"That's a dirty allegation," the cop grinned. "I'll have to get off a hot letter to my congressman."
Gaskin got to his feet, wiped a smear of blood across his cheek, then lunged past the cop and swung a wild right. Tremaine stepped aside, landed a solid punch on Gaskin's ear. The cop stepped back against the bar. Soup whirled, slammed out with lefts and rights. Tremaine lashed back with a straight left; Gaskin slammed against the bar, rebounded, threw a knockout right ... and Tremaine ducked, landed a right upper-cut that sent Gaskin reeling back, bowled over a table, sent glasses flying. Tremaine stood over him.
"On your feet, jailbird," he said. "A workout is exactly what I needed."
"Okay, you've had your fun," the State cop said. "I'm taking you in, Tremaine."
Tremaine looked at him. "Sorry, copper," he said. "I don't have time right now." The cop looked startled, reached for his revolver.
"What's going on here, Jimmy?" Jess stood in the door, a huge .44 in his hand. He turned his eyes on the trooper.
"You're a little out of your jurisdiction," he said. "I think you better move on 'fore somebody steals your bicycle."
The cop eyed Jess for a long moment, then holstered his pistol and stalked out of the bar. Jess tucked his revolver into his belt, looked at Gaskin sitting on the floor, dabbing at his bleeding mouth. "What got into you, Soup?"
"I think the State boys put him up to it," Tremaine said. "They're looking for an excuse to take me out of the picture."
Jess motioned to Gaskin. "Get up, Soup. I'm lockin you up alongside that boy of yours."