Slocum 419 (9 page)

Less than a half hour after Slocum sat down in Room 6, there was a loud, insistent knock on his door.

A sardonic smile flickered on his lips as he rose to open his door.

“Constable Hellinger,” he said as the door widened.

Hellinger's hand was raised to knock again. Beside him stood another man, rotund, with a cherubic face and a rosy-tipped nose, who sported a tin badge on his vest and baggy sharkskin trousers.

Behind them, across the hall, men were removing the bodies. They grumbled and grunted as they laid out canvas stretchers and hefted the bodies onto them.

And Stacey stood beside the constable, tangled auburn hair, lipstick all but worn off, and swollen red-rimmed eyes. Her blouse was askew and her skirt slightly wrinkled. She smiled wanly at Slocum, but he could see that her heart wasn't in it.

Slocum stepped to one side and the trio swept past him. Hellinger was all eyes as he glanced around the room.

“This is my deputy, Elmer Craig,” Hellinger said, “and you already know the young lady.”

“Have a chair, Constable, Elmer. Stacey, maybe you want to lie down.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, a sobbing catch in her voice.

“So far she's cleared you, Slocum. I'm taking her to my office to write out and sign a statement of the events here.”

Stacey lay facedown on Slocum's bed, burying her head in the pillow.

“There were three of them. Wolf Steiner's men. I let one go. The father of the two women.”

“You know, Slocum, you're filling up the undertaker's shop all by yourself. You're a one-man army.”

Slocum shrugged.

Elmer Craig stood by and kept gazing over at the bed, like a watchdog.

“How many more are you going to provide for the funeral parlor?”

“Wolf Steiner is jumping claims all over the place,” Slocum said. “He's killed at least two miners that I know of. And he's in cahoots with Abel Fogarty and his secretary, Clara, who's the mother of those twin gals.”

“I know, I know. But the law requires proof. And I haven't had the chance to check Fogarty's files to see if he's dirty.”

“Oh, he's dirty all right.”

“But you ain't the law.” Hellinger threw up his hands in exasperation. One of his hands struck the brim of his hat and tilted it off center. He didn't bother to straighten it.

“Justice runs slow sometimes,” Slocum said.

“Looks to me like you're takin' some of the law into your own hands.”

“Just defending myself.”

“Not at Lou Darvin's you weren't,” Hellinger snapped.

“One of them cold-cocked Lou and the others shot young Jasper. I call it Citizen Justice. Kind of like a citizen's arrest.”

“We got law here,” Abner argued. “And I'm it.”

“You've got civilization here, Constable. And with civilization, you get both law and lawlessness. When the law's not handy, a man has to become the law.”

“That's what you think, Slocum?” Abner was on the border of belligerence.

“That's what I know, Mr. Hellinger. There was no law at Lou's. There was no law across the hall when those men busted in with guns cocked and ready to shoot me.”

“That's so, maybe. But Durango's a town, or almost a town, and they hired me to keep the peace and defend its laws.”

“If you want to take credit, go ahead,” Slocum said. “If you want me to stop defending myself, I won't.”

“I don't want you takin' the law into your own hands,” Abner said.

“Then you either deputize me, or speed up your investigation of Steiner and Fogarty.”

“I got me one deputy, Craig here, and maybe one more I can count on in a pinch, so I go with what I got.”

“And you don't need another deputy,” Slocum said.

Abner squared his hat and glared at Slocum.

“I don't want a gunslinger wearin' a badge in Durango,” he said. “And that's what you are, Slocum, a damned gunslinger, plain as day.”

“I'm a horse trader, Constable. But I know right from wrong.”

“I ain't goin' to argue with you no more,” Abner said. “Next time you're by my office, step in and give me a written account about killin' those men at Lou's and the ones across the hall. Seems to me you knew they were comin' after you, and you just ambushed them before they ambushed you.”

Hellinger stood up.

“That the way it looks?” Slocum asked.

