Brand 10

by Neil Hunter

  The office door opened and the suited figure of the man Brand was told by Fry to be Redigo’s doctor, Amos Holman, stepped inside. He was a pale-haired, plain looking man in his thirties. He glanced at the blood on Brand’s face.

  ‘Been hit in the head, I’m guessing,’ he said, dropping his medical bag on Fry’s desk. ‘You the one who took on Morgan and Brandt?’

  ‘Guilty.’

  ‘Careful what you admit to,’ Holman said. ‘That’s the local marshal over there.’

  Fry managed a grin. ‘Doc, will you go see to Morgan. Stitch up his leg and if he keeps on grumbling put a few in his mouth.’

  Holman paused long enough to press a clean bandage against the gash in Brand’s head before he went to treat Morgan.

  ‘Keep that in place. Don’t want you bleeding all over the floor.’

  ‘Thanks, doc.’

  Holman made his way through to the cells.

  Fry refilled the coffee mugs and settled himself on the edge of his desk.

  ‘Just as a matter of interest,’ the lawman said, ‘do you make these wild train rides often?’

  ‘No. This time was unusual.’

  ‘Damn right there. But when you reached Handy the passenger train had already been attacked and this case of documents taken?’

  ‘That’s the way of it.’

  ‘If I wasn’t in the know I’d have to figure this was one hell of a fairy story.’

  ‘That’s the way I feel. Chasing from hell to breakfast and always out of reach.’

  ‘Mr. Quinlan, am I wrong thinking you showing up here in Redigo is putting you right in Bodine’s sights?’

  ‘That crossed my mind,’ Quinlan admitted. Pretty sure he’d love to get his hands on me. I can identify the people who talked. He needs to get to them and make sure they don’t stand up to be counted.’

  Fry’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘This gets more complicated with the telling.’

  Brand said, ‘I figure it’s time to uncomplicated it…’

  From the cell area someone shouted. A yell of pure alarm. The words were punctuated by the heavy blast of a gun. Two shots that filled the jail with its thunderous noise.

  Fry pulled his pistol and headed for the cells.

  ‘Stay with Fry,’ Brand said as Quinlan pushed to his feet

  Brand hesitated for a couple of seconds. Instead of following the lawman he made for the jail’s door, yanking it open and stepping outside…

  Within the next couple of minutes the unexpected events that occurred would become part of Redigo’s history, and they had been set in motion when Henry Quinlan walked into Fry’s office some time earlier…

  THE SHOWDOWN

  Chapter Twelve

  Henry Quinlan…

  He was fully aware of the danger he had placed himself in. He was intelligent enough to understand not to labor under false illusions. His quarry, Elias Bodine, was no fool. He would have surrounded himself with plenty of protection knowing Quinlan was looking for him. Jay Bledsoe would be around for starters, walking in Bodine’s shadow. And there would most likely be added threats to be aware of. The man would go to any lengths to protect himself and the information he had got his hands on.

  From his window in the rooming house he had booked into Quinlan had a clear view of Redigo’s main street. By edging to the side he was able to see the King Hotel where, he knew, Bodine was staying. Since arriving in town Quinlan had seen Bodine entering the large building, Bledsoe at his side. The man hadn’t spotted Quinlan and even if he had most likely would not have even recognized him.

  Quinlan had forgone his normal attire of suit and neat shirt, exchanging them for the garb of a working range hand. Dusty shirt and pants, high boots and a wide brimmed hat. He had not shaved for a few days and was sporting a dark stubble. Around his neck he wore a loose neckerchief and on his right hip was a holstered Colt pistol. Quinlan was far from being any kind of expert with the weapon, but he wore it because it was the normal thing to do. He was aware of the weapon’s presence and had to keep avoiding the urge to hike the thing up from where it rested against his thigh. As disguises went it was far from comfortable but Quinlan was determined to see the matter through. He was not fully convinced he might fool Bodine even though he knew he had to do something.

