A doctor down in Laramie had told him the exercise was his best chance of regaining some use of his right arm. The doctor had been cautious enough to tell him that he was unlikely to ever have full use of the arm again, but with diligent exercise, he might be able to hold a fork again. Perhaps even write his name without much difficulty.
But as for gambling and gunfighting, those activities were out. The doctor advised him to learn how to make do with his left hand for now.
But Adam Hagen had no intention of making do with anything. He had made do long enough as the banished son of King Charles Hagen. And now that he knew the man he had called “Father” all those years was actually his uncle, he planned on going far beyond making do.
He intended on making revenge.
Hagen had almost cheered when Trammel snatched Albertson by the neck. The old man had been baiting him and almost got what he deserved. But Buck was a smart man, quick to anger and even quicker to calm down and listen to reason.
It was why the people of Blackstone loved him. It was the quality Hagen had admired most in his former friend.
And it also happened to be the only weakness in his considerable armor. A weakness he intended to exploit when the time came.
He knew Trammel would rebel at first. After all, Hagen hadn’t nicknamed him Buck without a reason. But eventually he would see that his old friend was right and had given him an embarrassment of riches. Hagen hoped Trammel would be prudent enough to focus on the message and not the messenger. Hagen still owed him for saving his life by getting him out of Wichita the year before.
If he did not, Hagen just might have to kill him, and that would cast a shadow over all he had dreamed these past months in convalescence.
Hagen watched Trammel finish his conversation with that weasel reporter from the Bugle. His first order of business upon taking over the town would be to buy that damned paper and shut it down. But for the moment it served its purpose.
He watched Trammel lumber back toward the jail, which was right next door to the Clifford Hotel. Hagen did not have many regrets in life, but he regretted that he and the big man were no longer friends. Trammel abhorred his selling of laudanum at his saloon and the laudanum he allowed the Chinese to sell in a canvas tent next door.
But he had not regretted it enough to stop selling laudanum. In fact, laudanum played a key role in his plans for revenge.
He saw Trammel cast a quick glance up to his balcony and, upon seeing him, quickly look away.
Hagen got out of his chair and went to the side railing as he called out, “Behold the return of the conquering hero! That was a mighty impressive sight to see, Buck. They complain about the new saloons on Main Street, but say nothing of the houses I’m building. They’re a fickle bunch indeed. At least you turned them before they got themselves hurt. They wouldn’t have received a warm reception in my saloon.”
Trammel stopped walking and glowered up at him. Hagen had to admit the sheriff was a frightening sight when he was angry.
“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Trammel said. “We’re not friends anymore, Hagen, so quit acting like we are.”
“I’m still your friend,” Hagen said, “even if you’re not mine.”
“If you mean that, then quit selling dope,” Trammel said. “You’ve got half the men on your father’s ranch using the stuff, and most of the coal miners. Quit rotting their brains and you and me can be friends again.”
Adam appeared to think it over, though he had absolutely no intention of stopping the flow of laudanum into Blackstone. If anything, it was just the opposite. He decided to have a little fun with the sheriff. “A wise proposition. Why don’t you come up here so we can talk about it instead of shouting at each other like this?”
“And look like I’m up there to kiss your ring?” Trammel shook his head. “No chance.”
Hagen laughed. “You always see me in the worst light. Even after all we’ve been through together. I’m not your enemy, Buck. You saved my life, and I’ll never be able to repay you for it.”
“Don’t thank me,” Trammel said. “If I’d known what you’d turn into, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“Yes, you would,” Hagen told him. “You’re a natural hero, Sheriff Trammel, and this world needs heroes. It always has and always will.”
Trammel looked like he was going to say something more but didn’t. Instead, something in the distance captured his attention.
And when Hagen looked in the same direction, he understood why. Dr. Emily Downs was getting into her wagon.
Hagen imagined some might call her pretty. He had always thought of her as elegant, with an agile mind that made for pleasant company.
