Sidewinder

by Jory Sherman

  “I—I don’t know what to say, Harry. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s why you and Julio must get your wives back right away, Brad. He didn’t get you and Julio or your other hand, Carlos, but he got your wives and he’s using them for bait. He wants you to come after him. He wants you to find out where they are so he can kill you and them. No more witnesses. He’ll kill Carlos, too. Given time. You can bet on it.”

  “I know that, Harry,” Brad said. “Julio and I just got into town. I found out that Delbert Coombs keeps a permanent room in this very hotel.”

  “He does,” Pete said. “He hasn’t returned in two or three weeks, however. I got to know his gal, Kathy Burriss. When she shows up, I’ll know Del’s back here. So far, she’s still staying at home with her mother.”

  “Pete has been working undercover for me,” Pendergast said, “for six months or so. He deals monte at the High Grade five nights a week. That’s how he keeps an eye on these criminals. But, as you may know, we had no evidence until you showed up.”

  “I have evidence?” Brad said.

  “Well, you’re a witness more or less. Good enough for a Denver court, probably.”

  “You’re going to arrest them?”

  Pendergast finished his meal, pushed his chair back, reached in his pocket, and brought out four fancy cigars. He passed them around. Pete and Julio each took one. Brad shook his head.

  “Trials sometimes take quite a long time, Brad,” Pendergast said, “and criminals hire expensive lawyers with all the scruples of an alley cat, and, well, justice is not often served.”

  “What are you saying, Harry?”

  Harry lit his cigar from a match he struck on the underside of his chair. He passed the lucifer to Julio, who passed it to Pete. Smoke billowed over the table, and Harry raised his hand.

  The waiter came over.

  “Bring us some Napoleon, Fritz,” he said to the waiter, “and four snifters.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Pendergast, and I’ll have this table cleared right away.”

  Harry did not speak again until after the table was cleared and the brandies were in snifters, the bottle still on the table. He sent a plume of smoke into the air and fixed Brad with a steady stare. His tears were gone, and he seemed very composed.

  “I told you, Brad,” Pendergast said, “that I had a proposition for you. Well, here it is. I want to hire you as an agent. You no longer have a ranch. You’ve lost all your cattle, and you’ll never get them back. So, I want to hire you to work for me. Not just on this case, but as a full-time detective. I pay well, and there’s plenty of work. Good, clean work. Sometimes a tad dangerous, but from what I’ve seen, you can handle a little danger. You and Julio here have shown me that you are good detectives. You tracked your herd, you uncovered what had been hidden for years. You know the names of the culprits, and, as far as being legal, you have enough evidence to convict. We can now send a U.S. marshal down here to visit all the old mines being used as butcher shops. They can collect evidence and convict a large group of active criminals.”

  “Are you offering Julio a job, too, then?”

  “Absolutely. But only if you accept, of course.”

  “If the U.S. marshals can round them all up, then why . . .”

  “Justice moves slow in these parts, Brad. Yours and Julio’s wives are in immediate danger. Once word gets out that you braced Wicks and had him arrested . . .”

  “How soon will that be? I mean, before Coombs finds out about Wicks?”

  “Wicks will be out of jail before sunset. Nothing we can do about it. Coombs will waste no time. He’ll come hunting you. Now, Pete knows where he stays, sometimes. At his folks’ place, north of town, in the next range of foot-hills. He can take you there. That’s probably where he took your women.

  “His folks are as rotten as he is, and he’s got a cousin that lives with him who has the brains of a pissant but is dangerous as a rattlesnake. That house is a regular fortress.”

  “You sure throw a lot at a man all at once, Harry,” Brad said.

  “I have contracts in my room upstairs, Brad. You sign them and anything you do to these men will have the full backing of the agency.”

  “You mean . . . ?”

  “I mean, Brad, if they resist capture, you have my authorization to defend yourself in pursuit of legal reparation for a heinous crime.”

  “You mean you want me to kill Delbert and Hiram Coombs. Is that right?”

  “Just sign the contracts, Brad. Then you can do whatever you want to.”

