Desperadoes

by Chris Scott Wilson

  Gallagher grunted. “We’re going to do this my way, and that sheriff would be about as much use to me as a bowie knife against the whole Sioux Nation. He’s better off fishing.”

  Keene frowned. “If you say so.”

  Gallagher nodded. “I do.”

  CHAPTER 12

  April 13th, 1884

  Donna Ana County, New Mexico Territory

  “You have any news?”

  Creech stood in the doorway of the sheriff’s office. Reynolds looked him up and down, remembering what he had overheard at the Pinkertons’ keyhole after he had first told them of the bounty hunter’s arrival. Creech was his name, Gallagher had said, and crazy as a fox too. Today he was freshly shaved, his suit brushed carefully free of dust. Reynolds checked his pocket-watch, a hunter that had cost him forty-five dollars some years before. It wasn’t that reliable, but with the Pinkerton payoff he was considering replacing it. It read just after noon.

  “Man been asking for you.”

  Creech’s face was impassive.

  “From the Tombstone Epitaph. Says he wants to write a story for the eastern papers how you brought in the Sonora Kid single-handed. Wants a photograph too.”

  “I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

  Reynolds fingered his watch then flipped it neatly back into his vest pocket. “You said news. You mean reward-wise?”

  “Yes.”

  “Told you yesterday. Could take a couple of days.”

  Creech’s lips flattened into a thin line as he reached for the door handle. “I’ll be back.” He closed the door behind him.

  Almost immediately, the door was reopened by the clerk from the telegraph office who handed the sheriff a slip of flimsy paper

  “Any reply, Sheriff?”

  “No, that’s all right. No, wait a minute. Did you see a man dressed in black outside just as you came in?”

  The clerk nodded. “He was standing out on the boardwalk.”

  “See if he’s still there and tell him to come in.”

  Creech filled the doorway as Reynolds folded the slip and pushed it into his pocket. “Your lucky day. The railroad has authorized the bank here in town to pay you. Five hundred dollars, I understand.”

  Creech’s mouth tightened. “That’s right.”

  Reynolds smiled. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  “Hold up there, Jody.”

  Jody stopped and peered at Billy who was staring across the street. Unconsciously, Billy edged backwards until he was almost concealed by one of the boardwalk’s roofing posts. Jody glanced across the street, then at Billy.

  “Speak your mind, boy. What is it?”

  “It’s him.”

  “Who?”

  “The man in black.” He pointed.

  Jody looked over to where Creech was standing with the sheriff outside the doors of the bank. He was tucking something into his pocket. Could be him, Jody thought. He fitted what little they knew of him. Dressed in black from head to foot and he obviously had business with the sheriff. What had he put in his pocket? The reward money on the Kid?

  That thought awoke the anger that writhed in the pit of his stomach like a hungry serpent. He stared across the street.

  “We’d better let Floyd know.”

  Jody unconsciously fingered the loops of his gun belt, hand working along to the holster where he loosened the Colt, ready to draw.

  “Jody.”

  The southerner’s eyes were cloudy as they turned on Billy. “What?”

  “I said we’d better let Floyd know.”

  “Sure, sure,” Jody said vaguely. “You go tell him.”

  “You recall what he said? None of us to go it alone, and we’re not even sure it’s him until Sophie sees him.”

  Jody waved a hand irritably. “I know, boy. You go get Floyd and I’ll keep an eye on this varmint. We don’t want to lose him now. If’n he went to the bank to collect the reward money he could just light a shuck and head out of town.”

  Billy watched him carefully. “Right, but remember.”

  “Sure, boy, sure. Get going.”

  As Billy moved off towards the rooming house, Jody leaned indolently against the post, thumbs hooked into his gun belt. Eyes narrowed, he watched the man in black nod to the sheriff before the two men took off in opposite directions. Jody pushed away from the post to pace the man along the street, keeping back just far enough to stay out of his sightline. When the man stopped to peer in a store window, Jody stopped too, then started walking again when the man did.

