To Hank, Pecos was just as invisible as the other men’s specters. “Hey Sandy. Can I get you something?”
Sandy shook his head. “Sorry, Hank. I won’t be staying.”
Tom raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I knew you wouldn’t come down here if I told you Luke was coming.”
Sandy’s glare softened not a whit. “And you were right.”
“Hello to you too, Sandy. Still mad?” Luke said sarcastically.
“Just stay and hear me out,” Tom said, standing between them.
Sandy’s glare tightened. “Tell me, Tom. Why shouldn’t I leave right now?”
“Because it’s us,” Tom urged. “We’re the Red Star Gang. We shouldn’t be broken up just because of a misunderstanding.” He glanced back at Luke. “You two really need to get over this.”
“What do you mean, ‘You two’?” Luke said. “I was over it before it started. I don’t know what his problem is.”
Sandy shook his head. “You’re the problem, Luke. You forgot the point of the red star.”
The Stranger leaned close to Luke’s ear. “You don’t need this. Forget both of ’em.”
Luke twitched briefly at the Stranger’s remark, but replied to Sandy. “The point was to become famous. We can’t become a legendary gang if you’re afraid to use your gun.”
“The point was Bobby Estrella,” Sandy said, raising his voice.
Luke frowned. “He killed his fair share of men along the way.”
“Yeah, but he never shot down an innocent,” Sandy replied. “I ain’t getting famous like that.”
“That’s not what happened,” Luke said with a growl. “You should know me better than that.”
“Yeah?” said Sandy. “Then why won’t you explain it?”
Luke gritted his teeth and glared, but didn’t reply.
“Like I said, cut ’em loose,” the Stranger pressed. “The purpose of having them around is over. Now they just slow you down.”
Tom had stepped back and was looking back and forth between them. “Come on, Sandy. You know Luke wouldn’t have done that.”
Sandy’s eyes were fixed on Luke’s. “I know what I saw. That man had no gun.”
Luke finally turned away. He grabbed his glass and emptied it in one gulp. “Let him believe what he wants.”
The Kid, still sitting atop the beer barrel, said in a singsong voice, “You’re losing your gang, Tommy.”
Tom forced a grin and raised his hand in a placating gesture. “Just forget that for now, Sandy. Let’s focus on this new scheme I got. Lots of money to be had.”
Sandy rolled his eyes in response and turned to walk out the doors, but Pecos was standing there, blocking his path.
“Hear him out, son,” the old cowboy said. He smiled sardonically. “You do like money, remember?”
Tom hurriedly added, “And it’s a chance to get back at our old friend, the good Sheriff of Puerta Muerte.”
Both Sandy and Luke froze and turned to face Tom slowly, their interest piqued.
The Kid laughed.
A look of fear came over the barman’s face. “Uh, boys, I didn’t hear none of this. And I want to keep hearing none of it. If you want to continue your jawing, do it in the back room where I don’t have to know about it.”
Tom smiled broadly. “That’s exactly what I was going to suggest.” He took advantage of their attention and started towards the back of the saloon. “Come on, I’ll explain.”
Luke looked at Sandy. Sandy’s gaze was no kinder, but he shrugged and followed Tom. Luke turned back to the Stranger. “Still think he’s useless?”
“Huh?” said Hank.
“He’s shown you nothing,” the Stranger said and vanished in a puff of black mist.
Luke slammed a bill down on the bar top and grabbed the bottle of mezcal. “Don’t you stop buying my brand.”
Hank frowned but grabbed the money. “Just for you, Luke. Now go on back so I can start getting my better paying customers in.” Luke nodded and turned away and Hank added, “But . . . don’t let them plot something stupid. If you get yourselves killed I’ll never be able to sell the stuff.”
Luke smiled as he headed towards the back.
The back room of Hank’s Saloon was dimly lit. It was designed for private games and was just big enough for the large poker table that sat in the middle of the room. Six chairs were spaced around it.
Pecos sat at the back wall of the room and was leaning back in his chair, his rugged boots propped on the table, his hat pulled down over his eyes. The Kid was perched on a chair not far from him, shuffling a deck of cards over and over, using various fancy techniques. The two specters didn’t acknowledge each other, not that either Tom or Sandy would have been able to tell.
