Ned met Tom Bell’s eyes. They’d widened slightly, not from fear, but from something deep down inside that Ned once saw in a honky-tonk across the river. A roaring in his ears told him things were quickly building to a head.
Tom Bell shifted in his seat and hung an elbow across the back. He pushed his hat up with a thumb and met Muscle’s gaze. His voice was quiet, conversational, exactly opposite the gathering storm. “Son, you and I need a talk. See, I’ve known men like you all my life.”
“That so?”
“And every one was the same. Full of piss and vinegar, but not near enough sense to know what to do with it.” He tilted his head toward Ned. “That feller right there’s good, and decent, and calm in most weather, but when he gets mad, people get hurt.”
Muscles started to laugh, but saw something in Tom Bell’s eyes that slowed his roll.
“Now you’re getting it.” Tom Bell’s voice was low and steady. “Look at him. He hasn’t paid your struttin’ any attention, and I bet you think he’s afraid, right, but look at his hands, son. They ain’t shaking, and his voice didn’t quiver when he spoke. I bet you didn’t notice that either, right?”
“I don’t care.”
“You should. He’s just waiting like a big ol’ rattler that wants to be left alone, but he ain’t rattled yet. If I’s you, I’d go back on over there and drink those beers you ordered before he gets up out of that chair and goes to work.”
The short twenty-something man at the table snorted, but his attempt at bravado died in the thick, silent air.
Muscles swallowed. “Goes to work, how?”
Tom Bell finally raised his head to look the man in the eyes. “You need to learn to pay attention, son. See, how he’s sittin’? You think he can’t do anything, but he’s an old he-coon that’s still pretty spry for his age and if you keep going the way you are, I doubt you’ll get so ripe.”
Muscles raised a lip. “This fat old man ain’t never hurt a fly. Who are you, anyway?”
“I don’t matter, but that fat old man carries a badge, for one thing, son, and for another, I have a sneaking suspicion there’s a feller or two would say different, if they could still talk.”
The tough young men wavered and the leader went soft and indecisive. Suddenly confused, he looked to his friend near the bar. “A badge?”
“Now y’all are getting it.”
White Jeans gave his partner a head shake and took over. “No damn badge scares me. He ain’t from around here, so he ain’t got any juris, jury…”
“Jurisdiction.” The short man rooted at the table seemed to have a little more on the ball than the other three.
“Shut up, Dewayne. Yeah, jurisdiction.”
“I’m tired of talking to you.” Tom Bell pushed his chair back. The sudden move caused Muscles to move back a step.
Ned finally swung one leg from under the table so he could see the bar. “Hey, bartender.”
“What?”
“Call the hospital and tell them to send out a couple of ambulances.”
Muscles tried to maintain his cool. “For what?”
“Because somebody’s fixin’ to need one.” A lead-weighted sap appeared in Ned’s hand and snapped outward, catching Muscles in the knee with the crack of an axe biting into pine.
“Shit!” He howled and dropped to the floorboards. The woman gasped.
At the same time, White Jeans threw a low punch at Tom Bell’s jaw. Tom pulled his head back just enough for the swing to whiff past and grabbed the man’s thick wrist. White Jeans’ center of gravity was off and Tom slammed him face-first into the table.
White Jeans snapped upright from the pain, holding his broken nose. Tom again used the man’s reverse momentum to push his head back and deliver a solid blow under his chin that knocked him unconscious. The tough young man hit the floor like a felled tree.
Suddenly uncertain, the third troublemaker backed away from the two old fighters as the shorter man rose from their table, knocking his chair over with a clatter. The lawmen were on their feet in a flash, backing the others down with nothing more than their readiness to continue the fight.
The door opened, allowing a beam of light to spill across the tables. The two surprised troublemakers beside the table turned toward the silhouette of a man that paused inside the door, taking in the scenario.
The newcomer in a suit and fedora crossed the silent tavern. “You gentlemen stay right where you are. I’m Police Chief McDaniel.” He held a revolver in his right hand, pointed at the floor. “Arnold, what the hell’s going on in here? Why are these men on the floor with you standing there with that phone in your hand?”
The bartender glanced at the receiver as if he didn’t know where it came from. “Hey, Aloysius. These four young men came in and started bothering those two there. That’s when that one in the silver hat told me to call an ambulance.”
Ned tilted his head like a dog looking at a new pan.
Chief McDaniel stepped between the men squared off between the tables, noting the sap still in Ned’s hand. “Why?”
Muscles rolled over, holding his knee. Tears streamed down his face. “We came in to have a drink and these two threatened me and Clayton here and broke my knee.”
Lying on his back, Clayton was unable to respond.
Chief McDaniel paused to think. “Well, then I guess I’ll have to take these two old-timers in for disturbing the peace, and the four of you, too, for disorderly conduct.”
He stepped forward and the third of the hard-looking young men beside Ned’s table moved to cut him off. “We’re not going anywhere…”
Chief McDaniel’s arm flashed and the revolver cracked against the man’s head. He went down like a rock.
The snick of a released blade followed a second later and the short guy still standing beside his table chose to join in by flashing a switchblade.
