Slocum and the Misty Creek Massacre

by Jake Logan

  When he returned to the front desk of the Dodge House, Slocum was greeted by a sly, knowing grin on the face of the younger girl who’d greeted him earlier. “I hear you had a very nice bath,” she said.

  “Word travels fast, huh?”

  “Yes, but not too far. Me and Estrella talk a lot and she had nothing but good things to say about you. Nothing too personal, though. Just good.” Judging by the curl of her lips and the flush in her cheeks, that last little statement was a long ways from the truth.

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  Thoroughly enjoying the way Slocum leaned on the edge of the desk and lowered his voice as if he had a secret to share, the girl nodded and replied, “Of course, Mr. Slocum.”

  “I’d like to reserve a room for a friend of mine. Is there any way I can put his name down so he’ll be sure to have one when he arrives?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “I can take a reservation. What’s his name?”

  “George Myer.”

  “When will he be arriving?”

  “Should be any time. Here’s the thing, though. If anyone asks, I’d like you to tell them that Mr. Myer is already here.”

  “What? Why would you want me to do that?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  Slocum gambled on that being enough to both pique the girl’s interest and discourage her from pressing the matter any further. Since she already had a few juicy secrets where he was concerned, she didn’t seem to mind being entrusted with another. As if demonstrating her willingness to keep her mouth shut on the matter, she turned the register around and printed George Myer—rm. 49 on the next empty line. When she turned the register back to face the customer’s side of the desk, she was showing him her familiar little smirk.

  “Much obliged,” Slocum told her with a quick wink.

  He checked in at the laundry and wasn’t surprised when he was asked to approve that his clothes be put through another round of cleaning. After that, Slocum decided to have a look at Room 49. It was near the end of the hall at the opposite side of the building from his own room. When he went to the room and knocked on the door, it was answered within a few seconds by an older woman who wore a simple brown dress and her hair tied back by a matching kerchief. “Yes?” she said.

  “Pardon me. Are you renting this room?”

  “No. Just cleaning it.”

  “Mind if I take a quick look inside?”

  She blinked, looked over her shoulder, and then back to him. “Why would you want to do that?”

  Fortunately, Slocum’s head was clear enough to come up with something quickly. “I was thinking about asking for another room and wanted to see if they’re all the same.”

  “Was your other one dirty? Was something wrong?”

  Noticing the insulted tone in her voice as well as the glint in her eyes, Slocum replied, “No, nothing like that. It’s the bed and window. They both seem so small and I wanted to see if it was worth changing rooms or if it’s just me being too big for my own damn good.”

  Slocum wasn’t an overly large man, but the maid had apparently heard much stranger complaints. Since his problem didn’t seem to have to do with anything that fell within her responsibilities, she shrugged and stepped aside. “I suppose you could take a quick look while I finish up.”

  “Much obliged,” Slocum said with a tip of his hat. Unlike the younger girl behind the front desk, this woman wasn’t impressed by the mediocre display of civility.

  Inside, the room was identical to number 42. He wasn’t at all interested in the size of the bed, but he walked over to it and hunkered down for a closer look just to keep up the guise of why he was in the room. The maid watched him like a hawk. She tensed when he stretched out his arms so he could take a measurement in a fashion similar to an undertaker getting the feel for what size coffin was needed to bury a particularly big corpse. When he stood up and walked toward the window, the maid swooped in to fix the sheet and blanket even though he hadn’t actually touched either of them.

  What Slocum really wanted to see was the view from the window. He chuckled to himself just because asking for that specifically would have been a better excuse to step into the room than the one he’d given. The maid was still wrapping up her chores, however, and didn’t seem to care what he was doing so long as it didn’t create a mess. Slocum glanced out through the freshly cleaned glass to get a view of the corner of Railroad and Front Streets. Railroad led down to a clear stretch compared to the bustle that was almost always found on Front.

  “You through, mister?” the maid asked.

  “I am.”

  “Then out with you. If you like the room, tell it to the front desk.”

  “I will. Thanks for your time.”

  She shooed him out, locked up, and started in on Room 50.

  By the time Slocum returned to the Dodge House Saloon, it was about an hour before the restaurant’s dinner rush. Everett was behind the bar, wearing a shirt that was so damp he must have been sweating bullets for hours on end. When he saw Slocum approach, he practically hopped over the bar in his haste to greet him. Slocum saved him the trouble and approached to order a beer.

  “Milt already stopped by,” Everett said while placing a frothy mug on the bar.

  “Good. What did you tell him?”

  “I said there might be some worthwhile prospects coming by later tonight. I didn’t know what else to tell him because you never mentioned what I should say. All you said was that I should wait for you to arrive and you didn’t arrive until now.”

  Slocum had to fight to keep from laughing at the way Everett’s words spilled out of him. “Take a breath,” he said after sipping his beer. “In fact, have a beer. It’s pretty good.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you drank the night you staggered out of here.”

