A Century of Great Western Stories

by A Century of Great Western Stories (retail) (epub)

  A woman joined him suddenly, as if from nowhere, slipping out the door and into his arms. Silhouetted in the lantern light from inside, they stood there kissing for a very long time, until it was obvious that they now wanted to do a lot more than kiss. It took me awhile to realize who she was.

  A few minutes later Reeves slid his arm around her waist and escorted her back inside. They turned out the lights and walked back out and closed the door and got up in Reeves’ black buggy.

  Just before he whipped the horse, I heard her say, “K-Kinda ch-chilly out h-here t-tonight.”

  And then they were gone into the night.

  THERE WAS A potbellied stove on the ground floor of the police station, and when I got back there, two men stood next to it, holding tin cups of steaming black coffee in wide peasant hands. Winter was on the air tonight.

  Kozlovsky nodded upstairs. “Don’t know where the hell you been, Chase, but the chief’s been lookin’ for you for the last hour and a half.”

  Benesh shook his head. “He’s been drinkin’ since late afternoon so I’d watch yourself, Chase. Plus he’s got a prisoner up there in his little room. Some farmhand who got all liquored up because of some saloon whore. He made the mistake of making a dirty remark to the chief.”

  In their blue uniforms, the flickering light from the stove laying a coat of bronze across their faces, they might have been posing for a photograph in the Police Gazette.

  “I’d better go see him,” I said coughing. I was feeling worse.

  The two men glanced at each other as I left.

  The “room” they’d referred to was on the second floor, way in the back beyond the cells, which were dark now, men resting or sleeping on their cots, like zoo animals down for the night. Every time I came up here, I thought of prison, and every time I thought of prison, I thought of all those old men I’d known who’d spent most of their adult lives in there. Then I always got scared. I didn’t want to die in some human cage smelling of feces and slow pitiful death.

  Halfway to the room, I heard the kid moaning behind the door ten yards away. I also heard the sharp popping noise of an open hand making contact with a face. The closer I got the louder the moaning got.

  I knocked.

  “Yeah?”

  “Chief, it’s me. Chase.”

  A silence. Then footsteps. The door yanked open, the chief, sweating, wearing only his uniform trousers and shirt, his jacket on a coat hook, stood there with his hands on his hips, scowling at me. For all that the police officers and some of the citizens talked about Hollister’s “torture room,” it was a pretty unspectacular place, just bare walls and a straight-back chair in the middle of an empty room. Right now, no more than half-conscious, thick hairy wrists handcuffed behind him in the chair, sat a beefy farm kid. His nose was broken and two of his front teeth were gone. His face gleamed with sweat and dark blood, and his eyes showed terror and confusion.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” Hollister said.

  “That’s what I heard. I had to go home. My daughter Annie’s been sick.”

  “Nobody could find you for over an hour, Chase. Don’t give me any horseshit about your poor little daughter. Now you go downstairs and wait for me in my office.”

  He was drunk but you probably wouldn’t have noticed it if you didn’t know him. The voice was half a pitch higher and there was something wild and frightening in the blue eyes.

  “You want me to put him in a cell?” I said, indicating the farm kid.

  “I’ll put him in a cell when I’m ready to put him in a cell.”

  “I wouldn’t want to see you get in any trouble, Chief.”

  “I’ll worry about that, Chase. You just go downstairs to my office and wait for me.”

  Just as the door closed, I glimpsed the kid in the straight-backed chair. His brown eyes looked right at me, pleading, pleading. I thought of the kid that day in the quarry, coming up and crying out for mercy …

  A moment later I heard a fist collide with a face. The kid screamed, and soon enough came another punch.

  He was on the other side of a locked door now. There was nothing I could do.

  I went back through the cells.

  A man was lying awake on the cot, his eyes very white in the gloom. As I walked past his cell he said, “He gonna kill somebody someday, beatin’ folks like that.”

  I just kept walking. Apparently the man was a drifter and hadn’t heard that a prisoner had already died here in what the newspaper called a “mysterious fall.”

  Twenty minutes later Hollister walked into his office, sat down behind his desk, took a small round gold tin of salve from a drawer and proceeded to rub the salve onto the knuckles of his right hand. They looked pretty bad, swollen and bloody. He had his uniform jacket on now, and he once again appeared in control of himself.

  “The sonofabitch tried to hit me,” he said.

  “That’s a pretty neat trick when you’re handcuffed.”

  He glared at me. “Are you accusing me of lying?”

  I stared at my hands in my lap.

  “Somebody in this town doesn’t like you, Chase.”

  “Oh?” I raised my eyes and met his. He was sober now. Apparently, beating up people had a good effect on him.

  He opened the center drawer of his desk, extracted a white business envelope, and tossed it across his wide desk to me.

  “This was waiting for me when I got to work this morning,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “You know how to read?”

  I nodded.

  “Then read it for yourself.”

  I opened the envelope, took out a folded sheet of white paper, and read what had been written on it in blue ink. The penmanship was disguised to look as if it was a child’s.

  The message was just one sentence long.

