Taft chuckled. “Don’t think she won’t shoot you just as fast as Willie would. Maybe faster.” Another chuckle.
Miss Lindsey sashayed over. Without taking her eyes off Emmett’s, she passed her hands over practically every inch of his body. “Anything in your boots?” she asked.
Hoping to diffuse the tension, Emmett shook his head slowly and said, “Nothing but my feet.”
Miss Lindsey shot a glance back at Taft. “He’s clean.”
These two seemed to work well together. Emmett was beginning to doubt that the madam could have been the one to hire a bunch of yahoos to beat and rob her new boss.
Taft passed behind the bar, picking up two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey on the way to the other end. “Let the man pass, Mackey. Looks like he’s come to pay me a social call.”
Mackey eased away from the gap between the bar and the wall.
“This way, Mr. Strong,” Taft said, turning to the downstairs hallway directly behind that gap.
Once Emmett cleared the doorway into Taft’s office, the saloon owner closed the door behind them. He set the shot glasses on his desktop, filled them both with whiskey, and slid one toward Emmett. He picked up the other for himself as he took a seat.
Though the saloon owner was heeled, Emmett wasn’t worried about it.
Taft tossed down his whiskey in one big swallow then said, “I’ll give you this, Strong: you’ve got cojones. Please, sit.” He motioned toward a spindle-back chair.
“How’s your head?” Emmett sat. “I heard they knocked you around pretty good.”
Taft stared. “You taunting me?”
“No, I’m asking a sincere question. Being that I’m not the bushwhacking road-agent type that some flannel-mouthed liar is making me out to be, I’m hoping you’re well.”
“Humph. Just like you were hoping I was ‘well’ after you came in here, flashing your talking irons, and took away my prairie nymph? You robbed me at gunpoint that afternoon. Now you’re expecting me to believe you didn’t rob me the next morning when three witnesses saw you?”
“About Miss Geneve, last I heard, it’s a free country, Mr. Taft. Slavery’s over. If a lady wants to leave, she’s free to leave.” Emmett picked up the shot glass Taft had poured for him, took a modest sip while the saloon owner glowered, and then continued. “The girl didn’t like getting slapped around…by whoever was doing the slapping.” He knew from Geneve that Taft himself had doled out the sloggings, but he didn’t want to derail the conversation before he’d had the chance to find out what he needed to know.
“So you’ve just come by to pay me a social visit, huh? You heard a neighbor took a bad fall, and you wanted to come by to say it wasn’t you who left the ball at the top of the stairs in the dark, right?”
“Truth be told, I came to ask you a question.”
Taft raised his eyebrows and leaned forward, hands on the edge of his desk. “Oh, is that so? Perhaps you’re looking to make some kind of deal?”
Emmett shook his head. “The English gentleman, the one who had an eye for Geneve…” He waited to see what Taft’s expression might reveal.
Cocking his head, Taft said, “What about him?”
“He’s dead.” As yet, Emmett couldn’t read the man’s face. “Not sure whether you knew that or not.”
Taft sat back and folded his hands across his gray-striped vest. “Now why would I know that? Only met the fellow that one day.”
“But you say he stole your calico. And it seems you believe he and I were among those who waylaid you the next morning.”
“So you think I sent a professional out to kill him…maybe kill you, too?”
“I’ll be direct, Mr. Taft. That’s not my assumption; it’s what I’m here to ask you—flat out, plain and simple.”
Taft gave a snide chuckle. “Like I said a minute ago—cojones.” His eyes scanned the room before returning to Emmett. “No. I didn’t send anyone gunning for you and your amigos. I’ve been sitting here waiting for that damn marshal to take care of business like he’s supposed to and bring you boys in for a proper trial.”
Emmett wondered whether he could take what Taft said at face value. The man had won the Wild Hog Saloon playing cards against the previous owner. His poker face had to be pretty good. But if Taft hadn’t done the deed, had it been McIntosh? He’d have to ponder that later.
“Like I said a minute ago, I didn’t rob you. You said you have witnesses. Well, I’ve got witnesses, too—three hardworking, upstanding citizens who’ll testify that those of us who were in your saloon to fetch Miss Geneve that afternoon were not even in El Paso the next morning.”
