Page 181 of New Storm Rising
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Pittsburgh was spiffing! Stupendous! Marvellous! Happily, I bit down and munched on my mustard and ice cream sandwich. Unfortunately, we hadn’t been able to stay for long. Just one night’s rest, and we were on the road again. I wouldn’t really have minded, since I was amply supplied with my newest favourite food, except…
“Blllaaaawwwk?”
“Oh, don’t be sad.” Reaching out, I patted Ambrose Junior’s head, glaring at some ladies in a passing coach who were staring at my mount with plate-sized eyes, whispering in scandalized tones. “They just don’t know how to appreciate something beautiful.”
“Mrs Ambrose, you do realize we are heading into New York City which, while well known for its diversity, does not boast many camels on its streets, don’t you? I suggest you dismount.”
“And start puking all over the place again, Sir?”
A momentary pause.
“Never mind.”
I grinned. “That’s what I thought, Sir.”
Thus we continued along the road towards the city. After some time, as I had suspected, my mount and I started to draw more and more admiring gazes from all around. Why, once we entered the outskirts of New York, some people were admiring Ambrose Junior so intensely that their admiration caused them to shriek and run away, or topple backwards into a roadside stall. I should ride through the streets on a camel more often. Hm…I wonder…would he fit on the ship we were going to take back to Great Britai—
“What are you thinking about, Mrs Ambrose?” a cool voice interrupted my thoughts from beside me.
Glancing over, I sent Mr Ambrose my most innocent smile. “Me? Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Soon, tall buildings started rising all around us and the bustling city life engulfed us. Ambrose Junior looked around with curiosity, searching for appropriate spitting targets. Helpfully, I pointed at a few old biddies who turned their noses up at me.
“Pfffft!”
“Yeeeeek! Goodness Gracious! What was that…that cold, slimy…oh my!”
Yep, riding camels was awesome.
“So, where is this judge we’re looking for?” I enquired, steering my mount closer to Mr Ambrose.
“At court, I would hope. But we’re not going to visit the judge. I hardly think he would appreciate us dumping prisoners into his courtroom.”
“So…” came a far-too-smooth voice from behind the two of us, “if we are not taking them to court, what do you want us to do with these flea-bitten dogs?”
I turned around, just in time to watch the head desperado—Creed was his name?—drag one of the Spaniards out of the carriage.
“Mmmmphg!” De Ravera protested—or at least tried his best through the gag stuffed into his mouth. “Gmmk ggnggg hmmmph!”
“Let’s bring them to jail and entrust them to Mr Angleton’s local colleague,” Mr Ambrose ordered. “They can think over their mistakes behind solid steel bars.”
Creed smiled. “Your wish is my command, boss…” His eyes became colder. “…as long as you fork out the pay check.”
The threat sounded rather impressive. There was just one thing: no one, absolutely no one, could compare to Mr Rikkard Ambrose when it came to cold, intimidating stares.
One of which he was currently giving Creed. “Don’t you worry. You’ll get what you deserve.”
Perhaps it was just my extensive experience with Mr Rikkard Ambrose, but that particular sentence sent a little shiver down my spine. Just in case, I moved my hand a little closer to my revolver.
“Hm…very well. I look forward to it.”
It wasn’t long before we reached the tall brick building that happened to be the local penitentiary. It was a large complex, with a low wall surrounding a front courtyard obviously designed for visitors, not inmates. Marching straight up to the front gate, Mr Ambrose reached up and knocked. After thirty seconds or so, footsteps approached from inside, and the gate opened.
A thin young man opened the door, doing his best to puff out his chest, on which a deputy star was pinned. “Yes, Sir? The zone around the prison is a restricted area. What, pray, are you doing here?”
“Here.” Reaching back, Mr Ambrose grabbed hold of De Ravera and De La Fuente. “Take these two into custody.”
