Death of a Bad Man

by Ralph Compton

  Suddenly realizing why she’d been looking him over so intently, Sol nodded and dug into his pocket. Before coming into town, he’d taken some of the money from his saddlebags so he wouldn’t have to keep digging into them. He held out a generous fistful of cash and showed it to her. ‘‘I’ve got enough to pay for a meal,’’ he declared. ‘‘I’d appreciate a steak if you have one.’’

  The lady’s eyes widened and she nodded quickly. ‘‘Right away, sir. Anything else I can get for you?’’

  ‘‘I’ll need a place to stay here in town. Do you have any suggestions?’’

  ‘‘There’s a hotel right across the street and down a bit. It’s called the Trail’s End. They’re clean and you can also get a bath.’’

  ‘‘Are you trying to tell me something?’’ Sol asked.

  She blushed and looked away. ‘‘Not at all. What I meant was—’’

  ‘‘You’re right. I can use a bath,’’ Sol told her with a grin. ‘‘When I come back here for breakfast, I’ll be all cleaned up. Hopefully I’m good enough right now to get that steak.’’

  ‘‘Of course. How do you want it cooked?’’

  ‘‘I’ll leave that to you, just so long as it doesn’t take long.’’

  "Sí, sí.’’

  When she said those last two words, the lady’s voice took on a more natural quality that made her seem even prettier. Sol couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he sensed that she’d let her guard down a bit. He wondered if she was nice to all the men who came into that restaurant. He even considered testing the waters to see if she might want to join him some other time for a meal.

  Before he could dwell too much on those things, Sol picked up the distinctive scent of steak. Not only that, but the steak was directly in front of him. Sol shook himself out of his thoughts and looked down to see a plate covered with the steak as well as a generous portion of potatoes and a pile of green beans.

  ‘‘That was quick,’’ he said.

  The Mexican lady shrugged and replied, ‘‘You looked hungry, so I told the cook to move it along.’’

  ‘‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’’

  The woman left and Sol devoured his food. As much as he would have liked to savor every last bite, he was just too hungry to hold himself back. He didn’t even realize how hungry he was until he’d taken his first few tastes. After that, it was all he could do to keep from taking a bite out of the plate.

  After clearing off the table when he was through, the Mexican woman asked, ‘‘Would you like some rhubarb pie?’’

  ‘‘I’ll take the biggest piece you’re allowed to cut,’’ Sol replied without needing to think about it.

  She brought him what could have been considered two pieces and a cup of hot coffee. Sol tore through dessert just as quickly as he had the main course and felt all of his energy returning. Like a ship with a fresh wind in its sails, he got up and strode to where the woman was washing his dishes.

  ‘‘Here you go,’’ Sol said as he gave her some money. ‘‘That should cover it. Keep the rest.’’

  She counted it up quickly and then started to shake her head. ‘‘Oh, no. This is too much.’’

  ‘‘Go on and keep it. Just make sure you give me another one of those smiles the next time I stop by.’’

  "Sí," she told him in that relaxed manner he’d enjoyed before. ‘‘I will.’’

  Sol left the restaurant and looked down the street. Sure enough, just as he’d been told, he saw the Trail’s End Hotel not too far away. Unhitching his horse, Sol led it to the hotel. Rather than tie the horse up again, he kept hold of the reins so he could lead it to a stable he’d spotted just a bit farther down the street. It felt good to stretch his legs and he didn’t mind walking off some of his hastily devoured meal.

  As Sol took in the sights and sounds of Santa Fe, he felt the same as when he’d stayed up to watch the moon hang up among all the stars or the sun crawl its way through a burning sky. His eyes were more wide-open than they’d ever been and they were soaking up the world in a way he’d rarely been able to before. Sol was so transfixed by what should have been simple things that he didn’t notice one particularly important thing.

  He was being followed.

