Angel Gone Bad

by Sabine Starr

  “Did you now?” Hammer flicked his eyes at Baines, then back again.

  Baines jumped to his feet. “Told you there was nothing worth having back there. Money’s in horses.”

  Rune pulled a leather pouch out of his saddlebag, shook it till coins jingled, and then tossed it on the ground. “What do you call that?”

  Hammer motioned to one of his men who ran over, picked up the pouch, and handed it to the lieutenant. Hammer hefted it in his hand, and then looked inside. He fingered a few coins, and then lifted one side of his mouth in a parody of a smile.

  “Got to know where to look,” Rune said. “Some of those Choctaw families are rich.”

  Hammer tossed the pouch up and caught it. “Are you making a contribution to the cause?”

  “I am. Life on the run is gettin’ a mite wearisome. I don’t cotton to being put back behind bars.”

  “You lookin’ to ride with the Badgers?”

  “That I am.”

  “Good with a gun?”

  “Good enough.”

  “That right, you get sent up for horse theft?” Hammer asked.

  “And trafficking in stolen horses.”

  “You bust out with these three?”

  “The Verdigris Gang.”

  Hammer snorted. “Who the hell calls themselves a gang of greenies like they’re too green to know which way is up?”

  “That’s not what—” Baines said.

  “Shut up and sit down,” Hammer commanded. “Not sure you’ve got sense enough to get out of the rain.”

  Rune kept his mouth closed, glad to know Baines was already ruining his chances with the strongest outlaw gang around.

  “Best choose your partners with care,” Hammer said.

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Sounds like you might have some sense after getting off to a bad start with the dumb-as-dirt gang.” Hammer tossed the pouch of coins up and caught it again.

  “Doing my best.”

  Hammer stroked his mustache down one side and then the other. “The lady?”

  “She’s mine.”

  “Pity.” Hammer tucked the pouch of coins into the leather fringed bag he wore on his belt. “Got a job that might interest you.”

  “Horses?”

  “We were headed out with this bunch when you showed up.”

  “Glad we didn’t miss you.”

  Hammer nodded. “Nobody makes a move without Crawdaddy’s say so.”

  “Who’s that?” Rune’s heart beat fast. This was the best information he’d ever gotten. Crawdaddy had to be the leader that had kept the Badgers out of jail for years. If he could get to Crawdaddy, he could solve the case. But he couldn’t appear eager.

  “He’s a careful man. I’m a careful man. Are you?”

  “I try not to be too stupid.”

  Hammer chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. “That’s better than some I could name around here.”

  Rune glanced at Baines. Steam was about coming out of his ears, but he remained seated, fists clenched. “And Crawdaddy?”

  “He’s a bottom feeder like his namesake. He says everything falls to the bottom of the river in time. That’s when it’s ripest and easiest to pluck.”

  “Sounds like he’d be good at cards,” Angel said.

  “And chess.” Hammer turned expressionless eyes on her. “One thing. You get in to see him, you either join up, meet his expectations, or you’re dead. He leaves no loose ends or loose lips.”

  Rune wasn’t surprised. Only a completely ruthless man could have held together such a big outfit for so long.

  “I don’t know how I could resist meeting and playing cards with a man like that,” Angel said in a low, sultry voice.

  “She likes to play with the best.” Rune admired her cool response. He wished she wasn’t going anywhere near Crawdaddy, but he didn’t figure he could talk her out of it or that there was much chance of backing out now.

  “I’m not one to stop her,” Hammer said. “You want in or out?”

  “I’m in”

  Hammer nodded, and then glanced at the V Gang. “Suppose I can’t talk you three out of going?”

  “We’re in all the way,” Baines said. “Crawdaddy will see our worth.”

  “Not likely he’ll pass up cannon fodder.”

  Baines appeared offended. “We’re good with horses. We’re good with guns. And we’re good on the run.”

  “Let’s see if you can drive those horses to Fort Smith.”

  “Easy.” Baines stood up.

  “He’s not in Indian Territory?” Rune was surprised Crawdaddy would take a chance on being right next door to the toughest judge in the United States.