Sandy and Luke stood next to each other at the front end of the table, giving Tom wary, but interested looks as he outlined his plan.
“And you’re sure the Sheriff’s money is in that bank?” Sandy asked.
Tom nodded confidently. “I made sure of it earlier today.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Now I wasn’t able to get inside the bank and look around. I tried, but the Sheriff was inside the place at the time and you know he don’t like me.”
Luke smiled. “He doesn’t like any of us much.”
“True,” said Tom. “But I was able to get a layout of the place by asking around.”
“You asked around?” Sandy scoffed, “For the dimensions of the bank?”
Tom placed an offended hand on his chest. “You know I ain’t stupid, Sandy. I was subtile.”
Luke frowned. “You were what?”
“Subtile.” Tom said patiently. “That means I asked it in such a way that they didn’t know why I was asking.”
A slight smile crossed Sandy’s lips. “I think you mean subtle.”
Luke chuckled. “Should’ve paid better attention in school, Tom.”
Tom shot a glare at the Kid. The specter paused his shuffling and looked back at him with an innocent expression. “What? Subtile.”
“Anyway,” said Tom. “It don’t matter. The point is no one knows it was me asking or why I asked. Even if they did, the Sheriff ain’t scared of that bank getting robbed. You know how he rules over that town.”
Tom unfolded the piece of paper and placed it on the table in front of them. “Now the layout of the bank. It’s pretty simple.”
Luke snorted. “Are you serious?”
On the paper was a very crudely drawn map of the bank. The lines were thick and sloppy, barely recognizable as a map.
Sandy shook his head. “It’s Tom, remember?”
“Yeah, but he was supposed to get better. When did you draw that? When you were five?”
Tom scowled at them. “So I ain’t the best artist. The point is there’s three rooms.” He pointed at the drawing while he talked. “First is the entryway where the customers come in. Then behind that set of bars is where the bank clerk’s office is. The file cabinets and paperwork stuff is there too. The room in the back is the vault. That’s where the big money is.”
A greedy look entered Luke’s eyes. “The loot of every outlaw band within thirty miles of Puerta Muerte.”
A gust of wind filled the room, nearly sending the map off of the table, and Pecos disappeared from his place at the table to reappear standing close to Sandy, looking down at the drawing. “Bad idea, son.”
Sandy agreed. “Taking a chunk out of those outlaws sounds great and all. But the only thing we’d accomplish is pissing off the whole region. This is supposed to be about the Sheriff.”
“You afraid of them, Sandy?” Luke asked.
“Any single one of ’em? No. Even a whole band wouldn’t scare me much,” Sandy said. “But the whole lot of ’em? We wouldn’t have a chance in hell of getting away with that. The Sheriff wouldn’t have to sweat. They would hunt us down for him.”
“That’s what makes my plan so pretty,” Tom said enthusiastically. “We don�
��t have to touch anyone else’s money. See, the Sheriff has his own safe inside the vault. If that safe’s all we loot, he’s the only one hurt. The other gangs won’t care. In fact, they’ll probably want to buy us drinks.”
“Even better,” Luke laughed.
Sandy nodded thoughtfully. “Then what’s the plan?”
Tom rubbed his hands together. “Alright. So the Sheriff’s gonna be presiding over a hanging in two days.”
“Course he is,” said Luke. “Probably some bandito nobody that refused to pay up.”
“Actually, it’s Old Zeke,” Tom replied.
Luke’s eyebrows rose. “From the Johnson gang? What’d he do to get on the Sheriff’s bad side?”
Tom shrugged. “Refused to pay up.”
“I couldn’t give a fig about Zeke,” said Sandy. “The man’s a murderer ten times over.” He bit his lip thoughtfully. “So you think the bank will be easier to rob during the hanging?”
Tom nodded. “Oh yeah. It’s gonna be a big event in town. Zeke has a bunch of enemies and they all wanna watch. So . . .”
