by Jake Logan
“So whoever spread those rumors knew what he was talking about,” Slocum pointed out.
“Most likely, he was there.”
“And he was a friend, relative, or partner of Rob Bensonn.”
Haresh nodded. “If Abernathy himself is not here, one of his men probably is.”
“Could be both. And they’ve been out talking to every bartender in town.”
“Probably,” Haresh said, “trying to track you in much the same way we are tracking them.”
Slocum spotted the blond woman sauntering from the kitchen carrying a plate piled high with the food he’d ordered. He tucked a napkin into the front of his shirt and leaned back so the plate could be set in front of him. The waitress yanked her hands back and moved away after serving him as if she was dropping a hunk of raw meat in front of a hungry tiger.
Unafraid of any tiger, Haresh reached out and plucked a piece of bacon from Slocum’s plate.
“That’s a real good way to lose that hand,” Slocum warned.
“Prove you discovered more than I did last night and I will put it back.”
“Eh, keep it.”
Haresh grinned victoriously while eating the bacon.
“I gotta hand it to you,” Slocum said. “You went a hell of a lot further in one night than I did.”
“Sounds to me like you enjoyed yourself more.”
Slocum shrugged that off. “I may not have gotten the results you did, but I’ve got some mighty big lines in the water. Between the two of us, we should be able to find Abernathy and the rest of his men sooner rather than later.”
“I agree.”
“Now tell me one more thing.” Slocum cut into his eggs. “Is Haresh your first name or last name?”
17
Even in the starkest rays of morning light, Chinatown seemed untouched by the sun. The garishly painted district of the flea-bitten little town retreated beneath its awnings and drawn blinds as if the residents were afraid of being exposed. That wasn’t necessarily true for the actual Chinese folks living there. They went about their business just like all the rest. But like the whites, browns, or any other color in between, they had their bad seeds. For the moment, those seeds were planted deep within the drug emporiums and gambling dens of Hollister’s underbelly.
The man who approached the Cat’s Eye walked tall and carried himself like a true showman. Ferril Abernathy was uncomfortable handling himself any other way. He waved to the guard on his way in, daring the man to try and take his guns from him with a stern, menacing glare. The guard wasn’t about to test his luck.
Once inside, he strode past the unattended front counter and went down the hall, where just under half of the doors were shut to respect customers’ privacy. He knocked at Lester’s office door, but didn’t wait for a reply before testing the knob.
It was locked.
“Open up, Baynes,” Abernathy said.
It took a while, but the chemist eventually opened the door. “Your delivery isn’t ready yet.”
“How far along are you?”
“Putting the finishing touches on some of it right now.”
“Mind if I wait here while you complete it?”
Baynes snapped his eyes back and forth as if trying to look in every direction at once. “You wanna wait here? Why not just go somewhere and I’ll send for you?”
“Because there isn’t a lot of time. Certain people have been asking around about me. Considering the operation you have running here, I assumed you would have ways of ensconcing yourself so as to avoid . . .” Seeing the confused expression on his face, Abernathy clarified by saying, “I figured you’d be used to digging in so it would be safer here.”
“Safe from who?”
Abernathy’s eyes narrowed as he said, “You know damn well who. The lawmen that have been poking around looking for me.”
Baynes shook his head and turned away from the door so he could step back into his office. “Considering how you announce yourself everywhere you go, it’s a wonder you haven’t been caught a dozen times already.”
“My displays are carefully timed and directed at specific audiences. I assure you, when necessary I can be very discreet.”
Lester’s office was the same as ever, but a slender door near the back of the room had been opened. When it was closed, the door probably looked like nothing more than a loose panel in the wall easily obscured in the shadows. Although Abernathy couldn’t see much of that previously hidden room, dim light from lanterns hanging on the wall reflected on curved glass of bottles and mixing bowls. More light came from within the other room in the form of flickering flames beneath beakers and metal plates. “You’re as discreet as a damn peacock,” Baynes muttered.
“The fact remains that someone pointed those lawmen in my direction. Someone who knew I’d be here tomorrow night to pick up a package.”
“They know you’re coming here?” Baynes asked.
Abernathy nodded. “Do you want to keep me hidden now?”
“Aw, Jesus! How did this happen?” The stench of burning chemicals drifted through the air, mingling with the sound of glass containers knocking against each other as Baynes hurried about his task.
“I thought we were friends, Lester. Would you rather I take my chances on the outside when I could just sit here?”
“I got a real nice business running here. Why the hell would I want to tear it apart by letting any of these half-assed lawmen or crazed vigilantes know I peddle more than pussy and opium?” Still shaking his head, Baynes grunted, “See, that was always your problem, Ferril. You never thought anything all the way through. That’s why you’re foolish enough to risk yer damn neck doing all those insane stunts with a gun!”
“I am not stupid.”
