‘Yeah,’ Sherman snapped. ‘So Culp’s dead and you aim to kill this Angel. Does that guarantee we’ll be safe?’
‘Got to take risks, Phil. Life’ll pass you by if you don’t have the nerve to grab the opportunity when it shows itself. God, Phil, it’s a lot of money. More than the chicken-feed we’ve been making up to now!’
‘You never complained before.’
Cranford smiled. ‘True. But a man gets to a point where he wants to grow. He pushes his horizon further out and he needs to expand. Maybe you hadn’t noticed, Phil, but there’s a hell of a big world outside of Liberty.’
A scowl darkened Sherman’s face. ‘All I know, Amos, is that even half of seventy-five thousand dollars isn’t going to buy it for you!’
Cranford didn’t reply to that. He gazed out of the window, an odd little smile flickering across his face. A half of seventy-five thousand dollars might not get me all I want, but the whole damn bundle sure will! The thought pleased him greatly, and he turned towards Sherman, beaming expansively. Don’t worry, Phil, he thought again, you won’t have to fret over the matter for much longer. That’s one thing about being dead—all your worries die with you!
Chapter Five
Angel squatted silently in the rear of the creaking flatbed wagon as it wound its dusty way up into the sun-blistered hills above Liberty. He wore heavy manacles on his wrists and legs, these being linked to an iron ring bolted to the floor of the wagon. Progress along the rutted trail was slow, the ride uneven, and Angel decided that he deserved every savage spasm of pain that ripped through his aching body. The fact that he was possibly on his way to finding out where Harry Culp was did little to soothe his mood of self-disgust. It was not hard for him to conjure up a picture of the Attorney General’s reaction if he ever got to hear how one of his top investigators was conducting himself.
Koch was driving the wagon. Beside him sat Duggan, a sawn-off shotgun cradled in his arms. He appeared to be treating the whole trip as a huge joke—at Angel’s expense.
‘Like I said, Angel, you’ll take to Trench’s place.’ Duggan grinned. He hitched himself round on the wagon seat. ‘One thing about Trench—he just loves hard bastards like you! I swear I never met a feller enjoys his work so much as Trench!’
‘Him an’ that damn whip!’ Koch giggled. ‘I do reckon he takes that thing to bed with him!’
‘I seen him lace a man’s back open clear down to the bone!’ Duggan stared at Angel’s face as he spoke. There was no reaction and Duggan growled peevishly. ‘Yeah, well, we’ll see how tough you are when Trench gets his hands on you!’
‘Is this where I’m supposed to say how scared I am?’ Angel asked.
‘Balls, Angel!’ Dug sleeved sweat from his face. ‘I don’t reckon you’re so damn tough.’
‘I can live with that.’
Koch spat over the side of the wagon. ‘Yeah, but how long for?’
The ride took almost four hours. Angel spent the time observing the silent, barren terrain they were passing through. A better place for a hard-labor camp would be difficult to find. Desolate, waterless country, where a man on foot would very quickly find himself in trouble. Survival would only be for the fittest. Any luckless individual who somehow managed to escape from the brutal privation of a hard-labor gang was likely to be less than fit right from the start. Angel wondered if anyone had ever escaped from the camp run by this man called Trench.
Or would he—Angel—be the first? Because that’s just what he intended to do once he’d got the information he needed.
Angel willed himself to relax during the journey. He knew that in the time ahead he was going to need all his strength. There was no way of telling the kind of pressure he might be under at the camp. It was going to be a case of reacting to whatever cropped up—no matter what.
An hour after midday Koch swung the wagon over a steep rise and took it along the final stretch of the trail. Just below them, nestling at the base of a high, sheer rock face, lay the camp.
Angel’s first impression was of an ugly sprawl of wooden buildings inside a wide, exposed compound. On three sides tall fences, strung with barbed wire, enclosed the compound. The fourth side of the compound was the sheer rock face itself.
‘All the comforts of home,’ Angel observed drily as Koch brought the wagon to a halt before the closed gates of the compound.