Tom dug three coins out of his pocket and placed them down on the map. He placed his fingers on them and moved them into the first room of the bank. “Simple plan. We’ll stroll in, hold a gun on the clerk. He’ll let me and Sandy in while Luke stays out front and guards any other folks in the bank.” He moved two of the coins into the second room. “Sandy’ll stay and clear out any gold or cash kept up front while the clerk lets me into the vault.” He moved one coin into the last room.
“No,” said Sandy.
Tom blinked. “No what?”
“I’m not leaving Luke out front in charge of innocent folk,” Sandy said. “What if one of ’em tried to run?”
“Just a damn minute!” said Luke. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
“You’ve changed, Luke,” Sandy said, his tone accusing. “Especially this past year. I’ve seen the look in your eyes when things get heavy. You’re just itching to shoot somebody, don’t matter who’s on the other end of your gun.”
Sandy’s words hit Luke like a punch to the gut. He knew he should have been outraged, but all he could manage to push past his lips was a weak, “That’s not true.”
Pecos placed a calming hand on Sandy’s shoulder. “You’re being tough on your friend.”
“I stay up front,” Sandy said firmly, shrugging off the specter’s hand. “Luke goes with you to the back.”
“That’s where I’d rather be anyway,” Luke said sullenly.
Tom watched his friends with concern. “Fine. That doesn’t change much.” He pointed back down at his crude map. “It’s easy. The clerk will let me in the vault, I’ll open the safe, grab the Sheriff’s money and we’ll be out. Five . . . ten minutes at the most.” He smiled at them encouragingly. “Then we ride out of town and stop at our old hideout to divide the loot.”
Sandy cocked his head. “That easy? You can crack a safe?”
“What do you think I’ve been doing the last six months while you two were off sulking? A friend of mine sells safes. He’s been letting me practice,” Tom replied with a confident grin. “Don’t you worry about the safe.”
They paused for a moment staring down at the map, each of them deep in thought.
“Well!” The Kid bent his deck of cards back with his fingers and shot all the cards up into the air where they disappeared with individual puffs of smoke. He hopped up onto the table and sat there cross-legged looking down the crudely drawn map, his chin resting on his knuckles. “That’s only a skeleton of a plan, Tommy. Leaves a lot up to chance.” He grinned. “Fits our strengths. I like it!”
The Stranger appeared suddenly in one of the other chairs. He lifted a cigar in one hand and blew across it, his breath lighting the end. “That’s a dirt plan, Luke. You stick with these noose jumpers, you won’t make it near as far as Estrella did.”
Luke’s brow furrowed as he considered his mentor’s wisdom.
Sandy scratched his head. “Is this the whole plan, Tom? What if things don’t go as smoothly as you think?”
“They’ll go just fine. If something comes up . . .” Tom shrugged. “We’re the Red Star Gang. We’ll deal with it. No problem.”
Luke turned his unsure look to a smile. “Well, that’s our way isn’t it? Riding into danger, cheeks bare to the wind.”
“I prefer my cheeks covered,” said Sandy. He rubbed his jaw. “I guess we have two days to make the plan better.”
Tom beamed. “Then you’re in?”
Sandy sighed and looked at Luke. “I just want a promise from you. No killing.”
Tom folded his arms. “You do realize that it’s likely every person in that bank is just as crooked as the Sheriff? There’s no such thing as innocents in this heist.”
Luke met Sandy’s gaze unflinching. “I won’t shoot unless I have no choice.”
“There you go,” Tom said, “He promised.”
A slow smile spread across Sandy’s lips. “Then I guess the Red Star Gang rides again.”
7: El Banco de Puerta de la Muerte
An excerpt from The Tale of the Red Star Gang
“No job goes like you plan it.” – William "Bill" Tuttle Cook, Chandler Oklahoma, 1894
“If you ever really want to stir up a hornets’ nest, rob their bank.” – Butch Cassidy, 1897
Puerta de la Muerte’s gallows were located at the plaza on the main road at the eastern side of the town. The Sheriff had ordered it built there for two reasons. One was its close proximity to the cemetery. The other was as a reminder of the Sheriff’s authority. Anyone entering or leaving town had to pass by the looming structure.
