Johnny Black, Soul Chaser: The Complete Series (Johnny Black, Soul Chaser Series)

by JJ Zep

  “I’m not working any case,” I insisted.

  “Whatever, goodnight Johnny.” She gave me a light peck on the cheek and turned over.

  I didn’t get much shut-eye that night, partly because its difficult to sleep when you have a woman as beautiful as Pandora Jain spooning with you, and partially because she snored like a lumberjack and hogged the covers. By the time I did nod off I was pretty sure it was almost dawn.

  ten

  “Why you conniving, two-bit, southern tramp!”

  I woke with a start and, for a brief moment, wasn’t sure where I was. Then the room swam quickly into focus and the first thing I saw was Lily, standing in the doorway and pointing a Derringer pistol at Pandora, who was still asleep beside me.

  “Now Lily,” I said. “Put the gun down. You’ll only end up hurting yourself.”

  “It’s you I‘ll be hurting, you cheatin’ varmint, you and your snake-eyed, Louisiana whore.”

  “What’s the commotion about?” I heard Paddy Murphy shout. “Lily! Tarnation woman, you’ll wake the whole household!” He appeared in the doorframe behind his wife just as Pandora started to stir. She sat up in bed, stretched extravagantly and gave a gaping yawn. Then she noticed Paddy and Lily in the doorway.

  “Morning everyone,” Pandora said, smiling. “What’s for breakfast? I’m hungry enough to eat a horse, saddle and all.”

  “Breakfast!” Lily screeched, “I’ll give you a lead sandwich, you…”

  “Lily!” Paddy cut her off. “Go back to bed, I’ll deal with this.”

  “I want that she-wolf showgirl outa here, her and mister weasel-breath Zeke Blake.”

  “I said I’ll deal with it,” Murphy growled, then turned towards me. “Blake get your ass outa that bed, get dressed and meet me downstairs.” Then he shot Pandora an angry glare, spun on his heel and stomped away.

  “Oh dear,” Pandora said, “looks like we’ve upset someone.”

  I dressed quickly and headed downstairs where I found Murphy in a foul mood. “What in the devil’s handbasket are you playin’ at, Blake?” he said. “Taking up with showgirls on my premises. I run a decent rooming establishment here, you know. Besides, didn’t I make it clear to you that I had my eye on that side-a brisket myself?”

  I could have pointed out that the Kilkenny was basically a whorehouse, and that it would take more than one illicit liaison to tarnish its reputation, but somehow I didn’t think that would go down too well this morning, so I hung my head and looked suitable ashamed.

  “I ought to throw your sorry ass out in the street,” Murphy said. “Only reason I’m not doing so is because we got trouble coming. I sent Turk and some of the boys over to the Double C to shoot up the place a touch. I figure Chisholm’s boys will be coming back at us, so you keep your guns greased and stay off the sauce, you hear.”

  “You sent Turk and the boys to shoot up the Chisholm place? Why?”

  “No better time to do it,” Murphy said. “We got his trail boss, Curly Bill banged up in the calaboose, so make whiskey while you got molasses I say. Besides, I never did cotton much to that sanctimonious son of a bitch.”

  “But what about his daughter? What about Cecelia?”

  “Ain’t you got your plate full enough with that southern belle, you gotta go sniffin’ round miss goody-two-shoes Cecelia Chisholm too. If she’s got any sense, she’ll keep her head down. I’d advise you to do the same, with the ladies I mean. Lily’s on the warpath with you for some reason so you’d be doing yourself a favor stayin’ out of her road.”

  The minute Murphy went back upstairs I ran from the saloon and headed for the livery. I needed to get out to the Chisholm place in a hurry and for that I needed a horse. Of course, I’d never ridden a horse in my life, but I figured I’d soon get the hang of it. I mean, I’d seen it done in the movies, how difficult could it be? All I knew was, I wanted to help Cecelia Chisholm, if I could.

  As I approached Ernie Pyle’s Blacksmith and Livery, I saw a man sitting outside in the sun, who I took to be Ernie. He wore dirty dungarees, and when he saw me he got to his feet and smiled out of a soot-blackened face.

  “Mornin’ Mr. Blake, sir,” he said cheerily. “You’ll be wanting Bucko then?”