“I wouldn’t.” Ned’s .38 pointed at the little man’s chest.
At the same time, Muscles had gathered himself enough on the floor to reach under his shirt. He stopped when Tom Bell’s Colt .45 appeared from nowhere. “You boys are outgunned.”
“Nobody move!” Chief McDaniel stepped back and leveled his snub-nosed pistol. “Drop your weapons or I’ll shoot every one of you!” The switchblade clattered to the floor.
“Chief McDaniel.” Tom Bell’s soft voice was loud in the silent building. He slowly raised his left hand to pull the lapel back on his coat, revealing the cinco-peso Ranger badge on his shirt. “This one doesn’t give me any jurisdiction here, but it sure tells who I am.”
“There’s a badge under my coat, too.” Ned also spoke softly and lowered his revolver. “Now, we’re gonna put these pistols back in our holsters, but watch ’em while we do it.”
Chapter Fifty-four
Sheriff Cody Armstrong, Deputy Anna Sloan, and Deputy John Washington huddled in Cody’s office, listening to the north wind shove against the windows and moan under the courthouse eaves. Snow flurries dusted the streets with dry powder that swirled on the pavement and collected on the shrubs, trees, and dying grass around the building.
“Nice shiner.” Cody adjusted his chair and propped his boot heels on the desk, relieved that Anna was back, but distressed over her swollen nose and black eye. He was sure the mayor was going to call him into the office as soon as he heard about her face. “Glad you’re back all safe and sound. How was your vacation?”
Anna snorted. “Some vacation, hanging around honky-tonks and looking for rustlers.”
“Miss Anna, you know he’s just givin’ you the bidness.” John chuckled and leaned against the wall.
“I know it, but I didn’t come back with a prisoner, that’s for sure.”
“Didn’t expect you to. Just information.” Cody tried not to stare at her nose. It looked worse than her eye and cheek. “What have you got?”
“A meeting with a supplier later today, and I’ve already told you what I learned about that guy who died in a Round Rock motel.”
John worried at the brim of the hat in his hands. “There wudn’t nothin’ else but the motel receipt from the Holiday Inn.”
Cody tilted his head, thinking. “Was there a date on the receipt?”
Anna opened the small notebook she carried in her back pocket and read the date. “Why?”
“Because that’s when my sister says two citified strangers were staying here.”
Cody studied his black boots, puzzling it out. “The ones who were here at the same time Curtis Gaines sprayed Center Springs.”
“Yep.” John took out his own notebook.
Anna wrinkled her forehead. “What’s up? I’ve been gone, remember?”
Cody explained the connection between the motel room, the strangers, and the telephone number on the notepad. “Ned and Tom Bell are gone to Washington. Those two strangers are tied to death and sickness here, and now one of ’em’s turned up dead hisself.”
John rolled his big shoulders and straightened up. “So what does all of this mean?”
“I don’t know. We’re getting close to something, but it’s not fitting yet. I’ll have to let you know about them when he calls in.”
“It doesn’t tie in with the rustling, though, does it?” Anna adjusted her position to see the men on either side of her chair.
“No.” Cody dug a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “We still don’t have any concrete leads on the rustlers and who killed poor old Pat Walker.”
“Have you thought maybe the two aren’t connected?”
Surprised, Cody stopped chewing and gave Anna his attention. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Maybe the cattle were rustled by one guy, but Pat was shot by a completely different person. Could it have been these two city guys? Maybe he ran into them and saw something he shouldn’t have.”
The office was silent as they pondered the possibility.
“I’ll be dog.” John growled deep in his throat. “This one’s a tangle, ain’t it?”
Cody bit down on the toothpick. “It’d be as clear as the nose on your face if somebody explained it. Look, we’re pro’bly making this harder than it is. Let’s not tie the two together right now. Anna, when are you supposed to meet these cattlemen?”
“This evening in Roxton.”
“On the side of the road, or what?”
“I know a retired U.S. Marshal out there who’s letting me use his farm. I worked with him down in Houston and when I called and told him what I needed, he was all for it.” She gave him the retiree’s name and address.
“Good. John, go with her. Wear some overalls and act like a hand. That’ll let you get close to keep an eye on Anna. I’d feel better with John behind you with that scatter gun of his.”
She met his gaze and he wondered if she saw through his decision. “Works for me.”
“Good. Y’all get gone and let me know what happens.”
Anna stood. “Call you on the radio?”
“As far as I know. I’m gonna be in Center Springs, trying to put a stop to this gold rush of Pepper’s. Somebody went into Ike Reader’s pasture and left the gate open. Half of his cows got out and he’s fit to be tied.”
Chapter Fifty-five
Ned, Tom Bell, and Police Chief McDaniel were sitting in the back corner of the still-empty bar in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia. The four young men were on the way to the local lockup with the promise of medical help if they really needed it.
The female barfly was still there, calming her nerves with still another gin and tonic. Chief McDaniel had already taken her statement and that of Arnold, who Ned learned was the bar’s owner, chief cook, and bottlewasher.
