Cotton's Law (9781101553848)

by Dunlap, Phil

  “That’s exactly what I want. And if he knows, whether he’s got anything newer than three years as to the man’s more recent crimes.”

  “I’ll let you know soon as I get a reply. Do I bill it to the sheriff’s office?”

  “Yup.”

  And with that, Jack braved the wind and, since he would have to go by Melody’s saloon on his way back to the jail, decided to stop in for one quick beer.

  When he pushed through the batwing doors, Arlo was staring off into the distance, gritting his teeth, clearly annoyed about something.

  “Say, Arlo, you look like you’re having a bad day. Why don’t you tell me about it over a beer?”

  The bartender stepped away, returning in seconds with a foamy glass. He set it down in front of Jack without a word. Jack sipped, gave Arlo a questioning look awaiting an answer, then sipped some more. The bartender wasn’t talking.

  “Melody step on your toes, Arlo?”

  “It ain’t her. It’s them damned pistoleros comin’ and goin’, causin’ trouble, demandin’ service, never askin’ politely. They chase the decent folks away. Half the time they leave without payin’, and between you and me, I’m sick of it. I get a cut of what gets taken in by the bar, you know that?”

  “Nope. Did you complain to Melody?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t do no good. She said one of these days they’d up and leave, and things would get back to normal. She must know something I don’t.”

  “You might not be alone.”

  Jack downed his beer, dropped a dime on the bar, and headed back to the jail. Cotton had gone by the time he got there, so he took off his gun belt, rolled it up, and laid it on the corner of the desk. He sat down and put his feet up. That’s when he noticed the piece of paper with his name on it. It was from Cotton.

  I’ll be gone for a while. Just continue handling things as if I was still there. Also, keep an eye out for anything unusual concerning the town’s newest scruffy inhabitants. If we get an answer to your telegram back from Colorado, hang on to it until I return.

  The note intimated he’d be back in the morning.

  “J.J. Bleeker is in town, Mr. Havens. I gave him his money, and I think he’s down at the boardinghouse as we speak.”

  “Good. You told him the rules, didn’t you? No trouble before I give the word?”

  “I, uh, reckon them’s not exactly the words I used, him bein’ who he is and all. But I can’t see him creatin’ a stir over nothin’, ’specially since he don’t know no one hereabouts.”

  “He’d better not. Things are starting to pick up at the bank. I don’t want anything to get in the way of our success. I’ll depend on you to keep a lid on those gunmen you signed on. You do understand, don’t you?”

  “Yessir.”

  “And you told him everything that’s expected of him?”

  “I did just that, sir.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done a good job, Sleeve. Keep it up.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Havens. You can count on me.”

  “Good. Now go out the back way and leave me to my bookwork. But keep me informed if you hear anything I should know.”

  Chapter 29

  “Cotton, it’s him. He’s come back.”

  “Who’s come back, Emily?”

  “That man with the vest and the sliver conchos. He scares me, Cotton, truly he does.”

  Cotton got up from the table and walked to the window. He pulled back the curtain to see Thorn McCann quietly sitting astride a dun mare. He had just pulled out a cigarillo; he lit it, blew a cloud of white smoke, then placed his gun hand on the pommel.

  “Stay in here, Emily. I’ll go out and talk to him.”

  “I’ll go around back and fetch Henry Coyote. He’ll back your play.”

  “No! Please don’t do anything. It will be okay. I promise.”

  He stepped out the door and onto the porch. The man tipped his hat and blew a ring of smoke into the still air. “Nice mornin’.”

  “Yup. You come for a reason?”

  “I did indeed. We should talk about it. Maybe we could wander down by the little bridge at the end of the lane.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  Cotton stepped off the porch as McCann dismounted. They strolled slowly toward the nearly dried up creek at the bottom of the hill.

  “Been a fearsome dry summer,” McCann said. “Could use some rain.”

  “We could, at that.”

  “We far enough away that we can’t be overheard?”

  “I reckon. You got some news?”

  “That’s just what I got. I told you I’d let you know Havens’s plans as soon as he told us.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “Thought you ought to know, all of Havens’s gunslingers have finally arrived in Apache Springs. Plus one additional varmint.”

