The Deadly Chest

by J. R. Roberts

  “Bu—”

  He turned and walked away.

  “Where are you going?”

  He ignored her.

  “You can’t just leave me here alone.”

  He kept walking.

  “Damn you!”

  She looked around, suddenly very frightened to be on the street alone. Two men passed and stared at her, and she immediately panicked and started running back to the hotel.

  TWELVE

  “Sheriff Lane ain’t gonna like this,” Joey said to Angel. “We should go after them.”

  “You wanna face Clint Adams in the street, my friend?” Angel asked.

  “Well, no . . .”

  “Then keep quiet,” Angel said. “Let me do the thinkin’, huh?”

  “Okay, so then what do we do?”

  “Nothing,” Angel said.

  “What about the woman?”

  “We will get her.”

  “She sure had some nice tits,” Joey said. “And her skin was real smooth.”

  “I know,” Angel said. “I think I will go over to Maisie’s.”

  “Now that sounds like a good idea,” Angel said. “That woman sure got me worked up.”

  A whore sounded like a good idea to both of them. Clint Adams had interrupted them before they could get any satisfaction, and Joey was right, Angel thought. The woman had a nice body.

  They would see the rest of it another time.

  And take care of Clint Adams.

  Clint knew he couldn’t leave the woman to her own devices, especially not now. Angel and Joey would come looking for her again, and it was possible that Sheriff Lane might take part in killing her, to ensure her silence about his involvement.

  And then there was her black box. Whatever was in it might turn out to be valuable. With her dead, the three men could go out and look for it at their leisure.

  Damn it.

  He stopped walking, trying to decide whether he should go have a beer or return to the hotel. Getting involved in her trouble was going to keep him from leaving town in the morning.

  Maybe, he thought, he should just leave town right now.

  He decided to go and have a beer and think it over. No point in making any spur-of-the-moment decisions.

  Sheriff Lane returned to his office, found young Jed Simons sitting behind his desk.

  “Move your ass!” he ordered.

  “Yessir.”

  “Anything happen while I was out?”

  “Uh, yessir. Clint Adams came in with a woman who claimed Angel Pagan and Joey Votto tried to rob and rape her.”

  “What?”

  “She wants them arrested.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Lane said.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” the deputy said. “I know that you and them are . . .”

  “Are what?”

  “Well . . . friends.”

  “What the hell, Jed,” Lane said. “If they tried to rape somebody, you should have gone out and arrested their asses right away.”

  “Yessir. I can go out and do that now—”

  “Never mind,” Lane said. “You had your chance. Where are they now?”

  “Adams said the woman would be at her hotel, if you wanted to talk to her.”

  “Hell, yeah, I wanna talk to her.”

  He got up from his desk and headed for the door. “I’ll be back later,” he said. “Stay the hell away from my desk!”

  THIRTEEN

  At the whorehouse, Angel picked a tall, lean blonde girl, while Joey picked a buxom Mexican woman.

  “You don’t like Mexican women?” Maisie asked Angel.

  “I have had many Mexican women,” he told her. “Now my taste is blonde gringas.”

  They both followed the women up the stairs to the second floor. Joey couldn’t keep his eyes off his whore’s big ass as it swayed back and forth in front of him.

  Angel, already excited by Loretta Burns’s pale skin, had chosen the palest woman he could find.

  They walked down the hall and followed their whores into their respective rooms, which were across the hall from each other.

  Both doors slammed.

  Joey was anxious, and practically tore his whore’s clothes off.

  “You are in such a hurry, hombre.”

  “I wanna see those big tits,” he said. “Show me those big tits.”

  She let him peel off her peasant blouse so that her breasts came tumbling out. They were round, solid, and tipped with dark brown nipples, which she squeezed for him.

  He took his own clothes off then, and his rigid cock came swaying into view.

  “El hombre grande,” she said. “Bueno, bring it to me, hombre. Bring it here.”

  She sat on the bed and slipped off her skirt. This was something Joey liked about Mex women, that big, black bush between their chunky legs.

  “Oh,” he said, “I’ll bring it to you, all right . . .”

  In the other room, Angel peeled his whore’s clothes off more slowly. He wanted her pale skin to come into view little by little.

  “Are you always this gentle?” she asked him.

  “No,” he said. Her breasts were small, with pink nipples. He’d seen Loretta Burns’s nipples briefly. They were darker, and her breasts were bigger. But her skin, it was this pale.

  The whore’s name was Debbie. She put her hands on his belt, but he brushed her hands away.

  “Slow,” he said. “I wanna go slow.”

  “We can go slow, mister,” she promised him. “We can take all day.”

  He took one of her breasts in his big hand, squeezed it, and bent to run his tongue around her nipple.

  “Ooh,” she said, “that’s nice. That’s so nice.”

  Most men just wanted to get her clothes off and fuck her, then roll off and go to sleep. This was going to be nicer, much nicer . . .

  FOURTEEN

  Sheriff Lane entered Maisie’s; immediately, all the girls turned their eyes away.

