She was surprised at the way the marshals treated her. After the first two days passed and she had nothing but boredom to complain about, Rosa figured the lawmen hadn’t found out the extent of the kills Franco had made. Compared to how she’d expected to be treated, these jailers were downright cordial.
The marshal who’d brought her in at the start was the one who’d searched her upon locking her up. His hands had been quick and thoroughly efficient, which was a poor comparison in her mind to the searches Clint had given her. After that first search, the marshal had tossed a plain gray dress into her cell and told her to toss her old clothes out.
He stood there and watched as she stripped down and fit the new dress over her head. Actually, the new garment was only a dress by the loosest definition of the word. It was more like a sack with three holes at the top for her head and arms to slip through.
Every day, Rosa expected something more from the marshals. She expected to see Tom Clark walk in and confront her about the grisly details regarding the deputies Franco had killed a few months ago. She knew she’d catch hell for the federals that were killed once they tried to chase her and Franco down after they assassinated that lance corporal in Fort Sanders.
In fact, the most trouble she’d gotten was from the two other prisoners that had been locked in neighboring cells. One of them was a rowdy asshole with crooked teeth and bruises on his face from the guff he’d given to Tom Clark while being brought in. He bragged about the hell he’d raised, but Rosa had him pegged as nothing more than a big talker.
The other prisoner was a quiet black man who’d been captured after a store owner accused him of stealing. He’d been brought in one night and shoved into his cell without him saying a word. Soon after that, one of the other marshals came by to let the man know he’d be released as soon as they could convince the shopkeeper to drop the charges. It seemed even the law was aware of the accuser’s tendency to suspect a man of color rather than his own son, who’d been caught stealing from his father’s store several times before.
For the most part, the marshals only looked in on Rosa from time to time to give her food, water, or to dump the pot that sat in the corner of each cell. There wasn’t much need for them to watch over the prisoners every moment of the day, since each cell was basically a solid box of thick iron bars in a room locked by a door that could possibly withstand a battering ram. Her window was just big enough for her to crawl through if it, too, hadn’t been sealed off by thick iron bars.
What surprised her more than anything else was that the marshals let her keep her boots. Perhaps Tom was confident since Clint had had custody of her for so long beforehand. Perhaps the marshals were lazy, or even out of boots for women. Whichever it was, Rosa was thankful. Once she heard the tap of something against the bars of her window, she was doubly grateful.
The loudmouth was currently asleep, and the black man lay stretched out on his cot as always.
“You awake in there?” came a voice from the outside world.
Rosa jumped up from her cot and rushed to the window. It was just high enough to prevent her from looking out to see much of anything apart from a sliver of sky. At the moment, that sky was pitch-black. “I’m awake. Is that you, Mackie?”
She may not have been able to see much of anything through the window, but she recognized the thick fingers snaking their way through the bars. “You got that right. Is that marshal in there with you?”
“No.”
“Then he must still be in his office. What about anyone else?”
“Two others,” she whispered.
Rosa couldn’t contain herself any longer. She pulled the cot beneath the window, hopped onto it, and stood on her tiptoes to get a better look through the window. “I think the other two in here are asleep, but they’re in different cells.”
Wes Mackie was a big enough man that he already looked to be at the same height as Rosa while she was standing on her cot. Long, stringy dark hair hung over most of his face. Another sizable chunk of his face was covered by a full, scruffy beard. He smiled at her the moment he saw her face.
“Still pretty as ever,” he said.
“You should see this dress they gave me.”
“You still got them boots that I like so much?”
She smirked and nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Then you might be able to help me out.” Mackie glanced over his shoulder at the space behind him. When he looked back again, he lifted something in one hand that Rosa couldn’t see until he slipped it between the bars. It was an iron hook connected to a chain, which rattled against the outside of the wall.
“Just give me a minute to get ready and then let me know when you’re ready to go,” he said. “You think you can take the guard or should I do it?”
“I will,” Rosa said quickly. “Just do whatever you got to do.”
TWENTY-FIVE
The jail was a brick building directly behind the U.S. Marshals’ office. It was so close to the office that it was practically connected to the bigger building and had a small walkway running between the two.
Looking through the window, Rosa was surprised just how much of the day had gotten away from her. The last time she’d checked, there was still sunlight coming through her window. Now it looked as if it was the middle of the night.
The only thing in the lot behind the jail was a set of outhouses used by the marshals and prisoners, alike. After squinting into the shadows for a few seconds, she could just make out the chain, which ran away from the wall and behind the outhouses. Soon, she spotted several large shapes moving closer to the rectangular shacks. One of them was Mackie, and the others were horses he led to the opposite end of the chain.
Before the horses could get too close, Rosa hopped down from her cot and rushed to her bars. Kicking and pounding on them with all of her strength, she soon realized she was barely making any noise. Without missing a beat, she rushed to her chamber pot and smacked it against the iron bars.
“Will you shut the fuck up?” the asshole in the other cell shouted as he sat up. “I am trying to sleep, you fucking nigger!”