  “J.J. Bleeker?”

  “Uh, yeah, how’d you know that?”

  “Bad news travels faster than good news. You should know that.”

  “Yeah, reckon I do. Here, this should help you know who you’re up against,” Thorn said, handing Cotton a folded paper.

  “What’s this?”

  “Names and descriptions of all Havens’s crew of gunmen.”

  “Thanks.” Cotton slipped the paper into his pocket.

  “Yeah, well anyway, Havens has made sure they all understand they got one mission and one mission only: to take you and your deputy down.”

  “That’s no surprise, but what’s he waitin’ for? I haven’t been hidin’.”

  “He wants to get as many customers as possible into his bank before the shooting starts.”

  “Why? What does he hope to gain by that?”

  “Havens thinks differently than most folks. I figure his head is all screwed up inside, because a lot of what he says doesn’t make sense.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, the customer thing, for one. The more customers he has, the more people are beholden to him. He can stand in the doorway, cluck his tongue, and blame all the town’s sudden violence on you and your deputy. Then, I figure, assuming you are killed, he’ll suggest the best way to tame the town is for him to act as sheriff until the dusts settles.”

  “And just how does he figure to keep the peace without a gun?”

  “Oh, he has a gun all right. Its name is Sleeve Jackson.”

  “So, Sleeve figures to chase the others out of town all by himself?”

  “Nope. They’ll leave of their own accord once Havens pays them off.”

  “Makes sense. It’s not a bad plan, as plans go. When does he figure on the shootin’ to start?”

  “He’s runnin’ an ad in the weekly newspaper. He’s giving loans at no interest for six months, plus very high interest on deposits. The Apache Springs Bank and Loan won’t match his terms, so customers are naturally giving Havens their business, most figurin’ they’ll pay it all back before the six months. But Havens isn’t stupid, either. He’s got somethin’ up his sleeve. He hasn’t confided in any of us yet as to what that is, but I’d bet anything the customer is going to lose, sure as hell.”

  “Devious bastard, ain’t he?”

  “Yup. But that’s where it don’t make sense. If he ends up makin’ enemies of all those folks that come to him for loans, who’s going to come back for more?”

  “Damn,” Cotton muttered as he kicked at a clod of dirt. “That’s just it: he doesn’t need more customers if his plan to destroy the town succeeds. He’ll skedaddle for some other place and do it all over again. His real purpose is revenge against me.”

  “You’re probably right. However, there is one piece of good news before I go: you can count on my gun to back you when the shootin’ starts. That’s when I stop bein’ Comanche Dan and get back to bein’ myself.”

  “That’s goin’ to come as quite a surprise to the man who recruited you.”

  “Yeah. Ol’ Sleeve ain’t goin’ to like it one bit, either. It cuts his odds down.”

  “Maybe we
can figure a way to even the odds a little more before it all comes to a head.”

  McCann walked back to his mare. He held the reins in his hand as he said, “Your lady seems a bit skittish around me. Hope I haven’t thrown a scare into the pretty filly.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell her everything’s okay. It is okay, isn’t it?”

  “For the time bein’, Sheriff,” Thorn said with a noncommittal grin.

  McCann rode off in a cloud of dust as Cotton went back inside, only to be greeted by an anxious Emily Wagner.

  “Who is that man, Cotton? And what did he want? Please. I need to know that everything’s all right.”

  “He’s a bit of a mystery to me, too,” he said. “But not one I’m goin’ to dwell on. All I can say for sure is, he’s not on Havens’s side. You got no cause to worry. We’ll talk on it later. Right now, I’ve got to get back to town.”

  Sleeve Jackson was beginning to worry about J.J. Bleeker. He didn’t really know the man, and their happenchance meeting seemed too well timed. What did he really know about this man other than the reputation that followed him around like the stench of a skunk—­and a rough reputation it was. He’d handed J.J. a thousand dollars of Havens’s money mostly because of his doubts about Plink Granville. He was starting to wonder if he’d tried to cover his butt for one mistake by making another. The whole thing turned his stomach sour.