  “I want it plain, Harry. Straight and simple. This contract means what?”

  “They murdered my son, Randy, Brad.”

  “Tell me what I can do, Harry. Tell me what you want me to do. Straight and plain.”

  “I want those men dead. Every one of them. And, unless I miss my guess, so do you.”

  “That’s plain enough. I’ll give them every chance to surrender, though.”

  “I’m sure you will, Brad,” Pendergast said.

  And then he smiled the widest smile Brad had ever seen.

  Pendergast raised his glass and offered it as a toast. All four men clinked snifters and drank.

  Harry Pendergast kept smiling while the fumes filled Brad’s nose and the brandy burned all the way down to his stomach.

  He felt good for the first time in many days.

  Real good.

  THIRTY

  Delbert Coombs felt his anger rising as he listened to Tod Sutphen’s report. He hated incompetence, and he hated loose ends. He had built his illicit business by being competent and leaving no witnesses. Now he was seeing his latest scheme unravel like a spool of thread in a whirlwind.

  “He calls himself Sidewinder, boss,” Sutphen said. “But, I know it’s that Storm feller. We seen him at the ranch. Him and that other Mex.”

  “I’ve already sent Ridley to see that sniveling justice of the peace, Stoval, to bail Abner out of jail. So, I know those two men are here in town. Kathy Burriss just left here with the money to give to Ridley.”

  Fred Raskin stood there, with his hat in his hands, admiring the hotel room. He was all agog at the plush furnishings.

  “Why didn’t you kill Storm, Freddie, when you had the chance?” Delbert asked. “There was two of you and one of him.”

  “He had the drop on us, Del, and that rattle he had spooked us pretty good.”

  “A trick, a damned trick, and you both fell for it.”

  “Man caught us by surprise,” Sutphen said.

  “Toad, everything catches you by surprise. Now I’ve got to get back to Ma’s and see to it that those two women are still cards in my deck. You boys better get out there, too. Ridley will meet us all there.”

  “You think Storm will come after them wimmin?” Sutphen said.

  “What do you think, Toad? Storm tracked Abner here, evidently, and he’ll figure it out. Man’s too damned smart for his chaps, you ask me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sutphen said.

  “Now, both of you get the hell out of here. Light a shuck to Ma’s and do what she tells you. Tell her I’ll be along soon.”

  “What’re you gonna do, Del?” Raskin asked.

  “Take a bath,” Delbert said, and ushered the men to the door.

  His anger was in full bloom now, and he needed time to think. He had weeks of dirt on him, and until he got rid of Storm and that Mexican, he had to forgo the luxury of the Clarendon.

  But if he was going to die, he was going to die clean.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Brad converted his gold dust into cash at the assessor’s office while Julio and Pete waited outside. Then he paid the blacksmith for shoeing Rose. He put Rose and Tico up in the Oro City Stables, which had not yet changed its name. But a sign painter was already cleaning the sign and was ready to paint Oro City Livery on the false front.

  Pete’s horse was in the stables. He saddled up the rangy black gelding and met Brad and Julio outside.

  “Where to now?” B
rad asked.

  “Out to the Coombs place. I warn you now, Brad, it’s not going to be easy. That whole family is a bunch of gun slicks and no telling how many of Delbert’s men are waiting there just to tack your hide up on the wall.”

  They rode past the Clarendon Hotel just as Sutphen and Raskin were walking out to get on their horses. Sutphen looked up when he was just stepping off the boardwalk.

  There, not twenty feet away, was Storm, and both men saw each other at the same time.

  “There’s Toad,” Brad said. “And Freddie.”

  “I recognize them,” Pete said. “They work for Delbert Coombs.”

  “Hey Sidewinder,” Toad called. “You done shook your last rattle.”

  He went for his pistol.

  Brad was a split second faster. He spurred Ginger into a leap, drew his pistol, cocked the hammer as it came out of its holster, drew a bead on Sutphen, and squeezed the trigger.

