by Neil Hunter
The evening wore on and Bodie took time to find somewhere he could get a meal. He ate sparingly and was back in the saloon by half eleven. The place was still crowded, seemingly more noisy than it had been earlier. Jim Kelly was still seated at his table, hunched over his cards, a long, thin cigar dangling from his pale lips. Bodie glanced across the noisy saloon, looking for Sherry. He finally spotted her as she linked arms with a bearded old man who appeared to be in the act of buying drinks for the entire saloon.
The big clock on the wall above the main bar crept around to twelve. Then ten past. Jim Kelly carried on playing. Sighing, Bodie ordered another drink and settled himself in his seat. The gambler carried on for another ten minutes before the game was completed.
At the same time that Kelly got up from behind his table and moved towards the saloon door, Sherry, a thin cape thrown across her shoulders appeared at Bodie’s table.
‘Seems as if everybody’s working late tonight,’ she said.
‘You finished now?’ Bodie asked, his eyes on Kelly’s slow moving figure.
‘Yes. If you still want I’ll be over the street in the restaurant having coffee. I mean, after you’ve settled your business with Kelly.’
‘I’ll be back,’ Bodie said and stood up.
He shouldered his way through the crowd and out onto the boardwalk. Glancing along the shadowed verandah he spotted Kelly. The gambler was strolling along, taking his time. Probably taking in a lungful of fresh air after the long hours in the smoky saloon. Bodie fell in behind the gambler, keeping his distance. He didn’t want to tackle the man until they were reasonably alone.
Moving away from the saloon Bodie noticed that this part of town was pretty quiet. All the businesses were closed, lamps extinguished. The street was shadowed, deserted, almost menacing.
The faint scrape of a boot on worn planking warned Bodie too late. He whirled in towards the sound, sensing the sudden presence of a lurking shape. His hand darted for the butt of his Colt, but his fingertips had barely touched the smooth wood when a solid shape smashed down across the side of his head. The blow stunned him, the night opening up in a white-hot cascade of blinding light. Numbing pain filled Bodie’s skull. His legs refused to obey his mental commands and he pitched face down on the boardwalk, rolling over the edge onto the dirty street.
He lay in a foggy daze, only partly aware of the sounds around him. He fought to gain control of his leaden limbs. He tried to focus his senses. Dimly he heard the sound of running feet. Then a yell, like a man shouting down a well, the sound hollow, unreal. Then a silence. Followed by another yell. This time a recognizable sound.
Someone in fear!
Abruptly the misty world around Bodie was blasted apart by the heavy boom of a gun. A second blast followed the first. Mingled With the sounds came yet another yell, quickly rising to a high, awful scream of terrible agony!
Then silence. Broken after a few seconds by a low, shuddering moan. A broken, animal like sound. It was a sound Bodie could recognize, even in his dazed state. It was the sound of a fatally wounded man suffering overwhelming pain. It was a sound Bodie had heard many times in his life. Perhaps too many times for his own good!
It was the last sound he heard for some time. Everything slipped away. He fell forward into an abyss, a deep, dank, lonely pit of utter darkness.
Chapter Nine
‘Bodie it’s a good thing you’ve got a hard head!’
Bodie didn’t bother to speak but he agreed with Sherry’s observation. The clout on the skull had left him with a pulsing headache and a three-inch gash. Apart from that he was slowly beginning to feel human again. Sherry’s ministrations were helping his recovery no end. She’d had him brought to her room, over one of the stores, and had tended to his wound herself. Bodie had slept through the night and with the rising of the sun had woken to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sight of Sherry moving about the small room completely naked. On hearing him stir she had filled a china mug with coffee, sweetened it and brought it to him.
‘Somebody must have it in for you, Bodie,’ she said.
Bodie tasted the coffee, letting the strong brew flow down his throat and warm his insides. ‘Me and Jim Kelly,’ he said.
Sherry shuddered at the memory. The movement caused her breasts to quiver, half-erect nipples puckering. ‘It was horrible. I’ve never seen a man killed before. He didn’t even look human. They said it must have been a shotgun. Both barrels fired up close.’