  After the long weeks of tracking down and speaking to the people involved, getting some of the more reluctant ones to impart the information he needed, Henry Quinlan had his evidence. By the time he put it all together his gathered information weighed up to a damning indictment of Elias Bodine’s criminal acts. The evidence pointed the finger at a number of men, all in prestigious positions and all of them party to the fraud and corruption Quinlan was determined to present to Washington.

  Quinlan understood the risk he was taking. The man he was going after was wealthy. And had just as wealthy people on his side, all of them who would be determined to remain in those positions of power while they indulged their illegal practices. He was one man. Definitely on his own. In effect surrounded by men who would not hesitate to have him removed if it came to remaining undetected.

  Although he had presented his case to the authorities in Washington, there was little that could be done until he actually showed them his documented evidence. Which right now was in Bodine’s hands. Quinlan understood that evidence was going to be destroyed once Bodine had tracked down and removed the witnesses. That had been why Bodine had orchestrated the theft of the documents from the train taking it to Washington. Quinlan’s plan to send the evidence by train, while he drew Bodine off had failed. Somewhere along the line his deception had been discovered, so instead of drawing his persecutors away, he had been left isolated while Bodine’s hired guns had raided the train and taken the evidence.

  Quinlan had refused to quit. It was not in his nature to give up. He saw the injustice created by Bodine and his group, and his own innate righteous need to expose them pushed him on. If anything the setback only served to intensify his determination. He had come this far. There was no way he was about to back down now.

  Damn Bodine and his hired guns. His rich and powerful conspirators. Henry Quinlan was going to have his day – even at the risk of his life.

  The distant sound of a locomotive pulling in at the rail depot broke Quinlan’s reverie. He turned and looked beyond the rooftops. Saw the black curl of smoke showing as the train eased to a halt.

  He hesitated, his mind in turmoil because he wasn’t certain how to proceed. Even though he had tracked Bodine here to Redigo he was not much further forward. Bodine would be closely protected by the bodyguard who went everywhere with him. It was not going to be an easy matter getting close to the man.

  About to move from the window Quinlan saw one of Bodine’s employees, one of his entourage who hung out at the hotel, fetching and carrying for the man. He watched him walk up through town to the rail depot, which stood just behind the last row of buildings. The man met three passengers from the train, spoke briefly with them, then led them back along the street and into the hotel.

  The three were dressed identically in long black dusters, wore Derby hats and gave off the impression they were not people to be messed with.

  Bodine was making sure he was safe. Drawing in more hired guns. It made Quinlan increasingly determined to keep going.

  He left the rooming house and made his way along the street, his eyes constantly on the move. He spotted the town jail. In his mind he considered speaking to Redigo’s lawman, asking for his help. He was one man and the urgency of his situation suggested to him that he needed help. Quinlan usually worked solo. He preferred it that way but he was also smart enough to know when he needed help. He decided he would speak to Ben Fry, the town marshal. He understood he was taking a risk. Right now he had little choice.

  ~*~

  They were dressed alike in dark suits and pale-striped shirts and string ties, with ankle-length black dusters. They wore shiny half-boots that were polished to the extreme. And each ma
n wore a neat black Derby hat. Two of them sported neat mustaches. The third was clean shaven. When they stepped down from the train they gathered on the platform, keen eyes taking in every detail of their surroundings.

  Each of them carried two cases. One for personal items and clothing. One smaller, hard-shelled, that held a broken-down, shortened double-barreled, shotgun. They all wore belt guns in hip holsters – no quick-draw instances with these men. The revolvers were .45 caliber Colt Peacemakers, late model, with ivory grips. They might have looked like a trio of travelling businessmen. That might have been partially true.

  They did travel.

  And they had business in Redigo.

  But they were not in town to peddle ladies attire. Or bottles of liquor.

  They dealt in a single item – and that was lead.

  The clean shaven man – Bart Conlan – was in charge.

  Ralph Dorn and Ernst Sunderman were his associates.

  Appearance aside they were a killing team. Men who plied their trade with ruthless efficiency. As long as they were paid well they would accept any contract. And once set on their mission they never backed away and up until visiting Redigo they had never failed to fulfill their promise.