She had captured Trammel’s heart from the moment they had arrived in Blackstone and, for a time, they had been a very happy couple.
But their relationship had soured after Trammel’s troubles with the Pinkertons at Stone Gate. She had been a widow once and had no intention of becoming one again. She’d shut her heart to Trammel, and Hagen knew it had wounded the big man deeply. It had hardened him in a way that had made Hagen angry. She had given up Trammel because he could no sooner change who and what he was than Hagen could grow a new right arm. He had expected more from a woman of science, but as a widow, he could not fault her reasons.
Hagen watched Trammel forget the world around him as Emily released the brake and snapped the reins, bringing her horse to a quick trot. He saw Trammel stand a little straighter and something of a smile appear on his face as she steered the wagon toward Main Street. Even the sight of her was enough to make him happy, and Hagen’s heart ached for him.
She would pay for hurting him, and soon. But not that day.
She sat ramrod straight and made a point of keeping her eyes forward as she approached the Clifford Hotel. Hagen knew she could hear him as he called out, “And a blessed day to you, our fair Dr. Downs. Our humble town is grateful for you gracing us with your presence.”
“Mr. Hagen,” she said as she rode by, then added, “Sheriff Trammel.”
Buck tipped his hat, entranced as she rode by without the slightest glance his way. “Nice to see you, Emily.”
She said nothing more as she continued on her way.
Hagen pitied his former friend. He waited until she had passed out of earshot before saying, “Quite the peacock our Dr. Downs has become since throwing you over. I wonder how she’d fair if she lost her plumage.”
Trammel slowly raised his head and looked at Hagen. “If you touch her, I’ll kill you.”
Hagen had no doubt he would and forced a laugh. “Why would I touch a hair on her head? I happen to like Emily. Besides, she has the virtue of being the only doctor in town. But cheer up, my friend. Fate is a great equalizer and, sooner or later, she’ll regret having treated you so poorly.”
Hagen watched Trammel’s anger fade away before he turned to enter the jail. “Just leave her alone. And quit calling me ‘friend.’”
Hagen decided he had given the sheriff a tough enough time already and let him go without another word. He went back to his chair and resumed squeezing the small bag of sand.
He cast an eye up the long hill to where King Charles Hagen’s ranch house sat. It was a mighty place that lorded over all beneath it like a behemoth. It looked indestructible from here, but Adam knew nothing built by man would last forever. He looked forward to the day when he watched that house burn to the ground. No, he would not attack the house from the front. He would attack his father’s empire at its foundation and watch it fall in on itself.
Yes, King Charles Hagen’s end would come soon. But first, Buck Trammel would receive his reward, and sooner than he thought. And Emily Downs would learn what happened to those who displeased him.
He winced as he squeezed the bag of sand tighter as he looked at the Hagen ranch house on the hill and remembered a verse from the Bible. “Your glory, O Israel, lies slain on your heights. How the mighty have fallen!”
CHAPTER 3
The black and white boxes and the odd figures that sat upon them gave him nightmares. The way the pieces moved made no sense to him. His teacher had explained the rules to him countless times, but only a few of them stuck. Not even the names made sense. Pawns and knights and kings and queens. The whole game sounded foreign and fancy to him, and the strategy it took to play it served to make him dislike it even more.
The chiding of his teacher did not help matters.
“You’re not concentrating,” Albert Micklewhite scolded him. “Chess requires your full attention or you’re bound to lose. How many times must I tell you that?”
Lucien shrugged. “As many times as it takes, I guess. Might help if there weren’t so many damned rules.”
“Ah, now I see the problem,” Micklewhite said. “A man like you doesn’t like the idea of rules. That’s fine. Think of the game in a way that you can appreciate.”
Lucien looked at Micklewhite from across the chessboard. “You calling me stupid, Al?”
“God, no,” Micklewhite said. “Instead of thinking of the rules of chess, think of each piece as having its own nature. Its own vices, if you will.”