“Never said you were stupid,” Baynes replied while stirring a vial of murky brown liquid. “I said you’re foolish. There’s a difference. A man who likes to use as many fancy words as you should know as much.”
“Here’s a word for you. Traitor. How do you like that one?”
“I didn’t tell anyone about you or our deal!” Baynes said. By now, he was fuming more than the chemicals he was mixing. “You may be a fool, but you’re an old friend. Also, you’re paying me damn good money to mix these chemicals so why on earth would I sell you out before I get paid?”
“Well, someone did.”
After taking a beaker away from its flame, Baynes reached over to a small table to retrieve a leather case similar to the ones doctors used to hold their surgical blades. “Here’s part of your order. It’s the stuff that will put men to sleep. That was the easy part. There’s also a bit of something that will make men loopy as hell in the little bottle with the dark stopper. Take it and go.”
“Go where?”
“Away from me so I can work. If you’ve got lawmen or anyone else hot on your heels, I don’t want them catching up to you at my place. The rest of your order will be ready when I told you it would be ready and not a moment sooner.”
Abernathy took the leather case and tucked it into a pocket. “Is there a door I can use other than the one in front?”
“Step out of my office and turn right. The wall is hinged. Push it open and you’ll be at the back of the building. Now . . .” He paused in the middle of his sentence and snapped his face toward the office door like a rabbit with its ears perked up.
Gruff voices came from the front portion of the opium den, followed by a woman’s scream and the rumble of something heavy being overturned.
“Sounds like those lawmen you were so worried about found you,” Baynes said.
Abernathy was already on his guard. “How can you be certain they’re lawmen? The only other vigilantes that were close to finding me were killed back in Spencer Flats.”
“Because you’re the only
other one to take such pains to announce yourself when you make an entrance. Best get out of here before they find their way back here.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“You think I want them to find you here . . . with me?” Gesturing toward the elaborate setup in the hidden room, Baynes added, “Now?”
“Good point.”
As he left the office, Abernathy distinctly heard Baynes grunt, “Idiot,” before shutting the secret door to his workshop.
Abernathy stepped into the hallway and did his best to keep from walking on any loose boards as he felt around for the hinged section of wall Baynes had referred him to. His fingers found nothing but unyielding panels. The thought crossed his mind that he’d been set up for a catastrophic fall. Then again, he reasoned, Baynes wouldn’t have been working so hard if he expected his client to be shot dead in a matter of minutes. As if to strengthen his faith in his old friend, the next panel Abernathy tested swung outward on well-oiled hinges.
He stepped outside, breathing a sigh of relief. Before that breath had been fully pushed from his lungs, a pair of large, brutish men stomped toward him.
“There he is!” one of them shouted while pointing at Abernathy with one hand. His other hand was already wrapped around a .45, which he brought up to fire as his partner did the same. Before either man could take their shot, a rifle cracked from higher ground, delivering a bullet to the fellow who’d done the shouting. Hot lead punched a hole through the man’s chest, dropping him to the ground quicker than a kick from a mule.
“Damn it,” Abernathy growled. Reflexively, he drew one of his .44s.
The surviving gunman ducked around the corner of the building and hollered, “He’s out here! The bastard just killed Danny!”
More steps pounded through the front door of the Cat’s Eye, leaving Abernathy with precious little time to save his skin. Outside, an armed man waited in front of a fan-tan parlor, where he could keep watch on the front portion of the Cat’s Eye. Abernathy ran in that direction while firing a few quick shots, both of which chewed into the wood of the gambling parlor, causing the armed man to hop to one side before he was hit. Abernathy fired another round, but didn’t draw any blood. Charging toward the fan-tan parlor, Abernathy surprised him by ignoring the gun in the other man’s hand and thumping a fist into his gut.
The poke to the stomach caught the man’s attention, but didn’t do much else. “Who are you?” Abernathy asked.
“We’re the law around here, you son of a bitch.”
“I don’t see a badge.”
“We don’t need any badges. We’re the real law and we—” The second fist to pound into his stomach was wrapped around a .44, so it did considerably more than the first. The man doubled over, grunted in pain, but straightened up again.
More men charged around the building but Abernathy had no intention of meeting them. He holstered his .44, grabbed the man by the shirt, and tossed him toward the street before running in the opposite direction to seek cover within the crowd in front of the fan-tan parlor. Seconds after setting his sights on a side street that would allow him to put the vigilantes behind him, Abernathy heard more shots crack from up high. Recognizing the rifle’s voice, he looked toward the rooftop of an adjacent building and shouted, “No!”
But it was too late. The shot had been fired and had found its mark. The man Abernathy had tossed in his wake swayed on trembling knees before dropping and falling face first to the ground. The hole that had been freshly blasted through his skull leaked blood and other fluids into the dirt as the men who’d forced their way into the Cat’s Eye rushed outside.
“Mark!” one of them shouted. “Jesus Christ! Mark’s dead!” Although more words were said, they were lost amid the thunder of wild gunfire.