  They were here to meet with Elias Bodine, because Bodine had hired them to make sure his plans went through. He had himself and a group of anxious partners to protect and Bodine was determined that nothing was about to get in his way. Through sheer force of personality Bodine had become the figurehead. The man with the strength of character and the drive to ensure nothing could destroy the group as a whole. If he failed they were all liable to end up behind bars – maybe hanging at the end of a rope. Bodine didn’t fool himself into believing they could avoid punishment if the facts came to light. The reverse side of the card they were playing promised an increase of wealth and power when their various enterprises paid off. So the risks they were possibly facing had to be offset against the rewards.

  The three travelers were met by one of Bodine’s employees and he led them through town to the King Hotel where the arranged meeting was to be held. Bodine was waiting in his suite and wasted no time laying out what he wanted.

  ‘Simple enough,’ Conlan said. ‘You believe this Quinlan is in the area? And Brand? Mr. Bodine, Brand is no novice. I know him. Tough son of a bitch. Don’t sell him short.’

  ‘Quinlan isn’t going to be frightened off if he decides we have the documents. That case over there has the evidence he wants to use against us. Without it he has no proof. And if Brand becomes a threat he can be part of your business.’

  Conlan turned to look at the leather case resting on the oak desk.

  ‘Sounds to me you have what you need there. As long as you do Quinlan isn’t much of a threat.’

  ‘You have to understand Henry Quinlan,’ Bodine said. ‘He’s a rarity. An honest man who sees it as his mission to expose us all. He may be one man but he will walk through fire and brimstone to do his duty. In that respect he’s someone to be feared.’

  ‘You feel the same about Brand?’

  ‘I don’t pass him over lightly. He was a US Marshal a few years back. Lost his job through some legal mess up. Did some bounty work, then seemed to fade away for a while. Only he showed up again and rumor said he was working for a man named McCord. Shadowy figure from the Justice Department. My sources tell me Brand is some kind of clandestine operative.’

  ‘Not so clandestine if you found out all this about him.’

  Bodine allowed a smile. ‘Nothing can stay secret forever if you look and listen hard enough. And if you can pay for information. I have friends in high places.’

  ‘You believe this Brand hombre is on your trail?’

  ‘Your insight is correct. Yes, I have the feeling Brand is both searching for Quinlan and the documents we retrieved.’

  ‘With McCoy shadowing him?’

  ‘McCoy is providing close observation. He intends to stay close, masquerading as the diligent Ranger, and if Brand succeeds we can remove Mr. Quinlan once we get our hands on him and extract what he knows.’

  ‘And that’s why we’re here? To deal with Quinlan and Brand. In case this Ranger needs help?’ Conlan glanced across the room to where Jay Bledsoe sat in one corner. Silent. Observing. Not intruding but showing a solid presence. ‘How does Bledsoe fit in?’

  ‘He’s my personal bodyguard. Nothing else. He won’t interfere in your business. His job is to protect me exclusively.’

  Conlan nodded in Bledsoe’s direction. A courtesy from one professional to another. He received a slight return of acknowledgement.

  ‘That’s fine, Mr. Bodine.’

  ‘Right now I want to leave town,’ Bodine said. ‘Get out to the ranch. We will be more secure there. I suggest you go to the livery and rent yourselves horses. Just tell the man to charge the costs to my account. Then get back here and we can leave as soon as possible.

  Before the three exited the room they slipped out of the dusters and donned leather slings to which they clipped the shotguns after they had assembled and loaded the weapons. The shotguns hung loosely from the slings, then covered by the dusters. Extra shells were dropped into the deep pockets of the dusters. The arming was carried out quickly and silently, then the trio left without another word.

  ‘Hell of a performance,’ Bledsoe said, obviously not impressed. ‘Surprised they didn’t do it to music.’

  Bodine glanced at his bodyguard. ‘Quite the cynic, Jay.’

