The Loner: Crossfire tl-11

by J. A. Johnstone

  Frank took some of the heat off him by opening fire on the shotgunners from the other side of the room. He darted behind one of the thick posts holding up the ceiling and put a bullet through the brain of one of the guards. The man collapsed with his shotgun still unfired.

  Conrad shoved the chair aside and tipped his Colt up. The man who had loosed the blast at him was reloading, but Conrad didn’t give him time to snap the Greener closed. He fired and sent a bullet ripping through the man’s throat. The hired killer went over backward with blood fountaining from his torn jugular.

  That left two of the shotgunners still on their feet. Conrad rolled desperately to avoid a blast from one of them. A few of the pellets stung his hide but didn’t do any real damage. The gunman was smart enough to fire just one barrel, leaving him with another load of buckshot. He tried to track Conrad with that barrel.

  The hammers of Conrad’s pistols clicked on empty chambers. He dropped one, holstered the other and powered to his feet, grabbing the buckshot-shredded chair as he came up. He heaved it just as the man fired. The chair blocked the pellets, then crashed into the gunner, knocking him back a step.

  By then Conrad had drawn the Smith & Wesson. While the hired killer was off-balance, Conrad put a .38 round through his head. The man fell back on the stairs, which were painted by the blood and brains that sprayed from his ventilated skull.

  That left one more man with a shotgun, but as Conrad swung around in search of that final target, he saw Frank had already taken care of the threat. The fourth guard was down on the floor, kicking out his life as crimson leaked from the bullet holes in his chest and belly. Frank stood nearby, smoking Colt in hand.

  Three gunmen were left upstairs, and they had been waiting for a chance. They opened fire on Frank. He grunted and twisted around as a slug creased his upper left arm. A second later, Conrad tackled him and knocked him out of the line of fire. They rolled up against the wall where the gunmen on the second floor couldn’t see them. The shooting stopped.

  “How bad ... are you hit?” Conrad asked breathlessly.

  “I’ve cut myself worse shaving,” Frank replied. “Anyway, it’s not my gun arm.”

  Feet pounded on both sides of them. Men rushed into the room from right and left. Conrad and Frank were facing each other, so they fired past each other, downing the gunmen coming at their backs.

  The shooting stopped again. Conrad and Frank reloaded while low voices came from upstairs. Conrad figured the surviving gunmen were debating what they should do next. If they charged down the stairs, they would be easy targets. On the other hand, if he and Frank moved away from the wall, they would be back in the line of fire.

  It was a standoff ... and Lannigan was still out there somewhere.

  Quietly, Conrad said, “Frank, do you think Lannigan was telling the truth? About the twins, I mean.”

  Frank shook his head. “I just don’t know. Sounded like it could have been that way, all right. You knew Pamela Tarleton a lot better than I ever did. Was she smart enough and loco enough to come up with a plan like that?”

  “She was,” Conrad answered without hesitation, “and evil enough, too. But that would mean ... everything that’s happened over the past few months ... all the danger I put you and Claudius and Arturo in ... all of it was for nothing. I did just what Pamela wanted me to do, like I was her puppet.”

  “Blast it, that’s not the way it was at all,” Frank argued. “Whether those kids are yours or not, you believed they were, and you acted accordingly. You acted like their father, and what you felt was real.”

  “But if they’re not mine, then it was all a lie.”

  “All those fellas who tried to kill you were sure enough real,” Frank pointed out. “This trap Lannigan set for us was real, and so is the score we have to settle with him.”

  Conrad took a deep breath. “Yeah. I guess when the bullets are flying, it’s best to save the philosophical debates until later.”

  “You could say that,” Frank agreed with a grin. “Now, are you ready to have it out with those hombres?”

  “More than ready,” Conrad said.

  “Then I’ll draw ’em out ... and you finish ’em off.”

  Before Conrad could ask his father what he meant by that, Frank darted away from the wall, twisted around, and started firing both guns toward the balcony along the second floor. More shots came from above as the gunmen returned the fire. Frank staggered but stayed on his feet and kept shooting.