Unlike most gallows in frontier towns, Puerta Muerte’s were in constant use and designed to last. Their manner of construction showed it. The base of the structure and all its supports were built out of railroad ties stolen from an abandoned line. The platform stood seven feet off of the ground and it was wide enough to hang three men at once, though the Sheriff preferred hanging men one at a time.
The rope used for the hanging was heavy duty and kept well-oiled. The noose itself, however, was never untied. The outlaws had named the noose ‘El Estrangular’ and so many men had died in its constrictive coil that tales had sprung up around it. The locals said that if you stood too close to the noose, you would feel the compulsion to place your head inside.
Old Zeke Johnson didn’t believe such tales. As he was led up the staircase towards the platform, his hands bound behind him, he stepped with confidence. It wasn’t until the bag was taken off of his head and he looked directly at El Estrangular, that he felt the first jolt of fear. The noose swayed gently in the breeze and welcomed him with an otherworldly whisper that he could hear despite loud laughter from the crowd.
Old Zeke struggled in the arms of the deputies that held him for a moment and when that didn’t help, he hawked and spat up at the noose in defiance. The old bandit was a crack spitter, a fact anyone in his band could attest to. A wad of phlegm twirled through the air and struck the base of the knot, clinging to the rope and dangling limply. The whisper stopped.
He looked down into the crowd of scoundrels in the plaza below and sneered. Zeke was a wily outlaw with plenty of experience getting out of tough scrapes. He had spent his jail time confident that his men would come to his rescue soon enough. His keen eyes searched the crowd, expecting to see all the members of the Johnson Gang present, armed, and ready to take over.
Zeke was disappointed to find out that he had been deserted. The crowd was filled with familiar faces, but most of them were enemies and none of them looked upon him with sympathy. He struggled in the arms of the deputies again. Deputy Tweed, who held onto his left elbow, was large and strong; immovable. But Deputy Willis was a weaker man and had been wounded. His right hand was heavily bandaged.
Zeke stomped on Deputy Willis’ foot and lurched towards him, knocking him backwards towards the edge of the platform. Willis swore and clung to the old
man as much as he could with his good arm.
The deputy nearly tumbled off the edge and, for a brief moment, Zeke thought he might have a chance. But Deputy Tweed’s strength proved too much. He pulled both Zeke and Willis back to the center of the platform and swung an elbow into the side of Old Zeke’s head.
The old bandit’s legs buckled and his vision swam. The outlaws below erupted in laughter. Then the door to the jailhouse opened and everyone grew silent.
Out walked the Sheriff. Exiting the building behind him was Dan Bluff, the Johnson Gang’s second in command. Zeke saw the grim look on his friend’s face and knew he had been betrayed. All fight left the old man. He heard El Estrangular whisper to him again.
Several blocks away, at the center of town, stood the bank. It was a nondescript building; one story, with a wood shake roof and white stucco walls. There was a single door at the front of the building next to a barred window. The building’s only decoration was a placard above the door that read, El Banco de Puerta de la Muerte.
The three members of the Red Star Gang rode down one of the side streets. They headed towards the bank at a measured pace. There were very few people walking about, but there was no need to draw attention to themselves by galloping.
“It looks good,” said Tom in a hushed, but excited tone.
“This place never looks good,” Sandy replied.
The streets of Puerta Muerte were muddy and littered with trash and it seemed as if every other building was a cantina or brothel. While he spoke, they passed a man lying motionless in the street in front of one of the saloons; dead or unconscious.
“No,” said Tom. “I mean the plan’s going well. Everyone’s at the hanging. We’ve timed this right.”
“We haven’t gone inside yet,” reminded Luke, but he had to agree. The place was much quieter than usual and as they approached the bank, they saw that there was only one horse tied outside.
The three men stopped outside the bank and tied their horses quickly. Luke and Sandy grabbed saddlebags off of their horses and faced the door.
“Here we go,” said Tom, excitedly and he grabbed the bandana that hung around his neck and pulled it up to cover the bottom half of his face. It was the Red Star signature; a white bandana with a single red star in the center.
Noose Jumpers: A Mythological Western Page 7