Why hadn’t they killed him? The question kept thrusting itself forward in his mind. He answered it logically. Maybe because they only wanted Jim Kelly. Gamblers often made enemies. Men who had lost money. Maybe more. Bad losers. There were any number of reasons why Jim Kelly might have been killed. But the thought still nagged. Even if Kelly had been the target Bodie could have been a witness. If Bodie had been in the killer’s place he wouldn’t have left behind a man who might possibly be able to point a finger.
‘You want some more coffee?’ Sherry asked. Bodie handed her the mug and watched her cross the room, hips swaying gently, buttocks jutting firm and round.
‘Anything else I can get you?’ she asked over her shoulder.
Like excited? Bodie thought as he watched her. He glanced down at the other half of the big bed, noticing the rumpled sheet. A wry grin touched his lips. Damnation, he thought. There he’d gone and spent the night in bed with her and all he’d done was sleep! He felt himself hardening at the thought. He became aware, too, that he was naked.
‘You have help last night?’ he asked as Sherry brought his refilled mug to the bedside. She placed it on a small table close by and stood frowning down at him, hands on her supple hips. ‘Getting my boots off and all, I mean!’
Sherry smiled, a mocking twinkle in her eyes. ‘What makes you think I need any help in getting a man undressed?’ She sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned in towards him, the rising tips of her breasts brushing his chest. ‘In fact it was fun, Bodie. You know what I mean?’
‘Appears to me the fun’s all been going one way.’ Bodie remarked.
‘Then how about getting it to change direction?’ Sherry murmured huskily. She reached out and drew the blankets from his body. A warm sigh escaped from her soft lips when she saw his risen hardness and she laid a warm hand across it, fingers curling to grasp him with surprising tenderness. Bodie drew her to him, closing his mouth over hers. Sherry slid the length of her body onto his, thighs spreading, easing her hand clear so that she could feel his hardness through the soft crown of curly pubic hair. She twisted her hips, moaning softly as rising sensations coursed through her. She submitted willingly when Bodie turned her onto her back, pushing her warm thighs wider apart with his own. He entered her easily, feeling the heated moistness close over his erection, then he was fully inside her. Sherry closed her thighs about him, straining hungrily, her lithe body squirming, thrusting, arching up off the bed as she responded to him. And there was no sound except their harsh breathing and the soft creak of the bedsprings, until the moment when they climaxed, and Sherry threw back her head, a long, satisfied moan rising in her taut white throat, then silence. A long, drawn out, fulfilled silence. . .
Later, still naked, she lay and watched him dress stretched out across the bed in a deliberately provocative pose, hoping that she might get him to stay.
‘There any kind of law in this place?’ Bodie asked.
Sherry pouted, then scowled, finally sat up, brushing stray curls of red hair back from her face. ‘No,’ she said. ‘They keep talking about hiring a marshal. Until they do we got to depend on the US Marshal. He comes by once in a while.’
Bodie strapped on his gun. He slid the Colt out of the holster and checked the loads. Satisfied, he put the gun away, picked up his hat.
‘Bodie, am I going to see you again?’
He opened the door, glanced over his shoulder. ‘Sherry, there ain’t no way I can answer that. I leave here - I don’t know where I’ll end up.’
/> She slid off the bed and crossed to kiss him, lingering, taut nipples brushing his arm. ‘Hey, Bodie, it was good, wasn’t it?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Trouble is it don’t seem so important once it’s over. It’s like pain. While you got it you figure nothing could ever be as bad, but once it’s over, no matter how bad, then you get to thinking and wondering why you made all the damn fuss at the time!’
Sherry stared at him, anger gleaming in her eyes. ‘Goddam it, Bodie, you are one son of a bitch!’
‘So I been told.’ Bodie tugged his hat on. ‘I get the chance maybe I’ll call in before I ride on.’
‘Don’t do me any favors, Bodie,’ she snapped, but her eyes were saying something entirely different.
Out on the street Bodie made his way to the livery stable where his horse had been housed for the night. Satisfying himself that the animal was being cared for he retraced his steps back along the street. His destination was the hotel Jim Kelly had been using. Kelly was dead and there was no way Bodie could get the information he’d had for Hoyt Reefer. But there was a possibility, however slight, that there might be something down on paper. It was worth taking the time to visit Kelly’s room.
