by Jake Logan
“That’s enough!” the older man shouted.
“Get back inside,” Bo said.
Terrance responded to that with a fiery shotgun blast. Slocum reflexively dropped when he heard the noise, but he was still scraped by several stray pieces of lead. One of the windows behind him shattered, but none of that compared to the hell that had been visited upon Bo.
Standing closest to Terrance, the skinny wheel spinner caught the brunt of the blast. He was knocked off his feet, sent several yards into the street, and hit the dirt in a bloody pile. The sight of him was gruesome enough to stop everything else in the vicinity. Men who’d been scrambling for cover or fighting to get away couldn’t help but gawk at Bo’s twitching remains. Even Slocum leaned away from his post with his arm stretched in front of him as if he’d forgotten what it was he’d been aiming at. To make the sight even more captivating, bits of the money that Slocum had given Bo fluttered through the air like so many dead leaves before sticking to the wet mud in the nearby ditches.
Cam had only been a few long strides away from where Bo was standing. Now he stumbled toward his fallen partner, gripping his pistol with just enough strength to keep it from falling through his fingers. He stared down at Bo’s body and would have taken a shot at Slocum if not for the metallic click of Terrance’s second shotgun hammer being pulled back.
“You men won’t step foot in my place again,” Terrance warned. “All these people here saw you shooting this street up. What I did was in self-defense.”
“That’s right,” one of the people near the Stamper said. “I’ll be a witness.”
“Me too,” one of Terrance’s girls chimed in. “They were going to kill someone.”
“Sure was!”
“I’ll get the law myself and tell ’em what happened!”
So many people were talking that Slocum couldn’t keep track of them all. He had other things to worry about; namely, the dandy bounty hunter who struggled to regain his footing. Before Harper could get his wits about him, Slocum stomped over and hauled him to his feet. “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, huh? You had to start this whole mess by coming after me!”
“You’re the one who started the mess,” Harper replied. “You killed those men in Fort Griffin.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
“You’re a coward and a liar!” the bounty hunter spat.
Even as the street filled with people and James started swinging at whoever got close enough to try and disarm him, Slocum grabbed two handfuls of Harper’s shirt and held him up so he could continue his conversation uninterrupted. “I won’t abide that kind of talk from any bounty hunter! Men like you will say any damn thing just so long as you can get your money! You’ll kill and steal and lie more than most of the men you track down. The only thing separating you from them is some goddamn piece of paper with a notice on it. Come to think of it, where’s the notice declaring the reward for me?”
A shot was fired from farther down the street, but Slocum hardly flinched. James and Cam fled down the street, shouting for everyone to stay out of their way and firing wildly to back up their demand. By now, Terrance was being backed up by all of his own men. The theater’s guards were more than ready to wave their guns around when the real threat seemed content to scamper in the opposite direction.
“Where’s the notice?” Slocum snarled as he shook Harper like a rag doll.
“You know what you did.”
“I wanna know where you’re getting your ideas. If you’re some kind of bounty hunter, you can’t just go after any man you please. What the hell made you come after me? I wanna know!”
When Harper started to reach for his jacket pocket, Slocum knocked away his hand and dug into the pocket himself. He found the folded sheet of paper right away, pulled it out of Harper’s jacket, and shook it out until he could read what had been printed on its wrinkled surface. Instead of a proper reward notice, it was a hastily drawn sketch of several men standing in a smoke-filled street. Most of those men were lying on their backs or on their sides with blood pooling around them. One of the only figures on their feet held a smoking gun in each hand and was twice as large as any of the rest. The words above the crude picture were “Six-Gun Devil: Eight men killed in Fort Griffin showdown.”
“This isn’t a reward notice!” Slocum said. No matter what else was going on around him, he wasn’t about to take his eyes off of Harper. No amount of shouting, cursing, running, or other commotion was going to distract him now that he was this close to the bounty hunter who’d turned his entire Chicago visit into a farce.
What angered Slocum even more was the fact that Harper didn’t appear to realize what he’d done. He merely nodded and found a way to look down his nose at Slocum despite the fact that he was the one dangling from another man’s fist. “It’s all in the print. If you can’t read it, that’s not my concern.”
Tightening his grip on Harper to the point where he was close to tearing the man in half, Slocum growled, “I can read, damn you. If it takes me too long to find what I’m after, I might as well choke the life out of you and read through every last word at my leisure.”
“Under the picture,” Harper quickly said. “Second line.”
Slocum found the second line of typewritten print beneath the picture and read it. “This says I’ve got prices on my head from half the states in the Union. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve caused enough trouble to make the man rich who puts an end to you.”
After stuffing the notice into his pocket, Slocum got a better grip on Harper’s shirt and slammed him against the closest wall. “How many times do I gotta tell you I didn’t do whatever it is you think happened in Fort Griffin?”
Harper’s smug grin and slow shake of his head was almost enough to make Slocum put a bullet through him. “That’s what all the outlaws say,” he sneered.
“Then I guess I might as well have the same fun as those killers would have at your expense.” With that, he brought his Colt Navy up to Harper’s chin and glared directly into his eyes.
