Slocum and the Trick Shot Artist

by Jake Logan

  “It’s got to go somewhere once it’s sold.”

  “Sure, but an entire storeroom filled with everything from dust to nuggets as big as your fist? The only places carrying that much gold are forts and armored train cars. You ain’t never had the inclination to rob any of those. You’ve always been more of a finesse man.”

  “I still am,” Abernathy said with an appropriately showy wave of his hand. “That’s why I’m not intending to do something as brutish as rob a train or shoot my way into a bank vault. The storeroom in question is guarded by more than just guns. It takes someone with comparable intelligence to get inside. Since you’ve known me for many years, you should know I have such an intellect.”

  “You always were a smart one. But still, I didn’t think you’d buy into the myth of some room full of gold sitting in California. That ain’t more than . . .”

  “A legend?” Abernathy said. “Well, so am I, my friend. When people speak about the things I’ve done in my years while performing and in the years since, many of them insist it’s nothing but tall tales and legend. I am not a gullible man. I assure you I am going off of much more than word of mouth. It has taken me years to track down enough clues to tell me where this storeroom is and even more effort to figure out what’s needed to crack it open. It exists and I almost have what I need to get the job done.”

  “Almost,” Baynes said with a grin. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

  “Precisely. Do you still have those chemicals you used to use to put people to sleep?”

  “People and elephants. Remember when the circus rolled into—”

  “Can we continue our reminiscing later?” Abernathy asked. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Sure.” Baynes walked over to join him at the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a drink, sipped it, and swirled the remainder in his glass. “You really found that storeroom?”

  Abernathy nodded. “It’s used as a collection point for businesses and small buyers who work with large mines all the way down to tin panners who get cheated by the blowhards in their local dry goods store. The gold is collected and sold off in bulk to larger buyers, including government officials and representatives from foreign lands. I would imagine smaller buyers like jewelers and such are accommodated as well, but those details aren’t important. Gold has to go somewhere after it’s mined and this is one of those places. The only place it goes from there that I care about is my own pockets. What I need from you are chemicals to put a sizable number of people to sleep for a specific amount of time.”

  “Couldn’t you find that somewhere else? I mean, that may take a certain amount of skill to mix, but there are plenty of chemists out there.”

  “Not any that I could rely upon to keep my needs a secret. Especially when I also need a mixture that will mimic death and another that’s genuinely fatal. The final mixture I require is a simple concoction that can produce euphoric and hallucinatory effects. That one,” Abernathy said while sweeping an arm toward the door that led to the rest of the building, “I’m certain you can hand over to me right now.”

  Baynes swirled his gin in its glass. “That’s a tall order, Ferril. Must be one hell of a convoluted scheme you’ve worked up.”

  “I’ve had plenty of time to think it over.”

  “Sometimes simpler is better, you know.”

  Abernathy grinned. “I’ve always been drawn to the dramatic. Part of my showman’s ways.”

  “You’re putting your life on the line with this job. The more moving parts you set in motion, the more there is to go wrong.”

  “You’re not the first to tell me that. I’ve been putting my life on the line quite a bit since the circus was closed down. So far, it’s worked out pretty well.”

  After taking another sip of gin to steel himself, Baynes asked, “And what happens when it doesn’t work out? All it takes is one slip and your show’s over for good.”

  “No need to speak to me like I’m a child, Lester. I was the one to teach you how to fire a pistol when you first started traveling with the circus, remember?”

  “Then maybe it’s my turn to look out for you. I’ve heard about some of the things you been up to in the last few years. I know you well enough to believe some of them stories are true. You’re a demon with them pistols. If you want gold, why not just crack open something smaller like a bank or some rich man’s safe?”

  “Look at me. I may be dashing and suave as ever, but I’m getting old. I’ve spent too much time performing my tricks against real opponents and not enough in creating a nest egg to see me through my golden years. A job like this is just what I need for a farewell performance.”

  “With the emphasis on performance.” Baynes leaned against the liquor cabinet, his weight making the piece of furniture groan as if it was going to collapse at any second. “You were a showman before you signed up for the circus, you lapped up every second of glory when you were traveling with us, and I imagine you’re still a showman now. All that’s missing is the big top over your head.”

  “All the world’s a stage.”

  “You can quote all the fancy scripture you want,” Baynes grunted. “It still seems clear to me that whatever you’ve concocted where this gold is concerned ain’t nothing more than another performance. You need money? You can steal all you want using them guns. Hell, you could still put on a show yourself and charge good money for tickets. That should be enough to put some food on yer table.”

  “It’s about more than feeding myself,” Abernathy told him.

  “Whatever it’s about, you need to watch your step. Are you working alone?”

  “Not all the time.”

  “Whoever your partners are, they could be in danger, too.” Dropping his voice to a harsh whisper, he added, “I could be in danger if it gets back to anyone about why you came to see me. What have you got planned for so many chemicals anyway?”

  Abernathy smiled like a preacher reflecting on the great beyond. “That needn’t concern you, my friend. Everything is well in hand.”