  “The man likes his creature comforts.” Hammer gave a raspy chuckle. “I like mine, too. And he keeps what’s near him strictly legal.”

  “Smart.” Rune glanced over at Angel. She gave him a valiant smile. One way or another, they were in this together.

  “Mount up,” Hammer ordered. “Time’s a wastin’.”

  Chapter Forty

  Once more, Angel had ridden all night. She was tired, dusty, and hungry. But determined. As the sun rose, she selected three cards from her Spider Grandmother deck. They were not what she’d expected, nor what she wanted to see. Danger. Death. Destruction. She quickly tucked them back into her reticule.

  She hoped Verity was okay. She hoped Tate Thornton was still alive and with the Badgers. She hoped she and Rune could win against so many armed and dangerous men. Hammer was bad enough. Crawdaddy sounded like a nightmare. Somehow she had to stay calm in the face of what she knew would be fear when they reached their destination.

  Earlier, Hammer had sent a man racing ahead to announce them, so they’d be expected by Crawdaddy. She wondered what kind of reception they’d get.

  Hammer held up a hand and halted the group on the Fort Towson Road outside of Fort Smith.

  “Captain, take Joe, Tim, and the Greens to the ranch,” Hammer said. “Get the new horses settled in and meet us in town.”

  “Why don’t you send Rune?” Baines complained.

  “Think you’re smart enough to give orders?” Hammer snapped. Baines shut his mouth, but gazed daggers at the lieutenant. “Don’t pay him no nevermind,” Hackett said. “He’s been like a bear with a thorn in his paw since his gal Diana up and left him.”

  “She didn’t leave me,” Baines growled. “She disappeared.”

  “Same thing,” Hackett said.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Shut up!” Hammer commanded. “Get the job done and don’t dawdle.”

  “Yes, sir.” Captain motioned for his group to follow.

  Angel watched three of the Badgers and the V Gang drive the stolen horses north. Everyone else continued toward the east.

  She felt relieved to know that Diana had escaped Baines and was hopefully safely tucked away with Manny. As soon as possible, she’d get in touch with her new friend and help Diana find a more permanent home.

  Fear had already come. The threat of violence between Hammer and Baines hung in the air. She’d never been around people like this before. She hadn’t known what she was getting into. She’d been naïve to think she could rescue Tate on her own. Without Rune, she wouldn’t have gotten this far. Yet she couldn’t let Verity, or Tate, down. They needed her help more than ever. Somehow she had to find enough courage to face her own fear and whatever else was thrown at her.

  As she rode up to Fort Smith surrounded by outlaws, she felt as if she was leaving civilization, not entering it. Most folks considered Fort Smith the last toehold of law before the wildness of the West, but she was no longer so sure. If Crawdaddy ran his illicit empire from there, she knew plenty more must go on beyond the blinders of the law.

  Across from Indian Territory, Fort Smith sprawled under a curve of the wide Arkansas River that split Cherokee Nation to the north from Choctaw Nation to the south. Angel had followed the smaller Poteau River much of the way north where it joined the Ar
kansas. After the spectacular mountains, streams, and waterfall, the flat, wide riverbanks appeared tame. Yet in the city, humanity would be the beauty and the danger, not nature.

  “We’re going to the riverfront, not fancy Garrison Avenue,” Hammer said. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t remember a thing unless Crawdaddy wants it.”

  Angel felt a chill run up her spine as they passed the businesses, hotels, warehouses, and brothels that lined the busy waterfront. She took deep breaths to slow her heart rate.

  Hammer rode up to a single-story warehouse, an imposing, redbrick square with darkened windows. “Crawford Cotton Merchants” was hand lettered in Gothic script on an outdoor sign.

  He dismounted and tossed his reins over his saddle horn. “Sergeant, see to the horses.” He pointed at Angel and Rune. “You two, follow me.”

  Angel exchanged a quick look with Rune. She didn’t want to go into that building. It felt like a trap, as if once inside, it would snap shut and keep her there forever. But she pushed her fear aside, tied her reticule to her wrist, and stepped down from the gelding that had brought her so far. She stroked the white blaze down his long face to reassure him. She would make sure Crowdy’s two horses were returned safely to him.

