No Justice; Cold Justice; Deadly Touch

by J K Ellem

  Shaw thought about it for a moment then decided to tell her. “Yesterday in the diner, the other two brothers, Jed and Rory said some pretty direct things about you.”

  “Yeh, they wish,” she replied, but then she grew serious. “What sort of things?” Callie leaned in again, more intimate.

  “You know, things they would do if they could get you alone. Just mouthing off. They also mentioned some girl called Jessie, like they had assaulted her in the past. They laughed it off like it was no big deal.” Shaw felt uncomfortable mentioning it, but he wanted to know if there was more to it. He was worried for Callie and didn’t want anything to happen to her.

  “That’s just small boys talking big, beating their chests, carrying on like apes. Billy’s still probably sour at me from prom night years ago when he spent most of the night trying to get into my pants.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  Callie shrugged. “Probably told his brothers afterwards how I rejected him, so Jed and Rory think it’s their role to stand up for their older brother. Billy has always been keen on me, but he’s got a mean jealous streak in him. Always had.”

  “Jealous of your boyfriend back then? The one you took to the prom?” This seemed logical to Shaw. He was interested in this, how high school feuds continued well into adulthood and even to the deathbed. Forgiveness was almost impossible when you were young, but got easier as you got older. Thinking back, there were even some of his own high school buddies that he hadn’t seen since graduation, but if he crossed them in the street today he would punch them in the face. No words. No questions. Just retribution.

  “God no!” Callie retorted like Shaw had insulted her. “I took a boy called Taylor Giles. He was the only half-decent prospect in the class. The rest were either apes or stooges for the Morgan brothers. Back then the Morgans were the cool kids. Their father had money then and he still is the richest person in Martha’s End today.”

  “So why was Billy Morgan jealous?” Shaw pressed the point, glued to the conversation like it was a midday soap opera on the tube. In college, he once watched the Bold and the Beautiful while ironing a shirt one afternoon, and before he knew it he had a huge pile of clean, neatly ironed clothes, and an empty ironing basket, and two hours of his life he would never get back after watching all the catch-ups too. He imagined all across the country, women, and a few men, were cutting through similar and otherwise boring home chores with ease thanks to TV shows like that.

  “Billy didn’t like the fact that I associated with Daisy. After all, she was a McAlister. The two families have been feuding for generations, goes back to the Civil War.”

  “Over what? Their land?”

  “Land. Always land. The Morgans claim that the McAlisters stole a tract of land from them over a hundred years ago. Some great-grandfather of the McAlisters was prospecting up in the hills behind their ranch and convinced a surveyor in Hays to realign and forge the boundary line so that it became McAlister land, not Morgan land. He must have found something worthwhile up in those hills. Daisy told me all about it. Ever since then it's just snowballed through the generations, the same story passed down from father to son, made a little worse with each telling. The Morgans are a greedy bunch. They have more than enough land, cattle, everything. But it’s never enough. It’s personal. It’s in their blood. If someone cheated a great uncle of theirs over a horse, or a bale of wheat, or in a card game in a saloon in Hays back in the day, they would never forget. It’s like they keep a tally, goes into an old ledger for the grandson or great-grandson to inherit and make amends. Daisy will tell you.”

  Shaw looked out of the window of the café. A police cruiser slid past, slowing, watching, like a great white shark. White Chevrolet Impala, black and gold decals. This was the second time it had gone past. Maybe it was doing Saturday morning loops around the town, just checking, keeping the peace. Maybe it was something else. Shaw turned his attention back to Callie.

  She was proving to be a wealth of information about the town and its occupants. Eager to please. Maybe a little too eager. What did she want in return? Daisy would never have been this forthcoming with him. He was a complete stranger.

  “You said you were best friends with Daisy.”

  “Still are. Billy hated that fact, still does. Thinks we must be lesbians, because we spent so much time together in high school and I rejected his advances, especially on prom night.”

  “But nothing bad happened back then with the Morgan brothers? They didn’t break the law back in high school?”

