by Matt Braun
“Don’t horn in, stranger,” Pearl snapped back. “He screwed up bad and he knows it!”
“Only thing is,” Tallman added pointedly. “I’m here.”
The door swung open and the mean-eyed kid came in.
“Horses is put up!” he said.
“Yeah, you’re here, all right,” Pearl went on, disregarding the kid’s entrance. “And you could disappear mighty goddamned fast.”
Tallman at once sensed the danger. Everyone in the cabin froze. His eyes on Pearl, he backed away from the others and rested his hand on the butt of his Colt. He saw the blond-haired kid smiling for the first time since he’d met the gang of thieves.
“You want I should make this peckerface disappear, Miss Pearl?” the kid asked as he also palmed the stag handles of his revolver.
“Well, now, Kriss,” Pearl said, a sadistic smile painted on her sharp features. “Why don’t you just do that.”
Before she finished, the kid cleared leather and fired.
Instinctively, Tallman sidestepped, snatched the Colt from its well-oiled leather, and leveled his revolver. The gunhawk’s first slug tugged at Tallman’s shirtsleeve and thunked into the wall. Tallman fired as Stroud, Kirk, and Jake dove for the floor. His explosive slug caught the youngster square in the gut and doubled the wide-eyed kid over. Kriss fired his hogleg into the floor at his feet just as Tallman’s second shot hit the retching kid in the top of the head. The force of the unique slug exploded on impact, sent a mist of gore across the room, and the dead stage robber hit the floor like a sack of corn. The prone corpse danced for an instant like a fresh-caught fish on a river bank, then stopped and leaked blood and urine.
Tallman shuffled sideways toward Pearl, eyeing the other three through the cloud of gunsmoke. When he reached her, he tipped her hat off with his gun barrel, grabbed a handful of hair, and pulled her head back as he pressed the Colt’s muzzle hard to her temple. His anger welled.
“You sleazy bitch,” he growled. “I ought to kill you and the rest of your goddamn gang.”
“Jesus! . . . Easy does it, Hoodoo,” Doc said as he hugged the gritty floorboards.
“Get up, bitch,” Tallman said as he hauled the woman out of her chair by her hair. “Have a closer look,” he continued to growl as he pushed her toward the body. “What do you see!” Tallman had never had to kill anyone as young as Kriss Kliegle, and the thought of it enraged him.
Pearl strained against Tallman’s grip and turned to face him. “Looks good, don’t he,” she said, her face twisted in an erotic smile.
Tallman pushed her away. She stumbled over the body and fell.
“Doc, Kirk, Jake, and you, bitch,” Tallman went on. “Get up! Unhitch them gunbelts real slow, and put the hardware on the table.”
All four stage robbers complied. His rage was real, and he would have ended the Wells Fargo job right on the spot if any of the quartet had given him reason.
“Now, I’m goin’ to ease outa here real slow,” Tallman said, hoping for Doc to protest. “Anybody that follows gets to join the punk in Hell’s fires.”
“Damn, Hoodoo,” Doc pleaded. “Cool your heels. Jake, you and Kirk get the kid outta here. Now, Hoodoo, holster that hogleg of yours and let’s talk. You ain’t leavin’.”
“And the kid was fast with a gun,” Pearl continued as she stared at the bloody form. “Real fast.”
Kirk started to move toward the body after Doc’s command.
“Hold it, Kirk,” Tallman said, pointing his gun toward the outlaw.
Pearl turned to Tallman. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, Hoodoo. We need another man, and looks to me like we ain’t gonna find better. Kid was crazy anyhow. Couldn’t be trusted. Always wantin’ to shoot somebody.”
Tallman didn’t object as Pearl went matter-of-factly to the plank table and took her seat. “Do like Doc asked,” she said toward Kirk and Jake. “Hoodoo, sit down. No hard feelings. Doc, get a bottle. We’ll smoke the peace pipe.”
“We’ll talk,” Tallman allowed. “But don’t nobody put his gun on yet till I cool my jitters a bit.”
“Throw them guns on the bunk,” Pearl commanded Doc after he thumped a bottle of whiskey on the crude table. “Ain’t no need for’em among friends.”
Tallman sat down, still holding the Colt as it rested on the table.
