Bodie 11

by Neil Hunter

When Erika turned to look directly at him Bodie saw the tears brimming in her eyes. Not forced tears but the real thing. The conviction she showed came from deep inside.

  ‘No, Mr. Bodie, there’s no clouding my feelings. I love the man and all he’s been trying to do is bring Markham and his associates into the open.’

  ‘Bodie, she’s telling the truth. Erika Kovacs is incapable of lying.’

  Henry Purcell, ashen faced and barely able to support himself on his uninjured arm, was facing them from where he lay. The effort of speaking took its toll, sweat beading his skin.

  ‘Bodie, I did not murder Ashley Cartwright. Turn me over to Bascombe and I’m a dead man. I’ll be conveniently killed to keep me quiet...and if Lance Markham gets his hands on the evidence I’ve managed to gather...’

  Purcell ran out of words and strength. He flopped back on the couch and lay still. Erika crossed to his side, using a damp cloth the wipe the sweat from his face.

  ‘It appears, Bodie, that we are in your hands,’ she said.

  Ten

  Len Capshaw stood at the window of his store. He had just watched Vince Bascombe make his way to Markham’s office and go inside and the sight of the thickset lawman created both apprehension and silent rage. Just seeing Bascombe caused him to experience frustration. The fact he knew the lawmen was a threat coupled with the knowledge there was little he could do about it brought again the helplessness that engulfed him.

  Bascombe was the cause. He was by nature a bully. A man who enjoyed the status his badge of office offered. Representing the law in Sorrow simply gave him the opportunity to flex his muscles whenever he desired. Being backed by his equally vicious deputies and bolstered by Lance Markham’s influence Bascombe walked the streets of town untouchable. One or two hardly souls had openly challenged Bascombe and had paid for their temerity. Beatings by persons unknown had been their reward. Always at night and out of sight. Nothing to prove who the perpetrators were even though it was known. One of the unfortunate victims was still recovering. The other refused to even acknowledge what had happened.

  Life was hard enough in a town dependent on the lumber business. In the middle of a landscape dominated by the acres of rich timber that provided its living. The High Country Logging Company was the largest and most productive venture in the area. It was based out of its headquarters near the border, employing dozens of workers. The lumberjacks and the men who operated the mill where felled trees were dealt with. Sawmills and storage facilities. Sheds to protect cut timber. A fleet of heavy wagons and horses to transport orders far and wide. Timber was in great demand as townships grew and expanded. Where railheads existed the purchased timber was hauled away to waiting customers. The continuing expansion of the railroad system had created a demand for ties that added another outlet for timber supplies.

  Life in Sorrow was hard. Risky. It was made harder by the presence of Markham and his crew. They were there to extract as much as they could from the town and the logging business. Remote and existing in a harsh environment the town and lumber business maintained itself with little interference from the outside world. Which left Markham free to run things his own way.

  Keeping Sorrow in his hands was Markham’s intent and he had matters under his control with little interference.

  Len Capshaw was as helpless as any man could be under the circumstances. He understood the situation and as much as he wanted to hit back at Markham he knew there was little he could do. It shamed him that he was unable to put a stop to things. He was in no physical shape to confront Markham. At fifty-two years of age he neither had the strength or the courage to face down the man. Even if he had possessed a gun he doubted he had the skill to use it. He had never fired one in his life and facing up to Markham was beyond him.

  His shortcomings left him frustrated. Understanding that Sorrow was existing under the threat posed by Markham and his regime and not being able to do a damn thing about it. There was the existence of Capshaw’s presence in Sorrow where his hardware store provided goods to the town and to a greater extent the timber business. It left Capshaw balanced on a knife edge. He needed the business on offer despite resenting the hold Markham and his presence had on the town.

  He was damned whichever way he looked at it.

  He was about to move away from the wide store window when he saw a rider come into view. Mounted on a slow horse plodding along the main street. Both horse and rider had their heads down against the falling snow. Even hunched in the saddle the rider gave the appearance of being a tall man, swathed in a thick coat and with a hat pulled down across his eyes.

  Capshaw watched the rider angle his horse in the direction of the big livery stable at the far end of the street.

