Texas Bluff
Page 7
“One of your competitors,” Courtwright said, “one of your…oh hell, Ed Cramer, had the back of his head blown all over his office last night.”
“Cramer’s dead?”
“That’s what usually happens when you put a gun in a man’s mouth and pull the trigger.”
“What makes you think it was Luke?” Ward asked.
“Well, let’s see, I already have witnesses who saw him jam a gun in Ed Cramer’s mouth and threaten to use it if he sent anyone here to the White Elephant with…let’s say, bad intentions?”
“I still don’t see—”
“The last I heard somebody shot out one of your windows yesterday,” Courtwright added. “Oh, and killed one of your men.”
“So, you think Luke went to Cramer to get revenge?” Ward asked.
“Sounds pretty good to me.”
“And you’re here to arrest Luke?”
“No,” Courtwright said, “right now I just wanna talk to him. The arrest will come later—and believe me, it’ll be a pleasure.”
“Sheriff…I don’t know what to say…”
“If I was you I’d tell me where Short is.”
“I honestly don’t know, Sheriff.”
“Okay, let’s try this. Where’s your man Butler?” the lawman asked.
“I don’t know that, either.”
“You don’t know where your partner or any of your employees are?”
“I know where Jerry is,” Ward said. “He’s one of my bartenders. He showed you the way back—”
“I know who Jerry is,” Sheriff Courtwright said. “You know, I could toss your ass in jail for not cooperating, Ward.”
“I’m cooperating as much as I can, Sheriff,” Ward said. “Honest.”
“All right,” Courtwright said. “You tell Short and Butler to stop by my office as soon as they can. They don’t want me to come looking for them again, because next time I’ll come to arrest ’em.”
“For what?”
“Same thing I’ll arrest you for,” Courtwright said. “Obstruction. If I have to come back, you’re all goin’ to jail. You got that?”
“I got it.”
“Good,” Courtwright said. “You gamblers think you can get away with anything. Well, let me tell you, friend, not in my town.”
As Courtwright went out the door Ward fell into his chair and wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief.
CHAPTER 27
The back door to the office opened and both Luke Short and Butler entered the room.
“How did you know?” Bill Ward asked, still wiping his face.
“The word is all over Hell’s Half Acre that Cramer is dead,” Short said. “When I heard about it I knew Courtwright would be out to get me.”
“So what are you going to do now?” Ward asked. “Run for it?”
“Hell, no,” Short said. “I’ve got too much invested here to go on the run.”
“We’ll have to find out who did it,” Butler said.
“How are you going to do that?” Ward asked. “You’re not detectives.”
“I’ve worn a badge, you know, Bill,” Short said. “I think I can pretty much figure out what I have to do to find Cramer’s killer.”
“Then you better do it quick,” Ward said, “because he says he’s going to throw all of us in jail.”
“He’s got no reason to lock up you or Butler,” Short said. “He was just trying to scare you.”
“Well, he did a damned good job,” Ward said. “I’ve never been in jail.”
“You held up really well,” Short said. “Thank you.”
“Never mind thanking me,” Ward said. “Just go out there and find yourself a killer.”
“Bill, for a while I’m not going to tell you where I am so when you tell Courtwright, you’ll be tellin’ him the truth.”
“Fine,” Ward said. “It was all I could do not to tell him you were right out back.”
“Again,” Short said, “you did great.” He looked at Butler. “We better get out of here.”
As they headed for the door that led to the saloon Bill Ward said, “Luke?”
“Yeah, Bill?”
“You didn’t, uh, kill Cramer, did you?” Ward asked, stammering a bit.
Short turned to face his partner.
“No, Bill,” he said, “I did not kill Cramer.”
“Okay,” Ward said. “I’m, uh, real sorry I had to ask.”
“Yes, Bill,” Short said, “so am I.”
Short stopped when they stepped out into the saloon, as if he expected to find the sheriff there waiting for him.
“What is it?” Butler asked.
“Nothing.”
“What do we do first to find this killer, Luke?” Butler asked.
“We have to go downtown,” Short said, “to Hell’s Half Acre and start askin’ questions.”
“That’s going to raise a red flag,” Butler said. “Word will get around that we’re there.”
“I know.”
“So that’s what you want?” Butler said. “When the killer hears we’re looking for him he’ll come after us.”
“Me,” Short said, “he’ll come lookin’ for me.”
“What’re you—I’m not staying behind, Luke. You hired me to watch your back—”
“You’re fired.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Butler said. “I’ll follow you there, anyway.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“Why? You don’t owe me anything. And somebody’s already tried to kill you. The best thing for you to do is move on, Butler.”
“I can’t do that, Luke.”
“Why not?”
“How would I ever face Bat and Wyatt if I let you get killed?”
They planned to go downtown together, but not travel side by side.
“Just stay behind me, watch my back, and maybe that way we can get the drop on the killer.”
“Or whoever he sends against us.”