  “Bucko?”

  “Them Chisholm boys was good enough to bring him back yesterday evenin’. He’s been fed and watered. I’ll slap on a saddle if you like.”

  “Yeah, do that,” I said.

  I followed Ernie into the barn where a beautiful Appaloosa pony stood chomping on some hay. The horse regarded me suspiciously while Ernie saddled him up.

  “That’ll do ya,” he said eventually and then walked outside to continue his sunbathing.

  I looked at Bucko and he looked right back at me and snorted through his nostrils. “Whoa, Bucko,” I said and took the reins as gently as I could. Bucko snorted and pawed at the earth with his hoof. I slipped the latch on the stall gate and led the horse out into the middle of the barn.

  “Attaboy, Bucko,” I said and skirted around bringing myself in line with the saddle. Now all I had to do was get on board. I lifted my left foot and had just about got it into the stirrup when Bucko decided he wasn’t too keen on me as a passenger and turned in a circle.

  “It’s okay Bucko,” I said gently. “We’re just going to go for a little ride, you and me. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Bucko snorted and seemed to nod his head, but if I took that as a yes I was sorely mistaken. This time he allowed me to get my foot into the stirrup before making his circle, with me dancing along after him like Hopalong Cassidy. After the forth such turn it was getting tiresome and I decided to try a different tack. I tied Bucko’s reins to one of the stalls and was just about to make another attempt at hoisting myself into the saddle when a familiar voice spoke out from behind me.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Dexter,” Jitterbug growled. “Give it up, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

  I turned to face my impish friend and almost fell over laughing. Jitterbug was dressed in buckskin chaps and moccasins. He was bare-chested and had a beaded headband around his forehead and a single feather strategically placed in the back of it. He looked like the mascot for the Cleveland Indians.

  “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up,” Jitterbug said. “I’m not the one doing the circus act with the pony.”

  “I’m sorry, Jitterbug,” I said. “I’m not laughing at you, it’s just, it’s just…” and I burst out laughing again, while Jitterbug stood there and scowled at me.

  “Look, do you want my help or not?” he rumbled.

  “You know anything about horses? I said, barely containing the next bout of giggles.

  “There isn’t a draft animal in the known universes that we Pavarotti’s can’t wrangle,” Jitterbug said, and I just couldn’t help myself. I laughed until my sides ached. While I was trying to subdue my laughter, Jitterbug approached Bucko, took his reigns and pulled the horse’s head down towards him. He seemed to whisper something in Bucko’s ear and the horse snorted and gently nuzzled him. In the next moment Jitterbug vaulted into the saddle and then slid forward and grabbed a couple of handfuls of the horse’s mane.

  “Are you coming or not?” he grumbled and I suddenly remembered that I had to get to the Chisholm ranch. I hoisted myself into the saddle and this time Bucko didn’t even stir. Then Jitterbug whispered something to him and he cantered gently forward.

  Outside, I found Ernie, still sunning himself. “Hey, who’s the little redskin?” he said when he spotted Jitterbug.

  “A friend,” I said. “Which way to the Chisholm place?”

  “Down the trail straight as piss,” he said. “Over Diablo Crick and on a ways. You can’t miss it.”

  I touched Bucko gently with my spurs and we set off down the road at the gallop.

  eleven

  The Chisholm place stood at the foot of a hill in a shallow valley. The homestead was flanked by a grove of ponderosa pines, and it, and the nearby bunkhouse were ablaze. As we approached I c
ould hear shots fired and I spotted Chunk Colbert, one of Murphy’s men taking cover behind a rock. I headed in that direction and joined Chunk in his position.

  “Where’s Turk?” I asked him.

  “Yonder,” he said and pointed towards a cluster of rocks where I could see Turk and Littlebury Shoot in firing positions. I ran over towards them, as a bullet kicked up sand just a few feet in front of me.

  “Zeke,” Turk said, as I reached them, “what the hell are you doing here? Thought you was back in town.”

  “Murphy says to call it off,” I said.

  “He told us to see it through till we got Chisholm,” Turk said dubiously.

  “Change of plans,” I said. “He wants me to take care of Chisholm. Call the boys off.”