Jake and Kirk, each with a foot, dragged the corpse across the floor, leaving a trail of gelled blood and brain matter. None of the four seemed the slightest bit affected by the carnage. Tallman had an iron stomach, but that moment he felt sick. There was something odd about this bunch. Tallman realized just then that, to a man, they had bent minds. They were black-hearted, stone-cold killers.
“Well, Hoodoo Dunn,” Pearl went on. “You ever—Kirk,” she interrupted herself as they went through the door and the remains of the kid’s head thumped over the door jamb. “Get some river water and clean that shit off the wall and mop up the floor. You ever hit a stage, Dunn?”
FIVE
Tallman couldn’t help smiling as he sat on the quiet river bank under the noon sun. Little Pearl Bowen treated the three outlaws like they were students in her school for retards. They hopped at her every command and withered when confronted with one of her outbursts of anger. Most amusing of all was the way she’d hauled Stroud to her little bedroom late the previous evening. Determined to keep one eye open throughout the night, he’d entertained himself by listening to a two-hour sex opera that was more humorous than erotic.
But, with a long pull on his cheroot, his smile vanished as he again thought of the kid who was dead and on his way to Hell before he’d grown hair on his face. The macabre picture of blood, bone shards, and pulpy brain matter was still etched clearly in his mind. He took a deep draw on the cigar and made a mental note to tell Aaron Wagner, his irascible Chicago gunsmith, about the vaporization of the stage robber’s head.
Wagner had developed the deadly round in his unique shop, and he would appreciate the report. He’d simply drilled the base of the slug, poured the cavity a third full of quicksilver, and sealed it. When the lead left the barrel, the liquid metal was plastered against the backside of the slug. On impact, it slammed forward and explosively sent chunked metal in every direction. He was pondering the fact that Wagner had explained, during his last visit, that he was working on a small spherical impact grenade, when Stroud interrupted his peaceful resting place.
“Got another one of them, Hoodoo?” Stroud asked as he approached and eyeballed the cigar.
Tallman fished another from his faded blue shirt pocket and tossed it upward to the scarfaced Stroud.
“Thanks, Hoodoo.”
“Nice out here, ain’t it, Doc?”
“I guess.”
“ ’Course, I wouldn’t want to spend forever sittin’ here.”
“Nope,” Stroud agreed as he sat in the river bank grass.
“Got any idea when we’ll work?”
“Nope,” Stroud answered as he fired up a sulphur-head on his bootheel. “But we’ll get word when it’s time,” he went on as he exhausted a cloud of smoke. “Oughtta be soon enough.”
“Hope so,” Tallman said. “I got six silver dollars to my name.”
“Gotta tell you, Hoodoo. I sure liked the way you cleaned up on Chunk Frazer and blowed the top of that punk’s head off.”
“They was askin’ for it. Didn’t give neither of ’em cause.”
Stroud blew smoke rings.
“So we just sit and wait?” Tallman went on, trying to get back to the holdups. “Don’t seem like much fun.”
“Pearl will tell us when.”
“Pearl! Harumph.”
“She’s boss, goddamnit.”
“Seen that,” Tallman grunted, squinting his eyes against the bright sun. “You start the gang or’d she?”
“Me. She used to be my steady woman. But once she got us a line on the shipments, she kinda took over.”
“Got yourselves a Judas at Wells Fargo?” Tallman asked nonchalantly.
&nb
sp; Stroud gave Tallman a wary look. “Once a secret’s told it ain’t a secret no more.” He paused to blow smoke. “And don’t never let Pearl hear such a question as that.”
“What’ll she do to me?” Tallman asked with a wide grin. “Haul me into that little room of hers and do me like she done you last night.”
“You wiseass son-of-a-bitch,” Stroud spat.
“Especially liked the time she sent you for some bacon grease so’s you could poke her in the stink-hole.”
Stroud jumped up, threw his half-smoked cigar on the ground and stomped it.
Tallman grabbed his side in laughter and rolled on the ground. “Harder! Squeeze my tits! Bumfuck me! Harder! Harder!” Tallman went on mimicking Pearl’s raspy voice. “Eat my snapper! Suck harder! Harder!”
Stroud snatched his hat and threw it at Tallman. “Goddamn you, Hoodoo! Next time the laugh might be on you. Pearl likes variety, and I figure you’re next. So we’ll see who gets the last laugh.”
“Me?” Tallman said as he held the laughter. “Naww.”