  He entered the lobby of the last hotel, the McQueen, where the row of stores ended and the private houses began. As soon as he disappeared Jody took a quick look through the door, but seeing the lobby was empty he went in.

  A head appeared above the desk. A clerk. He had a big boil on his nose. Jody pasted on a smile and went over.

  “The man who just came in. I have to talk to him. What room is he in?”

  The clerk smiled back. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not allowed to tell you that, but if you give me your name I can send a message up to Mr. Creech’s room for you.”

  Jody’s smile grew frosty. “It’s kind of a surprise. We ain’t seen each other in a long time.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s against the rules.”

  Jody moved like lightning. He whipped a hand across the desktop to grab the clerk by his shirtfront. With no apparent effort he hauled him up until his feet were off the floor and he was struggling like a landed fish, draped half across the desk. His limp arm tipped over the inkwell, spilling its contents all over the register. The clerk didn’t see Jody’s other hand move, but suddenly the cold steel circle of a gun barrel was pressed against his nostril, just below the red hump of his boil, forcing his head back.

  “Boy, I guess I just busted the rules.”

  The clerk eyed him like a frightened rabbit, gulping. Jody smiled evilly at the sight of the clerk’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “What’s his room number, boy?”

  The clerk’s eyes switched to and fro, watering, seeking help which was nowhere at hand. He tried to speak but nothing came out.

  Jody cocked the Colt. “Boy, I ain’t in the habit of asking twice, so if you want to keep on breathing you’d better bust one or two rules yourself.”

  “Six…teen.”

  Jody grinned, forcing the clerk’s head even further back. “You wouldn’t be funnin’ now? I ain’t known for my sense of humor.”

  “Sixteen. Honest to God. Room sixteen.”

  “And where would room fifteen be?”

  The clerk waved a directional hand gently so that Jody wouldn’t even blink. “You mean sixteen, sir. Make a right at the top of the staircase and it’s at the end of the passage.”

  Jody dropped him on the counter, the Colt still aimed point-blank at his face. He glanced at the spilled ink smeared across the register and the polished wood. “You keep your mouth shut, boy, and clean up this mess. I hear one sound out of you and I’ll be right back down to blow off your head. You get my drift?”

  “Yes sir, not a sound. Yes sir.”

  “You remember that real good, or it may be the last thing you’re ever told.” Using his left hand, he unbuckled his spurs and put them on the counter. “These are kind of dirty. Would y’all clean them up for me?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “I’ll be right back in just a minute.” He turned for the stairs, his Colt still cocked and held out in front. He took the uncarpeted stairs one at a time, careful to make no noise. He winced when a warped board creaked, listening for any sound from the floor above. Hearing nothing, he continued upwards.

  His head poked onto the landing. The passage was empty. He edged up until he stepped off the stairs and flattened against the wall. His eyes raked the door numbers. Twelve, thirteen. The clerk hadn’t lied. It would be at the end of the corridor. Silently, he slowly soft footed along until he was next to the last door. Sixteen. This was it.

  There was
someone talking inside.

  Jody pressed his ear to the door.

  “I thank thee, Father above, for the speed with which you urged the railroad to pay the reward on the sinner, the Sonora Kid, and I pray for your help in capturing Floyd Benson and Jody Mackinaw and Emmett…”

  A chill settled over Jody. It was like someone reading his name off a grave marker. He could even picture the preacher in his mind’s eye, kneeling by the bed, hands clasped in prayer. There was no doubt now. Colt ready, Jody took hold of the door handle with his free hand and braced himself for a rush into the room. The mechanism of the lock clicked open and he threw himself forward.

  His Colt blazed death.

  ***

  The clerk stood frozen by the counter until he saw Jody’s boots disappear onto the floor above. Eyes riveted to the empty stairs he edged around the desk and backed to the door. Once out on the street he began to sprint, his shoes clumping on the planks of the boardwalk. He squeezed past women shopping and pushed by the men idly chatting outside the saloon. Breathless, he burst into the sheriff’s office.

