The Wrong Side of the Law

by Robert J. Randisi

  There was a knock on the door and a bellboy smiled as he opened the door and said, “Here’re your saddlebags, Marshal.”

  “Thank you.”

  After he closed the door, he realized he had done so without tipping the youngster. If he was going to live there and expect good service, he was going to have to make up for that.

  He had a fresh shirt in the saddlebags, which he had only recently bought. He took it out and put it on, looked at himself in the mirror while he buttoned it. He usually stayed away from anything bright, like red or yellow, not wanting to be noticed. This shirt was dark blue. But since he was the law here, there was really no need for him to try to go unnoticed. He wouldn’t be wearing a shirt for as long as he had on the trail, so maybe he would buy a few of different colors.He was going to have to come up with a personality for “Marshal Abe Cassidy” that didn’t match his own.

  He hadn’t bought himself new Levi’s or found a new hat he liked, so his old clothes needed to be pounded a bit to get the trail dust off. He decided not to do it in the room, though. He opened his door, stepped out into the empty hallway, and used his hat to slap as much of the dust off him as he could, then hurriedly stepped back inside before anyone saw him.

  There was a window in the front room, but none in the bedroom. He walked to the window and looked out, found himself staring down at Front Street. There was no access to his room from outside the window, which suited him. He always preferred to have rooms that were not reachable from a balcony.

  He had noticed in the lobby that there was a doorway leading to the saloon next door, which he assumed went by the same name—Utopia. He decided to go down and have a beer before he met the mayor in the lobby.

  He had placed the badge on the top of the dresser when he walked in. Now he walked to it and picked it up, considered pinning it on, but decided against it. Like he’d told the mayor, he’d wait for the next day to pin it on and start his job—his life.

  He put the badge into his shirt pocket, strapped on his gun, and left the room.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Palmer entered the saloon, stopped just inside to have a look. More than a saloon, it looked like a cattlemen’s club, with green felt and leather all around. At that time of the afternoon, there were only a few customers, and Palmer was willing to bet they were all guests of the hotel.

  He walked to the bar and was met there by a young bartender wearing a white shirt and a green vest.

  “What are you supposed to be?” Palmer asked.

  “Yeah, I know,” the bartender said. “I feel stupid wearing this, but the manager insisted and I wanted this job. New guest?”

  “That’s right,” Palmer said, “I just checked in an hour ago.”

  “One beer on the house comin’ up, then,” the barman said.

  “I won’t argue with that,” Palmer said.

  “Here ya go,” the barman said, setting the beer down in front of his customer.

  “What’s your name?” Palmer asked as he picked it up.

  “I’m Simon.”

  “Glad to meet you, Simon,” Palmer said. “I’m Abe Cassidy.” He took the badge from his pocket and showed it to the man. “Marshal Abe Cassidy.”

  “The new marshal!” Simon said as Palmer tucked the badge away again. “Why aren’t you wearin’ the tin?”

  “I start the job tomorrow,” Palmer said. “Today I’m just another customer.”

  “That suits me, Marshal,” Simon said, leaning on the bar. “So are you gonna be livin’ in the hotel?”

  “For a while,” Palmer said. “Until I find something . . . different.”

  “The word I heard was we were gettin’ a family man as a marshal,” Simon said.

  “You were,” Palmer said, “until the Sioux killed my wife and kids. Now it’s just me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah.” Palmer drained his beer and slapped the mug down. “I’ve got to meet the mayor for supper, but how about a whiskey first?”

  “Comin’ up!”

  * * *

  * * *

  When Palmer left the saloon and entered the lobby, the mayor was already there, waiting.

  “There you are, Marshal,” he said as Palmer approached him.

  “Now I’m ready to eat.”

  “I’ll take you to the best place in town,” O’Connor said. “At this time of the day, it shouldn’t be too hard to get a table.” He grinned. “Especially if you’re the mayor. Come on, we can walk.”

  The restaurant turned out to be three streets away from the Utopia Hotel. It was called the Stallion Steak House. As they entered, a man in a black suit approached them.

  “Mr. Mayor, a little early tonight?”

  “Jack, this is our new marshal, Abe Cassidy. I want you to give him a good meal.”

  “Of course, sir,” Jack said. “Your regular table is waiting.”

  Jack walked them across the room to a table for two.

  “Would you gents like to start with something to drink?” he asked.

  “Marshal?” the mayor said.

  “Just a cold beer.”

  “The same for me, Jack,” O’Connor said.

  “Yes, sir. Your waiter will be right over to take your order.”

  As Jack walked away, Palmer said, “It’s been a while since I had a good steak.”

  “Then that’s what you’ll have,” the mayor said. “You know, for a fella who’s from the East, you wear that gun on your hip like you know how to use it.”

  “We had guns back East, Mr. Mayor,” Palmer told him.

  “Yes, of course,” O’Connor said.