  Callie rolled her eyes. “Sure they broke the law. Nothing major though. High school stuff. Drink-driving, a few bar fights. Maybe caught in possession. But when your father owns half of town and is a major contributor to the Mayor's re-election and is buddies with most of those who sit on the Hays City Commission, things get wiped from the records, forgotten, excused.”

  Callie paused, like she was searching back through the recesses of her memory, then said slowly, “Come to think of it, there was this one girl. Stacy somebody. A local girl. A few years back she had gone around town claiming that Jed Morgan had raped her on a date. She went into Hays and told the police. She pressed charges and everything. A few months later, when it went to court she didn’t front up. The whole Morgan clan showed up to court like a posse, had hired some hot-shot lawyer out of Kansas City, thousand bucks an hour they reckoned. But the girl just disappeared, vanished. So the charges were dropped. There were no other witnesses.”

  Shaw looked at his watch. “Look, it’s time I was getting back, Daisy might wonder where I’ve got to.” He could see the disappointment on Callie’s face, almost a theatrical pout. It made her look even more cute, if that was even possible.

  She leaned in again, so close for a moment he thought she was about to kiss him. She whispered, “Look, a few of us are going out tonight. There’s a local bar and a band just up the block. Nothing spectacular, but it’s the only place worthwhile around here on a Saturday night. How about you come too?”

  Shaw shook his head and was about to protest, but Callie cut him off.

  “No arguments. I won't hear of it,” she said, poking Shaw in the ribs with her finger. “Daisy is coming too. We used to do it every Saturday night, like a pact, but with the ranch and everything I hardly see her anymore. She needs a break. It will do her good.”

  Shaw considered it for a moment. “Look, it’s not really my style. Noise. Bars. Live bands. I’ve got a full afternoon mending fences and replacing things around the ranch. I’ll be dead tired after I’m done.”

  “All the more reason to come out with us and relax, blow off a little steam, see where the evening takes you.” Callie raised an eyebrow.

  12

  Callie left the café, saying she had to run some errands before tonight, and she really wanted Shaw to come. Shaw finished his coffee and watched as a police cruiser, the same one that had passed by before, pulled up across the street. The officer didn’t get out.

  Then things changed and Shaw felt his gut tighten.

  The ruby red pickup truck pulled into the parking space next to the police cruiser and a man got out.

  It was Billy Morgan.

  For a moment Billy Morgan didn’t look in the direction of the café. He walked around to the police cruiser and leaned down, resting his arms on the open window of the car and speaking to the driver.

  He glanced in the direction of the café and spotted Daisy’s Dodge parked out front. Shaw finished his coffee and walked outside. As Shaw opened the truck door he could see Billy Morgan hustle across the street towards him. He moved with purpose, not threatening, but Shaw swung open the door of the Dodge putting it between him and Billy. He wound down the window. No point in getting glass on yourself.

  “Hi there,” Billy called out.

  “Morning,” Shaw replied, non-committal, unsmiling, assessing the man. In a beat Shaw took in the rest of the street to see who else may be coming towards him as well, but it was just Billy Mor
gan. No one else. The police cruiser was still parked across the street, the cop still sitting inside.

  “You must be the new ranch hand over at the McAlister place.”

  Billy was bigger than the other two brothers, and he talked and walked with too much confidence for Shaw, like someone who gave orders and threw his weight around to make sure they were carried out.

  “I’m Billy Morgan, you must be new in town.” Billy gave a nod, but didn’t offer a handshake, his words spoken as though Shaw should have known who he was. Like he was famous.

  Shaw nodded back, but said nothing. Give as little information as possible. Billy Morgan seemed friendly enough, but Shaw could tell his smile and friendly manner was a front.

  “Yeh, I’m sure old Daisy could use the help and all,” Morgan continued. “You don’t look like the ranch hand type. You don’t look like the others.” Morgan kept the smile on his face as he looked at Shaw. He was assessing him too. Was he a drifter like the others? Or was he going to be a problem?

