Journey into Violence

by William W. Johnstone

  After donning his bowler and adjusting the fall of his coat around his gun, Odell admired himself at length. No wonder the whores loved him. Bat Masterson was in town and the dude could certainly cut a dash, but he’d nothing on the man smiling so confidently at Drugo Odell in the mirror . . . himself, of course.

  He had urgent business to attend to that evening, an affair of the heart. He needed to find a woman to dominate, to use and abuse, and satisfy his sadistic urges.

  He smiled at himself in the mirror. It was time to begin the hunt.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “We could walk right into a trap, Kate,” Frank said. “There’s something about the setup that makes me feel uneasy.”

  “I’m aware of that, Frank.” For the second time that evening, Kate read aloud the note the boy had delivered. “‘Come to the line shacks at ten tonight. I have information. Bring a hundred dollars.’ Just that. No signature.”

  “The boy handed it to me and then ran away,” Trace said. “I didn’t get a chance to question him.”

  “The fact that the informant, he or she, is doing this for a hundred dollars might indicate that it’s genuine,” Kate said.

  “Or someone is being mighty clever,” Frank said.

  “Ma, we could show the note to Sheriff Hinkle and let him handle it.”

  Kate shook her head. “No. If this note is genuine Hinkle would only mess things up. Whoever the informant is, he’d take one look at the sheriff and run.”

  “Then how do you want to play this?” Frank said. “And I might as well tell you that I dread your answer, Kate.”

  She was silent for a few moments as she stared in concentration at the sepia brown hotel room wall. “We’ll go there, Frank. A man’s life is at stake and we can’t ignore anything that could save him. I guess we’ll have to take a chance.”

  “Then we’ll all go,” Trace said.

  “No, Trace. You need to rest and heal.” Kate smiled. “But I’ll take your Winchester. I’m not that trusting.”

  “I got a burn across my shoulders, that’s all, Ma. You’re trying to keep me out of harm’s way, but I’m going with you.”

  “And I say you’re not.”

  “Kate, Trace is man-grown and he’s good with a rifle. I’d like him with us.”

  Kate Kerrigan looked from Frank to her son. Two men, both of them big, capable, and confident. Her son wasn’t a boy any longer. He’d killed a man on his first trail drive and after that he’d grown up fast. From boy to man almost overnight. It had been that quick.

  “Very well, Trace, you can come with us,” Kate said, knowing full well that she was surrendering. “But if you get shot again don’t blame me.”

  Frank and Trace exchanged amused looks, but neither said a word.

  * * *

  Morgan Braddock lifted his eyes to the railroad clock on the saloon wall. It was nine-thirty. Time to move. He finished his whiskey, stepped away from the bar, and walked outside into the crowded, clamorous night.

  * * *

  She was perfect.

  After the girl finished a fifty-cent dance with a puncher, Drugo Odell called her over to his table. “Can I buy you a drink, little lady?”

  The girl had hennaed hair and a pout. She sat and said that the Top Hat was very busy and yes, she’d like a drink. A bottle of Mumm’s Brut Cordon Rouge would be perfect if the gent felt inclined to be generous.

  Odell grinned and began to reel in his prey. “For you, anything your little heart desires.” He ordered the overpriced champagne and said, “What’s your name?”

  Her name was Nellie, Nellie Wilde from Liverpool, England. She’d gotten off the boat just a year before and had made her way to Kansas, selling her favors to gents along the way, but only to cover expenses, mind. Now she was much more choosy and preferred to sell them only to well-bred gentlemen like the one she was sitting with.

  “Isn’t the champagne just too-too delicious?” With her luxuriant red hair and big brown eyes, she was a pretty girl. She was slightly plump and she knew how to fill out the scarlet corset she wore. Her moist, pouty mouth was always slightly open as though she found it difficult to breathe. When she laughed at Odell’s dirty jokes, her small teeth, even and white, were visible.

  Watching her, he had a wonderful idea. He’d invite Nellie to take a stroll with him and begin her education in Sarah Hollis’s shack. How droll. It was a plan so elegant, so exquisite, he could barely contain his excitement. The girl was pliable. Once she was broken in, she’d learn quickly.