Duggan, in the act of stepping to the ground, threw him an angry scowl.
‘Mister, in a couple of days you’ll wish you’d never of left your mammy’s side!’
Angel watched him trudge to the gates as they were opened by an armed guard.
‘Ain’t a funny bone in his whole body,’ he told Koch.
Koch glanced back over his shoulder.
‘You try that clever talk on Trench an’ you won’t have a bone that ain’t broken! An’ I ain’t jokin’!’
As soon as the gates were open Koch rolled the wagon into the compound. With Duggan following on foot Koch took the wagon over to the largest of the wooden buildings.
‘I’ll go find Trench,’ Duggan said and vanished inside.
Koch climbed down from the wagon. He strolled round to the rear, fishing a key from his shirt pocket.
‘You get any ideas about running, Angel, just take a look round,’ he warned as he unlocked the manacles securing Angel to the wagon floor.
Angel had already taken a good look round. His initial count had totaled six armed guards. He hadn’t missed the wooden tower either, rising to about fifteen feet, and placed so that it gave anyone perched on the covered platform an unobstructed view over the whole compound. On the face of it the place appeared escape-proof. But Angel didn’t believe in such theories. The compound had been created to imprison men, by men, and that led to the natural conclusion—it could be defeated by a man.
He leaned against the rear of the wagon, apparently unconcerned by his surroundings. Koch stood a few yards off, watching Angel intently.
‘He the one?’
Angel glanced up at the new voice. The man standing beside Duggan had to be Trench. Tall and heavy-built, with a broad, loose-fleshed face, Trench gave off an air of brooding menace. He glared at Angel with fierce, strangely pale eyes.
‘Duggan tells me you fancy yourself a hard bastard! That right, Angel?’
Angel didn’t reply. He didn’t figure to give Trench any excuse to use the whip looped around his thick waist.
‘Aw, he’s done gone and swallowed his tongue!’ Duggan grinned.
‘Trench’ll shake it loose,’ Koch said. ‘What say, Trench?’
‘We got ways’d make a wooden Injun talk,’ Trench agreed. ‘Now, you boys can go home, an’ me an’ Mister Angel can get acquainted.’
Duggan and Koch climbed back on to the wagon. Angel stepped aside as Koch turned it around.
‘Pity we had to lose you so soon,’ Duggan said as the wagon rolled on by Angel.
‘Ease your mind, sonny,’ Angel whispered. ‘We’ll be meeting up again ’fore long! I promise!’
The smile faded from Duggan’s face, and then he was gone, the wagon rattling across the compound towards the gates.
‘All right, Angel,’ Trench said. ‘Let’s move! This ain’t no old ladies home!’
Trench called over one of the armed guards and Angel was escorted across the compound. He was taken to one of the smaller huts. The interior was bare except for a row of wooden cots running the length of the narrow building. The air was hot, stale, reeking of sweat and urine.
‘We try not to make our guests too comfortable,’ Trench said. ‘They don’t spend too much time in here. Plenty of work for ’em building the new road over the mountain. Come dawn tomorrow that’s where you’ll be, Mister Angel!’
‘Beats sitting around,’ Angel smiled.
‘Let’s see how many jokes you tell after a day up on that pile of rock,’ Trench said. He walked along the row of cots, stopping beside one. ‘This one’s vacant. Use it, Angel. Yeah, here’s the way we run t
hings. Only way in and out of this hut is by the door. Windows all barred. Floor’s dirt and hard as rock. You don’t come or go without instruction. Stop outside anytime day or night without getting the word and you’ll get a bullet. And my boys have orders to shoot to kill. Just remember that and you’ll stay alive. Don’t matter to me one way or the other. It’s your life. Understand?’
‘It’s clear,’ Angel said. ‘What does a man do when he wants to pee?’
‘There’s a bucket in the corner over there,’ Trench said. ‘Every man in the hut takes turns emptying it each morning.’ He grinned at Angel. ‘You got any complaints?’
‘Working on a few.’
‘After today, Angel, you ain’t going to have much time to think about anything. So I’ll leave you to it.’