  Sol didn’t realize this until he was leaving the stables with his saddlebags draped over his shoulders. The weight of that money was anything but a burden, although the bags were awkward enough to slow him down. Because of that, Sol got a look at a man with narrow, European features and greasy hair that hung down over his ears and forehead like unruly straw. The man stood across the street, watching the front of the stable. When Sol walked out, he noticed the European man studying him with narrowed, intense eyes.

  Meeting the other man’s gaze, Sol nodded curtly and kept walking. The European fellow was dressed in ragged clothes and looked as if he hadn’t had a proper meal in a month. He didn’t even flinch when Sol nodded to him. Instead, the man chewed on his bottom lip and kept watching.

  Sol’s hand went to the gun at his side, just to rest upon the grip. There wasn’t a need to draw the weapon just yet, however, since the European man seemed content to keep watching from a distance. Chalking the encounter up to him being a new face in town, Sol walked into the hotel and paid for a room. He climbed a set of stairs, unlocked the room with the key he’d been given and then finally set the saddlebags down.

  Even though his back was thanking him for getting those bags onto the floor, Sol wasn’t comfortable with leaving them there. In fact, the longer he stared down at the saddlebags, the more he realized how little thought he’d actually put into the simple matter of what he would do with the money.

  The first thing that came to mind was to sit down and count it. So far, just knowing that the bags were full was enough to convince Sol that he would be set with funds for a good long while. Then again, he wasn’t about to drag around those saddlebags to every place he decided to go. Sol lugged the saddlebags over to the bed and sat down upon the edge of a firm mattress. Compared to all the dust and horse sweat he’d endured throughout his ride, the scent of fresh linens was as welcome of a change as the feel of the mattress against his bruised backside.

  Leaning down to unbuckle the closest bag, Sol opened the leather flap and placed his hand inside. Almost immediately, his fingers came to rest upon the bundles of money. Sol stopped and his breath caught within his chest. There was a lot of money in that bag. He didn’t even need to know how to count for him to be certain of that much. He was also certain that it was more money than he’d ever had in his life. The icing on the cake was that it was stolen.

  That made Sol’s next breath snag in his throat right along with the previous one.

  Suddenly, the room began to wobble beneath him and the air became too thick to breathe. Sol got up and went to the window, which was framed by delicate, lace curtains. He pulled those curtains aside, opened the window and stuck his face out into the fresh air. It was most definitely hotter than the day before, but that breeze was a welcome change. Sol filled his lungs a couple of times and then glanced down at the street.

  The European man was still there.

  He wasn’t staring up at Sol’s window, but he was still wandering along the street.

  Sol shook his head and pulled himself back inside his room. For all he knew, the man always wandered up and down that street. There were plenty of fellows with habits like that back in Warren who ran the gamut from drunks and vagrants to miners who were down on their luck and old-timers who simply took their constitutionals at odd hours. Besides, judging by the European man’s clothes, he probably didn’t have two cents to rub together and the street was the only home he had.

  Leaving the window open, Sol walked to his bed and paused just long enough to glance back down at the saddlebags. The thought of counting all that money churned the steak and rhubarb pie that had so recently settled so nicely into his stomach. Rather than upset that glorious balance, Sol quickly snatched a couple more bundles of cash from the ope
n bag and stuffed them into his pockets. The next thing he checked was his gun.

  Going through the motions of tapping his holster or simply brushing his hand against the grip of his pistol had become as reflexive as scratching his nose. The weight of the weapon at his side wasn’t so much comforting as it was necessary. It was like the weight of his arm hanging from his shoulder, only Sol would rather have been without an arm than without his gun at this particular moment.

  When he stacked his saddlebags under his bed, Sol tried not to think too hard about what he was doing. The fact that he’d gone from scraping by on a miner’s wages to stashing bags of money under his bed still sat at the top of his brain and refused to sink in. The roots were taking hold, however, so Sol didn’t do anything to pull them up. Once the money was stashed, he left his room and took a walk around Santa Fe.