The hotel was a miserable place. Raw, unpainted lumber, scant furnishings. It had been built to serve a basic need. Somewhere for people to sleep. For Jim Kelly it would have been entirely suitable. A place where he could lie down and rest between long sessions at the poker tables. Kelly wouldn’t have wanted more. He was a transient, a drifter, moving from one location to the next. There was no kind of permanency in the lives of men like Kelly. It seemed to be part of their make-up. All gamblers were saddled with a need for change, for fresh pastures. Maybe it was something to do with their need for challenge, the urge that drove them to gamble in the first place.
Bodie crossed the gloomy lobby of the hotel and watched the desk clerk drag himself wearily from his seat behind the desk.
‘Hey, you’re the feller who got clouted last night when Jim Kelly got hisself shot up!’ the clerk gobbled. He was a tall, skinny young man with round, bulging eyes. ‘Boy, was he blown to hell and back! You see him? I did! Up real close too! I ain’t never seen a feller done with a shotgun ‘fore. Handguns and rifles, yeah. I even seen a guy cut open with a knife once. That was over in Fort Worth. Had his belly slit wide open. Jesus, you could see what he’d had for breakfast!’
‘What do you do when you’re on vacation?’ Bodie asked quietly. ‘Buy ringside seats for hangings?’
The clerk closed his loose mouth and stared at Bodie’s grim face. He attempted a weak smile, though it came out like a ghastly leer. ‘I didn’t mean ... anything ... Mister Bodie ... it was ... !’
‘Keep your hobby to yourself, boy, and give me the key to Kelly’s room.’
The clerk’s eyes bulged even more. ‘Hell, I can’t do that. I got to keep that room locked until the US Marshal gets here. Them was his orders over the telegraph.’
‘When does he get here?’ Bodie asked.
‘Day after tomorrow,’ the clerk answered triumphantly, figuring he’d scored over Bodie.
‘Then he’ll be too late to stop me,’ Bodie said. He thrust out a big, menacing hand. ‘Now give me that key, boy, or you’re in for a real treat. You’ll be able feel what it’s like having your belly sliced open!’
The clerk’s pasty face turned fish-belly white. He gave a strangled moan and lunged for die board behind him where all the room keys were kept on hooks. Taking one down he handed it to Bodie.
‘The Marshal, he’s going to be mad as all hell!’
Bodie, on the first step of the stairs, shrugged. ‘Tell him I said I was real sorry!’
Reaching the top of the stairs Bodie walked along the passage until he reached room 8, the number on the key-tag in his hand. He unlocked the thin, warped door and shoved it open. Inside he closed and locked it from his side. He didn’t want anyone walking in on him.
The room was small, stark, functional. No paint on the walls. No decorations at all. Just a bed against one wall. A clothes chest and a washstand. A chair beside the bed. Bodie went to the window and rolled up the blind. He slid open the window and let in some fresh air to wash away the lingering smell of sweat and urine.
He checked the clothes chest first. It revealed nothing except Jim Kelly’s meager wardrobe. A couple of white shirts. Underclothes, socks. A pile of white linen handkerchiefs. On the washstand were Kelly’s razor and brush. A couple of bottles of scented hair lotion. On the floor beside the bed were a pair of black half-boots. On its side was a half-empty bottle of cheap whisky. Under the chair Bodie saw a ragged old carpetbag. He picked it up and carried it to the clothes chest, tipping the contents on its scarred top. Tossing the bag aside after checking that it was empty, Bodie examined the scattered contents. A few odds and ends of dirty clothing. A bundle of long cigars. A few letters. Two were from a woman in Baton Rouge, asking when Kelly was going to come back to see her. The letters were months old. The woman had been waiting a long time. Now she was going to have the rest of her life to wait. The final letter Bodie picked up was no more than a few days old. He pulled the folded sheet of paper from the crumpled, envelope and opened it. There was no sender’s address on the paper. Nor was it directed at Kelly. It simply stated ‘shipment leaves Austin for Fort Worth, 24th this month’. That was all. Bodie reread the cryptic message again. A shipment? Of what? If Reefer was involved it was most likely to be guns. Assuming so, a shipment of guns was leaving Austin on the 24th and heading in the direction of Fort Worth. Bodie realized he was only guessing at the letter’s meaning. He had no proof that the message was connected with Hoyt Reefer. Or that it implied anything mysterious. He glanced at the envelope, noticed something on the back and smiled to himself.