  He decided he’d better go down to the boardinghouse and have a talk with his new shootist. But what could he say at this point? Bleeker had been pretty easy to get along with during their brief meeting and ride back to town. But a man who had killed as many men as Bleeker had could hardly be considered reliable. Temperamental was more like it. And what if Bleeker took offense at his questions? Would he lose all sense of reason and begin blasting away with that shotgun?

  Sleeve began pacing back and forth outside the boardinghouse. Do I go in or do I risk letting things play out as they will? Damn! I don’t like being in this position. Havens can go to hell for all I care, but he damn well isn’t goin’ to take me with him. He finally came to the conclusion that he’d better at least go inside and fill Bleeker in on the details that he hadn’t mentioned earlier.

  Sleeve stomped up on the porch and knocked on the door. He waited a couple minutes and then knocked again. From inside he heard the gravelly voice of the old woman who owned the establishment.

  “Hold yer damn horses, will ya? I don’t get around so well anymore.”

  The door opened to reveal a lady who could have passed for ninety if she was a day. Sleeve took off his hat. He wasn’t certain why, although at that moment he envisioned his own mother standing there.

  “Ma’am, I would like to see—­”

  “He ain’t here. Went out. Hopefully he’s goin’ to get a bath. Foulest smellin’ beast I ever did come upon.”

  “Uh, do you know where he went?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care neither. Wouldn’t have taken him in if he hadn’t give me this hundred-­dollar bill. I never for the life of me laid eyes on such a thing. Glory be. I’m thinkin’ of framin’ it.” Just as abruptly as the door had opened, it was shut in Sleeve’s face.

  “Grumpy ol’ biddy,” he mumbled as he walked off the porch and into the street. He stood for several minutes trying to figure where the big man would have gone. He scratched his head, put his hat back on, and shuffled off toward the center of town.

  Maybe he went for a drink at the saloon, Sleeve thought. That’s when he heard the shot.

  Chapter 30

  Whether it was the sheer size of the man or the intense smell accompanying him that made all eyes turn as J.J. Bleeker lumbered through the doors to Melody’s Golden Palace of Pleasure is a matter of conjecture. But he wasted no time making himself known to everyone in the place. He carried his shotgun in his right hand, while pounding on the bar with his left. Arlo had dealt with rough, impatient men before, so he was no stranger to the belligerence that could follow if the customer was ignored too long.

  “Get me a damn beer,” Bleeker exhorted him. “And I ain’t of a mind to wait, neither.”

  “Yessir. Right away,” Arlo said, and he scurried down the bar to a barrel with a spigot. In seconds he returned with a foamy-­topped glass of golden liquid. Bleeker gulped it down in two swallows.

  “Another,” he ordered with a growl. Bleeker then looked around at several customers who were staring at him with mouths agape. “What the hell y’all lookin’ at?”

  Everyone returned to whatever activity in which he had theretofore been engaged. Everyone, that is, except Melody, who had apparently overheard his uncouth bellowing from her room and came storming down the stairway with the obvious intention of confronting him.

  “What is all the hollerin’ going on down here? Mind your manners or get out!”

  “Well, well, lookee here,” Bleeker said. “I got my beer and now I got me someone for pleasure.” The leer in his eyes made his intentions obvious. Melody’s reception of his suggestion was equally clear.

  “If a woman is what you want, mister, I got some upstairs. You’ll have to wait a spell; they’re all busy right now. One of ’em will be down soon. While you’re waitin’, you might consider takin’ a bath.” She turned to walk away, but Bleeker grabbed her roughly by the arm and yanked her back. He held her so tightly she winced in pain.

  “Take your hands off me, you big ox. I’m not available to you or anyone else not of my choosing. Now, I’d suggest you drink up and get out unless you’re just achin’ for trouble.”

  “Listen, darlin’, I make the rules about what women I share my pleasure with, and for tonight, you’re my choice. Now, show me the way to your crib.”