  A short, bandy-legged man came over with their beers and to take their order. The mayor said, “Two steak dinners, Arthur.”

  “Comin’ up, Mr. Mayor.”

  “So tell me about my new home, Mr. Mayor. Your letters made it sound like a much smaller town.”

  “It’s a town on the rise, Marshal,” O’Connor said. “Deadwood seems to be turning into a ghost town and it looks like we’re taking up the slack. Hence the new hotel, new businesses like this one, and the new city hall.”

  “And the new marshal.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And is my office new?”

  “I’m afraid not,” O’Connor said. “It’s our old sheriff’s office, but it’s been cleaned up.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Palmer said.

  “Hopefully,” the mayor said, “you won’t have much use for the jail cells, except maybe on Saturday nights.”

  “I’m with you there, Mr. Mayor,” Palmer said.

  “Ah, here come the steaks. . . .”

  * * *

  * * *

  After they finished eating, Palmer thought he’d probably be taking many of his meals there, especially if they were part of the job. He didn’t see the mayor pay a bill, so he wondered if the marshal would be receiving the same consideration.

  They left the steak house, O’Connor saying, “All right, let’s go and see your office.”

  The office was, indeed, an old sheriff’s office. Palmer had been in many over the years, and this one was very familiar. There were a desk, a gun rack, a potbellied stove, and a wall peg to hang his hat and the cellblock keys on.

  “I’m sure at some point the town council will be approving plans for a new marshal’s office,” Mayor O’Connor said.

  “This is fine, Mr. Mayor,” Palmer said. “All I’ll need to add is a coffeepot.”

  “You grab whatever you think you need from the mercantile, and the town will foot the bill.”

  “It won’t be much,” Palmer said. “I wouldn’t want to take advantage of that offer.”

  As they stepped back outside the mayor said, “Well, that’s everything, unless you, ah, actually want to see the house we
were going to give you and your family.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Palmer said.

  “And what about your family?” O’Connor said. “Will you want some of us to go out with you and recover their bodies so they can be buried here?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Palmer said. “I’m not the type of man who would be spending a lot of time at grave sites. I mean, it’s only their bodies, isn’t it? They’re not really there.”

  “I suppose not,” O’Connor said. “I guess they’re, uh, in your heart.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Of course,” O’Connor went on, “we do have a priest and a parson, each with their own church. You might want to have a talk with one of them.”

  “I’m not exactly what you’d call a religious man, Mr. Mayor,” Palmer said, “but you know, I might just do that.”

  They headed back to the Utopia Hotel.

  “You can have your suite here as long as you want it, Marshal,” O’Connor said in the lobby. “I’ll make the arrangements with the owner.”

  “As long as I’m not taking advantage,” Palmer said.

  “As our lawman, you’re going to be entitled to certain, uh, extras, and this will be one of them.”

  “I’m much obliged, Mr. Mayor,” Palmer said. “I think I might spend the rest of the evening just getting to know the town a little.”

  “My house is on the north end of town, Marshal,” O’Connor said. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to stop by.”

  “I’ll stop by your office in the morning with the badge on, as I start my first day,” Palmer said.

  “Excellent!” O’Connor said. “I’ll look forward to seeing you wearing it.”

  “Thanks for the steak,” Palmer said.

  O’Connor nodded, turned, and left the hotel. Palmer knew that politicians always had their own agenda. He figured he would find out what O’Connor’s was sometime in the future. At that moment, the mayor was putting his best foot forward.

  Palmer gave the mayor some time to put some distance between himself and the hotel, then stepped back outside and started to stroll. The badge was still in his pocket, so no one on the street gave him a second look. He was a stranger who got a glance or two, but that was it.

  As he passed the mercantile, he saw that it was closed for the day, so he put the location in the back of his mind. In the morning he would stop in for his coffeepot and a few other essentials.

  He passed both of the churches the mayor had referred to, but didn’t go inside either. He truly wasn’t a religious man, and the people he had buried were not actually Tom Palmer’s family. Any sadness or regret he would show as “Marshal Abe Cassidy” would have to be contrived.

  As he passed several of the saloons, they were coming to life for the evening, with lights, music, and noise. He decided to wait until he was actually wearing the badge to go inside one of the saloons.

  Heading back to his hotel, he was wondering if he was doing the right thing. In point of fact, no, it definitely wasn’t the right thing to do, but his question had to be, was it right for him? He was walking the other side of that thin line between right and wrong for the first time. He had no idea what it would be like to be a lawman, but working the right side of the law for a change was certainly going to be interesting.

  When he reached his hotel he decided to go right to his room and not stop in the hotel saloon again. He was feeling weary from all the travel and decided it was just time to rest his bones.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Palmer woke the next morning, it was as Marshal Abraham Cassidy. He washed his face, got dressed, but when it came to pinning on the badge, he still hesitated. There was one more thing he had to do.