“Let’s just say you’re in for a real treat!”
Then both men bellowed gut-wrenching laughter. “Come on, Doc,” Tallman said after the humor wore off. “Let’s go into Red Rock and see if old Chunk Frazer’s still alive. Mebbe I’ll break his other knee.”
“I don’t know if Pearl—”
“Piss on Pearl,” Tallman interrupted. “She ain’t your mama.”
Tears came with the renewed laughter, and Tallman forgot for the moment that it was his job to see Stroud dead.
Amidst laughter and a constant barrage of friendly jests, the pair saddled their horses and lit out for Red Rock. Though it was only ten miles as the crow flies, the ride took three hours. On the way, Tallman avoided direct questions about the possibility of an insider at Wells Fargo. Instead, he worked hard at securing Stroud’s trust and friendship. And he rambled on about Lizzie, the big-breasted saloon girl. He wanted to pair Doc up with Vivian and leave the interrogation to her, after he’d helped saturate Stroud with a full load of sourmash. It was, by now, obvious that the more the outlaw drank, the faster he talked.
The afternoon sun was pounding the earth as they finally emerged on the flatlands just north of town. It was a hundred in the shade.
“Let’s start here,” Tallman said as he hauled his horse around in front of the lopsided sign that advertised the Silver Dollar. “Take a look-see at Lizzie’s tits.”
Stroud followed without argument. His mood had fallen to a funk as he pondered Pearl’s domination. He knew Hoodoo Dunn would never stand for it. His new gang member was the kind of hard case Stroud wanted to be, and Tallman’s presence was Doc’s unkind reminder of the fact that a small-tit hundred-pound woman ran his life.
A few idlers were tossing suds at the bar when they sauntered through the door. Chunk Frazer himself dealt the sole card game. As they passed the table, Tallman tipped his dusty Stetson at the crippled saloon owner. His left eye was black, his right eyebrow had been shaved and replaced with a line of knotted catgut stitches, and his leg was bound in a wooden splint with leather straps.
Vivian picked up on the pair as soon as they entered. By the time they got settled at a table against the wall, she arrived with three glasses and a bottle of Frazer’s best whiskey.
“Howdy, Doc,” she said as she sat down. “Figured you boys would be broke down for a week after all that whiskey the other night.”
“Hell, Lizzie,” Stroud said, his eyes glued to the creamy cleavage which welled over the front of her powder-blue dress. “We come to see you.”
Tallman poured three glasses of whiskey. Stroud snatched his tumbler and tossed the whole shot in one stroke. Tallman relaxed. That was a good sign.
Before long, Stroud, egged on by Tallman, was crafting tall tales about his checkered past while Vivian pawed the outlaw fondly and kept his glass full. Once Tallman had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as Vivian blatantly manipulated the windy fool.
Finally Stroud gave them the opportunity they were hoping for when he announced loudly that he was going to the outhouse. Tallman sighed as the outlaw stumbled off.
“What did you find out?” she asked, trying to fake the same smile and mood that had prevailed before Stroud left. “They the ones?”
“Looks like it. And get this! A little woman named Pearl Bowen runs the outfit.”
“A woman!”
“Mean as a stepped-on rattlesnake. Wasn’t there five minutes when she sicced that kid on me. I got lucky and he’s dead,” Tallman said, poking his finger through the hole in his blue shirt. “Fast gun. Poor aim.”
“Oh, Ash,” Vivian whispered, her eyes becoming wide with concern as she looked at the hole. “Be careful.”
“I’m sure it’s them,” Tallman went on. “But I have nothing beyond the gang. I’ve tried Stroud a few times, but he clams up whenever I push. So I’m leaving that to you.”
“He’ll talk,” Vivian said, a beguiling smile pasted on her painted face.
“I hope so,” Tallman said. “We could put an end to this bunch right now. But something tells me the top dogs would easily find four more stoneheads just like Doc.”
“Oh, Hoodoo!” Vivian whooped. “You rascal!”
Tallman took the warning and caught sight of Stroud out of the corner of his eye. “I think he knows something. Enough to keep the investigation alive,” he whispered through closed teeth and a fake smile. “Work on it. And be careful. He’s dumb but deadly.”
“Well now Hoodoo, you dooo know how to tickle a lady’s fancy!”