  Melody tried wriggling free of his grip, but he overpowered her easily. He shoved her toward the stairway, causing her to lose her balance and nearly fall to the floor. She caught herself on the first step. He shot a beefy hand out and grabbed at her, yanking her up and ripping the front of her dress almost to the waist. Furious at his rough treatment of her, she fumbled to try to cover her now exposed breasts as she yelled for Jack.

  “Who the hell is this ‘Jack,’ little lady? And what do you expect him to do?”

  “That would be me: Deputy Sheriff Memphis Jack Stump. And just who the hell would you be?” Jack’s quiet arrival through the batwings caused several patrons to hurriedly depart their tables and scoot for the safety of the street, leaving cards, chips, money, and whatever else was already in the pot still laying there.

  “J.J. Bleeker’s the name. Now, I reckon you best step away before I loose this cannon your way and blow you into the street for the horses to stomp into the dirt.” He chuckled.

  “’Fraid I can’t do that. You got ahold of my lady, and she’s already told you she has no intention of goin’ anywhere with you. Now, turn her loose. Or else.”

  “Or else what? I must tell you, I have heard of you, but now that I see you standin’ right here in front of me, I can truthfully say, I ain’t impressed.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Mr. Bleeker, but that don’t change anything. I’ll say it just once more. Let go of the lady!”

  Bleeker suddenly turned, cocking the shotgun as he swung it around in Jack’s direction. Melody had yanked loose of his grip and jumped aside. The saloon’s silence was broken by the roar of Jack’s Remington. The look on Bleeker’s face, as he found himself instantly hoisted off his feet and slammed against the bar, could barely be seen through the smoky blast of Jack’s .44. Bleeker’s grip on the shotgun was involuntarily released as his huge body slid down the apron of the bar to the floor, leaving a bloody trail behind. The twelve-­gauge fell with a thud. J.J.’s puffy face seemed to still be questioning what had just happened as his head drooped to his chest. Bleeker took one last gurgling gasp and died.

  Melody looked on in horror. She gripped the railing and slowly pulled herself up, holding the front of her dress closed where it had been ripped. She didn’t take her eyes off the deceased
giant as she edged over to where Jack stood. She fell into his arms in a dead faint. He picked her up and carried her up the stairs.

  After placing her on the bed, Jack returned just in time to see Cotton come rushing into the saloon. Jack headed for the bar. Cotton stood staring at Bleeker’s body.

  “Arlo, get me a whiskey. Make it a double,” Jack said with a note of nervousness in his voice.

  “Is that J.J. Bleeker?” Cotton asked.

  “Was.” Jack gulped the first drink, slid the glass toward the bartender, and asked for another.

  Cotton nodded as he handed Jack the telegram he’d just received.

  “Better read it to me, Cotton. Got my hands full right now.”

  “It just confirms what we thought. This man is wanted from here to hell and gone, and for every vicious crime in the book. There was a rope waitin’ for him in any of a dozen towns.”

  “No big loss, huh?”

  “Only to Havens. Looks like you timed it right.”

  “Cut down the odds against us, you mean?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  Jack swallowed his second glass of whiskey and shook his head as if it burned all the way to his boots. “I wasn’t lookin’ for trouble, you know. It just seemed to come grab me by the throat.”

  “Melody play any part in it?”

  “A small one, I reckon.”

  “How small?”

  Jack turned away from him and tapped the bar for another drink.

  Cotton left by the same way he’d come in, muttering, “I told you so, Jack; I told you so.”

  “Arlo, go get the undertaker to remove this carcass. And do it quick. The stench is makin’ me sick,” Jack said before starting upstairs.

  “Son of a bitch,” Sleeve said as he watched three good-­size men half carry, half drag the body of J.J. Bleeker through the saloon doors. Out front, he could hear people hurrying toward the saloon, hoping to get a glimpse of whatever terrible thing had just occurred. He looked over the batwings and saw Deputy Stump starting up the stairs with a bottle in his hand. He also saw Sheriff Burke on his way back across the street. Too bad I didn’t go to Melody’s place first, he thought. Maybe I could have put a stop to whatever J.J. did to precipitate his getting shot down. But he hadn’t, and it was too late now. That’s when the reality of the whole thing hit him.