  Odell consulted his watch. It was fifteen minutes until ten. It was stuffy in the saloon and he suggested a stroll. “We’ll take the bottle with us.”

  Nellie was fine with that, but there would be an additional charge on top of . . . well, whatever the gent might want. Mr. Franklin didn’t like the girls leaving the Top Hat with clients, but he made exceptions if a walking-out fee was paid.

  Odell said she was worth every penny and the two walked out of the Top Hat arm in arm, laughing.

  * * *

  Placed so it could be seen from Front Street, a red lantern was attached to the gable wall of the first of the line cabins. Morgan Braddock took it down, thumbed a match into flame, and lit the wick. The lamp flared into scarlet life and he hung it on its hook again. The lit lantern would attract the attention of anyone walking up the alley, if only for a few moments. He was a man who believed in getting an edge, no matter how slight. His boots crunched across the gravel lane away from the shacks and he faded into the darkness opposite where a few struggling soapberry trees grew.

  He drew his Colt and let the revolver hang by his side. Somewhere along Front Street a male tenor sang “A Maiden Fair to See” from H.M.S. Pinafore and made a nice job of it. The moon was up but hidden behind clouds and Braddock thought it might rain. He’d killed a gambler named Lawson Beaudry in New Orleans during a thunderstorm and hadn’t cared for it much. His damn gun hand had gotten wet and slippery and had slowed him on the draw and shoot. He’d still been too fast for Beaudry, but it had been a close-run thing.

  Ten o’clock, the big man had told him. Well, it was closing in on that time. Braddock breathed easily, consciously slowing his heartbeat for the draw as his eyes and ears reached out into the sights and sounds of the Dodge City night.

  He had not much longer to wait.

  * * *

  Kate buttoned the split canvas riding skirt she’d worn on the trail, put on a white shirt, and pulled on her boots. She piled up her hair and pinned it in place and then slipped a .450 caliber Webley Bull Dog revolver into her skirt pocket, a present from Captain Delaney, who assured her it had once been the property of the gallant Custer.

  Trace and Frank were waiting for her in the lobby.

  It was time to go.

  * * *

  Odell thought the girl seemed eager since she was already a little bit sweaty, a desirable trait in a whore. As they left Front Street and turned into the alley, Nellie became more professional, outlining her services and the price list. He wanted them all, and Nellie said that many gents went that route. It was cheaper in the long run because of the ten percent discount.

  Odell reckoned that he would take great pleasure in breaking her to his will. At first, he’d use a combination of fear and occasional displays of affection and generosity, but once he had her completely dependent on opium, he would own her—body and soul.

  The lit red lantern at the gable end of the line shacks troubled him. He’d been told that the working girls had abandoned the place out of fear. He wondered if they had moved back, driven by necessity.

  Nellie said, “Seems that some of the girls are already working.” A wind had sprung up and the air smelled of rain. “Oh, there’s a client, but I don’t see a girl with him.”

  Odell pushed her away from him and she shrieked and fell. The bullet that would have taken her life split the air two feet above her recumbent body. He had spotted the danger the moment the man stepped out of the shadows and wa
s already drawing as he stepped to his left and fired. Illuminated only by the red mist of the lantern light, he thought he saw the man stagger as though he’d taken a hard hit. The man steadied and swung his gun on Odell, holding it in both hands. Closer to the scarlet lantern, Odell looked as though he was splashed in blood. He and his assailant fired at the same time. The girl was screaming and scrambling around on all fours.

  Odell, a fine marksman, scored another hit, then fired again, believing that would be his bluebird shot. But the big gunman staggered forward on dragging feet and moved in the direction of the redheaded girl, who was facedown on the ground, her head covered by her arms.

  Odell lowered his Colt to waist level, his eyes on the gunman. What the hell? Why was he so determined to shoot Nellie? Had she given him a dose of the clap? He wondered as the big man stopped, and again two-handed his revolver as though it had suddenly become too heavy for him.