“Cramer didn’t treat women very well. No one really mattered to him. Maybe the killer is a woman.”
“That’s interesting,” Butler said. “Maybe his murder had nothing to do with you, or the White Elephant.”
“Well, that would be preferable,” Short said. “I’d like to keep Bill Ward out of it, if I can.”
They stepped out on the street cautiously, looking for gunmen or lawmen.
“Looks like the coast is clear,” Short said. “Let’s start now and take separate cabs. Once we’re down there you can follow on foot at a good distance.”
“What about when you go inside to ask questions?”
“You’ll have to watch from the window,” Short said, “or come in and have a drink.”
“Remember,” Butler said, “you told me to watch what I drank down there.”
“Yeah, well,” Short said, patting Butler on the arm, “I guess certain sacrifices will have to be made.”
CHAPTER 28
When Luke Short entered the Bloody Spur the bartender, Zeke, went for the shotgun he kept under the bar. Short drew his gun and pointed it at him.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said.
Zeke froze. There were a few men in the place—two at tables, one standing at the bar—who looked but didn’t move.
“You gonna kill me, too?” Zeke asked.
“I’m not going to kill you, too, because I didn’t kill your boss.”
“Yeah, right,” Zeke said. “You said you were gonna blow out the back of his head, and you did.”
Short approached the bar and said, “Somebody did. Somebody who knew that killin’ him that way would lead to me. Now my question to you is, who did you tell?”
“Me?” Zeke said, staring down the barrel of Short’s gun. “I didn’t tell nobody. There was plenty of other fellas in here that day, maybe one of them did it.”
“Well, that’s possible,” Short agreed. He turned to look at the other three men in the place, who immediately turned away.
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br /> “Okay, let’s try somethin’ else,” he said to Zeke. “Who found your boss dead?”
“I did.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It was early—uh, early for him to be in his office. I went in, figuring he wasn’t there, and I found him.”
“With the back of his head missin’.”
Zeke nodded.
“Who else could have had a motive to shoot him?”
“You kiddin’?” Zeke asked. “Anybody down here.”
“He wasn’t well liked?”
“Nobody’s well liked down here,” Zeke said. “Everybody’s out for themselves.”
“So you can’t give me a name or two—your boss’s biggest enemies?”
“There are other saloons right on this street,” Zeke said. “Start with them.”
“What about women?”
“He had lots of ’em.”
“Did he treat them badly?”
“Well, yeah,” Zeke said, as if that was obvious.
“Would any of them have killed him that way?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because the kind of woman he kept company with liked bein’ treated that way.”
Short studied the man for a moment, then decided he was telling the truth. Apparently, when it came to women, Cramer kept to his own kind.
He turned to leave, then thought of something else.
Butler stood outside the Bloody Spur, watching the action from the window. He also had to keep an eye on the street for an ambush, or for the law. He checked out the rooftops across the street, saw a white curtain in a window move. He stared into the window of the Spur again, but this time he was using the reflection. Sure enough, as soon as he looked away the curtain was pushed aside and someone looked out the window again. He didn’t see a gun barrel come out. Somebody was just watching him, or watching the Bloody Spur.
Interesting.
“Who was your boss using for bushwacking people?” Short asked Zeke.
“Huh?”
“Come on,” Short said, “Cramer had people killed. Who was he usin’? Give me a name.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“H-he’ll kill me.”
“Who?”
“Sutherlan—” Zeke stopped, as he realized he’d been tricked.
“Finish the name.”
“That’s it,” Zeke said. “Sutherland.”
“No first name?”
“If he’s got one I don’t know it.”
“He’s a killer?
“I ain’t never seen him kill nobody,” Zeke said, “but that’s his rep.”
“And he came in here to see your boss?”
“All the time.”
“So maybe he killed him.”
“Why would he?” Zeke asked. “The boss paid him.”
“Maybe,” Short said, “he wasn’t payin’ him enough anymore.”
CHAPTER 29
Outside Short was surprised to find Butler approaching him.
“You’re followin’ a little too close, don’t you think?” he asked.
“I don’t think it matters,” Butler said. “There’s a window across the street with somebody in it. No gun,” he added, to keep Short from dropping to the ground. “Just nosy, I think.”
“And?”
“If they make a habit of watching this street, or this saloon, maybe they saw something.”
“That means if they’re nosy enough,” Short said, “they could see what goes on here mornin’, noon, and night.”
“Now you’ve got it.”
“You know what floor? What door we knock on?”
“I can guess,” Butler said, “but I don’t want to make it too obvious that we’re going over there.”
“Okay,” Short said, “we’ll take a short walk down the block, and then double back across the street.”
Butler nodded.
Mary Cronin had lived on Rusk Street for the past twenty years. She’d seen saloons go up and come down and go up again. She’d seen men lie, cheat, steal and kill, and all from her window. Now she was seventy years old and she still prided herself on her eyesight. She lived on money she got from her son every month, cooked all her own food, never left her rooms, and spent most of her waking hours at her window.
