by Neil Hunter
LeRoy’s coat was open, revealing his US Marshal badge as he moved to place a wall at his back.
‘LeRoy, US Marshal. Just so you know who you’re talking to.’
‘You have much to answer for, Marshal LeRoy,’ Trattori said, still confident.
‘I think you’ve got that the wrong way round feller.’
‘Have I? You have forced your way onto my property. Shot down my employees in cold blood…’
‘Wrong again. I was in my hot blood. Let’s get that straight.’
‘Then you should at least have the courtesy to inform me what I have done to bring about this…this injustice.’
‘You hired Jack Reno and his bunch to intercept Reverend Tamber and his wagon train to collect the cache of diamonds you had smuggled over the border. Bad enough. But you gave orders that no one must be left alive in that train to connect you to the crime…’
‘I have no idea how you came to that entirely false accusation.’
‘Really. So the man named Spearman didn’t work for you? The man you sent along with Dietrich and his gunmen to assess the diamonds were genuine. Spearman explained it all to me before he died. Your big scheme to expand your criminal empire out west? Nothing to stand in your way. Not even the men, women and children all murdered by Jack Reno’s hired guns. On your orders.’
‘All in your mind,’ Trattori said. ‘Do you believe you can walk in here and accuse me? If you have heard of me then you must realize I have the means to have you removed. Discredited and stripped of your authority. I can even make your disappear if I desire.’
‘Think about it, mister. I’m not some cafone you can scare with your threats. I wear this badge because it means I can tell you to shut the hell up and stop trying to intimidate me. It won’t work, Trattori. So sit down and I’ll tell you what’s about to happen.’
‘No one talks to me that way. I only need to snap my fingers and you become a dead man walking. You think I came to be what I am by allowing someone like you to tell me what to do.’
‘You won’t call in your hirelings this time, Trattori. Your guns are all dead. This boat has been freed from its moorings and right now we’re floating down the Hudson. How are you going to call in reinforcements? I’d like to know. You’re on your own.’
‘Perhaps we need to come to some agreement,’ Fabio said, speaking for the first time.
He moved to stand behind his employer, an expression of benevolence on his face. He was plainly Trattori’s envoy. The man who smoothed over any troubled waters.
‘Careful what you say, friend. You ally yourself with this man and you bring trouble on yourself,’ LeRoy said. ‘Dirt sticks and the more you talk the thicker it’s going to get.’
‘I was about to suggest we work on a solution here.’
‘Solution? Oh, I have one for you. Trattori is under arrest.’
Even now Trattori’s arrogance forced him to laugh in LeRoy’s face. He thrust an arm forward, finger pointing at the lawman.
‘This man amazes me, Fabio. Is he stupid enough to believe I will be arrested when we step off this boat? This westerner coming here to my city and informing me I am going be locked up. He still refuses to accept I am Luchino Trattori. Don Luchino Trattori.’
‘Hell, mister, I’ll accept you got a loose mouth I’m getting tired of listening to. Quit trying to impress me with your title. I don’t give a damn who you believe you are. So I suggest you sit down and stop talking before I stop you.’
The hard edge to LeRoy’s words seemed to penetrate. Trattori backed away and sank down on one the plush chairs close to one of the gaming tables, resting his right hand on the smooth green baize cover. Despite his retreat LeRoy could still see the defiant shine in the man’s eyes. Momentarily defeated he was still refusing to fully comply with LeRoy’s instruction.
‘Fabio, bring me a drink. From my special selection.’
Had to give the man credit, LeRoy thought. He still shows his big cojones.
‘May I?’ Fabio said. ‘I promise not to do anything foolish.
‘I promise you won’t either, son,’ LeRoy said.
He watched Fabio cross the salon to a built in liquor cabinet where he took a thick tumbler and filled it from a bottle he chose.
‘I would offer you a drink,’ Trattori said, ‘but perhaps fine whisky is something you would not appreciate.’
‘Not so much that. Just I’m particular who I drink with.’
A sneer of contempt ghosted across Trattori’s face. He reached up with his left hand to take the tumbler from Fabio’s slightly shaking hand. It should have come across as a warning to LeRoy. Something in Fabio’s shifty expression made him turn his diverted gaze back Trattori and he realized he had been tricked.
In the few seconds his attention had briefly wandered Trattori’s right hand slid from the table, snaking beneath the edge to emerge clutching a concealed Remington short-barreled, double-action revolver. A hide out weapon from a concealed shelf. Kept there for the protection of the dealer is things got out of hand. The weapon rose smoothly, Trattori’s lips forming a defiant yell as he targeted LeRoy, pulling back on the trigger.
The salon echoed to the boom of the shot. Flame and smoke erupting from the muzzle. In the sliver of time before Trattori fired LeRoy let his body fall to the side. Yet the slug hammered into his right side, cracking a rib and burning a hot path into his body.
Trattori pushed to his feet, still screaming his rage, turning the Remington for a second shot, the chair tumbling on its side. Behind Trattori the slender figure of Fabio had frozen, shock on his pale face. It had all happened so fast and now there was no going back.
For LeRoy there was no more hesitating. He had allowed things to go awry, failing to check for concealed weapons and Trattori’s slug was the result.
He slumped to his right knee, jerking up the guns he held, and saw the muzzle of Trattori’s pistol seeking him. His thumbs dogged back the hammers, fingers easing back on the triggers as Trattori’s bulk centered in his vision. He knew too that Trattori was going to fire.