The black man in the cell next to him shifted to look at him with an intense glare. Once he had the asshole’s attention, he pointed a finger over to Rosa.
Seeing what she was doing, the asshole grunted, “What the fuck is your problem, bitch?”
After looking to see that there was still a bit of fluid at the bottom of the pot, she reared back and tossed it through the bars toward the asshole’s cell. Even though no more than a light spray made it between cells, the asshole hollered as if he’d been caught in the face with a bucket of acid.
“God damn you! Throwing piss on me! I’ll kill you, bitch!”
Rosa smiled as the asshole shouted louder and louder. She added to the ruckus by pulling in a breath and cutting loose with a piercing scream that nearly rattled every iron bar in the jail.
Before too much more of that, the front door of the jail swung open and one of the marshals stormed inside. It was the same marshal who’d brought Rosa into her cell and made sure she was comfortable ever since. He was a younger guy with a solid build, and he rushed inside with a shotgun in his hands.
“What in the hell is going on in here?” the marshal shouted. The first place his eyes were drawn was to the asshole in the cell to his left. “Can’t you even stay in a cage without stirring up a shit storm?”
“She threw piss at me!” the asshole snapped back as he stuck an arm through the bars to point at Rosa.
The instant that arm came through the bars, the marshal aimed his shotgun at the asshole’s cell. “You make one move toward me and I’ll shut you up for good.”
Pulling back his arm and then stepping away from the bars, the asshole said, “I wasn’t moving against you. I was just telling you that bitch is the one who started all of this.”
The marshal put his back to the door and kept his shotgun close to him. The cell farthest from him was occupied by the black m
an, who also happened to be the quietest person in the jail. To the marshal’s right, Rosa stood innocently in her cell. The frightened expression on her face seemed even odder when compared to the mess in her cell.
“What have you been doing in there?” the marshal asked Rosa. “Why’s there such a mess?”
“He did it,” she replied while nodding toward the asshole.
“What?” Even as that word was coming out of the marshal’s mouth, he was reaching out to check the door of the asshole’s cell. It was still locked, so the marshal checked the black man’s door as well. Finding that to be locked, he backed toward Rosa. “What did he do?”
“He tried to come into my cell and rape me,” Rosa said in a shaky voice.
The asshole let out a few sputtering words that sounded more like he was throwing up. Finally, he spat out, “That’s bullshit! My damn door is locked!”
“It is now!” Rosa shouted. “You were just over here, throwing me off my cot and storming around here saying you wanted to bend me over and stick your little pencil dick inside of me.”
“What?! I didn’t . . . it’s not . . . !”
“Shut up,” the marshal hollered. “Both of you!” The lawman stepped over to Rosa’s cell and tried her door, only to find that it was locked just as solidly as the others. Turning toward the two men, he said, “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but if you don’t quiet down and clean up this goddamn mess, I’ll come back in here with—”
Suddenly, Rosa’s left arm shot through the bars and grabbed hold of the marshal’s neck. The moment she had her wrist cinched in under his chin, she pulled him toward her so the back of his head knocked against the bars of her cell. Her right arm shot out as well, crossed over his neck, and snapped across his throat.
The movements happened so quickly that they took all three men by surprise. Before any of them knew what was happening, blood sprayed from the marshal’s neck and he let out a gurgling wheeze.
Before the marshal could even think about firing his shotgun, Rosa’s arm snapped down again and blood flew from the vein on the inside of his elbow. The marshal’s arm went limp, allowing the shotgun to drop, but he was too busy dying to notice.
Reaching up with his other hand, the marshal felt the gaping wound in his neck. His eyes looked around wildly without seeing a thing. His mouth moved as if to form words, but only more gurgles came out. Blood poured through his fingers and seeped into his shirt. After the marshal dropped against the cell door, the other two prisoners could see Rosa standing directly behind him.
TWENTY-SIX
The knife in Rosa’s hand was so thin that it was hard to see. Its blade had a slight curve to it, as though it had been specifically crafted to slit throats. Rosa looked over at the other two prisoners as if she was ready to charge straight through anything in her way just to get at them.
Still too scared to say anything to her, the asshole held up both hands and backed away from his bars.
The black man in the cell next to him, however, had gotten up and was grabbing hold of the bars so he could get a better look at Rosa.
She dropped to one knee and slipped the knife back into the scabbard stitched into the side of her boot. The slender compartment didn’t stand out in the slightest from the other stitching in the plain boots, which came midway up her calf. Once the knife was sheathed, only the handle could be seen. It was flat as a nail file and almost as skinny. Embedded in the handle was a single, small sapphire.
“If you two keep quiet and watch the door, I’ll let you out of here,” she said while fitting the small hook sewn into the flap of her boot into its corresponding eye. When she took her hand away, the knife and its sheath had disappeared into the side of her boot.
The black man leaned against his bars and said, “I can do you some good, lady. Take me with you.”
“You don’t even know where I’m going,” she said as she reached through the bars to fish in the dead marshal’s pockets.
“It don’t matter. Just so long as it’s away from here.”