As far as she was concerned, this block belonged to her.
When a knock came at her door she was surprised. Nobody ever came to see her but her son, and he had his own key.
She was loath to leave her window—something might happen that she’d miss—but her curiosity got the better of her. Now who could possibly be knocking at her door, and why?
She walked to it, and turned the knob.
Butler had guessed wrong with the first door they knocked on, and they’d interrupted a couple having sex, who acted like they’d been caught doing something wrong. When they realized that the woman’s husband had not sent Butler and Short, they cursed them out and slammed the door.
“I get the feeling those people are not married to each other,” Short commented.
Shaking his head, Butler led Short to the next door on that floor.
“I hope this is the right one.”
Butler knocked. He was about to knock again when the door was opened by an elderly woman.
“Yes?”
“Ma’am,” Butler said. “I believe your front window overlooks the street. Am I right?”
The woman frowned, narrowed her eyes.
“Who are you—wait. I know you. You’re the two fellas who were just across the street at the Bloody Spur, ain’tcha?”
“Yes, Ma’am, we are,” Butler said. “May we come in and talk to you?”
“Is this about the murder?” she asked.
“Yes, Ma’am, it is,” Luke Short said.
She looked at his silk hat—which was in his hand—and his walking stick and said, “You’re a bit of a dandy, ain’tcha?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I guess I am.”
“And you’re handsome,” she said to Butler.
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“Been a while since I had a handsome man or a dandy call on me,” she said. “Now I got one of each. Well, come on in, then. I reckon we got a lot to talk about.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Butler said, as he and Short entered.
Butler walked right to the front window and looked out. He could see the front of the Bloody Spur very clearly. He looked at Short and nodded.
“You young fellas will have tea with me, won’tcha?” the lady asked.
“Ma’am,” Luke Short said, “I don’t think we have the time—”
“If you wanna know what I know,” she said, “you’ll make the time.”
“And what do you know, Ma’am?” Butler asked.
“I know I ain’t had any company for tea in a month of Sundays,” she said.
“Ma’am,” Butler said, “we’d be delighted to join you for tea.”
CHAPTER 30
They each had a cup of tea and some cookies the woman said she had just made for herself. They found out that her name was Mary Cronin and she had lived there for a very long time.
“I remember when the Bloody Spur went up,” she said, “and then all them others followed. I remember when this wasn’t called Hell’s Half Acre, or the Bloody Third Ward. I remember when decent folks lived here. Now look what we got. Drunks and gamblers.” She peered at Butler. “Which one are you?”
He smiled.
“Ma’am, I believe I’ve been one or the other at certain times of my life.”
“Well,” she said, “I’m impressed. I do believe that was an honest answer.”
“Ma’am,” Butler said, “we’d like to ask you about the murder of Ed Cramer. Do you know who Mr. Cramer was?”
“’Course I do, young man. I’m old, I ain’t stupid.”
“I didn’t mean to say that you were, Ma’am—”
“Could you just call me Mary and
stop with the Ma’am all the time?”
“I believe I can do that, Mary.”
She looked at Short.
“You ever been drunk?”
“I’ve turned a card and been drunk plenty of times, Mary,” Short admitted. “Too many from my wife’s point of view.”
“Another honest man,” Mary said. “I don’t know what to do with all this honesty.”
“I’ll give you some more, then, Mary,” Butler said. “My friend Luke, here, has been accused of murdering Ed Cramer. Now, he didn’t do it—”
“I know he didn’t do it,” she said, looking at Short. “You Luke Short?”
“Yes, Ma—Mary.”
“I thought so. You had cause to kill Cramer, didn’t ya?”
“I did.”
“But you didn’t do it.”
“No.”
“I ain’t askin’ ya,” she snapped, “I’m tellin’ ya.”
“Can you also tell us how you know Luke didn’t do it, Mary?”
“Of course I can.” She smiled, showing a few gaps where teeth used to be, but the ones she had left looked good and strong. “Because I know who did.”
More tea, more cookies, stories about her three husbands, only one of the no-good sonsofbitches gave her a son who was taking care of her.
“Only one son?” Butler asked. “Or only one worth mentioning?”
Short looked at him like he was mad. What did they care about these stories?
“That’s a good question, Mr. Butler.”
“Just Butler, Ma’am.”
“Ain’t that a good question, Mr. Short?”
Butler gave Short a look.
“It’s Luke, Mary,” he said. “Just call me Luke.”
“Don’t you think Butler’s question was a good one?” she pressed on.
“I think it was mighty fine, yes.”
She looked at Butler.
“I’ll tell ya, I got only one son, but he’s takin’ real good care of me.”
“That’s good,” he said. “It’s important to have a good son.”
“What about you?” she asked Butler.
“What about me?”
“Are you a good son to your Ma?”
“I like to think I was.”
“Was?”
“She’s dead, Mary,” he said, then added, “somebody killed her.”
“Who?” she asked. “Who killed her?”