  He went down to the front desk to the smiling clerk.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “I need a bath—” Palmer started.

  “I can arrange that—”

  “And a haircut. Can you direct me to somewhere I can get both?”

  “There is a barber two blocks from here who has bathtubs in his back rooms, but we can also offer you both right here.”

  “You have a barber who works for the hotel?”

  “Yes,” the clerk said, “which means he won’t charge you for the haircut. And we will not charge you for the bath.”

  “All right, then,” Palmer said. “I’ll go upstairs and get some fresh clothes.”

  “I’ll have everything ready for you when you come back down . . . Marshal.”

  “Much obliged.”

  He turned and went back upstairs.

  * * *

  * * *

  After his haircut and shave, Palmer walked down the hall to a room with a large wooden bathtub. He soaked in it a while, then got out, dried off, and put on his fresh shirt and vest. He still needed to buy some new trousers, but that could wait. The last thing he did before going to the hotel dining room for breakfast was pin on the marshal’s badge.

  * * *

  * * *

  After bathing and eating breakfast, Palmer went to city hall to present himself, badge and all, to the mayor as Marshal Abe Cassidy.

  “Marshal!” Mayor O’Connor said as Palmer entered the office. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” Palmer said. “I just wanted to let you know I’m on the job.” He tapped the badge on his chest.

  “That’s good to hear,” O’Connor said. “Can I offer you some coffee?”

  “No, sir,” Palmer said. “I’d better get to my office and see what I have to do to get it in order.”

  “Just one minute, Marshal,” O’Connor said. “I’m arranging for a meeting here at city hall to present you to the town fathers.”

  “When would that be, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Hopefully as soon as tomorrow night. I just want you to know so that you’ll be there.”

  “You can count on me,” Palmer said.

  “Good, good,” O’Connor said. “Then have a productive first day on the job, Marshal.”

  “Thank you.”

  Palmer left city hall and walked to his office.

  * * *

  * * *

  After Marshal Cassidy left city hall, Mayor O’Connor came out of his office.

  “Mrs. McQueen,” he said, “please notify the town council members that I need them for a meeting tomorrow night at seven p.m.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “May I tell them what it’s about?”

  “Yes,” he said, “tell them they’ll be welcoming our new marshal to town. And post a notice that the public is also welcome to attend.”

  It was short notice to get a public announcement posted around town, but Mrs. McQueen said, “Yes, sir, right away.”

  O’Connor went back into his office, knowing the woman would manage to get it done.

  The next day would mark a new start for the town of Integrity.

  * * *

  * * *

  Palmer entered the marshal’s office, stopped just inside the door, and looked around. He had a coffeepot and some coffee in his hands, as well as his rifle. He walked to the potbellied stove, looked inside, and saw that he was going to need some makings for a fire, so he set the coffee aside.

  He walked to the gun rack on the wall. More of the spaces were empty than full, but there were a rifle and a shotgun that were in desperate need of some cleaning. He put his own rifle in one of the empty slots.

  The desk was covered with a layer of dust. He looked around, found some rags and a broom, and proceeded to start cleaning the place up.

  After a few hours, he was seated at his dust-free desk with a fresh cup of coffee. Also on the desk were the rifle and the shotgun that had been in the rack when he entered. He thought he might take them apart and clean them, make sure they were in working order. If they weren’t, he’d get
rid of them.

  It took about an hour to dismantle the weapons, clean them properly, and reassemble them, and then he worked on his own rifles and pistol. He was finishing up when the door opened and a man walked in. He was in his late twenties, a tall, rangy man with a serious-looking face.

  “You the new marshal?” he asked.

  “I am,” Palmer said. “Marshal Cassidy. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Steve Atlee,” the man said.

  “And?”

  “I’m your deputy.”

  “I don’t have a deputy,” Palmer said.

  “Well, I mean,” Atlee said, “I could be your deputy. You’re gonna need one, ya know?”

  “I don’t know,” Palmer said. “Not really. I mean, I just started the job myself. I’ll have to see if I have a need for deputies.”

  “Well, if you do, I’m your man,” Atlee said.

  “Do you have experience?”

  “Not exactly,” Atlee said. “I mean, I always volunteer when there’s a posse.”

  “How many times have you ridden with one?”

  “Well . . . none, but—”

  “Mr. Atlee,” Palmer said, “I’ll let you know what I decide.”

  “Thanks, Marshal,” Atlee said, and left.

  Palmer had never thought about having deputies. He still wasn’t sure he knew how to be a lawman himself, how could he tell others how to do it?

  He walked to the window and looked out at the people passing by on the street. As of today, their welfare—maybe their lives—was in his hands. He touched the badge on his chest. Now that he’d pinned it on, there was no point in having negative thoughts. Even if he didn’t uphold the law the way most lawmen did, he could find a way to do it himself. After all, he knew all sorts of ways to break it.

  He decided to walk around town and let the people see him and the badge.

  * * *