“They won’t be in jail very long.” The Chief shook out a Lucky and fired it up. “They aren’t who you think they are.”
“What does that mean?” Ned was getting frustrated with all the cloak-and-dagger stuff. “I don’t understand all I know about this.”
“Constable Parker, if I had to bet your farm on it, I’d say they were hired by the Company to do a job. The question is, why is it you two who got the nod?”
“The Company?”
McDaniel took a long drag. “The CIA. So why were they here to take you guys out?”
“Take me out?” Understanding raised Ned’s eyebrows. “That was all planned from the start?”
“Mr. Parker, those guys were here to, at the very least, beat the hell out of you and send you back home, or to kill you. From the looks of them, I’d say you were about to disappear.”
“How do you know that?”
“I got a hangup call that said some guys were coming in here with trouble on their minds. I don’t get those very often, and it sounded legit. Then when one of my boys came to pick them up, they popped their trunk full of shovels and lye. They had nothing on them but a little cash. No licenses, cards…hell, they don’t even have billfolds. I’m sure they gave us fake names, but we’re running background checks on them anyway.
“In fact, I have a good idea those guys in my jail will have some mysterious visitors come by with official government papers signed by people you’ve never heard of ordering me to release them, and I will. So the question is, why were they here to make you disappear?”
Ned sipped at the weak tea cooled by only a few chips of ice and told Chief McDaniel the story, from the farmer murdered by cattle rustlers, to the crop duster, to Top. He spoke softly so the woman at the bar couldn’t hear, but went into more detail than he’d planned and by the time he was finished, he’d lost the spirit to do anything other than sit there and drink iced tea.
The Chief listened without speaking until Ned finished. He stubbed out the cigarette in a nearly full ashtray and spun the pack on the tabletop. The woman ordered another gin and tonic in a voice amplified by liquor.
“Sounds like a story, don’t it?” Tom Bell absently ran his fingertips along a gouge in the yellow wood. “I’d think it was all made up, if I heard it like that the first time.”
“It would sound fishy if I lived anywhere else. But I know this area and, God help me, it makes more sense than I’d like to admit.”
Tom watched the woman slide her empty glass across the bar. “How so?”
“I was in the Army, and I watched those Spooks work. That’s why I recognized those guys for what they were. The only problem is, you two are in over your heads. If you stay on this track, you’ll disappear in less than a week, despite what’s happened here today.” The Chief gave a half chuckle, half grunt. “Or because of it.”
“So you think we should just tuck our tails and run?” Ned’s frustration landed on the last word harder than he intended.
“No. I didn’t say that, Mr. Parker.”
Ned cleared his throat. “If this was going on all the time in my county, I’d be worried.”
“They call it clandestine operations, and these people are thick as roaches this close to Washington. I’ve turned my head from time to time, so this one won’t sting near as bad. A certain amount of corruption this close to the capital is to be expected.”
Tom Bell held McDaniel’s gaze for a long moment. “Why are you taking all this as the truth so fast?”
McDaniel cupped his hands around a gofer match and lit another cigarette. He watched the woman slip off her stool, steady herself for a moment with the bar, and concentrate on her walking skills as she left.
“I know Texas Rangers don’t lie, and they do what’s right, and because my granddaddy wouldn’t have left something like this alone, either, if it had happened to me when I was a kid.”
Chapter Fifty-six
Pastures and thick woods alternated as Owen and Dale hauled a stolen trailer-load of cattle down a nar
row, two-lane county road. Owen drove slowly, looking for the white pipe gate described on the scribbled note in his hand. Newer metal fenceposts alternating with wooden posts told of slow but inevitable changes coming to the area.
The roller coaster weather continued. The day was chilly and the tail of another cold front headed for Texas was forecast to drop temperatures even more as it dragged across the southern tier of states. The brunt of the storm was predicted to strike Washington D.C. head-on.
Owen grimaced when Dale coughed into a blue bandanna that was spotted with blood. “You sound like hell.”
“Feel like hell.”
“Well, hang on. We’ll sell these cows and get gone. Then I’ll carry you to Dallas and you can see the doctor there.”
The heavy trailer full of Herefords rocked behind the pickup. They came to a dirt drive leading up to a two-story farmhouse. A faded wooden barn rose from the pasture a hundred yards behind a bobwire fence.
“This is it.”
The dirt track made a wide loop around the open yard and ended at a pipe gate leading into the pasture. Owen pulled up to the gate as ordered and killed the engine. He stepped out and met a man and woman walking from the house.
The older unshaven man in overalls and light jacket waved. “Howdy.”
Owen returned the wave, paying more attention to the woman than the man. She looked as if someone had given her a good beating and wondered if it was the hard-looking farmer beside her. “Are you the young lady called me to bring out some cows?”
“Sure am.”
They shook and the older man slipped both hands into the warm pockets of his jacket. “I don’t believe I’ve ever bought cattle sight unseen.”
Owen handed him a handwritten bill, noticing a herd of slick, good-looking Herefords staring in his direction. “You’ve never bought cattle of this quality for this price, either. You got a name, sir?”
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