The Jessie James Archives

by Craig Gallant

  She snapped a dirty look at him and snarled. “My head’s right where it should be, chiseler. Worry about your own; I’m fine.” She shook her head trying to clear it of the vaguely melancholy fugue that hung behind her eyes. “Anyway, I know what it’ll mean, but maybe if we talk with the girl he left behind? Maybe he told her something before he took off.”

  Courtright’s smile was hard and without humor. “Sure, maybe he was keeping up with the light banter between slaps.” He shook his head. “A guy who’s hard enough to hit a woman and draw blood is not going to be taking the time to pass along his itinerary.” His face darkened again. “You don’t tell a woman you’re hitting where you’re going to next.”

  Lucinda looked sharply at her partner. “You got a lot of experience with that sort of thing, Henry? Roughing up girls?”

  Courtright’s smile widened. “I haven’t ever roughed you up, have I? So don’t worry about it.”

  She snorted. “If you ever tried to rough me up I’d be days filling out the paperwork explaining to Washington about your tragic and untimely death at the hands of a passel of prairie school girls.”

  “School girls, would it be now?” He completed his turn and rested his elbows on the bar. “Wouldn’t be doing the dirty work yourself?”

  “No, that sort of thing is really beneath me at this point in my career.” She sniffed primly and then looked at him again. “Seriously, though. Any other ideas, if you don’t think Miss Mimms will offer any hope of tracking James down to his next destination?”

  Courtright’s expression turned grim. “Sadly, no.”

  “Well, since that’s what we’ve got, I’d say we would be remiss in our duties were we to not, at the very least, check in on the girl and get her statement.” Lucinda pushed her way from the bar. “Damn, but this report is going to read like a flipping tragedy.”

  Courtright nodded and turned towards the door. They were just moving away from the bar when a seedy-looking local stepped in front of Courtright. The man seemed loath to make eye contact, but stood like he meant to stop them, one hand braced as if expecting them to push past.

  “You talkin’ ‘bout Jesse James?” His voice was hoarse, his eyes flitting around like skittish wild animals.

  Courtright casually put a hand on the butt of his pistol. “Not sure you were invited into the conversation, friend. Maybe you should see yourself back to your seat, now, before you upset the nice lady here.” He indicated Lucinda with a jerk of his chin. “She’s not nearly so pleasant when she’s upset.”

  “I’s in here last night,” the reticent man continued. “I heard ‘em talkin’.”

  Lucinda put one graceful hand on Courtright’s, pushing the blaster back into his holster. “Wait a second, Henry. It’s quite possible this nice man can help us. Sir, did you happen to hear Mr. James or any of his companions talking about where they might be headed?”

  Courtright grudgingly stepped aside, but there was something strange about the man’s face that he could not quite put a finger on. He examined him carefully while Lucinda continued speaking.

  “We’re friends of his, and his sudden departure caught us by surprise.” She was employing her most ravishing smile, but she could see it was having little effect on a man that refused to meet her gaze. “We would be ever so thankful if you could give us even an inkling of where to look?”

  The man snapped sidelong glances at Lucinda and Courtright. “Well, I’m not sure how much I remember… it was late, I mean… “

  “Would a slap up the side of your head jar your memory at all?” Courtright snarled as he took a step towards the cowering man.

  Lucinda put a hand on her partner’s shoulder and drew a coin from her purse. “I’m sure a drink would refresh you and restore your memory. Perhaps after we talk you can treat yourself to a bottle of something nice?” She handed him the silver coin and the man smiled a thank you. The coin swiftly disappeared, although neither Lucinda nor Henry would have been able to say where it went.

  “They mentioned some canyon out west aways. Devils canyon? Demon canyon?” He muttered as if unsure of his memory.

  “Diablo Canyon?” Courtright snapped. Whatever it was about the man, it was getting harder and harder to stop himself from slapping him.

  “Yeah, that was it. Diablo.Canyon. Means devil, though, in Spanish… don’t it?” The man’s vague bearing was getting worse.