“Anybody can come up with so-called witnesses.”
Emmett leaned forward. “Out of your own mouth. You got knocked plumb silly—out cold, from what I hear—and when you came to, there your so-called witnesses were, telling you what happened to you. And you take ’em at their word.”
Taft spread his hands. “And why shouldn’t I?”
Looking the saloon owner square in the eye, Emmett said, “How long have you known your lookout man, Mackey? You have any idea where he comes from, what he’s done with his life up until now?”
“I don’t have any reason to question Mackey. He’s been loyal enough.”
“Think about it, Taft. What do I have to gain by jumping you and robbing you? I’m a lawman, for Pete’s sake. I’ve got more to lose than I have to gain by robbing some poor hombre. And I don’t have anything against you. Other’n making sure Miss Geneve was able to leave if she wanted to, your business is your business—long as it’s legal.” Emmett didn’t put into words that he had no regard for a man who’d beat a woman, soiled dove or not.
Emmett could hear muffled laughter from out in the barroom as he waited for Taft’s reply.
“I reckon I’m willing to let judge and jury figure all this out.” Taft pulled open a desk drawer and extracted a cigar. He didn’t offer Emmett one. “So why don’t we walk on over to the marshal’s office together. You can turn yourself in this afternoon. And I suppose your other friend—the Mexican that pushed his Peacemaker halfway through my gullet—he’s got to be somewhere close by. We might as well stop off and collect him along the way.”
His gaze locked on Taft’s eyes, Emmett said, “I’ll stand trial. No need for my friend and me to waste the days away in jail between now and then, though.”
“Says you.”
“Take my advice, Mr. Taft: don’t worry about me. Keep your eyes on those that claim they saw me taking your money—there’s a snake among ’em. May all turn out to be snakes.”
Emmett stood.
“You’re not walking, Strong,” Taft said.
Emmett assessed the challenge. “One last question for you, Mr. Taft: Who besides you knew you’d be carrying that cashbox down that alley at that precise time on that precise morning? ’Cause I sure as blazes didn’t.”
Taft rose, flicked a match, and lighted his cigar. After a preliminary puff, he said, “Things don’t always happen all planned out. I’m a big believer in chance…games of chance. Maybe you are, too. Maybe it was pure chance that you and your compadres caught sight of me and Mackey that morning. Maybe you thought to yourself, ‘Well, looky here. I’ll have a go at that.’”
“It didn’t happen that way.” Emmett read Taft’s eyes and didn’t like what he saw. If he was to get out, now was the time to do it. Touching the brim of his hat, he turned for the door.
He heard the revolver clearing leather behind him. Then the distinct click of the hammer cocking. And only a step from the door, Emmett’s heart sank.
Dammit! he thought. Overplayed my hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ned Cage stepped out of the hotel room he’d just secured for Geneve in El Paso. He pulled the door closed and then turned and motioned for Lum and Jarvis to draw close.
>
“You two are gonna stay here and keep an eye on the girl,” he murmured, “while I go scout about for Strong and the Mexican.”
Lum cocked his hip. “Pleasin’ though she may be to the eye, I ain’t here to play nursemaid to some woman that happened to get in the way. Mr. McIntosh told us—”
Cage poked his finger firmly into Lum’s chest. “I heard what McIntosh told you. More than anything, you just need to let me do my job.”
With a stupid grin on his face, Jarvis said, “Hell, I’ll keep an eye on the girl. Both eyes.” A giddy laugh escaped him. “Won’t let her outta my sight. You can both go.”
“You won’t touch her.” Cage glared at him.
“Why not? She’s a girl of the line, ain’t she?”
Turning his glare back to Lum, Cage said, “You see? This is exactly why I’m tellin’ both of you to stay. I don’t want anybody pirootin’ with this girl.”
Jarvis’s idiotic grin wilted under Cage’s glower.
Lum stepped to the girl’s door and said, “It’s not like the calico queen couldn’t tell you everything Jarvis tried to do to her anyway.”