  “Okay,” Turk said. “But I’m doing this on your say so. Any trouble that comes of it, lands in your corral.” Turk gave a series of high-pitched whistles and then started to fall back. I could see Chunk Colbert do the same and then spotted a few other men heading cautiously towards some dense brush where their horses were tied up. After a while I heard them mount up and gallop away.

  I removed my gun-belt and placed it on a rock and then I broke cover and walked towards the homestead, with my hands raised. I heard a shot and dust kicked up in front of me but I kept going. The bunkhouse was burning furiously now and the main house also had smoke pouring from the roof. When I was about ten yards from the porch I stopped.

  “Mr. Chisholm!” I called out. “You can come out now. Murphy’s men have taken off.” There was no response from the house. “Mr. Chisholm!” I shouted. “It’s safe to come out. Murphy’s men are gone.”

  The door creaked slowly open and Cecelia Chisholm stepped out onto the porch with a rifle cradled to her shoulder.

  “Well, if they’re all gone,” she said. “How come I still see one of them in front of me?”

  “I ain’t with them, anymore ma’am. And as you can see, I’m unarmed.”

  She looked past me into the brush. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?” she said.

  “You have my word,” I said,

  “Your word? Your word’s not worth a hill of beans in these parts, mister.”

  “CC?”

  I looked towards the door and saw Henry Chisholm, his face ashen, the front of his shirt blood-soaked.

  “Father!” Cecelia said. She dropped the rifle and rushed towards him, catching him just before he fell. I ran to help and between us we eased him into a sitting position, resting against the doorframe.

  “We need to get him to the doctor,” I said.

  “That’s just what you want, isn’t it?” Cecelia scowled at me, with her exquisite blue eyes flashing. “To drag my father into town so you and Murphy can finish him off.”

  “I assure you, my intentions are exactly the opposite. Your father needs medical treatment. He’ll die out here without a doctor.”

  “Father?” Cecelia said uncertainly.

  “I’m afraid he’s right, CC,” Chisholm said. We’ll have to take the Hellfire Kid at his word and take our chances in Devil’s Gulch.”

  twelve

  We loaded Henry Chisholm onto a buckboard and set off towards town, with Cecelia handling the wagon and me riding ahead on Bucko, scouting the land for Murphy’s men. Whatever it was that Jitterbug had whispered to the pony had definitely worked. I sat confidently in the saddle and felt the horse respond easily to every tug on the reins and touch with the spurs. After a while I even got to enjoy the feel of riding along like a real cowboy.

  Speaking of Jitterbug, I hadn’t seen the little imp in a while. I was keen to have a word with my impish friend, to find out what he was doing in Devil’s Gulch in the first place. But that would have to wait for now, the priority was to get Henry Chisholm some medical attention.

  We reached Devil’s Gulch by mid-afternoon and headed straight for Doc Moses’ surgery. If Murphy’s men were around, they were probably in the saloon and we met with no resistance. Henry Chisholm had lost consciousness on the ride into town and it took both me and Doc Moses to lift him from the buckboard and carry him inside, with Cecelia clucking after us like a distressed mother hen.

  “Looks a bad un,” Doc Moses declared. “Not as bad as the bullet you took, young feller, but pretty bad nonetheless.”

  “Is he going to be alright?” Cecelia said. Now that the shock and adrenalin of the day’s events had worn off she looked tired and fearful and I could see that she was close to tears.

  “He’ll pull through,” Doc Moses said. “Hank Chisholm’s a tough old bird. But I’d wager he’ll carry a stiffness in that arm from hence on.”

  While the doc did his work removing the bullet and dressing the wound, I walked out onto the porch with Cecelia. “Thank you,” she said, “For what you did back there. I’m still not sure why you helped us, but I’m mighty grateful. We’d have died back there for sure, if it wasn’t for you.”

  “What happened to your men?” I asked.

  “They run off, soon as the bunkhouse was set on fire. Can’t say as I blame them, they’re just cowpokes after all, not hired killers like Murphy’s men. No offence, mister.”

  “None taken,” I said. “And call me, Johnny.”

  “Johnny? I thought your name was Zeke.”