  Eleven

  As Bodie eased out of the saddle in front of the livery he saw a figure moving inside the office to one side of the big open doors. He led his horse inside and tethered it in one of the empty stall, unsaddling so he could brush off the accumulated snow. He heard the shuffling footsteps coming up behind as the liveryman showed.

  ‘Always like to see a man who looks to his horse before himself. Tells a lot about him.’

  The man leaned against the stall post and watched Bodie tend to his horse. He was no youngster. Lean and slightly hunched over. A man who had lived a hard life.

  ‘She’s brought me a long way,’ Bodie said. ‘Deserves a little fussing over.

  ‘Weather’s closing in. You intending to stay over in Sorrow?’

  ‘Only by accident. Snow caught me out and I figure to have lost the main trail. Saw signs for the town and reckoned it would be safer to ride in.’

  Bodie brought feed from the storage bin close by and watched his horse eat.

  ‘Name’s Mart Ketchum,’ the liveryman said. ‘This is my place. Run her for more’n ten years.’

  ‘Long time,’ Bodie said.

  Ketchum studied Bodie close, his bright eyes shining in a weathered face, a skinny hand rubbing at the graying beard he wore.

  ‘I take it this ain’t your country?’

  Bodie shook his head. ‘I was riding through. Heading for Colorado. Then I kind of got lost. Lucky I spotted the town else I could have been wandering.’

  Ketchum gave a half smile. ‘Luck and Sorrow ain’t words I’d put together in one sentence. Not these days, anyhow,’ he said. Quietly. ‘If’n it had been better weather you would most likely have kept to your trail and ridden clear.’

  Bodie swung his saddlebags over his shoulder. Took his rifle.

  ‘You want me to pay up front?’

  Ketchum shook his head.

  ‘Way this snow is piling up I don’t figure you to be going anywhere soon. When you figure out to leave just settle up.’

  ‘Fine, Mr. Ketchum. I’m Jack Dean. Be obliged if you could point me in the direction of a hotel.’

  ‘Out the door turn left. Couple hundred yards along you’ll see the Grand Hotel. If you got the money it’s the best place in town. Feller by the name of Silvis Bedloe runs it. Now I ain’t one to gossip but he’s a slippery feller. Just keep your eyes and ears open. Not ever’one in Sorrow is as honest as me if you understand what I mean...’

  ‘Bear that in mind, Mr. Ketchum. Obliged for the word.’

  Twelve

  Silvis Bedloe glanced up as the lobby door opened and a tall man stepped inside. He closed the door behind him, shaking snow off his coat and hat as he walked up to the desk.

  ‘Feller at the livery recommended you. Said you have the best rooms in town.’

  ‘Oh we do, sir. The very best. Comfortable beds. Hot running water. Some have their own wood stoves.’

  Bedloe was a man starting run to fat, his round face pink from the heat in the lobby. He wore a smile on his fleshly lips, a nervous hand fluttering against his chest. He wore a dark suit and a white shirt. A cravat was tied under the droop of his double chin.

  Bodie laid his saddlebags on the wood floor, the rifle on the desk top.

  ‘Sounds right for
the way the weather is right now. Name’s Jack Dean. Looks like I might be here in Sorrow until the snow quits so I’ll be needing one of your best.’

  Bedloe gave his new guest a wider smile as he pushed the register to Bodie. Watched as Bodie signed his name.

  ‘Room two is available. One of our best. Overlooks main street,’ Bedloe said. ‘I’ll have the stove lit and make sure there are clean towels made available. Is there anything else you require?’

  ‘Good place to eat. I’m partial to a prime steak.’

  ‘Two doors down. The Crown Restaurant. Has a good reputation. Fine cook.’

  Bodie nodded. ‘Have my bags and rifle put in the room for when I get back.’

  Bodie saw the gleam in Bedloe’s eyes. The man almost gave a pleased sigh.

  Son of a bitch can’t wait for me to leave so he can go through my gear. Town law will be hearing about me before I eat my steak.

  Outside again Bodie moved along the boardwalk, trying to avoid the snow that had drifted across the planks. He glanced skywards and saw the heavy cloud cover.