  “It’s a lie,” I said.

  “Is it?

  “Yes.”

  He took out his pipe, stuck it in his teeth, and leaned back in his chair.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time, you know.”

  “The first time for what?” I said.

  “The first time an ex-convict ended up as a police officer.”

  “I’m not an ex-convict.”

  “Whoever sent me that letter thinks you are.”

  “Somebody’s just making trouble.”

  “How long were you in?”

  “I wasn’t in.”

  “Up to the territorial prison, were you? I hear it’s not so bad there, at least not as bad as it used to be.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “The warden is a good friend of mine. I’m going to wire him and ask him a few things.”

  “Ask him anything you want.”

  He stared at me a long, silent moment. The clock on the west wall tocked. Out in front, around the potbellied stove, a man laughed.

  “Your name really Chase?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you in prison?”

  “I wasn’t in prison.”

  “Be a man, Chase. Tell me the truth.”

  “I robbed a bank.”

  “There. You said it. Now we can cut out the horseshit.” He stared at me some more, tilted back in his chair. “You shoot anybody when you robbed this bank?”

  “No.”

  “You ever shoot anybody?”

  “No.”

  “So you’re not a violent man?”

  I shrugged. “Not so far, anyway.”

  He smiled around his pipe. “That’s an honest way to put it. ‘Not so far, anyway.’” He sat up in the chair. “I’m going to make some inquiries about you.”

  “Your friend the warden?”

  “You can be a sarcastic sonofabitch, you know that?” He shook his head. “What I was going to say, Chase, is that except for your disappearance tonight, you’ve been a damned good officer. Everybody likes you and trusts you, especially the merchants, and that’s very important to me. So believe it or not, I’m not going to fire
you just because you raised some hell when you were younger. You’ve got a family now, and that changes a man. Changes him a lot.” Hard to believe this was the same man who, half an hour ago, had been beating a handcuffed prisoner. “I’m going to write the warden, like I said, and if your story checks out—if you really didn’t shoot anybody and if you were a good prisoner—then I’m going to forget all about that letter.”

  He put his hand out, palm up, and I laid the letter on it.

  He checked the clock. “Hell, I’d better be going home. My wife was visiting her cousin tonight and she’ll probably be getting home about now.”

  “You want me to keep working tonight?”

  “Of course I do, Chase. If you’ve been honest with me tonight, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “I appreciated this, Chief.”

  “Get back to work, Chase, and forget about anything except doing a good job.”

  I stood up, nodded good-bye, and left.

  I had a cup of coffee out next to the stove and then I went back to work.

  Ev Hollister was one complicated sonofabitch, and those are the men you always have to be extra careful of.

  Part 13

  The young man with the white shirt and the celluloid collar and the fancy red arm garters peered at me from behind the bars of his teller’s cage and said, “Three other police officers have their accounts here, too, Mr. Chase.” He had a face like a mischievous altar boy. He wore rimless glasses to make himself look older.

  I smiled. “Then I must be doing the right thing.”

  I hadn’t ever wanted to step inside any bank that Reeves owned. But I wanted to see the place that Lundgren and Mars were going to rob, because by now I knew what I was going to do.

  The layout was simple. For all its finery, the flocked wallpaper, the oak paneling, the elegant paintings, the massive black safe built into the wall, which resembled a huge and furious god—for all of that, the bank was really just one big room divided up by partitions into four different areas. The safe would be relatively easy to get to because, except for a wide mahogany desk, nothing stood in the way. Women in bustles and picture hats, and men in dark suits and high-top shoes, walked around, conducting whispery business. The air smelled of gardenia perfume and cigar smoke.

  I looked over at the side door that Lundgren and Reeves had talked about the other night. It used to open onto the alley, I was told, before the bank had been remodeled. Now it was never opened for any reason, though I had the key to it on my ring.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “The safe,” the teller said. “Barely six months old. Straight from Boston. I doubt even nitro could open it.” He smiled. “Saw you looking at her. Must make the police feel a lot safer.”

  “A lot.”

  “But that’s Mr. Reeves for you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sure. Always buying the best and the newest and the most reliable.”

  Yes, I thought, and probably spending his partner’s money to do it.

  I started hacking then, so much so that it got embarrassing. This morning my throat had been so sore, I could barely swallow, and the chills now came on with a sudden violence.

  “Well, here’s my first deposit,” I said when I’d finished hacking.

  I handed the teller ten dollars. He found a smart little blue bankbook and took an imposing rubber stamp and opened the book and stamped something bold and black on the first page. He turned the page over and wrote $10.00 in the credit column. Then he wrote the date in the proper place and gave me the book.

  “It’s nice to have you as a customer, Mr. Chase.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll like doing business here.”

  “I shouldn’t say this, being so partial and all, but I think we’re the best bank in the whole territory.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  With that I turned and started back to the front of the bank. Then the front door opened and there stood Reeves, sleek and slick as always, staring right at me.

  He was obviously angry to find me here, but he couldn’t say anything with all the customers wandering around.

  He came in, closing the door on the bright but chill afternoon.