Between Lum’s cockiness and Jarvis’s eagerness to have his way with Geneve, these two McIntosh men were beginning to get on Cage’s nerves.
Lum turned and opened the door. The moment he did, he froze in his tracks. Cage stepped to his side to find out why.
The room was small. There was no place in it to hide. The window that had been closed only a minute before was open, curtains flapping in the breeze.
“Tarnation,” Lum muttered. “She’s gone!”
While Lum dropped to all fours to peer under the bed, Cage ran to the window. He thrust his head out in time to find Geneve just below, looking up, mouth gaping.
Cage barked over his shoulder, “She’s in the alley downstairs. Get her.”
“She’ll be gone by the time we get there,” Lum said.
“She’s hurt her ankle. Go.”
Lum and Jarvis were already heading through the door. Cage followed. The two McIntosh men headed for the outside stairs to the back of the building while Cage dashed for the lobby exit, figuring he could cut off Geneve at the mouth of the alleyway.
Breathing hard and limping on a dreadfully painful ankle, Geneve stole a glance over her shoulder. Just ahead the alley opened onto East Overland Street.
I can make it. If only I can get up onto the boardwalk and into one of the shops…
Every second step sent a lightning bolt of pain from her heel all the way up into her thigh.
A lady hurried along the plank sidewalk straight ahead without so much as a glance Geneve’s way. Before Geneve could call for help, the woman was out of sight.
She struggled on, her mind insisting she could move faster, her ankle arguing otherwise. They’d be after her. They might catch her.
Almost there.
Upon reaching the duckboard walkway, she clutched the corner of the building and pulled herself up. Both feet on the boardwalk, she turned to hurry as fast as her throbbing leg would carry her—and barreled right into a fellow heading her way. She lost her balance, but the man caught her.
“Help—” The word seized in her throat when she recognized the face—the Wild Hog Saloon’s new lookout man, Clive Mackey.
“Well,” he purred, “if it’s not Miss Geneve Lambert. And we all thought you’d left us for good.”
While Geneve struggled to free herself from Mackey’s grasp, a voice in the alley said, “Let go of the lady.”
Mackey kept a tight grip on Geneve’s wrist as he turned and answered. “And who the hell are you?”
Geneve now saw that it was Lum. And Jarvis was right behind him. Their hands hovered just above their holsters.
“I told you, let the lady go,” Lum said.
“Let me go, Clive,” Geneve said breathily to Mackey. “Just go back to the saloon.”
Mackey shook his head. His hand was now on the grips of his own six-gun. “Not without you.”
“Go, Clive. And forget you saw me.”
Somehow, Geneve felt Ned Cage behind her before she heard his boots on the duckboard.
“This can’t be the infamous Emmett Strong?” Cage said.
His voice raised a prickle on the back of her neck.
Mackey pulled Geneve to himself and backed up to the corner of the building.
“Naw, that ain’t Strong,” Jarvis said. “Don’t know who the hell it is, but it ain’t Strong.”
“Well, I don’t know who the hell you boys are either,” Mackey said, his gaze darting from side to side. “But this piece of calico belongs to my boss, Mr. Franklin Taft.”
“You know Emmett Strong?” Cage asked.
“’Course I do.” Mackey swallowed hard. “Texas Ranger gone bad. Ridin’ the high lines now, after robbing my boss.”
Cage’s six-shooter was still in its holster. The gunslick’s arms hung easy at his sides. “When’s the last time you saw Strong?”
Mackey cleared his throat. “Just this afternoon. Who’s askin’?”
“Where?”
“In my boss’s saloon. Like I said, who’s askin’?”
Geneve could feel Mackey tensing.
Cage glared at him. “Is Strong still in your boss’s saloon?”
“No. And I ain’t sayin’ no more—”
“Damn right you’re not.” In a heartbeat, Cage’s gun was out, the air split, and Cage jerked. Geneve went down with him, off the boardwalk into the dirt of the alley.
She crawled away as quickly as she could, looking back to see Mackey lying there, lips parted, eyes wide open, and a rivulet of dark blood flowing from a dime-sized hole in his forehead.