  Vernon Reynolds was sitting in his chair, staring at the wall. He swung the chair around. “What can I do for you, Jimmy?”

  The clerk was panting. “You gotta come quick. I just got held up. You gotta come…”

  “Hey, slow down. Tell me nice and easy.”

  “Well, a man came into the hotel and demanded Mr. Creech’s room number. He forced me to tell him. He stuck a gun right up my nose…”

  “Yes?”

  “I had to tell him or he would have killed me. He was mean, Mr. Reynolds, real mean. I think he’s going to kill Mr. Creech.”

  The sheriff gestured to the three papers neatly spread out on his otherwise bare desk. “Was it one of these men?”

  Jimmy’s chest was still heaving with excitement. He stabbed a finger at the flyer with Jody Mackinaw’s name on it. “Him. He’s the one. Come on, Sheriff, you gotta come fast.”

  Reynolds reached for the pot from the stove. “Sit down, Jimmy, and have a cup of coffee with me,” he said, friendly.

  The clerk’s eyes were wide. “But you gotta do something. There’s going to be a killing…”

  Reynolds’ smile disappeared and his voice was harsh. “I said sit down.”

  Slowly, Jimmy lowered himself into a chair.

  Reynolds placed two cups on the desk and began to pour. After he put the coffeepot back on the stove to simmer he sipped at his steaming brew, then beamed a smile across the desk. “Kind of nice to see you. Jimmy. It’s not often we get the chance to visit. How’s your young wife getting along? Your youngster’ll be about ready for schoolin’ now, hey?”

  The clerk stared at him.

  Reynolds raised his eyebrows. “Something wrong with the coffee, Jimmy?”

  “No.”

  His voice insistent, Reynolds stared at him. “Then drink.”

  Jimmy drank.

  ***

  Billy reached the rooming house with the news of the man in black but there was nobody there to hear it. They had to be out scouring the saloons again. And he had no time to find them. The haze in Jody’s eyes hadn’t been wasted on him. He knew that look meant trouble. Jody would try to handle it on his own. Billy figured he had better get on back and quick.

  Out on the street he ran towards the bank. When there was nobody out front he reckoned they must have gone towards the other end of town, otherwise he would have passed them on his way back. He continued on, eyes swiveling back and forth across the street, seeking any clue.

  It was then he saw the hotel clerk running. When the clerk vanished into the sheriff’s office, he put two and two together. He remembered the clerk from his own tour of the hotels when they had been looking for the Kid. In fact, he remembered him clearly because of the ugly boil, and also the McQueen Hotel had been next door to the cathouse where he had spent Floyd’s five-dollar bill.

  It had to be there.

  Taking a deep breath, Billy started running again. Chest heaving, breath sawing in his throat, he saw the sign. McQueen. He put on a last burst of speed, clattering through the door.

  On the floor above, gunfire ripped through the building.

  ***

  Jody twisted the door handle and sprang into the room, thumbing his Colt. The gunfire was deafening.

  Creech’s bullet took him through the side of the chest, spinning him, arms windmilling as his momentum carried him forward to crash onto the bed. The .44 bullet at point-blank range had almost ripped his torso in two, spraying blood all over the room. He didn’t move.

  Creech smiled as he held the smoking Colt. When he had been standing outside the bank he had seen Jody Mackinaw immediately, then later, walking down the street when he stopped in front of the store he had watched Mackinaw’s reflection in the window. He had no doubt Mackinaw was following him and that he was alone. Back in his hotel room he had moved the chair from the side of the bed over to the corner next to the window where it would be in shade. Then he had waited, his revolver loaded and ready in his lap, listening for the slightest sound that would betray his attacker.

  He had been rewarded. Only the smallest of creaks on the stairs, but it was enough. He had waited a while longer to give Mackinaw time to creep along the passage before beginning to pray aloud.

  It had worked. He was still alive and Mackinaw was dead.