  “Sheriff, how nice,” Maisie said. “Shall I pick one out—”

  “I’m not here for one of your whores, Maisie,” he said. “I’m lookin’ for Angel and Joey.”

  “They’re upstairs, with Debbie and Lupe. Rooms five and six.”

  “Anybody else up there?”

  “Ginger’s got a cowboy with her in room eight. Otherwise everybody’s down here.”

  “Okay,” Lane said. “Keep them down here.”

  “Yes, Sheriff.”

  Lane went up the stairs. When he got to the top, he took out his gun and checked to make sure it was fully loaded. Then he holstered it and started down the hall.

  Joey was crouched between Lupe’s spread thighs. His dick was buried in her juicy pussy; as he drove in and out of her, she stared up at the ceiling with a bored look on her face. Many men had taken her this way, with no knowledge of what they were doing. She had picked out the same spot on her ceiling to stare at each time.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Joey was saying, “you like it, don’t you, Mama?”

  She said, “Oh, sí, senor, I like it.” She wondered why he was calling her “Mama.”

  “Yeah, yeah . . .” He was moaning when suddenly the door opened. She moved her eyes from that point on the ceiling to look at the man in the doorway. She saw the badge on his chest, and knew there was going to be trouble.

  “Senor,” she said, pounding on Joey’s back, “senor, stop . . .”

  “Stop?” Joey asked. “I ain’t ever gonna stop—”

  “Joey!”

  “Wha—” Joey looked over his shoulder, saw the sheriff. “What the hell, Sheriff—”

  “Get up,” Lane said. “On your feet.”

  “I’m a little busy here, Sheriff.”

  “Get off!” Lupe said, pounding on his back. “Let me up!”

  She managed to push Joey off her, rolled out of bed, and stood up, not bothering to cover her nudity.

  “Get out, Lupe.”

  “Sí, Senor.”

  She bent over, her
big breasts swaying, picked up her clothes and ran out past the sheriff.

  “Jesus, I was just gettin’ ready to—”

  “Get your gun.”

  “What?”

  “Pick up your gun.”

  Joey looked at his gun, which was hanging on the bedpost.

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  “You tried to rape a woman today,” the sheriff said. “That’s against the law.”

  “Wha—Hey, you told us to—”

  “I never told you to rape a woman, Joey,” Lane said. “Now get dressed, and get your gun.”

  “Ah . . . you better talk to Angel, Sheriff,” Joey said. “He’s across the hall.”

  “Sure,” Lane said, “I’ll talk to the Angel, after I finish talking to you.”

  “Okay,” Joey said. “I’ll get dressed.”

  But for some reason, before he touched any of his clothes, he reached for his gun and removed the gun belt from the bedpost.

  Lane drew and fired twice. Joey danced a bit as each bullet hit him, then fell onto the bed, dead.

  The sheriff stepped into the hall and then to the side, still holding his gun. The door to room six opened and Angel came running out, naked, holding his gun.

  “Hold it, Angel.”

  Angel stopped. He looked into room five first, saw Joey on the bed. Then he turned and looked at the sheriff. “What the hell—”

  “You two tried to rape a woman,” Lane said. “A guest in this town. That’s against the law.”

  “What the hell are you tryin’ to pull, Lane?” Angel said.

  “Debbie, you in there?” Lane called.

  “I-I’ m here.”

  “Come on out, with your clothes.”

  Debbie came out, holding her clothes.

  “Go on downstairs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She hurried to the steps and ran down.

  “Drop the gun, Angel.”

  “Pendejo,” Angel said. “Do you know what the word means?”

  “No.”

  “It has two meanings,” Angel said. “Coward is one. Are you a coward? Will you shoot me without giving me a chance?”

  “You had your chance, Angel,” Lane said. “You and Joey had a simple job to do, and you messed it up.”

  “It’s Adams, isn’t it? You fear him.”

  “I don’t fear anybody, Angel,” Lane said. “You wanna drop the gun, or you wanna try to make a play?”

  “If I drop it, you will kill me,” Angel said. “If I try to make a play, you will kill me.”

  “See?” Lane asked. “You still have a choice, don’t you?”

  “Dying is not much of a choice, Senor.”

  “It’s the only choice you’ve got.”

  Angel shrugged, and made his play. He tried to turn toward the sheriff. But Lane fired twice and Angel fell to the floor.

  Lane stepped forward, kicked the gun down the hall. The door to room eight opened and Ginger, a blousy redhead, stuck her head out.

  “Can I come out?” she asked.

  “Sure, Ginger,” he said. “You can come out now. It’s all over.”

  FIFTEEN

  Sheriff Lane knocked on the door of Loretta Burns’s room.

  “W-who is it?”

  “It’s the sheriff, Miss Burns.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I came to talk to you,” he said. “About the two men you say . . . assaulted you.”

  She opened the door a crack and looked out at him.

  “You don’t have to be afraid, ma’am,” he said. “It’s all over.”

  “What’s over?”

  “The two men,” he said. “They won’t bother you anymore.”

  “You arrested them?”