  “Be that as it may,” Baynes replied like an unconvinced member of the congregation, “whoever you approached to get . . . whatever the hell else you need to pull this off . . . they’ll be in danger, too. And what happens after you do this job? That is, assuming you actually pull it off. You think your partners will just take their share, thank you, and be on their way? Men that do this sort of thing are out for all the money they can get, and the easiest way to get more is to shoot one of their partners in the back when the hard part’s over. I’ve heard plenty of them sorts of stories.”

  “You’ve been listening to too much gossip,” Abernathy said. The grin on his face let Baynes know the irony of that statement hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Trust me. I can handle myself and I can surely handle any partners I may have brought along. In fact, one of my partners has already been handled. For what’s left of my road to California, I don’t need to replace him.”

  “And what about the law?” Baynes asked in a low voice that was again more of a whisper, as if he was afraid of eavesdroppers lurking in every corner. “I don’t even mean the kind that wear a badge. I’m talking about vigilantes.”

  “Since when are they considered the law?” Abernathy scoffed.

  “They are in these parts. They’re to be feared a hell of a lot more than any marshal or sheriff. Vigilantes have more pull in this territory than in any other. Some of them are batshit crazy and they don’t have to follow any rules. I’d hate to see you buried by the likes of them.”

  Although Abernathy lifted his glass to his lips, he didn’t drink. Instead, he sniffed the cheap liquor and closed his eyes before finally pouring some of it into his mouth. He let it set there for a spell before swallowing it. “I’ve lived a long time and have seen plenty of ups and downs. For the last several years . . . more downs than ups. Either w
ay, this job will be my last. When it’s over, no matter how it turns out, people will remember Ferril Abernathy as a true legend. So . . . will you help me or not?”

  “I suppose,” Baynes sighed. “I’ll need a few days to mix up them chemicals. Also, even if I cut you a deal for old times’ sake, it’ll cost you plenty.”

  “Get to work.”

  16

  The next morning, Hollister felt more alive than anyplace Slocum had been for the last few months. Slocum made his way out of The Starlight House and was immediately swept up in the tide of folks navigating the winding streets. If there was any rhyme or reason in how those streets been laid out, Slocum had yet to figure it out. Contrary to how a settlement should be planned, the pathways had been created after the buildings, tents, and vendor carts had all staked their claim on the available land. As he joined the flow of humanity streaming through town, Slocum was reminded of ants swarming across a dirty floor. At first, they all seemed to be moving at random. Upon closer inspection, he could make out several different lines of the little critters moving, curving, and intersecting into one big picture. It was into that sort of organized chaos that Slocum had now been tossed.

  Since he didn’t have a particular destination in mind, Slocum was able to let himself be carried along like a leaf that had fallen on top of a rushing stream. He was jostled, bumped, prodded, pushed, and shoved nearly every step of the way. By the time he spotted a small restaurant at a nearby corner, he was ready to start throwing elbows just to get a moment or two where he wasn’t treated like damn cattle in a chute.

  He didn’t see the name of the restaurant before stumbling in through the front door that was held open like a trap set by the owner intended to scoop up some customers. The whiff of frying bacon Slocum caught as he’d gotten close to the place was the most pleasant and effective bait he could imagine.

  “Good morning!” said a cheerful woman in her early forties. Bright, blond hair framed her face in bouncy curls. She was dressed simply, but possessed a natural beauty that made her shine no matter what was wrapped around her. “Hope you’re hungry.”

  “I sure am. I’ll take some of that bacon I smell.”

  “Anything else to go with that? Maybe some biscuits, eggs, or oatmeal?”

  “Keep the oatmeal,” Slocum said. “Send out some of the rest, though. Have any coffee?”

  “No, but I can brew some up right quick.”

  “Even better!” he said with a smile that almost matched the one worn by the blond woman. Almost, but not quite.

  The restaurant was a small place with about half of its ten tables occupied. It was a long, narrow building with the kitchen all the way in the back, leaving the dining area on display thanks to a wide window spanning the entire front wall. No matter where he sat, Slocum felt exposed. He settled at a table where his back was to a wall, but just about anyone walking on the street could spot him inside. Even if he moved to a table farther inside the place, it wouldn’t have helped. The restaurant was so small that it might as well have been a stage thanks to that one huge window.

  Slocum considered trying his luck at another place. That idea left him when he pulled in another breath laden with the thick scent of bacon. When he thought about the coffee being brewed for him, Slocum decided to sit tight and take his chances. That turned out to be a good move when Haresh walked past the front window. The big man wasn’t being jostled as much as Slocum had, but it still took some work for him to separate from the crowd and step into the restaurant. He dusted himself off while making his way to Slocum’s table, looking very much like he’d been dragged to the establishment behind a runaway stagecoach.

  “There you are,” Haresh said.

  Slocum offered him a chair by kicking it a few inches away from his table. “Here I am. Awfully lucky for you to catch sight of me through that window from the mess outside.”

  “Not too lucky. I was shouting your name ever since you left that hotel.”

  “What?”