Even though Abernathy was running away at the time, he could tell the vigilantes were doing all the firing by the chaotic way they pulled their triggers. Having made it across the street, he looked up to the rooftop where he knew Justin was stationed. The Winchester spat another bullet toward the opium den to knock another vigilante off his feet. That round was quickly followed by another. After that, the street was silent apart from the hushed, frightened voices of locals who’d been caught in the crossfire.
Abernathy clenched his teeth and holstered his pistol. Part of him wanted to hear more hollering behind him, just so he could know his partner hadn’t finished his grisly task. But even if there were some vigilantes left alive, that wouldn’t make things any better. Unfortunately, Abernathy couldn’t think of a way for them to get any worse.
As with any shooting, people in the vicinity were frightened at first. Then they were curious. Abernathy spotted several folks gaping wide-eyed at the Cat’s Eye as they waited for another explosion of violence. When it became apparent that the show was over, they moved in like a swarm.
Justin could no longer be seen, but that didn’t matter. Abernathy had observed the rifleman at work so many times that his habits were like clockwork to him. Taking advantage of the growing confusion in the street, Abernathy skirted the crowd of people and went to the building next to the one from which Justin had been firing. He arrived less than a second after Justin had climbed down the stairs leading to that building’s second floor.
“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Abernathy demanded.
“Covering your ass, just like always.”
“I had things well in hand!”
“Is that why them vigilantes came storming into that opium den after you?” Justin asked.
“You could have warned me about them.”
“Wasn’t time.”
“Well then,” Abernathy growled. “Seems like you’ve got an answer for just about everything.”
“Did you get what you were after?”
“Some if it.”
“Then we can come back later for the rest.” Flinching toward the sound of movement nearby, Justin watched a few men race toward the Cat’s Eye. “I don’t know if anyone saw me up there. We’d best skin out.”
“You’re right. I say we split up and meet half a mile southwest of town.”
“Shouldn’t we stick together? What if someone else catches you? They may be watching this part of town like a bunch of hawks.”
“I can slip in and out without being noticed,” Abernathy assured him.
“Like you did this time?” Justin scoffed. “We should stay together.”
Abernathy was on him before he could do a thing to stop it. He may have been older, but his hands were plenty strong enough to grab Justin by the collar and shake him like a rag doll when he said, “You’ve done quite enough here! Between you and Rob, I’d swear you men were out to kill every lawman that crosses your path! Is that it? Did someone hire you to cut through the lawmen in Montana?”
“You’re talking crazy, Ferril. Besides, there ain’t no real lawmen around here!”
After studying him for a few more seconds, Abernathy reluctantly let Justin go. “People will be looking away from the bodies right about now, which means we need to get moving. We’re splitting up. I’m still the one calling the shots on this job, so what I say goes!”
“Naturally.”
“We’ll meet where I said before. After that, you stay out of sight and I’ll come back for the rest of our supplies.” Lowering his voice to something short of a growl, he added, “You’re damn lucky we’re not in California already. Folks expect things to be wild out here, but once we leave this godforsaken territory, we’ll need to watch everything we say and do. That gold is still out there and we can still take it. If you want to be some kind of wild dog killer, we can part ways now and you can kill all the men you want.”
Justin’s lips peeled back into a filthy smile. “It’s all about the gold, Ferril. You know that. We come too far to let it go now.”
The people on the street may have been confused after the shooting, but they were regrouping now and starting to poke around. If there were a few sorry excuses for lawmen in town, they would be showing up soon. Any men who fancied themselves to be vigilantes would also be arriving with guns drawn, looking for something to kill.
“If you’re still serious about the California job, then do as I say,” Abernathy told his partner. “Ride out to our camp and lay low. I’ll come back later to fetch the rest of the supplies from my acquaintance here in town. Without those chemicals, we might as well wave farewell to that California gold.”
“You’re the one running this outfit,” Justin said.
It took every bit of showmanship at Abernathy’s disposal for him to look as if he truly believed that anymore.
18
Slocum heard the shooting on his way back to The Starlight House. Haresh had an appointment to keep at a different saloon, so it hadn’t been difficult to convince him to split apart after breakfast. Following the commotion to its source brought Slocum to the Chinese district. The street was filled with people milling about, trying to get a look at one of the bodies sprawled in the dirt like so many discarded toys.
“What happened here?” Slocum asked a man who stood at the periphery of one of the largest groups.
“Bob Danfield and some of his men got gunned down,” he said warily.
“Was it a dispute of some kind?”
The man turned to look at Slocum as if he’d just been asked what color the sky was. He looked to be somewhere in his early to mid-fifties with a clean-shaven face that was etched with enough creases to reflect the experience he’d gained in his time on this earth. Those creases, along with the leathery condition of his skin and the hard edge to his features, made it fairly obvious he’d spent more than his share of time fending for himself in the mountains or some other equally rugged terrain. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”