  Odell shook his head, took up a duelist’s stance—his right arm straight and extended—and shot Morgan Braddock in the left temple. Braddock fell like a puppet that had its strings cut. At the same time, Nellie scrambled to her feet, her face frantic. She ran for Front Street as fast as her short, shapely legs could carry her yelling “Murder!” at the top of her lungs.

  Intrigued, Odell stepped to Braddock’s sprawled body. The man laid on his back, staring at the black sky with open, dead eyes. Odell had never seen him before. The gunman had been hit four times, three bullets in the chest and one in the head. He earned Odell’s grudging admiration. Whoever the hell he was, he’d been a hard man to kill.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It gave Kate a strange feeling to be once again standing outside Sarah Hollis’s shack, stepping around yet another corpse.

  “Anyone recognize him?” Sheriff George Hinkle said.

  His question drew a shake of the head or a blank expression from the onlookers until a puncher in a black-and-white cowhide vest said, “Yeah, I recollect him now. I seen him gambling in the Top Hat.”

  “Anybody call him by name?” Hinkle said.

  “Not that I heard, but then I was only drifting past the poker table. I noticed him because he was a big feller and kinda looked like a hardcase.”

  “Well, he don’t look like a hardcase any longer,” Hinkle said.

  “No, he don’t,” the puncher said.

  Rain driven by the rising wind pattered along the lane and the crowd began to fade away.

  Hinkle turned his attention to Drugo Odell. “Tell me about it. After you put out your name.”

  The dapper little man in a ditto suit and bowler hat kept his gun hidden. His smile was open and forthright, a practiced, reassuring facial gesture with all the warmth of an alligator’s grin. “My name is Drugo Odell, Sheriff.”

  “Drugo? What the hell kind of handle is that for a Christian man?” Yet another killing at the line cabins had irritated the sheriff.

  “My pa named me for a favorite coonhound of his,” Odell said. “He never told me why.”

  “What happened?” Hinkle said.

  “I was walking out with my new lady friend—”

  “Who?” Hinkle said.

  “Her name is Nellie Wilde.”

  “Nellie ain’t a lady friend. She’s a prostitute.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “She’s selling it at the Top Hat, wearing a corset with her bosoms hanging out, and you didn’t know what she was?”

  “Sheriff, my father was a clergyman and I was raised to think the best of people.”

  “So you were strolling with Nellie in a place where two murders had been committed,” Hinkle continued. “Very romantic.”

  “Curiosity. A sense of adventure, I guess,” Odell said. “People in love do strange things.”

  “How long have you known Nellie Wilde?”

  “I just met her tonight.”

  “Love at first sight, huh?”

  “It happens, Sheriff.”

  “Never happened for me,” Hinkle said. “Go on. You were walking and . . . ?”

  “This man stepped out of the shadows with a gun,” Odell said. “I threw Miss Wilde aside just as he fired at her.”

  “He fired at the girl, not you?”

  “Yes. And even when he was dying on his feet, he still tried to kill her.”

  “After you plugged him.”

  “Three rounds to the chest. He was a hard man to kill.”

  “Was the girl wounded?”

  “No. She ran away.”

  Kate spoke up for the first time. “Mr. Odell, what color hair does Nellie Wilde have?”

  Odell looked at her. “Same as you, lady. Red. But I think she dyes hers.”

  Hinkle stared at Kate in the gloom. “Coincidence, Mrs. Kerrigan. Lot of redheaded gals in Dodge right now.”

  “Is this a coincidence, Sheriff?” She handed him the note she’d received and studied his face while he read it.

  The lawman didn’t disappoint. “Hell, no, it ain’t happenstance. You were lured here.”

  “I was to be murdered by the dead man, whoever he is,” Kate said. “He saw Nellie Wilde and mistook her for me.”

  “If that’s the case, he wanted to kill you real bad, ma’am,” Odell said, donning his sympathy mask. He looked over Kate’s shapely body and wanted more than anything to do her in Sarah Hollis’s shack.

  Hinkle rubbed his temples. “Damn, I’ve got a headache.”

  “Because you’re so set on hanging an innocent man, Sheriff,” Kate said. “I’m getting close to identifying the real killer and he wants to be rid of me.”

  An alarm bell went off in Odell’s head, but then he relaxed. He could have been killed tonight escorting the woman’s lookalike and was hardly a suspect.”