  ‘Son, you could be stranded here come spring.’

  The Crown Restaurant boasted a pair of windows either side of the door. He couldn’t help but notice the bright paintwork and the general tidiness of the place. When he opened the door a waft of warm air greeted him. Inside he quickly closed the door and shucked his coat and hat, dropping them on one of the hooks close by.

  The interior was roomy, with at least a dozen tables. There were only a couple occupied at this time of day. Bodie chose a table near the far wall and sat. Across the room a pot-bellied stove pushed welcome heat out.

  A woman appeared from the kitchen behind the counter and came across to him. She had a coffee pot in one hand and china mug in the other.

  ‘First cup is free,’ she said.

  ‘Sounds like an offer I can agree with.’

  Bodie watched her as she filled his mug. A striking woman in her mid-thirties. Tall, with a firm body under the white blouse and dark skirt. Mid-blonde hair held back from her face and a generous mouth. The hands moving restlessly were shapely with long fingers.

  ‘I haven’t seen you in Sorrow before,’ she said.

  ‘Guess I’m an orphan of the storm. Kind of got off my trail and happened on Sorrow more by chance. Guess I’m going to have to stay until the snow eases off.’

  ‘You have somewhere to stay?’

  ‘Yeah. Hotel along the street. Feller called Bedloe recommended you for a meal. And the liveryman pointed me to the hotel. Seems there are some helpful folk in Sorrow.’

  For a moment her eyes, a pale blue, fixed on him and she seemed about to say something. Then she straightened up, clearing her throat with a soft sound.

  ‘Does appear so,’ she said. ‘Just don’t be fooled that’s all there is to it. Now what can I get you to eat?’

  ‘Thick steak. Couple of eggs on top and all the trimmings. Fried onions if you have any. Ma’am, you have a hungry man here’

  The woman offered him a quick smile. Stepped back, pointing at his mug.

  ‘Just call when you need more coffee. My name is Helga Regis.’

  Bodie held out a hand. ‘Jack Dean.’

  Her grip was firm when she responded. Then turned and made her way by the counter and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Bodie watched her go, a questioning expression on his face.

  First the liveryman’s cryptic remarks.

  Now this woman.

  And the hotel clerk.

  More to Sorrow than he first imagined.

  Thirteen

  The hotel clerk, Silvis Bedloe, made his way to Markham’s office, wrapped in an enveloping coat. He pushed open the door and almost stumbled in his haste to get out of the falling snow.

  ‘In a hurry?’ Sorrow’s lawman said.

  Bedloe did his best to ignore Vince Bascombe. He did not like Bascombe. Considered him a savage and only tolerated him because he wore a badge and worked for Markham.

  ‘Must be something to bring you out in this weather, Silvis,’ Markham said.

  ‘New man in town, Mr. Markham. Just booked into the hotel. Name of Jack Dean. Says he got himself lost in the snowstorm and came across Sorrow.’

  ‘Never heard the name,’ Bascombe said. ‘What’s he look like?’

  Bledsoe continued to address Markham.

  ‘Big man. Hard looking. Wore a handgun tied down and looked like he knew how to use it. Left his saddlebags when he left to go for food. I had a look in them.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing apart from his personal things,’ Bledsoe said. ‘You said to let you know if any strangers came to town.’

  Markham nodded. ‘You did right, Silvis. Go pour yourself a drink.’

  Bascombe watched the hotel clerk cross the office, a smile on his lips.

  ‘I’ll have this feller checked out. Could be he’s nothing but a passerby sheltering from the weather. On the other hand...’

  ‘Pays to be careful. If you figure he might be a problem roust him.’

  Bascombe nodded and prepared to leave.

  At his desk Markham slid some cash into an envelope and held it out to Bedloe.

  ‘Always grateful for your vigilance, Silvis. Can’t be too careful.’

  Bedloe took the offered envelope and pushed it into his pocket. He drained the whisky and put the glass aside. He edged around Boscombe’s bulk and went out the door.

  ‘That man makes my skin crawl,’ Bascombe said.