  “Hmm,” Slocum said while examining the mug as if it could tell him anything else about his behavior that fateful night. Since he’d already pieced together what he needed to know, he took another sip and set the mug down. “When are they coming back?”

  “Could be any second. If they see me talking to you, this whole damn thing could be blown.”

  “What whole thing? You don’t even know what it is yet. And as for me talking to you, I’m staying at this hotel. They must’ve already known that much.”

  Everett pulled in a deep breath, held it, and nodded. “You’re right. Thanks.”

  “Don’t get all grateful just yet. You still have to answer for setting me up. I want you to tell Milt or Fitz that I’m looking for them.”

  “They’re not hard to find.”

  Slocum glared at the bartender until the other man started to squirm. Once he knew he wasn’t about to be interrupted again, he said, “I realize that, but I want you to tell them anyway. Make sure to let them know I’m still fired up about what they did and that I’ll be looking to take a piece out of every one of them. I want them dead, you understand? Dead after bleeding out like a couple of fucking dogs for God and everyone else in Dodge City to see.”

  Everett nodded solemnly as if the threat had been levied directly at him.

  “If they’re still interested in any other news of the usual sort they’re after, tell them there’s a rich fellow by the name of George Myer staying at the hotel here.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Myer is in Dodge on business involving a large sum of money. Since he’s going to be leaving tomorrow, he’s keeping the money in his room instead of bothering with a bank. The deal is happening around midnight, so he’ll be gone before then and returning to collect it.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “Does that really matter?”

  Everett thought that over for much too long before shaking his head and muttering, “I suppose it don’t. Midnight, you say?”

  “That’s right. You heard about all of this from the only armed guard accompanying Myer on his ride through town. If anyone asks where the guard is, say he’s in the company of a workin
g girl down the street.”

  “Probably Tammy’s, I reckon.”

  At that moment, Slocum honestly couldn’t tell whether or not Everett knew he was being told a story that wasn’t true. Seeing as how that issue may only confuse the bartender, he nodded and said, “I reckon so.”

  Beaming like a schoolboy who’d guessed the right answer to an arithmetic problem, Everett seemed more at ease than at any other point since Slocum had known him. “I’ll do that, Mr. Slocum.”

  “Tell me what you’re going to say, Everett.”

  “That you’re looking for them. Want to kill them like dogs and all of that. Also that there’s a fella by the name of George Myer staying at the hotel with a bag of money sitting up in his room on account of some business deal. He’s got an armed man with him to watch over the cash, but he’s off with some whore at Tammy’s down the street. The money should be in the room until midnight or so, which is when the Myer fella said his business would be over. Or maybe it was the guard who said that. Which was it again?”

  Slocum tipped back his beer and set it down. “You got it right just the way it is. What will you say if they ask where you heard about Myer?”

  “I’ll just tell him it was my usual sources. That’s always been good enough before, and there ain’t no reason it wouldn’t be good enough now. In fact, I’ll let him know that the news about Myer is why I came along to work tonight instead of during my normal hours! A cut from a job that juicy would be a sight to see.”

  “It’s gonna square things up between you and me, so you’re getting plenty out of this deal.”

  Everett’s mood darkened as he was reminded of what had gotten the ruse started in the first place. By the time he’d collected Slocum’s mug and wiped off the wet circle left behind on the bar, he seemed just as rattled as when the conversation had begun. “I’ll do what you asked, Mr. Slocum.”

  For some reason, Slocum found himself feeling bad for all but knocking the joy from the bartender’s face. He’d crossed paths with plenty of bad men and even more yellow-bellied assholes who would sell their mother’s soul for a few dollars. Everett may have been greasy, but he didn’t exactly strike Slocum as either of those kinds of men. Because of that, he asked, “Can you tell me one more thing?”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “You seem like an amicable sort. Why would you get mixed up with the likes of Cameron or those other two?”

  “The money,” he replied with shame in his voice. “Whenever I give them a tip that pans out, I get a cut of their take. If it wasn’t for all of my debts, I wouldn’t even bother.”

  “That’s over, though, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Everett replied. “I remember what I told you before. That’s behind me now. And if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t get a cut of anything that night they met you in Tin Pot Alley.”

  Without hesitation, Slocum replied, “It doesn’t.”

  6

  Slocum spent the better part of that night in his room. Although he hadn’t told anyone he’d be up there, he made sure to order enough food and drink from room service that anyone who asked around even halfheartedly would know where to find him. He ate the sandwiches and drank the water that was brought to him while whiling away the hours playing solitaire.

  Every time a set of footsteps thumped down the hall, he went to his door and listened. So far, he’d only heard the voices of couples going to their rooms to be alone or solitary guests unlocking one of the other rooms on that floor. Slocum was keenly aware of the weight of the .38 at his hip. When he hadn’t been amusing himself playing cards, he’d stripped the pistol down, put it back together, unloaded it, and then reloaded it with the ammunition he’d bought at a store down the street. The gun had seen plenty of use and was in fine condition, which meant Milt would be anxious to get it back. As noise from the first floor of the Dodge House grew louder and more boisterous, Slocum knew he wouldn’t have to wait long for the gun’s previous owner to make good on that desire.