  “Noooo!” Conrad shouted as he dived into the open, turning his body in midair so he landed on his back. From where he lay he could see all three gunmen standing at the balcony railing and firing down at Frank. The guns in Conrad’s hands thundered as he sent a storm of lead sweeping across the balcony. The hired killers jittered and jerked as slug after slug smashed into them. They dropped their guns. Two of the bloody figures collapsed. The other one pitched forward over the railing and fell to the floor with a crash. He didn’t move again.

  Conrad scrambled to his feet. He wanted to rush over to Frank, who had fallen near the fireplace. But he had emptied his guns, and one thing Frank had taught him was to reload as soon as possible after a gun battle. Conrad holstered the .38 and started plucking .45 rounds from the loops on his gunbelt. With fingers trembling just a little, he slid the cartridges into the Colt’s cylinder.

  Only when he had a loaded weapon in his hand again did he hurry over to Frank and drop to one knee. Frank was still breathing, Conrad saw to his great relief. He rolled Frank onto his back and saw blood on his right trouser leg, as well as on his shirt.

  Frank opened his eyes and grimaced in pain. “You get ’em?”

  “Yeah,” Conrad said. “I got them.”

  “Figured you would ... if I drew ’em out.”

  “How bad are you hurt, Frank?”

  “Not bad. Just creased a few more times. I’ll be fine.” Frank lifted a hand and clutched Conrad’s arm. “Help me into a chair, and then you go ... go find Lannigan.”

  “You need me to patch up these wounds—”

  “Not yet. I’ll bet ... Lannigan’s still around here ... somewhere. You find him ... settle up with him.”

  Conrad nodded, feeling a tightness in his chest and in his throat. He had lived most of his life unaware of Frank Morgan’s very existence. The thought that Frank might not be around made Conrad feel like he couldn’t catch his breath.

  He lifted Frank and settled him in one of the big armchairs. Conrad reloaded his father’s gun and slipped it into Frank’s hand. “Just in case I didn’t kill all those varmints and one or two still have some fight in them.”

  Frank nodded. “Don’t worry. I can handle ’em.”

  “I know that. I’ll be back.”

  He checked through the lodge quickly but found no sign of Lannigan. That gave him a chance to check all the bodies, and confirm the hired killers were all dead.

  There was also no indication Winifred and the children were there, or had ever been there, for that matter. Lannigan had been telling the truth about that, anyway.

  When Conrad returned to the big main room, he told Frank, “Lannigan’s gone. But you don’t have to worry about any of those other men. They’re done for.”

  Frank grunted and hefted the gun in his hand. “I wasn’t worried.” His voice sounded stronger. “Lannigan may still be waiting around outside to see what happens, or he might’ve lit a shuck away from here. Maybe you can find him, or pick up his trail.”

  “You’ll be all right?”

  “Better than all right. Now that I know I’m not gonna have to duck bullets any second, I can tie up some of these creases myself.”

  Conrad nodded. He went out the front door carefully, with his gun up and ready for trouble. Lamps on the porch cast a wide circle of light in front of the house. His eyes scanned the landscape around the lodge carefully, but he didn’t see Lannigan anywhere. The road leading up the mountain from the bay ended in a large area covered with gravel. Conrad
looked it over to see if he could find any fresh hoofprints, but he didn’t spot any.

  Gun in hand, he turned toward the dark barn. Lannigan might be hiding in there, waiting for some of his gunmen to come to him and report that the intruders were dead.

  Conrad was about twenty feet from the open double doors of the barn when a mounted figure suddenly exploded out of them, spurring straight toward him. He caught a glimpse of Dex Lannigan’s rage-twisted face as the man shouted incoherently. Lannigan had a gun in his hand. It roared as he jerked the trigger as fast as he could.

  Conrad threw himself aside to keep from being trampled or shot full of holes. As the galloping horse pounded toward him he dropped his gun and lunged, reaching for Lannigan as horse and rider flashed by. Conrad caught hold of Lannigan’s leg and dragged him off the horse. Lannigan toppled out of the saddle with a startled yell and crashed to the ground, his gun flying through the air.