Tallman unleashed a loud horselaugh as Stroud sat down. If he knew anything, she’d know it too before the night was over.
“What’s that?” Stroud asked.
“Old Hoodoo here was just tellin’ me another of those tall tales,” Vivian answered.
“Go on, Hoodoo,” Stroud insisted, his lips thick with whiskey.
“Later, Doc. I’m gonna find me a card game and see if I can build on my six dollars. Hate like hell havin’ you buy all the whiskey.”
“Aw. Come on!”
“Mind’s made up. You stay here and keep Lizzie in good company.”
“Now that’s a capital idea,” she insisted, as she squeezed the outlaw’s thigh under the table.
For over an hour, Vivian kept Stroud drinking, hoping to loosen his lips with her continuous flow of whiskey. She massaged his vanity with a steady stream of compliments on his wealth, good looks, and intelligence, almost choking every time she praised the latter. The theme of her slick dialogue was that Doc was so smart and so well connected that he might be able to get her back to doing something “more productive” than hustling drinks for Chunk Frazer. Twice she’d come right out and asked him who was running the stage-robbery operation, insisting each time that she would like to meet such people and better her station in life. But Stroud had clammed up each time, causing her to assume that he did know something.
“I just don’t know what I’ll do when he shows up at my door. So far, I’ve put him off with stories about how bad I’m havin’ the curse this month,” Vivian said of Frazer, as she, for the first time, touched the lump in Stroud’s denims. “He’s not my type . . . nothin’ like you.”
“I should be able to help somehow,” he bragged, his eyes glassy, his speech thick. “I do got the connections.”
“Oooo,” Vivian groaned as she stroked the bulge more vigorously. “Let’s go to my room where we can talk in private.”
Stroud jumped at the suggestion, almost falling down as he got up. Once he had his balance, he followed her like a puppydog waiting for a bone. She had hoped that she would somehow escape without having to bed Stroud, but he’d been unwilling to reveal anything about his connections, so the most powerful of her interrogation techniques would, she’d decided, have to be employed. She was out to prove herself one of Pinkerton’s best detectives, hoping to join the ranks of men like Ashley Tallman. And if that pursuit required a little rol
ling in the straw from time to time, she was willing and very able. As she walked to the back of the saloon with Stroud in tow, she mused that he might be good in bed. Even though he was a might soft in the head and a thief and killer to boot, he was not bad looking once you got past the mean eyes and the scar.
As soon as she’d closed the door to her small bare room, Doc pounced on her. With feverish abandon he pulled her bodice down with a sharp tug and greedily took a nipple in his mouth, sucking, slurping, and nipping.
“Oooo, Doc. That feels good. Ahh.” She wasn’t being dishonest. “But let’s go . . . Ahhh . . . Doc, let’s go real slow. That’s the way I like it,” she said as she lifted his head away from her bare breasts. “Slow and easy.”
Stroud backed away and began to fumble with his gunbelt and trouser buttons. His glazed eyes and labored breathing signaled Vivian that he was in no mood for tender and lingering sex. Within seconds he’d shed his clothing in a heap and had flopped on the rickety wooden-frame bed.
“Goddamn, Lizzie,” he grunted as he took his stiff cock in his hand. “Drop them rags and sit on this.”
Ignoring his urgent command, she disrobed slowly and erotically, all the while pumping the tightly wound outlaw on his connections. “I’ve simply gotta get something going for myself,” she went on as she rolled a stocking slowly down her long shapely leg. “And I know you’re hooked into the big-time somehow, Doc. I mean, everybody talks about how you and your boys only hit the right stagecoaches.”
“They do,” he said as he released the hold on his meat. “I ain’t heard that.”
“Why Doc, nobody’s got the guts to say anything to your face,” she said as she threw the stocking aside and put her other foot on the bed, giving Stroud a view of the reward which lay just under sheer silk panties. “A girl’s got to take care of herself. And that’s all I’m tryin’ to do. You gotta help me, Doc.”
“Goddamn, Lizzie,” Stroud grunted. His speech was thicker and his eyes looked out of focus. “Get them skivvies off.”
“I’ve got to get out of here, Doc,” she went on. “And you’re my only chance.” With that she lowered the panties, revealing a triangle of auburn hair and the gateway to her womanhood. “You simply have to help, Doc,” she pleaded as she lay down next to the drunken outlaw. “Please.”