  “Yes, it does mean devil in Spanish. Very good.” Lucinda tried one more of her smiles, but again the man’s flitting eyes rendered her efforts useless. “Thank you, sir. Jesse and his friends will be very happy to see us.”

  “Who wouldn’t be, miss?” For a split second all the fuzziness and jittery energy seemed to settle, and the strange man looked right into Lucinda’s eyes. She blinked and drew back away slightly from the sudden directness of his eyes. She was staring straight into them, but she would not have been able to say what color they were.

  “Well… thank you… “ Lucinda attempted to regain her bearings.

  “Thanks again, folks.” The man ducked his head again and turned away from them. “A right pleasure doin’ business with ya’ll.”

  Lucinda and Courtright were left standing in the middle of the floor, watching the man push quickly through the doors and out into the morning air. For a moment, they just stared at the doors as they slowed in their swinging. Courtright’s head swiveled back to his partner’s.

  “Was that guy’s eyes red?” He said the words hesitantly; as if not sure he wanted to ask.

  Lucinda shook her hear. “I’m not sure. There was something… I don’t know.”

  Courtright stood up straighter and sniffed loudly. “Anyway, Diablo Canyon.That make any sense?”

  Lucinda nodded. “The place was a ruin for years. One of the railroad companies had commissioned a line to go through there, take a bridge over the canyon, and continue on to the west coast. But everyone forgot to plan for the bridge, and so things stalled. All the engineers and workers were staying in tents, waiting for the equipment. When the equipment got there, they started to lay out the foundations for the bridge, and then the government began its Heavy Rail program. All the funding for new civilian lines dried up as the situation out in the west got progressively worse. No one ever cancelled the Diablo Canyon project, but no further work got done, either. The tents gave way to wooden structures, all the various folks went about trying to make a living until the bridge started up again, and then continued on out of habit long after it should have been clear that there wasn’t going to be any bridge.” She shrugged. “For a long time it was a bandit’s paradise. No law at all, since the town didn’t officially exist. Outlaws basically made it their own, treating it like one of those pirate’s lairs from the old stories.”

  Courtright was staring at her with puzzled admiration. “How the hell did you know all that?”

  She smiled and shrugged. “I did some research years ago, when it was obvious this is where someone with my… talents… would most likely get sent, in the event that I was hired.”

  Her partner shook his head. “Damn, but the stuff you’ve got shoved into that brain pan of yours.” He gestured back to the door. “You think there’s anything to what the old coot said about Diablo Canyon? What the hell would James need with construction machinery?”

  Lucinda shook her head. “It’s not just the machinery. The whole town was a chaotic den of thieves and barbarians, and Jesse James fit right in. In fact, there were a few years where he basically ruled Diablo Canyon, before he decided he’d rather be closer to civilization. The place is completely isolated.”

  “Great, sounds like a lovely place for a holiday. But if it is the machinery they’re after… why?”

  Lucinda pursed her lips. “James has never been famous for an eagerness for hard labor. If they’re planning on using machinery, it must be something big.”

  A dark cloud lowered over Courtright’s face. “Like they might be trying to dig something up?”

 
His partner nodded. “Maybe.”

  Courtright’s brows lowered further. “Would this not fit into the latest bulletin from Washington, requiring immediate report?”

  Lucinda’s eyes met his. “If this has anything to do with that last bulletin, and the James gang is heading for it, then yes, one of us will need to make an urgent, personal report.”

  “Well, we can draw matchsticks on that. You really think we should split up?” He gestured towards the door and she nodded her thanks, moving towards it.

  “I think we should probably complete an interim report here and get it sent off to Washington over the wire. We should check on Miss Mimms, see if there are any other leads, and then both set off tomorrow when we’ll be fresh.” She pushed her way through the doors and then stood on the other side waiting for him on the rough wooden boardwalk.