“Help the lady up,” Cage ordered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Emmett and Taft were mere yards from Marshal Alonzo Perry’s office when a single gunshot sounded from off to their left, maybe two blocks away. Emmett’s insides tightened like a hangman’s noose when the trapdoor drops. Both men froze in place.
He assumed Juanito and Li had been shadowing them as the saloon owner escorted him—the muzzle of his Schofield pressed firmly against his spine—from the Wild Hog to the jailhouse. The certainty that they were nearby had brought him a measure of comfort until the gun went off. Now he wondered whether Mackey and his amigos had somehow spotted Juanito and Li and taken a shot at them.
“Get a move on, Strong.” Taft dug his revolver deeper into Emmett’s back.
More worried about Li than about himself, Emmett said, “Hope that wasn’t anybody we know—your people or mine.”
“I figured you had somebody close at hand. And I’ll be out looking for them as soon as I get the marshal to lock you up where you belong.”
Emmett headed for the marshal’s front door, telling himself the gunfire could’ve been anybody. El Paso was growing fast and wild. Gunplay was not uncommon. Li and Juanito were probably just fine.
But the nagging fear wouldn’t go away.
“Well, hello, Mr. Strong,” the young man in the back of the marshal’s office said as Emmett crossed the threshold.
“Good to see you again, Deputy,” Emmett answered.
“Enough niceties,” Taft said. “Hell of a thing I’ve gotta bring him in myself. I want him locked up till the trial.”
Without rising from his desk, Alonzo Perry eyed Emmett then let his gaze rest on the saloon owner. “Reckon we’ve got him now, Mr. Taft. You can holster that gun.”
“Not till you have him cuffed or locked up. He might bolt.”
The marshal met Emmett’s gaze. “You plan on bolting?”
“If I had a mind to do so, I’d have done it long before we got to your doorstep, Marshal,” Emmett said.
“That’s what I figured.” The marshal’s gaze returned to Taft. “You heard him.
Now put that thing away.”
Taft harrumphed behind Emmett, and then the pressure of the gun barrel was gone. Felt good to know the saloon owner wouldn’t accidentally deposit a chunk of lead in his spine if he just happened to stumble.
Emmett wasn’t happy about ending up in the marshal’s office just yet. But on the bright side of things, at least he could talk freely with the local law now. Maybe find out something more about Sikes’s murder back in San Antonio. Maybe not.
“Jack VanDorn talk to you yet today?” Marshal Perry asked Taft.
“Who’s that?” Taft said.
The marshal motioned Emmett over to a chair beside his desk.
“You’re not going to lock him up?” Taft said.
“He’s not goin’ anywhere. Now back to my question: Jack VanDorn is the Texas Ranger that went out, located Mr. Strong here, and brought him back to El Paso.”
Taft stepped in from the doorway. “No, Mr. VanDorn hasn’t come by yet. And if VanDorn brought Strong back here to El Paso, then why isn’t Strong already locked up? And what about Strong’s accomplices? Where are they? Well, the Mexican anyway. Strong here says the Englishman got himself shot to death.”
How very gracious of you, Taft, Emmett thought.
The marshal again eyed Emmett. “I expect Mr. VanDorn will be bringing Juan Carlos Galvez along in just a bit. Meanwhile, tomorrow noon Mr. VanDorn and I will need to speak with your three witnesses—the ones who came in with you the morning you were robbed.”
“Why do you need to speak to the witnesses?” Taft pointed at Emmett. “You ought to be busy questioning this man and his Mexican sidekick.”
Emmett sat, arms folded, refraining from saying anything. So far Alonzo Perry was holding Taft at arm’s length. He didn’t want to go and say something that might force the marshal to have to give in to the saloon owner’s demands. Not when the marshal seemed less than sold on locking him up.
“Mr. VanDorn has already commenced questioning Mr. Strong and Mr. Galvez,” Marshal Perry said. “Just so happens, we’re scheduled to continue the questioning this evening.”
Strong Suspicions (Emmett Strong Westerns Book 2) Page 14