  When Slocum felt boredom taking too deep of a hold or his eyes drooping too far down, he stood up and moved around to get his blood flowing. Every so often, a splash of water on his face brought his senses back to where they needed to be.

  Finally, he heard the footsteps he’d been waiting for.

  It was just past ten thirty at night and the saloon had yet to reach its rowdiest point. The steps that thumped down the hall were quick, but not rushed. They had weight to them, but didn’t sound heavy. Whoever was walking wasn’t exactly sneaking, but they weren’t announcing their presence either. Most important, Slocum’s gut told him they were definite prospects for belonging to the men he was after. It had been long enough for Cameron, Milt, and Fitz to have arrived and gotten settled. Surely, Milt would have spoken with Everett by now and the story had been passed along. There had even been enough time for one of those hired gunmen to come up with the idea of going to the hotel’s front desk and checking the register to verify that George Myer was a guest and that he was staying in Room 49. Slocum smiled to himself and drew his pistol. Sometimes, there simply wasn’t a joy in the world to compare with watching pieces of a plan fit together like well-oiled gears.

  He placed his back against the wall to the left of his room’s door. The .38 was kept in a low grip and his ear was placed against the wall. Slocum closed his eyes and even held his breath so he could hear as much as possible as those footsteps moved toward his room from the direction of the stairs. There was obviously more than one person clomping past his door. Judging by the weight behind their steps, both were grown men.

  Slocum reached for the door handle, waited for the steps to pass, and then opened it a fraction of an inch. He waited with his ear close to the crack he’d created just in case anyone outside noticed the slight movement from his door. Since the steps didn’t break their stride, he was confident he hadn’t been spotted. Even so, he waited for them to reach the end of the hall before making his move.

  Another door farther down the hall was shaken on its hinges as the men who’d walked by tested the strength of its lock. Slocum wanted to peek out and see which door they were at, but stopped short. If they were facing a door on either side of the hall, there was a better chance of them noticing movement from the corners of their eyes. More important, if they were trying to force their way into what they thought was another person’s room, they would most likely be looking around to see if anyone was watching them from anywhere along the hall. If those two men were Milt and Fitz, they also probably knew which room was Slocum’s and could be glancing toward his door at this moment.

  Ignoring the impulse coming from damn near every bone in his body, Slocum remained still. From a distance, he hoped his door would look like all the others along the hallway despite the fact that it was slightly ajar.

  The movement down the hall stopped.

  If Slocum strained his ears, he thought he could hear hushed voices coming from that direction.

  Before he had a chance to wonder what the two men were talking about, he heard the creak of hinges and the shuffle of hurried steps. Slocum grinned and waited for a few seconds before making another move. Once he was fairly certain the men at the other end of the hall had gotten enough time to cross a threshold, he pulled the door open. He’d hoped to catch a glimpse of which door had been opened down the hall before it was closed again. What he didn’t expect to see was a slender man standing directly in front of his door with one hand reaching for the handle.

  The man was half an inch shorter than Slocum and had a lean build. Sunken cheeks and a pointed chin were accented by a thin, neatly trimmed mustache and a narrow patch of whiskers running down from his lower lip. His eyes were dark and focused upon the door’s handle, but snapped up toward Slocum in a flicker of barely perceptible motion. It took less than a heartbeat for Slocum to overcome his initial surprise. Unfortunately, the slender man standing in front of him reacted just as quickly.

  As Slocum reached out to pull t
he man into his room, the wiry visitor lunged forward. Apparently, they both had the same idea of clearing the hallway before being spotted. Since the other man was so much lighter than he, all Slocum needed to do was step back with one foot and twist sideways to allow him to bounce off him and stumble inside. From there, he took a quick peek down the hall to see that all the other doors were closed and then shut the one to his room.

  “Who the hell are you?” Slocum asked.

  Although the man had entered in a less than graceful manner, he’d recovered his balance quickly and put his back to a wall. Narrow eyes darted toward Slocum’s holster and back up again. When Slocum’s hand shifted, the man rushed forward with surprising speed. Before Slocum could get a grip on the .38, the other man had reached out to grab his wrist and twist it painfully against its joint.

  Rather than fight against the hold that had ensnared his arm, Slocum shifted to keep his wrist from being broken and turned his entire body around while dropping one shoulder. The other man was lifted off his feet to be carried over Slocum’s hip. After rolling like rain off Slocum’s back, the man hit the floor on both feet and pulled his arm free to snap a few quick jabs to his ribs. The blows didn’t hurt, but they robbed Slocum of just enough breath to slow him down.

  Slocum’s next backhanded swing sliced through empty air, missing the other man’s chin by an inch or two. When the other man leaned forward after dodging the blow, he reached for a scabbard tied to his right leg by two leather cords. “I didn’t come here to fight,” he said.

  “You’re the one that shoved into my room!” Slocum pointed out.