  “I’m good with my hands. I thought I’d stay for a few days and help them out,” Shaw replied, still holding the door between them.

  “That’s mighty hospitable of you, mister…?”

  “Shaw, Ben Shaw.”

  “Well Ben, you seem like a nice guy, and Martha’s End is a nice place. We don’t get many visitors, most people who aren’t locals are just passing through like yourself. They don’t stay for long.”

  Shaw shrugged and decided to play along. “I might stay a few days, I might stay longer. Depends.”

  Billy his eyes narrowed. “Depends on what?” Annoyance started to seep into Billy Morgan’s face, his smile changing into a smirk.

  “Depends on what needs to be done,” Shaw replied. “What help Daisy wants.”

  Billy paused, then looked at the ground and gave a small shake of his head like Shaw had given the wrong answer. He stepped closer. “Look, I know you mean well. But we don’t like visitors to stay too long here. It upsets the ebb and flow of the place.”

  “What ebb and flow?” Shaw asked flatly.

  Billy Morgan would have made a good politician. He had a way of telling you what to do without actually telling you what to do.

  “You see Ben, my brothers and I keep the town peaceful, we like to keep the place running smoothly. We know everyone and everyone knows us, and that’s how we like it.”

  Shaw nodded back past Billy towards the police cruiser. “Isn’t that what the local police are for? Are you a police officer?”

  Billy was starting to get impatient. His smile was completely gone, replaced by the thin line and cold eyes. The welcoming party was over.

  But Shaw wasn’t finished, wanting to turn it up a notch. He hated people who used bullying and intimidation to get their way. “So it’s like you and your brothers have been deputized? Like you have authority around here, like the police, or are you just doing your civic duty?”

  Billy frowned. None of the other hired help of the McAlister’s had spoken to him like this before, when he had given them their first talking-to. He didn’t like this guy. He didn’t like his own authority being questioned, especially from some out-of-towner who knew nothing about the place or the Morgan name.

  “Listen, we don’t want no trouble here. There’s nothing much in this town to keep you here. I know someone like you would prefer the bright lights and excitement of those bigger places. More women, more fun.” The smile had returned.

  Shaw knew the tactics Billy was using, wanting to be everyone’s best friend, making out they had known each other for years.

  “Look, you probably aren’t getting paid that much by Daisy. They don’t have much money, so it’s almost like charity what you’re doing, and I can understand that. So I’ll tell what I’ll do.”

  Here it comes, like you’re doing me a favor.

  “I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you’re out of town by sundown today. No strings attached, just leave by then. Hell, I’ll even drive you to the bus station in Hays so you don’t have to walk or nothing.”

  Now it was Shaw’s turn to smile. “You’ll give me a grand just to leave town? Just for getting on a bus today and going?”

  Billy nodded, glad that Shaw was finally coming around to his way of thinking. “I sure will, no problem. A bit of cash in your pocket to enjoy yourself in the next town or city. Maybe hook-up with a few girls, spread a bit of love—you know.” Billy grinned and nodded like they had a secret male-only understanding.

  But Shaw was wired differently. A lot differently.

  Shaw made to look like he was thinking about the offer. He slipped into the seat of the Dodge, shut the door of the truck. If his mind wasn’t made up before, Billy Morgan had certainly made that decision for him now.

  Billy seemed quite pleased with himself, rocking back and forth on his heels, another drifter taken care of.

  Shaw started the engine and glanced up through the window at Billy Morgan. “That’s a nice rig you’ve got there,” Shaw said, nodding at the pickup truck parked across the street, chrome and deep metallic paint glistening under the midday sun.

  Billy turned and looked back over his shoulder, then back at Shaw, his grin even wider. “Yep, she sure is a beauty. You like it?” Billy replied, puffing out his chest slightly. He liked it when people complimented him: on his truck, on how sharp he dressed, on how good he was in the sack after he roughed-up the girl first, like he was doing her a favor having sex with them.