  “They’re dead,” the sheriff said. “I killed them when they resisted arrest. So you see, you don’t have to be afraid.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No.”

  “Well . . . thank you.”

  “Will you be stayin’ in town?” he asked. “Until you find your black chest?”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “Well,” he said, “if I think of anyone who can help you, I’ll let you know.”

  “A-all right,” she said. “Please do.”

  “Ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his hat.

  She watched him walk down the hall, and when he disappeared from sight, she went back into her room and closed the door.

  She locked it.

  Clint saw the sheriff coming out of the hotel. The lawman spotted him and stopped, waiting for him to approach.

  “You talk to your deputy?” Clint asked.

  “I did,” Lane said, “and I just talked to the lady. I told her she doesn’t have to worry anymore.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “Angel and Joey are dead.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Both.”

  “You?”

  “They resisted arrest.”

  “So you tried to arrest them?”

  “I did,” Lane said. “That’s my job, after all.”

  Clint didn’t say anything.

  “You look surprised.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yeah,” Lane said. “Maybe you heard some things about me you shouldn’t have believed. I do my job, Adams.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “looks like you certainly did today. Good job, Sheriff.”

  He walked past the lawman into the hotel and up to Loretta’s room.

  Who is it?” she called when he knocked.

  “Clint Adams.”

  She opened the door a crack, saw that it was him, and then opened it wider.

  “Just wanted to check on you—”

  “The sheriff was here,” she said. “He says he . . . he killed those two men.”

  “Don’t start thinking he did his job,” Clint said. “Dead just means they can’t testify that he sent them after you.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said, hugging herself as if she was cold.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yes” she said, “although I don’t know why you would want to after the way I’ve treated you.”

  She backed away. He entered and closed the door.

  “My guess is you’ve been pretty unsettled since you got here,” he said.

  She laughed and said, “That’s putting it mildly. I must apologize to you for my actions. And for trying to hire you to kill those two men.”

  “I understand,” he said. “I accept your apology.”

  “So what happens now?” she asked.

  “My guess is, the sheriff will try again. He’ll send someone over who’s a bit more reputable.”

  “But still crooked?”

  “Oh, yes,” Clint said. “You’ve put up a hundred dollars—”

  “I was going to pay those two men a hundred and fifty.”

  “—so the sheriff figures you have a lot more money than that. Plus, if you’re so anxious to get that chest back, there might be something of value in it.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Is there?”

  “No answer.

  “Okay, it’s none of my business,” he said. “Just do me a favor. Be more careful about who you hire next time.”

  “I will.”

  “Good luck,” he said, and left.

  SIXTEEN

  Sheriff Lane went back to his office. As he opened the door, he thought he saw the deputy jump up from his desk, but he decided to let it go.

  “What happened, Sheriff?”

  “Angel and Joey are dead.”

  “Huh?”

  “They resisted arrest,” Lane said, sitting behind his desk. Was the chair warm? “You remember that, okay?”

  “Resisted arrest,” Deputy Simons said. “I got it. Where are they?”

  “At the undertaker’s,” Lane said. “Next stop, potter’s field.”

  “Okay. Uh, what about Clint Adams and the, uh, the lady?” the deputy asked.r />
  “What about them?”

  “Well, is she satisfied?”

  “The men who tried to rape her are dead,” Lane said. “Why wouldn’t she be satisfied?”

  But Loretta Burns was not satisfied.

  Maybe the men who had attacked her were dead, but if Clint Adams was right, and they were sent by the sheriff, then there was still danger. If the sheriff wanted her money, and her chest, how was she supposed to keep him from taking them?

  Also, there was Randolph.

  When Randolph realized she was gone, and with the chest, he would look for her, and when he found her, he’d kill her himself. He wouldn’t send anybody else to do it. Randolph was the type who liked to do things himself.

  She thought she’d be safe among the simpletons in the West. Now she realized she was wrong. She needed somebody to help her navigate her way through these murky waters. Somebody who could handle the sheriff, and Randolph, if it came to that.

  That person was Clint Adams, the professional gunman.

  And she had let him walk out of her room after bidding her, “Good luck.”

  She changed her clothes, donned a shawl she thought might make her less desirable to these Western morons, and went to find him.

  SEVENTEEN

  Clint went to the Golden Palace for a beer before heading back to his room to collect his gear. He was going to ride out of town tonight, get a few miles under his belt, and then camp for the night. That was better than spending one more night in this town, where the sheriff was crazy and there was no telling what he would do. The last thing he needed was to have to shoot a lawman. Even a crazy one.

  When he entered the saloon, there were a few men there who had also been there when he pulled Loretta Burns away from Angel and Joey. They stared at him as he went to the bar and ordered a beer.

  The bartender was also the same one from that afternoon.

  “You’re back,” the bartender said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you, uh, have trouble with Angel and Joey?” he asked.

  “I didn’t,” Clint said. “The sheriff took care of them. At least, that’s what I heard.”

  “Oh, yeah,” the bartender said. “I heard they was dead, but I thought you—”