  He followed her out into the shade of the saloon’s overhang, his eyes dazzled by the brightness of the sun in the street. “Well, hell. I was thinking, this lead’s hot enough, maybe we had to rush off before we got a chance to complete any written… bloody hell.”

  She looked back at his sudden shift in tone. He was staring out at the street, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. A massive freight wagon had pulled up across the street accompanied by a formation of low-slung one man vehicles. The entire entourage glided to a stop nearby, their engines roaring with the full-throated fury of an RJ-1027 power plant in hard labor. The smaller machines had two wheels and were ridden like ground-bound Iron Horses. The men were dismounting, long tan dusters flaring out as legs came up and over. Most of the men wore shining silver stars on their chests or hats, and she shook her head in disbelief at the bad luck. Realizing she was seeing a large band of federal marshals, she looked more closely at the larger vehicle and her mouth fell open in disbelief.

  Lucinda had heard of the big circuit court support vehicles that been sent out west, but she had never seen one. She understood now, given the reputation of the circuit court judges, why most folks had taken to calling the vehicles ‘Lynch Wagons’ despite the official government designation, ‘Federal Judgment.’

  The vehicle was massive, a wall of riveted armor carried along on three enormous iron wheels on each side. It cast a long shadow across the dusty street. Small firing ports dotted the flanks, while two long slits perched at the front must provide the driver with visibility from within his armored protection. On the roof of the monster was a socket large enough for a man, housing an imposing Gatling gun. Obviously this was for supporting fire during particularly salty legal debates. The strangest feature of the vehicle, however, was the armored box built into the rear. Barred windows looked out over the street. The thing had its own jail cell built directly into its armored bulk, for transporting prisoners who had not suffered the ultimate sanction. And for that, the government had provided as well.

  The mechanisms of the retractable gallows were stowed for transportation, but Lucinda had heard rumors, and could see the armatures, hydraulic pistons, and winch system that would deploy to provide immediate and irrevocable judgment should the circuit judges and marshals deem it appropriate.

  It was nothing if not dramatic.

  The smaller vehicles, however, must have been the Interceptors the marshals were always complaining about. They seemed quite sleek and vicious to her. They looked less bulky than the Iron Horses, carrying less armor, but they made up for that with their understated, low-slung lethality. They were a perfect match for the methodical men who were now gathered around the side of the support wagon.

  One of the men in the small group pointed at the Arcadia. From Lucinda’s vantage point on the long porch, it appeared that the men turning in her direction were focused on only on the building. She quickly pulled Henry aside, catching him off balance and having to steady him before he toppled them both into the dust.

  “What the—“ Courtright growled as he pushed off Lucinda and gave her a hard look.

  She gestured with her head towards the Federal Judgment. “That’s no standard circuit court.”

  Courtright looked back at the vehicle and saw two of the new UR-30 Enforcer units moving smoothly down the hull ladder from the access hatch. Two more moved around from the far side. “Four of those chiseling automatons?”

  Lucinda gripped Courtright’s arm with painful intensity. “That’s not all.” Her eyes were riveted to the back of the vehicle, where a massive armored door was unfolding to provide a ramp up into the cell compartment. A rumbling hiss escaped from within the wagon, and then a loud clank echoed across the street. Another metallic clang sounded, and then another. The vehicle shook slightly with each sound, despite its size. A huge hand reached out and gripped the side of the doorway in grinding metal fingers. Another emerged on the far side, and then a hulking form pulled its way out of the hatch. It stalked out onto the ramp and down to the street. Each footstep resounded with a metallic clash, shaking the Judgment.

  “What the—“ Courtright repeated, but this time his voice was soft with awe.

  “It’s Morgan Earp. Gotta be.” Lucinda’s eyes would not move from the enormous figure now standing in the street. A pale face, tiny amidst the armor and iron, blinked in the sunlight. It was a colossal form, armored plates and support braces melding together like a bulky statue come to life. The only flesh visible from her vantage point was the man’s face, peeking out from an elaborate framework that almost completely enclosed his head.