Then, a hand settled on his shoulder, and Terrance’s calm voice cut through the rest of the commotion filling the street. “It’s all over, John. He’s not one of the men we were after.”
“I know, but—”
“Then let him go,” Terrance insisted. “There’s been enough excitement for one night.”
Slocum let out a breath and felt his blind rage settle into the pit of his stomach. It was still there, but not close enough to the surface to dictate his actions. He let go of Harper.
“Where’s my gun?” Harper asked.
Amazed at the other man’s gall, Slocum replied through gritted teeth, “Tossed it into the street.”
“Not that one. The .32 you took from me.”
Slocum reached behind his back to pull the .32 out from where it was nestled at the base of his spine. Tossing it to him, Slocum prayed for Harper to make a move that was wrong enough to justify him putting a bullet through the dandy’s face. When the bounty hunter started to walk away, Slocum pointed to Terrance and said, “This man saved your damn life. Better give him proper respect.”
Even though Harper tipped his bowler hat at the theater owner after collecting his .32, Slocum still wanted to knock the man’s head off.
7
Late the next afternoon, Slocum stood at the spot against the bar he’d staked out for his own. With the deathly glare affixed on his face as he stood in his spot and drank, there wasn’t anyone else in the Stamper willing to challenge him. He kept one elbow propped against the bar and his eyes pointed toward the front window. Nobody walking up or down Halstead escaped his notice. Likewise, anyone setting foot on Twelfth Street couldn’t cast a wayward glance at the Stamper without Slocum knowing about it.
Terrance ambled over to the bar and stood for several seconds without making a sound. Finally, he cleared his throat and began drumming his fingers on the polish
ed wooden surface.
“Before you start whistling a tune,” Slocum grunted. “I know you’re there.”
“You know who isn’t here?” Terrance asked. “Bo, James, or Cam. One’s in the ground and the other two hightailed it out of here.”
“James’ll come back.”
“Oh, I doubt that. After last night’s spectacle, the law will treat them as the menaces they are instead of just some loudmouthed gamblers or workers giving their boss a rough time. When I tried to get anything done the proper way, Bo would put on his best smile and slide right out of it.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I think he may have had something on one of the lawmen around here because you wouldn’t believe how relieved he looked when he saw Bo was dead.”
“Yeah.”
After taking a sip of whiskey, Terrance swirled the dark liquid around in its glass and said, “Then, when Bo stood up and cursed us all for killing him, that’s when things really got interesting. Eve had to put a stake through his heart.”
“I bet.”
“You’re not even listening.”
“Sure I am,” Slocum grunted. “Bo rose up from the dead. Lawmen around here were taking bribes. Same bullshit.”
“What if I give you the rest of your payment? It won’t be the full amount since I pulled the trigger on Bo, but it’ll be enough to compensate you for the fine job you did in winning that battle.”
Slocum shifted his stance so he was facing the bar. That way, he could show his face to Terrance while also watching the window from the corner of his eye. “I wouldn’t call that a battle. More of a loud disagreement with gunfire involved.”
“And a shotgun,” Terrance declared proudly. “Don’t forget the shotgun.”
“I didn’t. I was hoping you would before you realized you were the one to end the fight even though you paid me for it.”
“You sowed the seeds that set the whole thing up. Aren’t you the one who made it look like Bo was turning on them other two?”
“More or less.”
“Plus you forced their hand where the threats were concerned. If my men or I had done that, we wouldn’t have lived to see it through. Hell, we wouldn’t have even made the impression you did when you showed them what’s what at the roulette table.”
“It wasn’t worth what you paid,” Slocum said. “I can give back some of the money if you like.”
Terrance leaned both elbows on the bar and finished his drink. “Keep it. It’ll be earned back anyway at the roulette table Bo left behind and from James’s girls.”
That caused Slocum to pull his eyes away from the window.
“Yeah,” Terrance chuckled. “James forced me to agree on a smaller percentage for the house take on that wheel as well as a smaller percentage of everything coming through here in regards to them girls he was pushing around. I held back a little bit every time to make up for some of what I was losing. Cam was poking his nose through my ledgers, so he would have found out about it in another day or two. Possibly a week if I distracted them some other way.”
Slocum grinned and shook his head. “So that’s why you were in such a hurry to contact me?”
“Inviting just any hired gun would have set me up to get squeezed in the same vise by another set of hands. Soon as Bo was cleared out, some other scoundrel would have probably taken over his roulette table.”
“You’re certain of that?”
Terrance and the bartender stared at each other for just a bit too long before finally looking away and getting back to their own sides of the bar. The tender moseyed over to polish some glasses which appeared to be perfectly clean while Terrance picked at a spot in the wood grain that seemed to be doing just fine on its own.
“There was someone else forcing his way into your business before Bo and James, wasn’t there?” Slocum asked.
Terrance cleared his throat and impatiently reached over the bar for a bottle.
“More than one?” Slocum inquired.
The theater owner was quick to come to his own defense with “Certainly not!”