  Conrad stood over the man. “Get up! Get up, Lannigan. We’ll have this out, you and me.”

  Lannigan started to climb to his feet, then drove forward in a diving tackle that caught Conrad around the knees. Conrad expected a trick like that, but Lannigan’s move was too fast to avoid. Conrad went down hard and Lannigan swarmed after him, hammering fists into his body.

  Conrad brought a knee up and drove it into Lannigan’s belly. At the same time, he caught hold of the man’s shirt front and heaved him to the side. Lannigan rolled a couple times but snapped a kick behind him catching Conrad in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He fought through the pain and launched himself at Lannigan again.

  Gradually, both men struggled to their feet, pounding each other, and stood toe to toe, slugging it out. Blood dripped in Conrad’s eyes from a cut on his forehead. Lannigan’s eyes were swollen. They wheezed and fought for breath. No one could stand up for long to the sort of punishment they were each dealing out and absorbing.

  Lannigan caught Conrad on the jaw with a looping right, then bored in and started to grapple with him. Conrad felt it when Lannigan plucked the Bowie knife from the sheath on his left hip. Twisting, Conrad got a hand on Lannigan’s wrist just in time to stop the man from plunging the blade into his side. Conrad hooked a punch with his other hand into Lannigan’s belly. Lannigan stumbled, off balance. Conrad gave Lannigan’s wrist a hard twist, caught hold of his shoulder, and rammed his own body forward against the gambler.

  Lannigan screamed as the collision sent twelve inches of cold steel slicing into his gut. Conrad had managed to turn the knife so it was pointing at Lannigan before they crashed together.

  Conrad let go and stepped back. Lannigan swayed, his fingers still wrapped around the Bowie’s handle. He pawed at it but couldn’t pull it free. It wouldn’t have mattered if he did. The damage was already done. Blood leaked out around the knife, and the crimson stain spread rapidly.

  “Lannigan,” Conrad said in an urgent voice. “Lannigan, is it true? What you told me about the children ... is it true? You’ve got nothing to lose now by telling me.”

  Lannigan was looking down at the knife handle protruding from his belly. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Conrad’s gaze, then started to laugh. The laughter was so hard it shook him and made the blood flow even faster.

  Then he gasped, made a grotesque gurgling sound, and blood spilled from his mouth. His eyes opened wide but no longer saw anything. He pitched forward and lay on the ground motionless, curled around the blade that had ended his life.

  Conrad stood looking at the dead gambler when he caught a glimpse of motion from the corner of his eye. He turned his head and saw Ling Yuan standing there.

  “It is done,” the big hatchet man said.

  “Yes, it’s done. Diamond Jack’s dirty work is done for him, so he won’t have to go to war against the rest of the Barbary Coast. That’s what he wanted all along, isn’t it?”

  Ling Yuan didn’t answer.

  “You’ve been lurking around here, haven’t you?” Conrad went on. “You’ve probably got a dozen more hatchet men hidden in the trees. If Frank and I had failed, you’d have killed Lannigan and made it look like one of us did it. But now you won’t even have to go to that much trouble. We took care of it for you.”

  “Is Mr. Morgan all right?” Ling Yuan asked.

  Conrad jerked a thumb toward the lodge. “He’s in there shot up a little, but he’ll be fine.”

  Ling Yuan nodded and appeared to be satisfied. “His wounds will be cared for. We will bring your horses and help you get back to San Francisco.”

  Conrad started to respond angrily and tell the man they didn’t need his help, but he changed his mind. Might as well get something out of this whole mess, he thought.

  “Fine. I’ve still got business to take care of in San Francisco.”

  Chapter 32

  Conrad took Claudius Turnbuckle with him when he went to Lannigan’s house the next morning. Frank was back at the hotel, being looked after by Arturo, who seemed glad to have something to do again.

  As they stepped down from Turnbuckle’s buggy, the lawyer said, “Are you sure you don’t want me to get Patrick Dugan and some of the other detectives who work for me? Lannigan may have left guards with orders to keep you from getting to his wife.”