  “You know what it’s like out west, a man goes by different names to suit his circumstances. My real name’s Johnny, Johnny Black.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Johnny Black,” she said, and took my hand. I looked into those big, blue eyes in that tanned and beautiful face and knew right away that I would do whatever it took to protect Cecelia Chisholm.

  And it appeared I might get my chance sooner, rather than later. As I looked towards the saloon and I saw five of Murphy’s men walk through the batwing doors and head in our direction. As they got closer I recognized Turkey Creek Johnson, Littlebury Shoot, Chunk Colbert, Pancho Daniels, and Russian Bill Tattenbaum, all of them hired guns. They stopped some ten yards away and fanned out.

  “Howdy Zeke,” Turk said.

  “Turk…fellers,” I said.

  “You got me in a mess of trouble with the boss, Zeke. Giving me erroneous information and all.”

  “Sorry about that, Turk,” I said. “Wasn’t about to stand aside and let you fellers murder a woman.”

  “That was never our intention, Zeke. But no matter, the boss is prepared to let bygones be bygones, seeing as how you’re sweet on the girl and all. He says you should come over to the Kilkenny, have yourselves a sit down, straighten this thing out.”

  “Tell Mr. Murphy I appreciate his kind offer, but I’ve decided to tender my resignation. Tell him also that if he bothers Henry Chisholm or his daughter again he’s going to have cause to regret it.”

  “Them’s fightin’ words, mister,” Pancho Daniels said and edged his hand towards his six-shooter.

  “Stand down,” Turk barked. “You want to get yourself killed, Pancho. This here’s the Hellfire Kid.”

  “So what?” Pancho said. “We got him five to one.”

  “Don’t matter if you had him ten to one. You draw that pistol and you’ll be eatin’ a dirt sandwich by sunup. Now stand down!”

  Pancho Daniels slowly and deliberately moved his hand away from his gun and I could almost feel the tension ease.

  “Be seein’ you around, Zeke,” Turk said. He turned to go and the others followed.

  “Is that true?” Cecelia said, as they walked away “About you being sweet on me?”

  “Just cowboys talking,” I said.

  “Oh,” Cecelia said. She sounded disappointed.

  thirteen

  Henry Chisholm had a cousin living in town, a widow by the name of Vera McCauley, and he and Cecelia moved in with her. I, too, needed to find new accommodation and, after asking around, I was directed to the bathhouse, an untidy collection of shacks and tents, next door to the livery stables.

  “You want bar?” the proprietor, a Mr. Feng Shui, asked me.

&
nbsp; “Bar? No I don’t want the bar, I want…”

  “You want bar,” he insisted pointing towards a tub.

  “Oh, a bath,” I said.

  “That what I say. Idiot!” Feng Shui said.

  “No, I don’t want a bath. I want a room.”

  “No room,” he said. “You go to hotel.”

  “I can’t go to the hotel and I heard you might have a room for rent.”

  “I got ten.”

  “Ten rooms? That’s perfect, I’ll take one.”

  “Not ten room. I got ten. Why you don’t listen?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Come, come,” Feng Shui said in a frustrated tone. “I show you.” He grabbed me by the sleeve and pulled me around to the back of the building where a dilapidated old military tent was pitched. “Ten.” he said.

  “Oh, a tent,” I said, while Feng Shui rolled his eyes.

  “Two dollar a week,” he said, “and one for friend.”

  “Friend?”

  “Small, ugly Indian,” he insisted, pointing towards the ground.

  “You mean, Jitterbug? You can see him?”

  “Of course, he right there.”

  Jitterbug suddenly appeared in the exact spot where Feng Shui was pointing. “Who you calling ugly, you Peking peccadillo?” he grumbled.

  “Three dollar,” Feng Shui said holding out his hand. “You pay now.”

  I handed over the money and he led us towards the tent. The accommodations were little more than a patched sheet of canvas suspended from a tilted pole, with two cots, a rusty basin and a dirt floor. Feng Shui though, presented this to us with a sweep of his hand and a look of pride on his face.

  “You keep clean,” he said. “And small, ugly Indian no smoke peace pipe in ten.” Then he left us.

  “Living it up as always I see,” Jitterbug said, after he’d gone. “And for this I left a warm, comfortable cave back in hell.”

  “I was meaning to ask you about that,” I said. “Why exactly are you here?”