  “Mrs. Kerrigan,” Hinkle said, “What I got here is two murders and two murderers. I know who killed Sarah Hollis and now I want to find the other killer, the murderer of Alva Cranley. I will concede that Alva’s killer wants you dead. You saw her body and investigated the ground around the shack and now the man who strangled Alva is after you. He thinks you know something and he’s running scared.”

  “And so he should be,” Kate said. “Because he’s the same man who murdered Sarah Hollis. And don’t you dare to tell me otherwise, Sheriff.”

  Driven by the wind, the rain fell heavier and Drugo Odell decided it was time he left. The redheaded woman’s talk was making him uneasy and the two punchers with her looked like hardcases, especially the older one, who had the look of a Texas gun. Anyway, it seemed that Hinkle was ready to call it a night. The lawman was already talking about getting an undertaker to pick up the body.

  Bat Masterson arrived on the scene and everything in Odell’s world took a turn for the worse.

  “Why are you here, Bat?” Hinkle said.

  Masterson wore his usual bowler hat and a black opera cape closed at the neck with a bright silver clasp in the shape of a dragon. The handle of the cane he carried in his left hand was also in the form of a silver dragon. “This latest murder is the talk of the Top Hat, George. Little gal in there is hysterical, telling everybody that someone wants to kill her.”

  “He did,” Hinkle said, nodding in the direction of the corpse. “We think he mistook Nellie Wilde for Mrs. Kerrigan here.”

  “We don’t think, Sheriff, we know,” Kate said.

  Despite the dark, the wind, and the rain, Masterson gave an elegant bow to Kate. “I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

  Kate said her name, dropped a curtsey, and then extended her hand for Masterson to kiss.

  After he did, Bat straightened and said, “You are very beautiful, Mrs. Kerrigan.”

  “And you, sir, are very gallant,” Kate said.

  Watching the exchange, Trace grinned and Frank suddenly felt like a bumpkin. He’d always heard that the sophisticated Masterson could set female hearts aflutter when he cut a dash.

  Then Bat surprised him and everyone else. “Don’t slink away into the darkness
like a Louisiana alligator, Drugo. I want to talk to you.”

  “I told the sheriff all I know.” Odell looked uncomfortable.

  “You killed a man tonight, Drugo,” Masterson said. “Are you going to the Top Hat to boast of it?”

  “No, I’m planning to get out of this rain and console my poor Nellie.”

  “Poor Nellie, is it? Why did you bring her to this place where two women had been murdered?”

  “It was only a lark, Bat. A pair of young people looking for adventure.”

  “And I’d say you found it.”

  “Yes. I suppose we did.”

  Hinkle said, “Bat, it’s pouring rain. Can’t we talk about this later? Odell is not a suspect here.”

  “He was sparking Sarah Hollis, George. That makes him a suspect. I heard about it no later than this afternoon.” Masterson smiled. “From one of my more low and disreputable friends.”

  “You don’t spark Sarah’s kind,” Odell said. “She had something to sell and I bought it. I didn’t bring her flowers.”

  Driven away by the rain and the beckoning pleasures of Front Street, the crowd had dispersed. Only six people stood in the scarlet hell-light of the lantern, the body of the man at their feet silent and unmoving in death.

  Masterson broke the silence. “Drugo, you’re leaving?”

  “I’m through here,” Odell said.

  “Pity. I thought we could talk about Dora Redberry down Tombstone way. The poor girl is dead. Did you know that? I seem to recall that you jumped a Butterfield out of town just after it happened.”

  Odell turned and faced Masterson full on. “Don’t push me, Bat.”

  “Nobody’s pushing you, Drugo. I wondered if you wanted to talk about Dora was all.”

  “You don’t like me, Bat. Not liking me can be dangerous for a man.”

  Masterson nodded, rain dripping from the narrow brim of his hat. “I know that, Drugo. Well? Be off with you. I’m sure Nellie Wilde is pining for you to comfort her.”

  It seemed to Frank that Odell hesitated for just a moment, maybe thinking about the draw. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, and soon the rain and darkness closed around him.