  “Have you gone deaf?” Haresh snapped. “Maybe that explains why you didn’t hear me outside.”

  “I didn’t hear you outside because it’s crazy out there for some reason.”

  “There’s a logging camp a mile from here,” Haresh said. “Three of them, actually. Is that coffee?”

  Before Slocum could get too confused about the sudden change of subject, he saw the blond woman approach the table carrying a tall kettle and a cup. “It is coffee,” she said. “Would you like some?”

  “Yes,” Haresh replied with a wide grin. “Very much.”

  “I’ll be right back with your cup.”

  The instant she turned away from the table, Slocum asked, “What’s this about a logging camp? Did someone there tell you where I was staying?”

  “No. The logging camp is giving its men a few days off while they’re repairing some broken equipment. One of the other camps just had a payday and the third is preparing to push into some new forests.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Slocum asked.

  “That is why the town is so crowded this morning,” Haresh stated simply.

  Slocum felt stunned as the picture that hadn’t made a lick of sense all this time suddenly became clear. “How’d you find out about that?”

  “You asked me to visit the saloons. Saloon keepers know all about those sorts of things. Any business owner here would know about the logging camps.”

  “Oh, that’s such a mess, isn’t it?” the waitress said as she returned with Haresh’s cup. “Between all the supplies being bought and folks coming here looking for work at one of them camps, it’s like a jungle out there. I’m not looking forward to tonight. Once all those rowdy loggers come in to spend their pay, this place will be torn up by the roots! Would you care for anything to eat?”

  Haresh ordered a breakfast that was more than twice the size of Slocum’s. Sensing the anxiousness radiating from Slocum like heat from a fire, the waitress patted his shoulder and said, “I can tell you’re starving, so yours will be out as soon as I can get it.”

  “Appreciate it,” Slocum said. After she left, he was feeling better. Even so, there was a definite edge to his voice when he asked, “So how did you know where I was staying?”

  Haresh smirked. “One of the saloons I went to for information about finding anyone who might know about Abernathy directed me to the bordellos. They also mentioned the Chinese district. It seems many of the bounty hunters that come through here learn much from men after their guard is dropped from smoking too much opium. I did find out some interesting things, one of which was from a man who was visiting a whorehouse next door to the gambling parlor I was in. Apparently, someone at that whorehouse was unable to wait to get upstairs before having his way with his woman.”

  “Aw, hell.”

  “This man had his way with a woman in the kitchen, of all places.”

  “Enough about that,” Slocum growled.

  “So modest,” Haresh chuckled, “I find that surprising. Anyway, since you decided to roam this place on your own last night, I had time to look into that bordello in case one of the girls there might have seen Far Eye Abernathy. They always have such colorful tales to tell.”

  “Yeah,” Slocum sighed. “I bet.”

  “One of them mentioned hearing the name Slocum. Perhaps it was called out in a moment of passion from that delightful kitchen?”

  Hoping to cut the topic short, Slocum asked, “And she also told you where I was staying?”

  “I couldn’t find you and was getting tired, so I came back this morning. I was on my way to pay you a visit when you stepped out and came here. As I told you already, I shouted your name every step of the way.”

  Slocum rubbed his temple to try and soothe the ache that was forming there. Sometimes he preferred a gunfight to the sneaking around required
when tracking someone in this fashion. Not only did he have to be concerned with being spotted by Abernathy and anyone connected to him, but he also had to worry about the wrong person overhearing him when he was catching up with an old friend like Olivia. Certainly catching up with her wasn’t exactly quiet, but he hadn’t counted on it getting back to Haresh.

  Finally, Slocum drank some of his coffee and said, “Well, I guess you did your job a lot better than I thought you would.”

  “I will take that as a compliment.”

  “Fine. Did you learn anything about someone other than me while you were out and about last night?”

  “I did. Word has spread about the jail break from Tarnish Mills, as well as the fighting that occurred at Jocelyn’s place in Spencer Flats.”

  “That’s bound to happen, right?”

  “Not as quickly as this,” Haresh said definitively. “And not in as much detail as I heard in several saloons around here. It took us a few days to ride in from Spencer Flats and we were going as fast as we could.”

  “We didn’t see much of anyone along that trail,” Slocum added. “That’s not to say that there couldn’t have been anyone else taking a different trail, but it does seem suspi-

  cious.”

  “More than suspicious. I think Abernathy is here in town as we speak and that he was riding fast enough to beat us here. All but one of the saloons I went to last night knew about the jail break and what happened at Jocelyn’s. They even knew a man had been gunned down after the smoke cleared at my employer’s saloon. A good man.”

  “A good man?”

  Haresh nodded.

  Slocum drank some more coffee. “So that means whoever had told the story about that shooting was either a friend of Rob’s, a family member, or a partner.”

  “Considering all of the detail I heard, I would gamble on partner. I hear rumors every night. They fill the air in saloons like Jocelyn’s worse than cigar smoke and bad music. Most are just stories bloated with colorful language and so-called facts that are too exaggerated to be real. What I heard was exaggerated, but too close to the truth for my liking.”