  ‘Never did go in for all that show. You want a man dead you do it fast, not make grand gestures.’

  ‘I’m sure Henry Quinlan would feel better knowing that.’

  A short time later Bledsoe crossed to the window and peered out. He stared down at the street, then turned. Saw the three black clad riders waiting outside the hotel nest to Bodine’s buggy.

  ‘We can leave any time,’ Bledsoe said.

  They made their way out of the hotel. Climbed onto the buggy.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Bodine said.

  As they passed along the street there was the sound of gunshots coming from an alley. People rushed to see what was happening. Bledsoe slowed the buggy and they saw the town marshal push through the crowd and go into the ally. He emerged alongside a tall, dark haired man with a blood streaked face.

  ‘That’s Brand,’ Conlan said. ‘I know his face.

  They kept moving. Out beyond town and picking up the trail that would lead them to Bodine’s horse ranch.

  Although they left Redigo behind, they didn’t leave their problems, as they were to find out before they had travelled far.

  ~*~

  It had gone easier than he had anticipated. After he had shot Morgan through the barred cell window, McCoy had slipped from the alley beside the jail and made a quick move across the rear of the building next to it before emerging back on the street. He moved cautiously, not wanting to attract any undue attention as people began to converge outside the jail. The crowd was too curious to find out what had happened to even notice as McCoy slipped from the distant alley. And walked calmly across the street.

  He was satisfied he had made certain the man named Morgan would not offer up his name if questioned. It would have been better if Brand had killed both his attackers following their abortive attack. They hadn’t so McCoy had been forced to make a risky move in order to silence Morgan. A couple of shots through the cell’s barred window and Morgan was no more.

  A reckless, unplanned move perhaps, not something McCoy would normally have done. But he’d had little choice. His commitment was absolute. He accepted his time working for Bodine was over. The man had already paid McCoy so he wasn’t leaving with empty pockets. Now he needed to leave. To make good his escape and head west, far away from Texas.

  Almost halfway across the street. McCoy allowed himself to relax.

  That was until a familiar voice reached him.

  ‘Been wondering where you got to,’ Brand said.

  McCoy slowed. Turned to face Brand.<
br />
  ‘Had official business to attend to. Ranger business.’

  ‘McCoy, we both know that isn’t so. There is no Ranger business anymore.’

  McCoy saw Brand facing him. Hatless. The side of his face streaked with blood.

  ‘What is it you’re saying, boy?’

  ‘You want me to spell it out? This whole damn act has nothing to do with the Rangers, McCoy. You were kicked out. Let go because you broke the law and the Rangers threw you out.’

  McCoy knew there was no walking away now. Much as he hated to admit it Brand had him dead to rights. He reached up with his hand and yanked the Ranger badge from his shirt, casting it aside.

  ‘Damnation, son, you got it right enough. This isn’t about the Rangers. This is about me, W.J. McCoy, goddam you.’

  Brand could have mentioned the fact McCoy had turned his back on his Ranger service. All the years he had spent tracking and dealing with outlaws. Bringing in wanted men because that was his job. He didn’t. He saw no reason to waste his time and energy on a man who had already crossed the line and accepted there was no turning back. McCoy had chosen his path. He was committed to it and Brand was standing in his way.

  ‘Brand, I’d expect you to understand. Look what they did to you. Took your badge and pushed you out. That piece of tin don’t mean shit in the end’

  ‘Doesn’t compare. And I damn’-well don’t need to justify myself to you, McCoy. This isn’t about me.’

  Brand saw the way the man tensed, hands moving with fractional slowness so they were over the butts of the big Walker Colt pistols. McCoy showed nothing in his face. His eyes were fixed. Expressionless as he stared directly at Brand.

  ‘No need for us to take this any further. All I want is Quinlan. I have to find him. Give him up to Bodine. That’s my ticket out of this life.’

  ‘One man’s life for your own?’

  ‘I guess that’s what it comes down to.’

  ‘Proves one thing,’ Brand said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just how low you’ve sunk, McCoy.’