  As she followed Hammer up to a side door, she could smell river silt and cottonseed oil. Neither reassured her. Only Rune’s strong presence at her back gave her comfort.

  Hammer opened the door and motioned her inside. Rune followed right behind her. She stopped in a long hall that stretched out in both directions. In front of her was a closed door. A guard stood beside it, thumbs hooked under his belt. Hammer motioned the guard to one side, conferred quietly, and then took a set of keys off his belt, selected one, and unlocked the door. He gestured toward the dimly lit stairs.

  She looked a question at him, not wanting to go down into what could only be a dank, dark basement.

  Ignoring her look, Hammer focused on Rune. “Stay here. I’m taking her down to her room where she can be comfortable.”

  “Wait a minute—” Rune said.

  “You can join her later.”

  “What about Crawdaddy?” Rune asked.

  “You’ll meet him tonight.” Hammer gestured again for Angel to precede him down the stairs.

  She gave Rune an encouraging nod, although she didn’t feel a bit encouraged, and started downward. The farther she went, the cooler the air. That was one good thing about being deep in the earth, but it came with humidity, especially so close to the river. The scent of roses overlaid a musty smell.

  Downstairs was a maze of corridors and closed doors. Silent, too. It looked too much like a prison for comfort.

  “Turn right,” Hammer said. “Third door.”

  She followed his orders and stopped in front of the door.

  He unlocked it and gestured for her to enter.

  She stepped into a large room.

  “You’re to wash up and rest.” He lifted a metal lip on hinges set in the thick wood of the door. “Push your clothes out this slat and they’ll be cleaned. Fresh clothing in the wardrobe.”

  He started to shut the door.

  “Wait! What about Rune?”

  “He has work to do. I’ll bring him to you later.”

  “What about food?”

  “After dark.”

  He shut the door in her face and locked it.

  Angel pressed her ear to the wood and heard him walk away. Other than that, all was silent. She turned, leaned back against the door, and surveyed her gilded cage. The room was painted a deep rose with forest green trim. A narrow, horizontal window too high to reach let in pale sunlight, but it was too small to let anyone in or out. A big, high bed was covered in white silk. Two chaise longues with a small table between them repeated the wall colors in rose damask with forest green pillows.

  She walked over to the far corner near the window where the biggest bathtub she’d ever seen perched atop a white marble dais. White towels were stacked on the corner. Several glass jars, an ivory brush, comb, and hand mirror set, and a man’s razor were nestled nearby. She lifted the lid of one jar and sniffed rose bath salts. Another held rose-scented fine-milled soap. She saw a commode and sink, all with running water, too.

  She’d yearned for creature comforts on her long, hard rides, but this was beyond anything she could have imagined. Yet luxury made it no less a cell or her less a prisoner.

  She walked over, picked up the small table between the chaises, and carried it back to the window. She stepped up on it, and looked outside. She was on the river side of the building. A boat was moored not far away. If Crawdaddy dealt in cotton and cottonseed oil, this was the perfect place to store and transport bulky items. From here, the Arkansas River eventually flowed into the Mississippi River, leading downstream to river ports and the city of New Orleans. But what did this business have to do with stolen horses? Maybe horse theft was simply a sideline for Crawdaddy.

  She refocused on the room and stepped down. She opened the door to an armoire and saw a black silk gown, black hat with veil, and black mesh mitten gloves with a black corset and drawers. Someone intended her to dress as the Black Widow again. She slipped a sheer white silk wrapper embroidered with red roses off a hanger and laid it on the bed.

  A set of men’s clothes, charcoal gray trousers, white shirt, and blue brocade vest, had also been placed in the armoire. They looked about right to fit Rune. So he wasn’t to be left out either.

  She wished she wasn’t stuck in this room. She felt useless. She couldn’t find Tate from here. She couldn’t help Rune

  At least she could get clean. She felt vulnerable, but she wasn’t totally defenseless. She still had her derringer. She set her reticule on the bed within easy reach, and then quickly removed her clothes. She wouldn’t set them outside. She shook off the dust, and put them with her boots inside the armoire.