  He walked right up to me and said, “I’m glad to see you’re still wearing that uniform.”

  “The chief is a more understanding man than you give him credit for.”

  “Maybe I’ll just have to write him another little note about you.” He frowned. “Why the hell don’t you just get out of this town, Chase? I’d even be willing to give you some money if you just took that wife and daughter of yours and left.”

  “How much?”

  “Maybe ten thousand.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Ten thousand for sure.”

  I grinned at him. “No, thanks, I kind of like it here. Especially when I get a chance to ruin your day like this every once in awhile.” I started out the door and then said, quietly, “Be sure to give Lundgren and Mars my best wishes.”

  He looked around to see if anybody was watching. They weren’t. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, farm boy.”

  “See you around,” I said, and left.

  I stood on the boardwalk for awhile, enjoying the pale, slanting sunlight, enjoying the town, really, the clatter of wagons and horse-drawn trolleys, the spectacle of pretty town women going about their shopping, the way folks greeted me as they passed. They like me, the town folks, and I enjoyed that feeling.

  I was a happy man just then, and I walked down the street with my lips puckered into a whistle. I tried not to notice how bad my throat was hurting.

  Part 14

  That night, feeling even sicker, I dragged myself home and went right to bed …

  In the darkness.

  “Chase?”

  “Huh?”

  “I wanted to wake you up. You were having the nightmare again. About the kid, I think.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that, Chase.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It must have been terrible to see.”

  I was sweating, but it was cold sweat and I wanted to vomit. There was just darkness. And Gillian next to me in her flannel nightgown.

  “I said a prayer tonight, Chase.”

  “How come?”

  “That you wouldn’t go through with it.” Silence. “I know it’s on your mind.”

  “It could work out for us. A lot of money. Going somewhere and buying a farm.”

  We were silent for a long time.

  “Annie saw me praying—I mean, I was down on my knees with my hands folded, just like I was in church—and she asked me what I was praying for, and I told her that I was praying for Pop, that Pop would always do the right thing.”

  The miners got paid on Fridays. On Friday morning the bank always got extra cash for payroll. Today was Friday. Lundgren and Mars would hit the bank today sometime.

  “You hear me, Chase? About my praying?”

  “You know I love you and Annie?”

  “It’ll come to no good, Chase. Men like Reeves just go on and on. I hate to say this, but sometimes evil is more powerful than good. I don’t understand why God would let that be, but He does.”

  Just the darkness, and Gillian next to me …

  I wanted to be content and peaceful. I really did. But I just kept thinking of how easy it would be to take that money from Lundgren and Mars.

  I started coughing hard, the way I’d been doing lately. She held me tight, as if she could make my illness go away. Sometimes she was so sweet I didn’t know what to do with myself. Because I wasn’t sweet at all.

  “Chase, I want you to go see the doc tomorrow. I mean it. No more excuses.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  I lay back.

  The sweat was cold on me. I was shivering.

  “Chase. There’s something that needs saying.”

  I didn�
�t say anything.

  “You listening, Chase?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Chase, if you go through with this, I’ll take Annie and leave. I swear.”

  I wanted to cry—just plain goddamn bawl—and I wasn’t even sure why.

  “I love you, Gillian.”

  But then I went and ruined it all by coughing so hard I had to throw my legs over the side of the bed and just sit there hacking. Maybe Gillian was right. Maybe I needed to see the doc.

  When I finally laid back down again, Gillian had rolled over to face the wall.

  “Honey? Gillian?”

  But she wasn’t speaking anymore.

  Both of us knew what was going to happen, and there wasn’t much to be said now.

  “You’re going to do it, Chase,” she said after a time. And I drew her to me and held her. And I could smell her warm tears as I kissed her cheek. “I know you are, Chase. I know you are.”

  Part 15

  I got up early, before the ice on the creek had melted off, put on street clothes and went into town. My bones ached but I tried not to notice. The sounds of roosters and waking dogs filled the chill air. The sky was a perfect blue and the fallen leaves were bright as copper pennies at the bottom of a clear stream. The fever had waned. I felt pretty good.

  I went directly to the restaurant, ordered breakfast, and took up my place by the window. I wanted to keep a careful eye on the street. I knew what was going to happen this morning.

  Reeves arrived first, riding a big chestnut. In his black suit and white Stetson he was trying, as usual, to impress everybody, including himself.

  He dismounted at the livery, left his horse off and then came back up the street to the bank. Ordinarily, like most of the merchants, he stopped in here for coffee before the business day started.

  But today he took a key from his vest pocket and walked around to the alley on the west side of the bank, and then vanished inside.

  I had more coffee and rolled a cigarette and listened reluctantly as a waitress told me about a terrible incident next county over where a two-year-old had crawled into a pig pen where two boars promptly ripped him apart and then ate him. She had a sure way of getting your day off to a happy start.

  The stagecoach came in twenty minutes later, a dusty, creaking Concord with a bearded Jehu and two guards up top bearing Winchesters. If you hadn’t already guessed that they were transporting money, the two men with the rifles certainly gave you a big hint.