“Yep. That's the way it looks at this point. You rented a room across from the one you had and you waited for them men to come after you.”

“I knew they were coming for me. I just didn't want a mess in my room.”

“Haw,” Abner snorted as he got up from his chair. “In the eyes of the law, that's entrapment, Slocum.”

“In my eyes, it was a little old ace in the hole, Constable.”

“Craig, get the gal. We're goin',” Abner said.

Elmer walked back to the bed and touched Stacey on the shoulder. She turned over.

“Time to go, miss,” he said.

Stacey got up and walked with Elmer to where Hellinger stood.

“That little old ace in the hole is goin' to get you killed yet, Slocum. You'll die a cardsharp with a busted flush.”

“Good evening, Constable. Mr. Craig.” Slocum stood up and then looked at Stacey. “Good luck to you, Stacey,” he said. “Again, I'm sorry about Lacey.”

“Oh, you . . .” she snarled and turned her back on Slocum.

He closed and locked his door after the three of them had left his room. Across the hall, the last stretcher borne by two men in work clothes left the room with their cargo. One of them carried a sack with pistols that clanked together. They left the door open, and Slocum could see dried blood on the floor.

Slocum waited until there was silence in the hall.

He was in no hurry, but he still wanted to hunt Wolf down and call him out. He knew where he lived now and he went over what he would do in his mind. Wolf would not be easy. But he was running out of guns for protection. No doubt Clemson had given him Slocum's message and he would be ready for whatever came his way.

Well, there was more than one way to skin a cat. Or a snake.

Slocum checked his pistol once again. The cylinder was fully loaded.

He was about to leave when there was another knock on his door. Light taps, such as a woman might make.

His eyebrows arched.

Well, he thought, it was still early. Maybe that was a woman tapping on his door.

He could not imagine who it might be as he walked to the door, unlocked it, and opened it.

There, in the dim light of the hall, stood a woman, all right. But it was the last person he would have expected at that early hour of the evening.

He smiled.

“Come on in,” he said.

A thousand thoughts roiled in his mind.

Some of the thoughts were downright lewd.

Amy clasped Slocum's shirt when she burst through the door as if she was desperate for him to hold her in his arms.

“John, oh, John, I'm so glad you're still here,” she gasped in a breathless rush of words.

“You mean that I'm still alive?”

“Oh, yes, that, too, but I mean here. In your room. Were you going somewhere?”

“I was going to the saloon,” he said. He guided her into the room, then closed the door behind her.

“No, you mustn't go there. Not tonight. Not now.”

“Sit down, Amy. Try and collect your thoughts.”

“I rushed over here from the saloon to warn you,” she said as she sat in one of the chairs. She was obviously distraught, Slocum thought, and anxious to warn him of something or somebody.

Amy crossed her legs. She wore a sheath dress with large yellow and green vertical stripes and starbursts of red at the shoulders, a pearl choker, and golden earrings. Her wrists sparkled with silver and turquoise bracelets. Mascara darkened her eyelids and lashes. Her hair was done up in a bun, and a single white gardenia nestled just above her left ear. She looked, Slocum thought, ravishing, with those cobalt blue eyes and cherried lips, dabs of rouge in the hollows of each cheek.

“What's so urgent, Amy, that you had to leave work and run over here?”

“Wolf,” she said. “He—he came in a while ago with two other men and looked all around before he sat down.”

“That's probably what I'd do,” Slocum said.

“One of the men, I know him only as Hobart, went to sit at the bar. He took a seat where he could watch the front door.”

“All right. Maybe he wanted his liquor quicker.” A smile flickered on Slocum's lips as he sat down in a chair opposite Amy at the table.

“This is not funny,” she said, her eyes wide with an admonishing look.

“So then what?”

“Wolf went to a table by the back wall. The other man, Faron Clemson, walked over there with him, but he didn't sit down with Wolf. Instead, he went to a table next to Wolf's, sat down by himself, and faced the front doors. Wolf sat down by himself in a chair that faced the front door.”