  He was so anxious to get out and about that he forgot to ask the clerk at the Trail’s End about a bath. That wasn’t a problem for too long, since he spotted a barbershop that also advertised a special price for a haircut, shave and hot bath. Sol stepped into that shop and took the barber up on the offer. It was one of the first times he’d bought so many things without haggling over the price. When he emerged from the barbershop, his face was smooth, his hair was trimmed and he no longer smelled like something that had grown from a horse instead of someone who’d merely sat on top of one for a while.

  The sun was still high when Sol continued his walking tour of the town. Everywhere he turned, there were people of all shapes, shades and sizes rushing from one spot to another. Voices filled the air, mixing with the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer and the rumble of the occasional wagon wheel. Out of curiosity, Sol glanced over his shoulder every now and then. He couldn’t spot out the European man’s face, which allowed him to stride with a bit more enthusiasm along the boardwalk. When he reached the door of a tailor’s shop, Sol took one more look at the street.

  There were so many people going by and not one of them seemed to care whether he was there or not. They all had business of their own to tend to, which was just fine for Sol. Standing there with his hand upon the tailor’s door, he let his eyes wander for another second or two before smiling and pulling the door open. His entrance was announced by the tinkle of a small bell nailed into the door frame.

  ‘‘Hello and good day to you,’’ a thin man with round spectacles chirped. ‘‘What brings you here?’’

  ‘‘I could use some clothes,’’ Sol replied.

  ‘‘Formal or casual?’’

  ‘‘Both, I guess.’’ Holding out his arms as if to mimic one of the wire frames against the wall, Sol added, ‘‘This here is all I’ve got.’’

  ‘‘Then you have my condolences, sir. You have most definitely come to the right place. Come on inside and I’ll take your measurements.’’

  The tailor looked thinner when he got closer. Even his hair was thin. Black, irregular strands sprouted from the back of his head and were plastered against his scalp in a perfect swirl. His clothes hung on him with just enough room for his arms to move freely. Although his sleeves appeared to be rolled up, Sol could now see that was due to a clever cut of the cuff that kept the sleeves from interfering with the tailor’s frenzied movements.

  ‘‘Step right up here, if you please,’’ the tailor said as he motioned toward a short stool.

  Sol did as he was told and went through a series of poses as the tailor measured him from top to bottom. The process was so quick that Sol didn’t hop down from the stool once the tailor scooted away to a small desk situated in a corner.

  ‘‘Is that it?’’ Sol asked.

  ‘‘Yes, it is. That is, unless you were planning on growing or shrinking within the next few days.’’

  ‘‘Uh, no.’’

  The tailor nodded. ‘‘I’ll need you to pick out some material and colors, but whatever you choose, I’ll need some time to stitch them together.’’

  ‘‘I was hoping I could walk out of here with some things. Like I said before, this is all I’ve got.’’

  ‘‘What happened?’’ the tailor asked with a curious expression. ‘‘Did your trunk fall off the back of a stagecoach?’’

  Sol chuckled at the tailor’s easy manner. The truth was that the thin man’s explanation was more convincing than the first lie that had sprung to Sol’s mind. Also, it served its purpose a whole lot better than the truth. ‘‘Yeah,’’ Sol replied. ‘‘Something like that.’’

  ‘‘Well, how many suits do you need?’’

  ‘‘Suits? Well, I suppose just one fancy one. Maybe another one that’s not so fancy. You know, like something dark but that doesn’t make me look like I’m going to a funeral?’’

  Now it was the tailor’s turn to chuckle. ‘‘Yes, I believe I know what you’re talking about. One formal suit and another not so formal.’’

  ‘‘What about regular clothes?’’ Sol asked. ‘‘Do you have any of those?’’

  ‘‘Take your pick,’’ the tailor said as he swept his arm toward the racks set up in the back of his shop. ‘‘You’ll find shirts on the right and pants on the left. Over on that wall there, you’ll find jackets, waistcoats and such. I do feel I should mention, though, that my services are the best in town.’’

  Sol nodded and replied, ‘‘Good.’’

  ‘‘As such . . . they’re not without their costs. I do need to purchase whatever material you select. I may have to purchase some other items that I don’t have on hand, which is why I normally ask for half of my fee up front.’’