The salon reverberated to a sudden volley of shots. The second of Trattori’s slugs clipped LeRoy’s left arm, drawing blood. It was off target because LeRoy’s own slugs pounded Trattori, ripping into his chest and throat and twisting him off balance. Then LeRoy fired and cocked, fired again, not stopping until both pistols were empty and Trattori was sprawled on his back, bloody wounds in his body. Behind him Fabio was slumped over a chair, blood streaming from a ragged hole in his neck, where one of LeRoy’s slugs had struck as it emerged from Trattori’s back. The deformed slug had created a fatal wound, severing a major artery. If Fabio had not been standing behind Trattori he might have avoided being struck…
With the secession of shots a heavy silence fell over the salon. Acrid smoke drifted in the air.
LeRoy allowed his weapons to sag in his hands. He could feel blood soaking his arm and side. He was hurting all over and a weariness was engulfing him. As much as he wanted to move he found he couldn’t so he let himself fall to the carpeted floor. He lay on his back, figuring it was as good a place to rest, because right then it was all he wanted to do and to hell with making a mess of Trattori’s carpet with his blood. He might have laughed at the thought if he wasn’t hurting so much…
Two Months Later – Department of Justice - Washington
LeRoy was still recovering from the wounds inflicted during his showdown with Luchino Trattori. His left arm was still in a sling and his side strapped up to support the cracked rib from the bullet he’d taken. Despite his pain he had insisted on attending the summons to his hearing and his earlier misgivings aside, he emerged with his reputation intact, though a little battered. The hearing had been long, involved, and became heated to a degree when witnesses LeRoy had not been expected turned up representing his defense.
Laura Wakefield, whose testimony as to the deaths of the occupants of the wagon train, went a long way to impress the hearing. Sergeant Tolliver
offered similar evidence as to the number of deaths. Tolliver had been in the Army troop that had later visited Buckmann’s Folly and added to the narrative, describing the scene they found and verified the discovery of the diamond cache located in the remains of the burned cabin.
LeRoy’s visit to New York and his involvement with Luchino Trattori, following up on the information given to him by Spearman, had been a stumbling block at first. The Department of Justice officials had pointed out with some emphasis that LeRoy was out of his jurisdiction and LeRoy himself could not deny that. In his own defense he truthfully told he was simply following through the case that had originated in Texas and had done no more than any lawman in his place.
No one in the room could deny Trattori’s guilt. In truth the law had been after Trattori for a number of years, but each time they closed in on the Don his lawyers, aided by the influence of powerful men – some in lofty positions themselves – were able to deflect any harm. Following Trattori’s death information began to be passed to the authorities. When The Callisto had eventually been boarded following it grounding on the bank of the Hudson and the bloody scene discovered, LeRoy had been able to show his US Marshal badge and after some delay, local Marshals had showed up and took over. LeRoy had informed the Marshals of his reasons for pursuing Trattori. It had given the local lawmen the incentive to step in and search the boat and also Trattori’s city premises. Something they had wanted to do for a long time. The resultant recovery of evidence, including gambling slips and ledgers that incriminated surprising names gave the Justice Department the chance to arrest a number of officials. The Marshal’s office was well pleased with the result. Trattori’s organization, leaderless and without their previous protection was broken, its influence shattered – which encouraged witnesses to come forward. The investigation into Trattori’s affairs would take a long time to complete.
Presented with the mass of evidence the Justice Department was left with few options but to send Marshal Alvin LeRoy on his way, but not before giving him a cautionary dressing down for stepping over the line. He was told to return home, stay within the boundaries in future and not to expect any future excesses to be so easily dismissed. Retaining his feelings LeRoy nodded and accepted the rebuke with a degree of reticence that was unusually out of character. He knew he was a lucky man.
During the hearing, when gathered information was presented by the US Marshal Office, a small item aroused LeRoy’s interest. It had come from one of Trattori’s employees, wanting to cooperate with the authorities. It concerned a recent visitor who had been talking business with the man.
A woman named Beth Arling. Nothing that stirred LeRoy’s memory until another name was mentioned.
Bodie.
LeRoy kept the connection to himself but made a promise to let the bounty man know about the woman. It might mean something to him. It later turned out it did, and was to involve Bodie in a deadly confrontation.
On the steps outside the Justice Department building LeRoy shook the hand of the local US Marshal chief, who offered thanks that was a hell of a lot more genuine before leaving. With Laura and Sergeant Tolliver at his side LeRoy decided a mild celebration was in order and the three of them hailed a cab an ordered the driver to take to a decent restaurant. For the first time in a number of weeks LeRoy felt the need of a decent meal.
‘You’ll be glad to get home,’ Laura said.
‘Maybe,’ LeRoy said. ‘I still have to face my chief when I do. I’m expecting a tough dressing down from him. He’ll make those fellers we just left look like a passel of little old ladies.’
‘If you need character witnesses,’ Tolliver said, ‘just call on us.’
‘We’ll back up anything you say,’ Laura said.
‘I might need to take you up on that,’ LeRoy said.
He couldn’t help but notice the way Laura sat close to Tolliver, her hand resting lightly on his arm and decided they were showing a distinct degree of affection between them.
At least one little bit of good had emerged from the affair, he decided.
Which had to be welcome.
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