him with Wells Fargo nippers.

“Stand up!”

Once Nelson was standing, Pope shoved him into the single chair in the bedroom.

“I would like to straighten my robe!” Nelson demanded.

“Not much to see anyway. You will stay like you are for now. How you answer our questions will determine how you are treated,” Pope said.

“Who are you people? Robbers?”

Pope backhanded him across the face with his left hand.

“I will ask the questions and you will answer.”

Nelson frowned at him.

“Do you have a bathtub?” Pope asked.

“What a stupid question! Do I look like some sort of unclean savage?” Nelson said.

“Where is it?”

Nelson frowned harder and Pope slapped him open-handed harder, bringing tears to Nelson’s eyes.

“The mud room just off the kitchen.”

Pope glanced at Sarah, who headed downstairs immediately.

Pope stared at Nelson, saying nothing. After a few minutes, he heard Sarah dragging something. The next sound was apparently a kitchen pump. The two upstairs heard water hitting galvanized metal.

Nelson looked quizzically and Pope continued to glower at him.

“Okay, honey,” Sarah said.

Pope jerked Nelson to his feet and shoved him towards the stairway. When he was two steps from the bottom, Pope shoved him, and he fell. The shove was carefully staged so the fall would be painful, but not debilitating.

Pope grabbed him by the hair and helped him onto his feet. He pushed him into the kitchen where Sarah had almost filled an oval bathtub.

“Darling, would you close all the windows in the house? We don’t want the neighbors bothered by the screaming and crying,” Pope asked.

“Are you the couple from hell?” Nelson asked.

“Your personal hell. Yes, we are. Now shut up and answer my questions.”

Sarah returned having closed windows upstairs and down.

Pope moved Nelson to the end of the tub on the floor.

“Kneel right here!” he ordered, grabbing the back of Nelson’s robe and jerking it off and tossing it on the floor.

Sarah removed a pad and pencil from her purse.

“Now, answer our questions and this will be easy. Refuse to answer and it will be hard. Very hard,” Pope told the naked Nelson. The night was hot and the temperature was exacerbated by the increasing heat in the house with no ventilation.

“What are you going to do on Thursday?”

Nelson looked at him and said nothing.

Pope grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed his head under water. Nelson tried to hold his breath, but finally gave up and began choking and gurgling.

Pope pulled his head up before he lost consciousness. He let the Marxist cough for a minute and then resumed.

“As I was asking, what are you going to do Thursday? No need trying to delay. I will get my answer.” Pope dunked him again for about ten seconds.

“What are you going to do?”

“Kill Arthur, damn his capitalist soul.”

“How?”

“Shoot him. All three of us. At the same time,” Nelson said.

“Where will this happen?”

“At the unveiling of a new monument in Washington.”

Pope and Sarah looked at each other. They had called this one right.

“The names and locations of the other two?” Pope asked.

“I’m not a rat.”

The statement earned him a longer period underwater to reconsider his answer.

He came up sputtering and vomited pure water.

“Have you decided to tell us the names and location of your coconspirators yet?”

“Go to hell!”

This time was the longest time yet. Forty seconds, Pope estimated. Nelson was struggling so hard Sarah had to help hold him down.

Pope was soaked. He grinned at Sarah.

“Now I know why you didn’t put your dress back on. Besides, I know you like walking around with just your shift.”

“And you hate it?” She smiled. He shook his head.

“Nelson, once again: Who are your associates?”

“Harvey Johnstone. Head of the Dockworker’s Union located in the Bronx. The other is Bob Romano. He owns a liquor warehouse in Queens.”

Pope made sure the terrified man had not excluded other conspirators. He also obtained detailed descriptions of both men and found none planned on wearing a disguise. The three were going to