The door thudded shut and Angel was left alone. He moved to one of the barred windows beside the door and watched Trench and the guard making their way across the bleached, heat-hazed compound. He stayed by the window for a time, observing, silently calculating distances between buildings, how far from this point to that point, where the stables were. It was all information to be stored, held in reserve for possible use in the future. Eventually he moved back into the hut, sitting on the edge of his cot. Angel absently ran his hand over the lumpy, straw-filled mattress. It and the single, greasy blanket were filthy. Angel sighed. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d shared his bed with a couple of thousand bugs!
He sat back and took stock of the situation. Apart from the fact that things had gone a little further than he might have intended, at least his appearance in Liberty, asking questions about Harry Culp, had created some ripples in somebody’s dirty little pool! Angel was sure that Cranford, the judge, was in on it. So was Sheriff Sherman, and possibly the two deputies. Perhaps even Trench. All he needed now was proof of Harry Culp’s stay here at the camp. A nagging little voice somewhere at the back of his mind was persisting in the notion that Harry Culp was most probably dead. Angel hated himself for allowing the thoughts, but the more he pondered on it, the stronger it grew. Harry Culp had ridden into Liberty with seventy-five thousand dollars in cold cash on him. Somewhere along the line he had fallen foul of Liberty’s crooked law, probably in the form of a set-up, involving Louella Brill. That would explain the fifty dollars she’d earned.
It wouldn’t have been the first time that a stranger to an isolated little town had found himself hauled before the local court on a cooked-up charge. The unfortunate victim, dazed by the sudden turn of events, would find himself charged and convicted and on his way to months of hard labor, long before he had time to say a word. The local citizens, who paid taxes for the upkeep of their county penal system, would figure they were getting good value for their money when they saw that the convicted felons were repaying their debt to society by building the new road the county needed so badly. Every prisoner in the care of the county had to be housed and fed, equipment required repair or replacement. That meant a sizeable flow of cash.
If Angel’s thoughts were moving along the right tracks, then a good proportion of that money was finding its way into the pockets of Judge Cranford and Sheriff Sherman. And that brought him right back to Harry Culp and the seventy-five thousand, and probably the reason why Angel had been so promptly removed from the scene. Somebody was sitting on all that money. That same person was likely to be hiding a murder too. Which added another dimension to Angel’s position. If Culp was dead, the money concealed, the guilty parties weren’t going to want too many witnesses walking around. Angel felt suddenly very expendable.
Chapter Six
It was starting to get dark when the work-parties returned to the camp. Angel heard the rumble of the heavy wagons filling the compound. He stood by a window, staring through the bars, and watched the groups of weary, filthy prisoners being unloaded from the wagons by armed guards. As soon as every man had been accounted for the prisoners were ordered to their huts. Angel studied the group approaching the hut he was in. There were nine of them. By the time they reached the hut he had picked out the one who would have appointed himself boss. Angel knew that he would have to stand up to this man and beat him, if the need arose. Only then would he get what he wanted.
Angel was back on his cot when the door opened and the men crowded in, eager to get a look at the new man. The one Angel had judged as the leader of the group ordered the door closed. He alone moved across the hut to stand at the foot of Angel’s cot. Angel ignored him.
The man was as tall as Angel, powerfully built. He had dark, handsome features, marred by a thin scar running down his left cheek. His thin hair was black, curling at the nape of his neck. Large hands, with long, muscular fingers, flexed impatiently as he stared at Angel, silently demanding to be noticed.
‘Hey!’ he said at last, anger in his tone at having to attract attention in such a mundane way.
No response.
‘You deaf, asshole?’
‘No. And the name’s Angel. But to you it’ll be Mister Angel!’ Somebody laughed. The man at the foot of Angel’s cot glanced in the direction of the group of prisoners. The laugh froze. Silence returned.
‘Well my name’s Capucci, and I don’t take any kind of crap from assholes like you!’