  ‘And you scare the hell out of him. But he’s useful, Vince.’

  ‘Yeah. If you say so. Time for me to do my civic duty,’ Bascombe said. ‘Go say hello to our visitor.’

  He flexed his big fists as he pulled on leather gloves and left Markham to his deliberations.

  Fourteen

  The meal might have filled Bodie’s stomach but his mind was still going over the reactions of the people he had met since arriving in Sorrow. What he had heard matched the details Erica Kovacs had given him. Nothing direct but enough to make him curious. He was on his third mug of coffee, as he sat back and figured out his next move.

  ‘Well, Mr. Dean, I hope your mood is improved because you enjoyed the meal. Have to say you look a little more relaxed than you did when you came in.’

  Helga Regis stood before his table.

  ‘That’s what a good meal does for a man. Have to say your cook knows his job.’

  She smiled. ‘That would be me. And all compliments readily accepted.’

  Bodie laid money on the table. Pulled on his coat and hat.

  ‘You open for breakfast?’

  She nodded. ‘Six o’clock. Lots of loggers to feed.’

  ‘Way that snow is falling?’

  ‘Take more than that to keep them off work. They have big contracts to fill. No time for lazy days off.’

  ‘Good-day, ma’am.’

  As Bodie stepped outside he felt the bite of the chilled air. Turned up his collar and began to retrace his steps in the direction of the hotel. The flurries of snow cut down his vision. The street was empty. No one venturing out in the brutal weather. Bodie hoped Bedloe had kept to his word and his room welcoming.

  The dark maw of an alley didn’t offer him any sign of movement. He did hear the click of a gun hammer being dogged back and the words that followed.

  ‘Step inside, Mr. Dean. Marshal got words to have with you.’

  Until he could make out how many were waiting for him Bodie did as he was asked, keeping his hand well clear of his holstered Colt. Whatever this might turn out to be it certainly wasn’t a greeting from Sorrow’s welcome committee.

  Bodie moved into the alley, eyes searching the shadows until he made out the shape of the man wielding the gun. A long barreled revolver in the man’s left hand. Behind the gun a tall, lean shape clad in a buckskin coat and a beaver hat. Hard eyes glowered in the soft light. The face rough and showing a straggly beard. The one thing Bodie didn’t see was a badge – he
realized it could be under the coat.

  He closed in on the man, seeing lips part in an uneven grin. The teeth were big and uneven.

  ‘What?’ Bodie said. ‘I supposed to have done something wrong?’

  ‘How about showing up in town. That good enough for you.’

  ‘You need better than that.’

  The gunman waggled the revolver.

  ‘I don’t see any badge,’ Bodie said. ‘You real law or just doin’ the marshal a favor?’

  ‘Hell, I’m no lawdog. Just helpin’ out a friend. Now let’s go. Marshal wants a talk...’

  Bodie made his move the second the threatening gun angled away from his. His left hand shot out and caught the barrel, pushing it up and away from his body. In the same action his right fist swung up and connected with the gunman’s nose, crushing it savagely. He hit twice. Blood began to gush. The man’s head went backwards and slammed against the timber wall behind him with a thud. Before the man could recover Bodie hit him a third time, landing a solid punch across the exposed jaw that wrenched the man’s head around. He made a feeble sound as his legs went from beneath him and he slid to the ground. Bodie snatched the gun from his limp grasp.

  ‘All you had to do was ask me nicely.’

  Bodie pulled the man’s coat open, avoiding the blood spilling down it from the crushed nose. There was still no badge showing.

  ‘Son, I’m aggrieved you’re not even official. I could shoot you and call it self-defense but I’ll wager you ain’t worth a bullet.’

  The man on the ground only moaned.

  Bodie returned to the street and looked around until he saw the sign proclaiming it to belonging to the Marshal’s office. He made his way over, through the deepening snow that covered the wide street. He saw movement behind the window and stepped up to the door, pushing it open. A wave of heat met him, coming from a large stove against the far wall.

  The interior was identical to law offices Bodie had been in on a number of occasions. Even down to a blackened coffee pot issuing a pleasant smell.