This was getting more confusing by the minute. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Micklewhite selected a pawn. “For example, in the opening move, a pawn can be moved two squares ahead. But after that, it can only move one square at a time. Physically, can I move it sideways? Of course, but that’s not what pawns are for. There are other pieces on the board that can do that.”
Lucien had understood the pawns from the beginning, but remembering what the rest of the pieces did was a jumble to him. “Can’t we play something American? Like cards or craps?”
Micklewhite slowly shook his head. “Those are games of chance, Lucien. What I’m trying to teach you is the importance of planning ahead, and chess is a wonderful way to teach you how to do that. You’re a cunning businessman. A man of great will. It’s gotten you far in life. But if you choose to expand beyond the limits of Laramie, which you told me you wanted to do when you brought me here, you must train your mind to think ahead. Every move you make, be it in chess or in life, has a consequence. A vulnerability. As Charles Buxton once said, ‘In life, as in chess, forethought wins.’”
Micklewhite sat back in his chair, though he was still crooked. “Now do you understand what I’m trying to teach you? It’s not about chess. It’s about life.”
Lucien looked at the board and its pieces again. He willed himself to want to learn the game. He knew it would help him in the long run. But Lucien Clay had never been one for long runs.
“I see what you’re trying to teach me here, Al. I really do, except there’s only one problem with it.”
Micklewhite sighed heavily. “Which is?”
“That for your idea to work, everyone has to agree to the same rules,” Lucien said. “They have to obey the rules. They can’t distract you and take a piece off the board or change one of their moves when you’re not looking. Pawns don’t always act like pawns, especially if they think they’re really kings.”
Micklewhite threw up his hands in frustration. “This is hopeless. Yes, those things can happen, but it’s not the way the game is played.”
Lucien recalled something Micklewhite had just said to him. “Take what you said about each piece having its own nature. That it can only do what the rules say it can do.”
Micklewhite smiled. “Precisely.”
Lucien drew the derringer he kept in his sleeve and aimed it at Micklewhite’s forehead.
Micklewhite did not move.
“Now,” Lucien continued, “let’s say the pawn comes up against one of these things that can hurt him. Say another pawn, or a bishop. Say my pawn pulls a gun on the other pawn and blows him down. Bang. No more threat. And that bishop, if he’s smart, will jump the hell out of his way if he knows what’s good for him. Maybe he even changes color and starts working for the other side.”
Knowing he had made his point, Lucien put the derringer back in his sleeve. “See, Al. That’s the way life really works. Not everyone plays by the same set of rules. And your whole strategy idea ain’t worth much unless everyone plays by the same set of rules.” Lucien sat back in his chair and smiled. “Do I look like a man who likes rules, Al?”
Micklewhite cleared his throat and ran his finger under his collar. “No, Lucien. No, you don’t. It’s why you brought me here in the first place.”
Lucien slapped the arm of his chair. “That’s it! It all goes back to what I just said. You’re that bishop I just talked about. The one who changes his colors and works for the other side.” He pushed himself away from the table and went to pour himself a whiskey from the bottle on his desk. “Now that’s a game I know how to play. I could enjoy playing by those rules. So, tell me, how’s this Mike Albertson act of yours playing up north?”
“It’s promising,” Micklewhite told him. “I think I’ve got the locals pretty well worked up by now. I’ve rented a room with this kindly old gal named Mrs. Higgins.”
Lucien finished pouring his glass and looked at Micklewhite. “Rich widow? Is she pretty?”
“Not all that rich, and she’s eighty.”
“Since when have you allowed a few wrinkles and creaky bones get in your way?” He poured another whiskey for them. “An old con man like you should keep his options open.” He gestured toward the chess board. “You know, strategy and all that stuff.”
“There’s nothing to be gained by bedding Mrs. Higgins,” Micklewhite said, “though her friendship has helped me enlist the help of some of the other people in town, especially after today.”