  “If he did, I’ll handle them,” Conrad said. “I’m not sure they’ll want to risk it when they find out Lannigan’s dead.”

  “Mrs. Lannigan may call the police.”

  “If she does, I’ll be gone before they get here.” Conrad took a deep breath. “I have to know, Claudius.”

  Turnbuckle gripped Conrad’s shoulder for a second. “Of course you do, lad. Of course you do.”

  “Wait here.”

  Conrad went up the walk, through the lush grounds, to the house. When he reached the porch, he was surprised to see the door stood open a few inches. He hadn’t changed clothes since the battle at Lannigan’s hunting lodge the night before, and his Colt was still in its holster. His hand went to his gun as a bad feeling came to life inside him.

  He pushed on the door. It made a little noise as it opened all the way. The inside of the house appeared to be dark and quiet. He stepped into a richly-appointed foyer.

  A voice came from the dim, shadowy parlor to his left. “Is that you, Mr. Browning?”

  Winifred Lannigan, he thought. At least she was still alive.

  Conrad drew his Colt as he moved into the sumptuously furnished room. Heavy drapes were drawn over all the windows, making it almost as dark as night. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he made out the figure sitting in a chair next to a fireplace. A large portrait hung over the mantel. Conrad’s gaze flicked to it and saw four people, two adults and two children. A family portrait, he thought bitterly.

  “Mrs. Lannigan ...”

  “You won’t need that gun,” Winifred said. “Dex left men here, but I sent them all away. They didn’t want to go, but I insisted. I knew either he or you would come, and I have nothing to fear from either of you.”

  “Your husband’s dead.” He knew it was brutal to say it like that, so hard and cold, but one way or another, the woman had been a part of Pamela’s scheme.

  “I know. I knew as soon as you came in. I ... had a feeling that’s the way things would turn out. When I saw you at the Kimball mansion, I could tell you were the sort of man who wouldn’t allow himself to be turned aside from what he wants.” She laughed hollowly. “I’m sorry to say you can’t have what you want, Mr. Browning. It doesn’t exist.”

  Conrad tried to ignore the pulse hammering in his head and the sick feeling in his gut. “Then it’s true. What your husband told me about the children.”

  “David and Rachel. My children. Yes, it’s true. I knew Dex would tell you if he could. He planned to gloat about it before he killed you.” She sighed. “He was an evil man. That’s why he was so ... well matched with Miss Tarleton. They should have been together. They were meant for each other.”

  “You sound like you didn’t love him.”

&
nbsp; “You don’t have to love someone to be married to them, Mr. Browning. Sometimes it’s enough just to be ... taken care of.”

  Conrad kept a tight rein on his emotions. “You could be lying to me right now,” he snapped. “Just like your husband lied to me.”

  “I could be, but ... you’ve never seen them, have you?” Winifred raised her voice. “David, Rachel, come down here, please!”

  Conrad’s breath caught in his throat as he heard the sudden clatter of small footsteps on the broad staircase leading down from the second floor into the foyer. He turned. He had left the front door open, so there was enough light for him to see the boy and the girl who came down the stairs and stopped in the entrance to the parlor.

  They were beautiful. Thick, dark, curly hair. Clean, innocent features. Strong, sturdy bodies. Keen, inquisitive, intelligent eyes. The sort of children any man would be proud to call his own.

  But they weren’t his. That knowledge burned into his soul like a brand. No matter how hard he searched their faces, he couldn’t find a trace of resemblance to either him or Pamela. When he looked back at Winifred Lannigan, he saw her in them. There was no doubt about that.

  “Yes, Mama?” the little boy said.

  The little girl looked up at Conrad. “Who’re you?”

  “Children, this is Mr. Browning,” Winifred said. “He’s come a long way to see you.”

  “To see us?” the little boy said. “Why?”

  Conrad swallowed hard and struggled to find his voice. Finally, he said, “I came to tell you ... what fine children you and your sister are ... David. I’ve heard ... so much about you ... and now I see that it’s true.”

  Both children looked at him like he had lost his mind. Maybe he had.

  He managed to go on. “Why don’t you go back upstairs and play ... while I talk to your mother some more?”