  Now she was ready for her bath. She set her reticule on the dais where it wouldn’t get wet. She twisted the handles on the tub and water shot out, hot and cold both. She tossed in some bath salts, grabbed a washcloth, a bar of soap, and stepped into the deep tub.

  She sank down into the warm water, feeling it soothe her sore muscles. She sighed in contentment as she gently washed her body. When the water cooled, she washed her hair under the taps, and then dried off with soft towels. She carried the comb and her reticule over to the feather mattress.

  After she slipped on the sheer wrapper, she sat down and gently combed out the tangles in her hair. She yawned, feeling all the long miles catch up with her. She pulled back the covers, placed her reticule containing her derringer and cards under her pillow, and snuggled between satin sheets. She quickly fell into the deep sleep of exhaustion.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Rune hated being apart from Angel while he mucked out stalls, curried horses, and set out feed. He worried about her, but he trusted her to hold her own. After they’d separated, he’d been taken to another part of the basement. He was watched at all times, so he’d had no chance to explore. It looked like Crawdaddy had an elaborate system of checks and balances. No telling what he was getting away with down in his secret underground.

  Without his guns, Rune felt naked. Hammer had confiscated his Colt .45 and hung it over Rune’s saddle horn near his sheathed rifle. But Hammer hadn’t checked for concealed weapons. Rune still had his knife strapped to his ankle. Hand to hand, he figured he could take about anybody.

  As he worked, he tried to figure out a way to search for Tate. If Crawdaddy had the deputy stowed some place, it’d be down here. Except for the noise he and the horses were making, the place was quiet. That gave him an idea. He couldn’t holler out Tate’s name and see if he got an answer. That’d get him a bullet quicker than a heartbeat. But maybe he could whistle a popular tune while he worked and see if somebody down here heard him.

  He tried the tune of “The Ballad of Lady Gone Bad.”

  The outlaw watching him chuckled. “I’d give a lot to spend
a night with Lady.”

  “Most men would give about anything.”

  “All-fired right.”

  The first song hadn’t worked, so Rune tried to think of something that might cue a Deputy U.S. Marshal that help was here. He remembered a song that gave a nod of appreciation to the AHTA. A lawman might have heard and remembered it.

  He tried a few notes of that ballad.

  “Hey, I don’t know that one,” the outlaw complained. “Whistle another of Lady’s songs.”

  “I’m trying to remember one.” He tried a few more bars from the AHTA song.

  While the outlaw was grumbling about it, he heard a faint response. Somebody completed the melody. He quickly made a lot of noise, tossing hay and whistling off tune.

  “If you can’t whistle better than that, shut up. You’re hurtin’ my ears.”

  “Sorry. Can’t seem to get it right.” He tried the same notes again. And when he heard the faint response, he covered it up by dropping a bucket of oats on the outlaw’s foot.

  “Balderdash!” The outlaw struck out with a fist.

  Rune took the punch in his mouth, tasted blood, and went down. He hoped it’d been enough of a distraction that the outlaw hadn’t noticed the earlier response.

  “Get up and get back to work. Didn’t hurt you none. Damn creepy place echoes, creaks, groans till you’d think ghosts were living down here.”

  “No harm done. I was clumsy.” Rune got to his feet, hardly able to believe his luck, but he didn’t dare chance it again. He had a direction for a lawman squirreled away behind a door down the hall.

  “You gonna be at this all day, or are you done?”

  “Done.”

  “Good. I’ve got a little filly waitin’ for me.” The outlaw pointed down the hall. “That way. I’m takin’ you to yours.”

  As Rune walked down the hall, dragging his feet, he hummed the AHTA tune under his breath. He hoped to get some type of response.

  “Hurry it up. We ain’t got all day,” the outlaw complained.

  Rune counted closed doors as he passed them. One, two, three. At the fourth door, the metal cover over the slot in the door clanged up and down several times.