  “They reported an attempted assassination a year or two ago, and then a couple weeks later reported that it had failed, and that was it for official reports.” She flicked a finger surreptitiously towards the armored man, her voice still hushed. “There’s been a lot of speculation, and unconfirmed reports that Carpathian was somehow brought in to repair the damage, but no one knew for sure.”

  “Are you telling me that the Federal Bureau of Marshals has known where Carpathian is for years?” Courtright’s voice rose, his eyes widened and his color darkened. It was clear from his tone what he thought of the self-styled Federal Bureau of Marshals. Lucinda agreed with him, as did most federal agents working in the western territories. The federal government continued to deal with the marshals, providing them with material support and the damned robot Enforcers. Although there was no officially sanctioned Federal Bureau of Lawmen, the very fact that they were allowed to continue to function without any legal sanction from the federal government made them the de facto law in the west until someone in Washington did something about it.

  “I swear, if we’ve been kicking around out here in the sand and the scorpions for months, and Earp and his damned merry band of hooligans knew where the mad European has been all this time—“ His growl was rising to a roar, and Lucinda’s fingers tightened painfully around his arm.

  “Earp doesn’t know, and neither do most of the other marshals. Word is that Wyatt’s oldest brother, Virgil, grabbed Morgan on his death bed, threw him in a wagon, and disappeared with him.” Her mouth stopped moving, assuming a vapid smile as the lawmen approached, but she continued to speak in a husky whisper. “Two weeks later, he’s completely encased in steel, breathing, folks think; alive, apparently; and back in the saddle, so to speak.”

  Lucinda pushed Courtright farther into the shadows with an empty smile and nodded towards the group of lawmen clumping onto the boardwalk. Courtright grunted in offended surprise but tipped his hat towards the group.

  Most of the marshals moved past the pair without a second glance. One of the men, wearing an elaborate set of black leather robes, eyes completely obscured behind dark, smoky goggles, looked them up and down with an impassive face and continued on into the saloon behind his companions.

  “What the hell was that sand head supposed to be dressed like?” Courtright straightened his gambler’s clothes, mustering what dignity he could.

  “Circuit Judge. Sort of a liaison between the Federal Bureau of Marshals and Washington.” She shook her head. “Pretty odd sticks, from the reports I’ve b
een reading. Some have even taken to wearing wigs like the judges back in merry old England like to sport.”

  “Well, damn. That fella ain’t gonna be standin’ long in this heat, he keeps traipsin’ around in all that leather.” He shrugged. “What you think’s brought Earp and his traveling circus into Kansas City?”

  Lucinda rested against the warm wall of the saloon and produced a lacey fan. She began to work it back and forth in front of her face while smiling at one of the marshals that had been left behind. The man tipped his hat to her and then turned back to the UR-30 units and the hulking Morgan Earp. Behind the fan she continued. “Well, pretty much what brought us here, Henry, if I had to venture a guess.”

  “They’re after Carpathian as well? Well then, why they hell wouldn’t they just hold down that gray-haired old sod and force ‘em—“

  “Not Carpathian. Our ultimate goal is Carpathian, but we did not come here to Kansas City thinking to find the great man here walking the streets, did we?” Her face was still empty and smiling, but her tone was cold behind the fluttering fan. “His animations haven’t been seen within a hundred miles of KC, and he never goes anywhere without them, as you know. Why, oh Henry dearest, were we submitting ourselves to the provincial mercies of Kansas City in the first place?”

  Courtright turned to face the wall, pretending to check his boots by kicking them against the worn wood. “So they’re here looking for Jesse James?”

  “Or for his gang, or someone in the gang, would be my best speculation, yes.”

  Courtright grunted around a cruel grin. “Well, looks like we won’t be the only ones had our whole day ruined by their late night withdrawal.” He spit a solid plug out into the sunlight. “At least we didn’t drag a freak show into town in our wake. They really aren’t going to be happy when they—“