  Toad’s pistol was clear of its holster when the .44 slug hit him square in the chest. A crimson flower bloomed over his heart, and he twisted sideways from the powerful impact. His gun fell from his limp-fingered hand and he fell to his knees, a hole in his back the size of a fist.

  Raskin stepped off the boardwalk and drew his pistol.

  Brad reined Ginger into a tight turn, but he didn’t have a clear shot.

  Pete and Julio drew their pistols, but Raskin ducked behind his horse and neither man had a clear shot.

  Brad dismounted and, crouching, started toward Raskin.

  Raskin hugged his horse for concealment, keeping an eye on Pete and Julio, who were scrambling their horses for a clear shot.

  Brad pulled out his rattle and shook it.

  Raskin jumped back in alarm.

  Brad stepped onto the boardwalk and shook the rattle again.

  Raskin whirled and jumped another foot away from his horse.

  Out into the open.

  “Drop it, Freddie,” Brad said.

  “Go to hell,” Freddie said.

  Those were the last words out of his mouth.

  Brad pulled the trigger and shot Raskin just above his belt buckle. Blood spurted from the wound, and Raskin crumpled to the ground, clutching a shiny coil of intestine oozing like a snake from his stomach.

  Brad stepped up to him and shook the rattle in his face.

  “You can never be sure about a sidewinder,” he said to Freddie. “One can come at you from any direction. Still want me to go to hell?”

  “For God’s sake, man, help me.” Raskin squirmed in pain.

  “You can die slow or die fast. Make up your mind.”

  “You bastard,” Raskin breathed.

  Julio rode in and pointed his pistol at Raskin’s head. He cocked it and squeezed the trigger. The bullet smacked into Raskin’s temple and blew a cupful of brains out the other side, spattering Brad with a foamy spray of blood.

  “That is for stealing my wife,” Julio said in English.

  “He can’t hear you, Julio,” Brad said.

  Pete let out a low whistle, then holstered his pistol.

  “We’d better clear out, Brad, or get set to answer a whole bushel of questions.”

  Brad holstered his .44 and swung into the saddle.

  “Lead on, Pete,” he said.

  A crowd was gathering around the two dead men. A gabble of voices rose up, and men pointed fingers down the street.

  The horses kicked up dust as the three men rode to the end of the street and disappeared.

  Blood pooled under the two dead men and flies landed on the open wounds and pieces of flesh. A woman screamed. Another fainted.

  And looking down from above through an open window, Delbert Coombs muttered an audible curse that blasphemed God, Jesus, and his mother Mary.

  The anger flared up through him and painted his face a ripe purple. He was soaking wet, but the water dried on his body just from the boiling heat of his skin.

  “Blood for blood,” he said to himself as he left the window and headed for the closet.

  The sound of that rattle still echoed in his mind.

  “Sidewinder, is he? Well, when I get through with him, he’s going to be a dead sidewinder.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  There were three cots in the small room where Felicity and Pilar were held prisoner.

  The door was locked, as Maude said it would be, and all afternoon the two women had been listening to the voices downstairs, unable to understand what the people below were saying. But as the day wore on, Felicity began planning how they might escape. There was a single small window letting light into the room. But it was at the top of the wall, near the roof, and slatted to let air in.

  Felicity looked at the bunks. They were made of lumber. Old, dirty mattresses and soiled blankets lay atop them under filthy pillows, one with the stuffing leaking out, old yellowed chicken feathers, and probably, she thought, families of lice.

  Pilar had sat on the edge of a bunk and wept most of the afternoon. Quietly, Felicity thought, but she knew how the woman felt. She had tried to comfort Pilar, but the woman was distant and beyond any help that words or a touch could bring.

  She walked over and knelt down in front of Pilar. She reached up and smoothed the hair on the top of Pilar’s head with her hand.

  “Pilar, listen to me. Please. Forget about yourself and Julio for a moment, and please listen.”

  “I—I can’t,” Pilar said.

  Felicity grabbed Pilar’s chin and tilted her head so that she could look into her eyes.

  “We can’t just sit here, Pilar. We have to do something.”

  “What can we do?” Pilar’s voice was weak and shaky, but Felicity had her attention.