  Sol hadn’t visited many tailors in his life, since he’d purchased most of his clothes off a pile in general stores or from the backs of wagons. He did, however, recognize the concern etched onto the tailor’s face. Sol did a good job of erasing that concern when he removed some cash from his pocket. ‘‘It’s all right,’’ he said. ‘‘I can pay half now. How much is it?’’

  The tailor’s eyes widened and he smiled graciously. ‘‘We can discuss that once we decide on your choice of fabrics. I know of some exquisite silk that just arrived the other day straight from San Francisco. Also, I have some very fine cuff links which I’m certain will complement your suits nicely.’’

  ‘‘I don’t know about all that, but I could use another bag to carry my new wardrobe in.’’

  ‘‘I’ve got some great ones right over here!’’ the tailor said excitedly.

  Although the tailor was more than happy to give him the grand tour of his store, Sol picked out the color and design of his suits and then made a selection from the more basic sundries hanging from the racks. He paid for the simple clothes, packed them up in a new carpetbag and then put down the deposit required for the suits. By that time, Sol was more than ready to leave the shop.

  As Sol opened the door and started to walk outside, the tailor asked, ‘‘Where are you staying?’’

  ‘‘Why?’’

  ‘‘So I can send word when your suits are done.’’

  ‘‘Oh. At the Trail’s End Hotel.’’

  ‘‘I know the place,’’ the tailor replied with a smile. ‘‘It shouldn’t be more than a few days, but I’ll be sure to leave a message for you when they’re ready.’’

  ‘‘All right. Thanks.’’ This time, Sol ducked out of the shop as quickly as possible before the tailor roped him in again. After all was said and done, he’d probably spent more time inside that shop than he’d ever spent talking about clothes in all the years of his life. Once the door shut, Sol raced away like a boy running from the schoolhouse on the first day of summer.

  The tailor bustled about his shop, practically dancing between his desk and the piles of fabric, buttons and thread arranged behind a thin folding partition. When he heard the bell at the front door ring again, he hopped out from behind the partition and chirped, ‘‘Forget something?’’

  The tailor trailed off and his smile lost a good deal of its luster when he saw the European man in the rumpled clothes entering the shop. Quickly composing him
self and refreshing his smile, the tailor asked, ‘‘What can I do for you, sir?’’

  ‘‘I’m a friend of the man that was just in here,’’ the European man grunted. ‘‘Know where I can find him?’’

  Chapter 11

  It was a little over a week before Sol received more than a subtle nod from the front desk clerk at the Trail’s End Hotel. In that time, Sol had stopped walking the streets of Santa Fe and had been making the rounds at the saloons and poker halls of what most considered to be the less respectable part of town.

  At first, Sol wasn’t comfortable in the new role he’d taken. Making the change from modest worker to socialite wasn’t exactly natural. After a night or two of spending his money just to spend it, Sol settled into more of a routine and became more selective in his pursuits. He’d always enjoyed playing cards, so he put in an appearance at a few different games each day. He brought only a bit of his money and found himself on a lucky streak the likes of which he’d never experienced.

  Perhaps it was the money itself. Sol had originally thought the cash might be lucky. After all he’d done to get it, he was lucky to be alive. But he soon realized that it wasn’t so much the money as the hand that wasn’t afraid to toss it away. The few other times Sol had gambled, he’d been afraid to lose. The occasional game after a hard day of toiling in the silver mine didn’t exactly put Sol in the frame of mind where he could risk everything on a hunch. Now that he had money to burn, he could afford to let his instincts have free rein. As it turned out, his instincts were fairly good.

  While Sol had hoped to lighten his load a bit by spreading some of Charlie’s money around Santa Fe, he wound up keeping more than he lost. Toward the end of that week, Sol guessed he might even be ahead. His winning streak didn’t only show through at the card table, either. The more he won, the more handsome he became to the women who chose to spend their nights at the saloons Sol frequented. Although they didn’t always state their prices up front, Sol knew working girls when he saw them. He also knew them when he smelled them.