Angel smiled. ‘There’s a joke there somewhere, Capucci, but I’m damned if I’m going to explain it to you.’ He stood up and placed himself directly in front of the man. ‘Now the way I see it we all got trouble enough just being here. I don’t need any more. But if you gotta prove you’re some kind of big feller round here don’t expect me to sit back and let it happen. I’ll give you first try and then I’ll put you down so hard your balls are going to drop right off!’
For a long moment Capucci stared at Angel, as though he hadn’t heard correctly. But then he realized that Angel had said what he’d heard, and being the man he was Capucci couldn’t do anything other than react violently. He had already made his first mistake. He had allowed his feelings to show on his face. His eyes telegraphed his intentions, and Angel was already countering Capucci’s punch before it had even reached any kind of momentum.
As Angel’s left arm blocked Capucci’s savage swing, batting the big fist harmlessly aside, his own right, sweeping up from hip-level, smashed across the side of Capucci’s jaw. The sound of the blow came loud in the silent hut, the stunning impact throwing Capucci off balance, twisting him sideways. His legs caught the edge of one of the cots and he went down with a solid crash. Capucci’s body arched once, lifting from the dirt floor in a spasm of agony, then he dropped and lay still.
Angel stepped over Capucci’s motionless body. He strode across the hut to stand before the murmuring group of prisoners. Giving them a scathing glance he said:
‘Who else wants to try? Come on, you sons of bitches! I’m just in the mood. Those bastards down in Liberty kicked enough shit out of me so’s I’m good and mad. Well?’
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. They all stared at Angel with enough resentment for the whole world. But that was as far as it went. Eventually one of them cleared his throat.
‘Ain’t any of us wants to tangle with you, mister. Capucci—he just naturally figures he has to show how tough he is.’
‘How tough he was,’ corrected a scrawny little man. He scuttled out from the group, eyeing Angel closely. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his thin neck. He reminded Angel of a damn vulture! ‘Hey, Angel, what’s so special about you?’
‘I didn’t know there was.’ Angel watched the little man, trying to read what was reflected in the bright, beady eyes.
‘Then why’d Trench warn us off talking to you?’
‘He do that?’ Angel was intrigued. ‘Doesn’t seem to have stopped you.’
‘Hell, Angel, Trench may be hard but we don’t scare all that easy. I been in pens so tough they make this place seem like home. Trench ain’t no more than a big fart! He’s all wind. Why, take that goddam whip away from him an’ he’d be no different the rest of us.’
The little man led Angel away from the front of the hut. They paused beside the man’s cot.
‘What do they call you?’ Angel asked.
The little man grinned, showing yellowed, crooked teeth in hard shrunken gums.
‘Birdy,’ he said and laughed shrilly.
‘So what have you heard about me, Birdy?’
‘Enough. I hear pretty good. Couple of the guards were talkin’ and Birdy was listening. ’Pears you’re a special case. That was why Trench warned us off. Trouble is something like that just makes me curious.’ Birdy glanced round to make sure nobody was hanging around. ‘The way I heard, it, Angel, this place ain’t about to be very healthy for you!’
‘Is that the way it was for Harry Culp?’ Angel asked, eyes fixed on Birdy’s face. He knew he was taking a chance mentioning Culp’s name but he figured it was worth the risk. Birdy swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple almost vanished. For a fleeting second Angel thought he’d said too much. ‘Come on, Birdy, tell me!’
‘He never stood a chance,’ Birdy murmured. ‘He knew they wanted him dead. Jesus, Angel, the poor bastard just had no place to hide from them. He was only here for four days and then he was dead.’ Birdy shook his head. ‘Bastards said it was an accident! Accident my ass! They made him work on a real bad stretch of the road all on his own. An’ then a damn rockslide comes down right on top of him! Everybody goes runnin’ to see if they can help him but I stuck around, keeping out of sight. An’ I saw that Trench coming down off the slope where the slide started. He couldn’t see me but I saw him. Saw him drop an iron lever-bar in one of the wagons too. Then he goes on up to where they’re trying to dig Culp out of the rock an’ makes all the right noises.’ Birdy fell silent.
Shoot Angel! Page 4