  Creech came up off the chair, watching the outlaw carefully. He stood over the body. There could be no doubt he had died instantly. Another one sent to meet his Maker, to plead for his sins on the other side. Vengeance is mine. Creech holstered his Colt. He had to get moving. Somebody might have heard the gunfire and be on the way here already. Mackinaw’s friends. He reached for his saddlebags.

  “Stand right there. Don’t move. If you do, you’re dead.”

  Creech froze.

  “Now turn ’round real slow.”

  Creech did as he was told, arms raised from his sides. He peered at his captor. It was the fourth one, the one he didn’t know. “Who are you?”

  “Billy.”

  “Billy who?”

  “Billy Robson.”

  “Billy Robson? I don’t know you. What do you want?”

  “You. Now take your gun out real slow and hand it to me butt first.”

  Creech obeyed. Carefully, he brushed back his frock coat, and then lifted out his revolver before offering it butt first.

  Then it happened so fast Billy didn’t even see it.

  ***

  “You hear something?”

  They were sitting in a restaurant three doors away from the McQueen Hotel when Jody burst into Creech’s room. Emmett cocked his head, listening. Floyd glanced at him, fork full of steak poised in midair.

  “Gunfire. I heard it too.” His eyes flickered to Sophie then back to Emmett. “Aw, shit. Anybody seen Jody or Billy since they went out this morning?”

  Nobody spoke as Emmett put down his knife and fork, shaking his head. “Five’ll getcha ten it’s Jody.” He was already out of his seat, striding towards the door. Sophie made to rise but Floyd pushed her back down into her chair.

  “You stay here.” He headed for the street.

  “No chance,” she called after him, jumping to her feet.

  Floyd turned, then recognized her stubborn grimace and didn’t have time to argue. Then he was out the door.

  Emmett was on the boardwalk. He gestured. “This way, reckon.”

  Floyd nodded. “You called it.”

  They headed away from the center of town, walking slowly, alert. Outside the McQueen they paused, Emmett squinting as he scanned the houses. “Dammit, I figured Jody might pull something like this, but not…”

  A gunshot interrupted him.

  Floyd twisted to face the McQueen’s lobby, gun suddenly in hand. Sophie stood behind him, wide-eyed.

  Another shot.

  Emmett was already heading towards the alley. “Came from up there! You take the front!”

  Floyd
watched him disappear then strode into the lobby. He glanced at the desk and saw the spurs on the counter and the spilled ink. He moved on, heading for the stairs. He glanced up as he started to take them one at a time.

  The rogue floorboard creaked.

  Floyd grimaced and kept on moving.

  ***

  It happened so fast Billy didn’t even see it.

  Creech offered his revolver. It was butt upwards towards Billy. His forefinger was inside the trigger guard, the barrel lightly gripped with the rest of his fingers.

  Billy reached for it with his left hand.

  Creech jerked his hand upwards, releasing the barrel. His forefinger acted as a pivot, the butt rising in a half circle to smack into his waiting palm. His thumb, held back out of the way, dropped to cock the hammer. His forefinger already held back the trigger.

  The hammer slammed down onto the cartridge.

  Billy had never seen the “road agent’s spin.” His ignorance cost him his life. The Colt roared. The bullet took him in the chest, throwing him back against the doorjamb. He hung there, eyes wide, a hand groping the smoldering powder burn that had been the front of his shirt.

  Creech recocked the Colt and fired again.

  Billy’s face collapsed, the bullet tearing away his nose as it smashed into his skull. It snapped his head back against the wall before he crumpled, leaving a long smear of blood down the gray wallpaper. His unfired Colt clattered to the floor.

  Creech grabbed his saddlebags and began to stuff in his belongings. If Billy Robson had come running then the others would too. And Floyd Benson and Emmett Green were the most dangerous of the whole gang. He needed time to figure out his strategy so he could separate them. Once he’d done that he could deal with them one at a time. He took a last glance around the room then stepped over Billy’s body.