It was a small sketch-map, drawn crudely in pencil. A meandering line, with place-names along its length. Fort Worth at the top, Austin at the bottom, and Waco midway along. Between Austin and Waco another line, bisecting the main one, marked San Gabriel. Above this a small cross and the legend ‘Water Halt. Tower 6’. Someone had ringed this in heavy black pencil. Bodie folded the envelope and put it in his pocket. The map had been childishly simple to decipher. It was a diagram of the Austin-Fort Worth railroad. San Gabriel meant the river. The ringed cross implied a chosen location. Bodie saw it as the place where Hoyt Reefer and his gang might conceivably make a strike at the train carrying the shipment mentioned in the letter. And the more he thought about it the more he became convinced that the shipment would turn out to be guns. Weapons ready to be stolen so that Reefer could supply his Comanche customers so they could go out and kill.
Bodie left the room and made his way back down to the lobby. He tossed the key to the scowling young clerk and stepped outside. He had little to go on. The letter and the map didn’t spell out definitely what Reefer was up to. Instinct was pointing him in Reefer’s direction. All Bodie could do was to follow his instinct and play whatever cards fell into his hand.
He was on his way to the livery to pick up his horse and ride when he realized he was passing the store over which Sherry had her room. On an impulse he decided to call in and say goodbye. Turning into the alley beside the store he climbed the outside stairs and opened the door. The room was silent except for the insistent buzzing of a couple of flies. Sunlight streamed in through the open window, throwing shafts of yellow across the bed. Sherry’s naked body lay still on the crumpled sheet, arms and legs spread. Her head was turned in Bodie’s direction, mouth open, eyes staring. But she didn’t see him. Or hear him.
Sherry was dead.
Somebody had very skillfully cut her throat from ear to ear, laying open a huge, gaping wound, severing the main arteries in the process. Bright gouts of blood had spurted freely, streaking Sherry’s white flesh, running down her body and across her stomach, matting the curly triangle of pubic hair. Blood had spattered the white sheet she was lying on, spreading out all around her sprawled body and as Bodie moved closer he cou
ld see that beneath her the sheet was sodden, unable to absorb all of the blood that had poured from Sherry’s body.
Bodie snatched out his Colt and moved quickly to the window. He knew, even as he did so, that he was wasting his time. Whoever had killed Sherry would be long gone now. He swore softly as he realized that the killer must have been waiting for him to leave. Then he had moved in quickly, killing silently, and then slipping away without even being noticed.
He made a swift check of the room and its contents. Nothing had been disturbed. It didn’t look as if robbery had been the motive. What then? Bodie had a sneaking suspicion that Sherry’s death was somehow linked with that of Jim Kelly the night before. The trouble was that the only connection between them was Bodie himself. He wondered if he was moving along the right track. Perhaps the deaths were the result of some argument. With some kind of deal that had gone wrong. Bodie reasoned that he could invent a hundred different reasons and still be wrong. Had Sherry’s death anything to do with Kelly’s involvement with Hoyt Reefer? Again he was only speculating. There was nothing else he could do until he could work out some logical explanation.
There had to be something behind it all. First Jim Kelly. And significantly just before Bodie had been able to get to him and find out what the man knew. Maybe that was the reason. Maybe Kelly had been in possession of too much information about Hoyt Reefer. Perhaps too much to be allowed to walk around with it. Again the reasoning didn’t fit. Kelly’s information had been invaluable to Reefer. So why would Reefer want him dead? There was always the chance that Reefer hadn’t wanted Kelly dead, but someone else did.
Bodie slipped quietly out of Sherry’s room. He made his way down the street, finding that there were few people about. He went to the livery stable, paid his bill and saddled up. Leading the horse up the street he stopped off at the first store and bought himself some extra supplies. As an afterthought he bought extra boxes of ammunition for his guns.