Lucien put the cork back in the bottle and opened his humidor to select a cigar. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I worked on Trammel like you told me to. It’s taken a while, but I finally got under his skin today. I even got the big dope angry enough to grab me.”
Lucien’s eyes rose as he cut off the end of a cigar. “That is good news.”
“I thought he might hit me at first,” Micklewhite said, “but no such luck. He cooled off and just ordered us off the street.”
Lucien brought a flame to his cigar and brought the two glasses back to the table. “Good thing he didn’t belt you. He might’ve killed you, and you’re no good to me dead.”
“Hardly,” Micklewhite scoffed. He pointed a thumb to his crooked back. “I didn’t get this at a tea party.”
“No,” Lucien said as he sat down and puffed on his cigar. “You got it when you fell off a horse while running out of town with a posse on your heels. Or was it the farmers who wanted to skin you alive for selling them that snake oil you were peddling?”
Micklewhite forced a smile. “Some things are better left in the past, Lucien. Just like your forced allegiance to Madam Peachtree for all those years.”
Lucien did not like to remember the time when he was under the old hag’s thumb. He liked Micklewhite throwing it in his face even less. He removed his cigar from his mouth and pointed it at Micklewhite. “You ever mention that again, I’ll put this out in your eye.”
The con man raised his hands in surrender. “Looks like we’ve both got things in our past we’d sooner forget.”
Lucien decided to focus on the present. “How soon before those houses that Hagen is building are finished?”
Micklewhite shrugged. “A month or so, from what I’ve heard, but that’s only gossip that the Higgins woman tells me. You’re Hagen’s partner. You would know better than me.”
Yes, Lucien thought. I’m his partner. For now. But his time at Madam Peachtree’s beck and call had taught him a vital lesson. No one ever got rich by working for someone else. He split the laudanum and gambling trade in the territory down the middle with Hagen. It had made him even richer than he had been before.
But any man who was as hell-bent on destroying his own father as Hagen was could not be trusted. And h
e did not need to be a chess player to know that 100 percent of everything was a lot better than 50 percent of something.
“A month sounds about right,” Lucien said, “but keep an eye on them. Hagen’s anxious to start making money by renting them out. As soon as the paint is dry on the last one of them, we burn them down. That ruckus you’re kicking up will make people think your bunch is behind it somehow. Trammel and Hagen will be chasing their tails trying to find out who did it, which is very good for us.”
Micklewhite sipped his whiskey and set it back on the table. “You see, that’s the part I don’t get. You’ll lose just as much money as he does when those houses burn. And it’s not just your money, Lucien. You promised me twenty percent of the town when you take over.”
He had at that, and Micklewhite never let him forget it. “I can afford to lose the money more than Hagen can. Sure, the two of us split everything fifty-fifty, but when I pull out of our arrangement, he’ll be left hurting for money. His fight against his old man will be in full swing by then, based on what he told me, and that’s when he’ll be vulnerable. I’ll let those two tear at each other until both sides are exhausted. Then I’ll move in and push them aside. I’ll own the whole town and the Hagens will be a distant memory.”
Micklewhite slowly turned his glass on the table. “I don’t think it’ll be that easy, Lucien. The Pinkertons thought the same as you and look how Trammel handled them. He might look like a big oaf, but he’s smarter than he ought to be. He’s tougher than he looks and he’s mighty tough.”
Lucien waved him off. “I’m not worried about him. It’s just him and that simpleminded ranch hand he has as a deputy. If he survives the battle with the Hagens, he’ll be ripe for plucking when I come in. It’ll be easy, and I’ll have them all boxed in, just like one of your . . . whatever you call these things on the board here.”
“The queen,” Micklewhite said. “Trapping her is how you get checkmate and win the game.”
Lucien laughed and waggled his cigar at him. “See? That’s what I said before. In my game, it’s the king who loses. And wins.” He popped the cigar in his mouth and sat back in his chair. “King Lucien Clay.” He winked at Micklewhite. “I like the sound of that.”
The Intruders Page 2