Before too long, Rosa found what she was looking for and held the ring of keys out so she could start fitting them into her lock one at a time.
“Me too,” the asshole grunted. “I got friends all over this county. Family too! They’ll hide us, feed us, you name it!”
Rosa knew she’d found the key she’d been after when it turned in the lock and her door came open. The first thing she did was grab the marshal’s shotgun and rush to the door of the jailhouse. Once she’d taken a quick peek outside, she headed back to her cell and reached up to loosen the hook around the bar in her window.
After the hook had thumped to the ground, Mackie’s voice drifted in from the outside. “You all right?”
“Fine,” Rosa replied. “Just get the horses ready so we can go. I’ve arranged a quieter exit for us.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Sounds good to me, too,” the asshole grunted. “We gettin’ out of here now, or what?”
Rosa nodded and then turned toward the black man’s cell. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Eli Washington.”
“Here you go, Eli,” she said while tossing the keys to him. “Be quick about it.”
Catching the keys effortlessly, Eli immediately tried one after the other until his door swung open as well. Once he stepped out, he found himself at the wrong end of Rosa’s shotgun.
“Can I trust you, Eli?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d rather ride along with you and whoever’s out there than take my chances with a judge that’d rather hang me than embarrass some shop owner’s kid.”
“You’ll need to prove yourself.”
“I will, ma’am.” Looking over to the asshole, who now had both arms sticking through the bars with hands open, Eli asked, “Is he coming along with us?”
“That’s up to you.”
As Eli approached the cell, the asshole grinned at him from behind the bars.
“No hard feelings about what I said before,” the asshole said. “Hand over them keys and you’ll be treated like my own brother.”
Eli stepped in front of the cell, still holding the keys in his hand at his side. When he began lifting that hand, the asshole reached through the bars to try and snag the keys for himself. Eli’s grip remained solid, and rather than let the asshole take the keys, he pulled the greedy hand even farther through the bars.
“What the hell?” the asshole gasped in surprise.
Having let go of the keys so both hands were now free, Eli got hold of both the asshole’s arms and pulled again. This time, he pulled so hard that the asshole’s face slammed against the bars with a muted thump.
The asshole’s chin was wedged between two iron bars, and his nose was bent at an odd angle. Just as he was about to say something, the asshole was pushed back and pulled forward with even more force. His nose cracked and his jaw crunched slightly out of its socket. The third time he was slammed against the bars was enough to knock him out. After the fourth and fifth, his arms were dislocated and his face was lost beneath a messy red paste.
Eli let go and watched as the asshole dropped to the floor. Sweat was forming on his brow, and he used the back of his hand to wipe it away as he turned around to get a look at Rosa.
For a moment, Rosa seemed almost as surprised as the asshole had been. In fact, she still held her shotgun aimed at the dead man’s cell, as if there was a need for her to pull the trigger. Lowering the shotgun, she said, “You made the right choice. I sure as hell wasn’t taking that prick with me.”
“And he won’t say nothing to nobody,” Eli added. “Does that count as proving myself?”
“It gets you a ticket out of town with me and my friend. How’s that?”
“Good enough, ma’am.”
“Call me Rosa. And this,” she said while stepping outside and pointing to the big fellow holding the reins to four horses, “is Mackie.”
“He’s coming with us?” Ma
ckie asked.
“Yes,” Rosa said. “I’ll explain once we’re out of here. Scout ahead and make sure the way’s clear. We’re right behind you.”
She and Eli each chose a horse and climbed onto its back. The fourth had the length of chain wrapped around its shoulders like a steel harness.
Mackie brought his horse around and rode toward the front of the Marshals’ office. He snapped his reins and got his horse moving down the street.
As soon as Mackie rode by, a man crossed the street and turned to watch him go. Just then, Rosa and Eli rode out from behind the Marshals’ office. The man stopped and fixed his eyes on them.
Rosa recognized Tom Clark’s face almost as quickly as he recognized hers.
As his hand went for the pistol at his side, Tom asked, “What’re you doin’ out of—”
He was cut short by the roar of the shotgun Rosa had taken from the younger marshal. The buckshot hit Tom square in the chest and even broke the window of the shop behind him as he fell backward against the dark building.
His hand had made it to his pistol, but he didn’t have the strength to lift it.
Tom didn’t even have enough life left in him to watch as Rosa and Eli rode away.
TWENTY-SEVEN
They stuck to the main roads as much as possible. With the moon reduced to nothing more than a sliver in the sky, staying on any road was a challenge. Once they were far enough outside of Carson City, however, Mackie lit some torches, passed them out, and kept on riding.
After an hour, they left the road and took another well-known route to a watering hole favored by travelers. From there, they rode a little ways more, until they found a spot where they could stop and catch a breath without being seen.
“Is this far enough away to be safe?” Rosa asked without climbing down from her horse. “If we need to ride more, we should do that.”
“We’re lucky we made it this far in the middle of the night,” Mackie replied. “You wanna push your luck some more?”
The Sapphire Gun Page 9