  “You have to help me. And we have to be very quiet. I want to take apart one of these cots. We can use the legs for clubs. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. I—I think so. What good would that do? They are too many. They have guns.”

  “You’re right, Pilar. But look, at least one of them has to come up here and bring us food and water. Or take us downstairs. If Maude comes up, we can beat her with our clubs and take away her gun.”

  “They will hear. They will come and shoot us.”

  “We have to do it quick, and we have to hit Maude or that Phil or Hiram real hard. They probably won’t send the old man up. We have to be ready when we hear that key in the lock. And we have to hit real hard. We have to hit hard enough to kill whoever comes up. Do you think you can do that? Do you think you can help me? It might be our only chance.”

  “I will try, Felicity.”

  “Now, help me take that other bunk apart. We might have to pull and kick, but we can do it.”

  The two women lifted one corner of the bunk to look at its leg. Felicity threw the mattress, blanket, and pillow under Pilar’s bunk.

  “You grab onto the top, Pilar, and I’ll start jerking this leg back and forth to loosen it. Hold on real tight.”

  “Yes,” Pilar said, and set herself. She held the corner while Felicity pushed and pulled on the leg. She could feel it loosen. She heard a nail screech, and the sound startled her.

  “We must be quiet,” she whispered to Pilar, and began jerking the leg back and forth, twisting it until it loosened enough that she could wrestle it from the bed itself. She made sure it didn’t strike the floor. She set the leg on Pilar’s bunk.

  “Now, the other side,” she said.

  The task completed, they waited on either side of the door, both with a makeshift club in hand. They waited and listened.

  Downstairs, it was quiet. Then they heard the clanking of pans and utensils in the kitchen. The front door opened and closed. Footsteps back and forth. The front door opened again and stayed open for five minutes. Then it closed.

  Felicity looked up at the small window. The light outside was fading. The room grew very dim.

  Night was coming on.

  And still, nobody had come up the stairs to bring them water or food. They were both hungry and thirsty
.

  “When will they come?” Pilar whispered.

  “Shhh. I don’t know. Just wait. Move your fingers so they don’t get stiff. Be ready.”

  “I am ready,” Pilar said.

  They both felt the chill in the room as the sun set and darkness spilled in the window. Neither woman could see the other.

  All they could hear was the sound of their own breathing.

  All they could feel was the chill and the fear that nestled in their stomachs like something cold and crawling, like something they could only see in nightmares.

  And then, they heard footsteps. Coming up the stairs.

  Man or woman?

  Felicity didn’t know.

  Tap, tap, tap, tap. So slow. So steady. The closer, the louder, and the taps turned to stomp, stomp, stomp.

  Felicity pressed her ear against the wall.

  Maude or one of the men?

  The wait was nerve-racking.

  Clump, clump, clump.

  The key rattled in the lock. Both women stood up, holding their cudgels high, ready to strike.

  The key turned in the lock.

  The sound struck terror in Felicity’s heart.

  She held her breath.

  She waited for the door to open.

  The wait was an eternity in a single trickle of sand through the hour glass. One tick of the clock. One breath away from life—or death.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Abner Wicks was surprised to see Delbert Coombs waiting outside the jail for him when he was released on bond by one Walter Stoval, Justice of the Peace.

  Ridley Smoot was also surprised to see Delbert, who was sitting on his horse, but had the reins of two other horses in his hands. Both the riderless horses were saddled.

  “Looks like Del’s got a bee in his bonnet, Ab,” Ridley said.

  “And, looks like we’re both going somewhere. Damn. I was hoping to get back to the High Grade.”

  “You and me, too.”

  “Come on boys,” Delbert said. “Shake a leg.”

  The two men walked up to Delbert, and he handed reins to both of them.

  “Mount up,” he said. “Ridley, you’re coming with me. Abner, you sonofabitch, you’re going back up to the Storm ranch and hunt down that Mex what got away. There’s grub aplenty in your saddlebags. You got a six-gun and a rifle. I want that bastard dead, you hear?”