  Shaw nodded. “Is it to compensate for the small dicks you and your brothers have?”

  Billy Morgan baulked, like his brain needed time to digest the words, but Shaw gave him no time.

  “The next time you decide to run me off the road, I’ll beat you senseless and mount you on the hood of your truck like a deer.”

  Shaw hit the gas and pulled out of the parking space leaving Billy Morgan gaping after him.

  13

  The town was an illusion. On the surface everything appeared normal, but something was hiding below the surface. Moving deep within the fabric, a different pattern had been woven. A threat of retribution or implied violence that shifted under the veneer of an otherwise ordinary rural community. It made Shaw naturally curious and wanting to find out more.

  Good town, bad people.

  The needle on the speedometer on the Dodge hovered at an even fifty-five miles an hour. Endless fields of yellow stretched to the horizon on either side of the road, the air a dusty haze with the smell of wheat and chaff. Everything looked normal, peaceful, serene. Yet Shaw could feel the strong undercurrent of dread in his gut. He trusted his instincts. It had saved his life a few times, but had got him into trouble as well.

  “Never trust what you saw. Trust what you feel. Use your eyes to see only what was coming next.” That’s what someone told him once. “Words to live by in this game, otherwise you won't last long.”

  Shaw could feel something coming. He felt it in the diner the day before. He felt it sitting in the café, looking out on the streetscape. He felt it when he looked in the rearview mirror.

  Before he pulled out of town, he had found the car registration in the glove box and he placed it on the seat beside him together with his driver’s license.

  See what was coming next.

  A couple of miles outside the town limits of Martha’s End the police cruiser tucked in behind Shaw and slowly grew in his rearview mirror.

  The police cruiser edged closer, its light bar flickered, the headlights flashed, wanting him to pull over. Shaw eased off the gas, indicated and pulled over onto the rough shoulder of the road, a funnel of dust kicking up as the tires crunched over the loose gravel.

  The police cruiser parked behind Shaw and he watched as a cop got out, adjusted his belt, smoothed his pants and made his way over to the driver's side of the Dodge. Shaw kept both hands on the steering wheel and looked up at the cop. Behind the glint of the aviator sunglasses, the cop seemed just a kid, like he should still be in college,
he had that baby-face look. Red hair, fair skin, gangly limbs and still growing. Black starched shirt, tan pants, two-way microphone clipped to his shoulder and a badge on his shirt that said “Giles”, and a black handgun on his hip holster that said he was in charge.

  “Yes, Officer, can I help you?” Shaw asked, squinting into the sunlight, hands still on the wheel. That was important. The cop had one hand on his duty belt, and the other hand closed around the grip of the gun. Typical stance and protocol for a routine traffic stop. But this was going to be anything but a routine traffic stop in Shaw’s mind.

  “Sir, is this your vehicle?” the cop asked. No arrogance, just a deadpan face, but the tilt of the head and the eyes behind the aviator glasses said otherwise.

  Shaw kept both his hands on the wheel. He knew the procedure well. When you get pulled over by a cop, best keep your hands on the wheel where they can be seen. Not in your lap and certainly don’t reach for anything without asking permission, making it clear first your intention. No sudden movements. Shaw had seen too many twitchy law enforcement graduates during routine traffic stops draw their weapon because the driver was just reaching for their license or cell phone, or coffee cup without thinking. And Kansas was a concealed carry state.

  “No, this is not my vehicle, but I have permission to use it,” Shaw replied, not offering more.

  “Then sir, I’m going to have to see proof of registration and your driver's license,” the cop replied. Shaw noted the slight tensing of the kid's posture. Nothing major, just moving to another level of the threat assessment.

  Standard procedure.

  “I have no weapons on me or in the car. The registration and my license are on the seat beside me. Is it okay if I grab them?”

  The cop bent in slightly so he could get a better view of the inside of the cabin, one hand still firmly on his gun. “No problem,” he replied.