“But there was one before Bo?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t tell me. You hired James to deal with whoever the first one was; he did, and then Bo moved in.”
“James just set up shop upstairs. Cam talked him into partnering with Bo.”
“But the idea’s the same.”
“Yes,” Terrance replied. “I’m afraid it is.”
When Slocum laughed, he didn’t exactly know why. It was as if a tired shake of his shoulders just spilled out in the form of a grin and chuckle. Before too long, Terrance had no choice but to join him.
“So you’re still worried about James coming back, are you?” Terrance finally asked when he had enough breath to do so.
“Nah. Let him come.”
“Good. The way you were watching that window before, I was thinking there might be even more trouble if he did show.”
Slocum looked out the window and immediately shifted so he could stare directly outside once again. “He’s not the one I was looking for.”
“Surely not that dandy you were introducing to the wall?”
“He’s a bounty hunter. I don’t think too highly of bounty hunters.”
“But is he really such a cause for concern?” Terrance asked.
Removing the paper from his pocket, Slocum unfolded it and spread it upon the bar. “This is what concerns me.”
After looking at it for all of two seconds, Terrance said, “That’s just some poorly scrawled drawing over some words. It’s not a proper reward notice, is it?”
“As far as I can tell, no. But it did its job well enough to send one fool after me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout my years on this earth,” Slocum growled while pounding a fist against the paper, “it’s that there’s always more fools to follow the first one into the breach.”
“Speaking as a former soldier, I don’t think I like those words.”
Slocum let out a breath and waggled his empty glass at the barkeep. “Eh, you know what I mean.”
When the bartender looked over at Terrance, he got a quick nod to refill the glass. As the drink was poured, Terrance said, “I suppose it’s too much to hope that that’s the only one that was printed.”
Without looking at the notice again, Slocum sighed, “Yeah. Way too much to hope for.”
Terrance took the notice by the edge and tugged until Slocum moved his hand. He then leaned against the bar and flapped the notice like it was a newspaper he was straightening so he could read it better. “Real interesting drawing here.”
“I noticed.”
“Usually there’s pictures of the man with the price on his head.”
“I know,” Slocum snapped.
“And this description . . . very compelling. Almost makes me want to drag you in myself.” Seeing the glare from Slocum, Terrance brought a quick end to that line of talk. “Did you really kill eight men in Fort Griffin?”
“No!”
“It ain’t out of the question, you know. Maybe they deserved it and there was just some misunderstanding. Maybe it was a long time ago.”
“Maybe,” Slocum bellowed, “it’s a crock of horseshit!”
Clearing his throat and moving another step closer to Slocum, Terrance said, “Could you keep your voice down? My customers are a little skittish after what happened the other night.”
“Your customers were more entertained the other night than when they watch the shows you put on. Come on, Terrance. This is more of a cathouse nailed on top of a saloon than a theater.”
“Keep your damn voice down before I have one of my men walk you to the door. After all I did to take the reins back, the last thing I need is for some other asshole with a gun to get ideas when he sees me as a wilting daisy in my own place.”
Even though Slocum knew the Stamper guards weren’t any sort of a threat, he respected the point Terrance made. It was easy to see one gunman rolling in af
ter the other was ousted, and it was even easier to think that one of those gunmen was keeping a close eye on the theater after what had happened to Bo. Slocum let his shoulders drop back down so they weren’t bunched up around his ears, just so he didn’t pose a threatening picture. Surprisingly enough, the act felt good in its own right.
“Sorry about that, Terrance. You have been through more than enough without me adding to the mix. Whatever this notice is, it’s my problem.”
Terrance slipped out of his stern demeanor a few seconds after Slocum let the hairs on the back of his arm settle into place. Looking once again at the notice, he said, “There isn’t even a proper sum on this. What self-respecting bounty hunter would bother with such a thing?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“That man seemed like he could barely fight. Of course, I didn’t see much of him, but he wasn’t too impressive.”
“No,” Slocum said as he shifted back around to face Terrance. “He wasn’t. You say you’ve never heard of him?”
“What was his name?”
“Michael Harper.”
Terrance only took a few moments to think it over, but Slocum felt like he waited for an hour before the other man finally shook his head and replied, “No. The name doesn’t ring any bells. Maybe you should try Braverly.”
“Who’s that?”
“Not who. Where. Braverly, Illinois.” This time, it was Terrance who stared at Slocum as if he were waiting forever for a response. Growing impatient even faster than Slocum had, the older man slapped his hand down on the paper and shoved it toward him. “You should try reading the things on here that don’t mention your name. Look right there at the bottom.”
“It just goes on about the men that were killed and how—”
“No! The very bottom,” Terrance said as he stabbed the lowest edge of the paper with his finger. “See?”
If Slocum had been one of those old-timers with a pair of spectacles in his shirt pocket, he would have taken them out and set them on the bridge of his nose. Instead, he was a man who resented the fact that he couldn’t see every little thing the first time around. Of course, the tiny letters at the very bottom of the page might very well have been overlooked by a hawk in its prime.