“Separate tables, eh? Maybe Wolf's expecting more of his men to join him.”

“I don't know, but I heard what happened up here and then, a few minutes later, Wolf comes in and he's all eyes, like a tree full of owls. John, I think he's waiting for you to walk in and he, or one of the others, or maybe all three of them, are going to pepper you with hot lead.”

“That's the way I might do it, if someone was hunting me and I had men to do some of my dirty work.”

“Oh, you,” she said. “You're not taking me seriously. All three men ordered beers and none of them had touched their glasses when I snuck out to run over here and warn you.”

“Sounds like an ambush to me, Amy.”

“So you can't go there, John. Not tonight. They're waiting for you. And they'll kill you.”

“I hope you didn't put yourself in danger by coming over here, Amy.”

“I snuck out the back door,” she said.

“So if I go in the back door with you, where would Wolf be sitting when we enter the saloon?”

“We'd walk through a storeroom, then down a hallway. The hallway leads into the saloon. Wolf would be sitting at a table to our left. Clemson would be to the left of him at the next table along that wall. The long bar is on our right. At the end of the bar, near the front door, is Hobart, last stool, against the wall. He can see the front door from there and that's about twenty or twenty-five feet.”

Slocum pictured the saloon in his mind. Not much different from many he had been in over the years, since leaving Calhoun County in Georgia under a cloud of suspicion and an arrest warrant for murdering a judge. Even though he'd been defending his family farm when he killed the carpetbagger who wanted the land for himself, he couldn't prove it. Yes, this saloon was like places in Dodge, Kansas City, Laramie, Cheyenne. There would be a lot of floor space, in some that served as a dance floor, with tables all around. In others, the space would be filled with card tables where men played faro or poker.

Inside the Mother Lode Saloon, there were three men waiting for him to walk through those batwing doors and into a hailstorm of lead.

Wolf had it all figured out.

Or did he?

In his mind's eye, Slocum made a plan. If he went in the back door, he would not be expected to enter from that direction.

The immediate, and closest, threat would be Wolf at that first table to his left. He might be able to walk right up to him and put a gun to his head. Even if Wolf turned and saw him, Slocum still might have the drop on him.

Hobart would be farthest away, and he would only have Clemson at the table next to Wolf. He might be able to get off a shot if he was fast enough on the draw.

That left Hobart at the end of the long bar. Hobart would have to get up and walk into the open. By that time, Slocum would still have the advantage. Hobart could not shoot through the other patrons at the bar. He would not have a clear shot in any case.

Three men, three bullets.

That was all that it would take, if he was smart enough to outwit three gunmen in the space of a few seconds.

“What are you thinking, John?” Amy asked.

“I'm just going over a game plan in my mind,” he said.

“A game plan? This is no game. Those men are there to kill you. All the talk in the saloon is about you and Wolf's men that you killed. This is a small town, and word of those shootings passed from man to man like wildfire.”

Slocum's lips curved in a wry smile.

“Well, I know Wolf heard about the last two men of his I shot,” he said. “Clemson delivered the message because he was with them, but never got off a shot.”

“Clemson was here?” she asked.

“Across the hall. I rented that room because I knew I was being set up.”

“With those twin hussies,” Amy said in a voice tinged with anger.

“His daughters, I gather.”

“That must have been fun for you. The twins, I mean.”

Slocum chuckled. “I knew it was a setup, so I rented another room across the hall.”

“You're smarter than you look,” she said teasingly.

“So are you, Amy.”

“Clemson told Wolf you're gunning for him. How does that help you?”

“I wanted Wolf to know that his days are numbered. And I thought my message might bring him out in the open, or drive him out of town.”

“Well, you didn't drive him out of town, obviously.”

“No. Wolf is probably one of those men who thinks he's invincible. He surrounds himself with backshooters and throat slitters and thinks he's some kind of god.”

“I've never seen Wolf come into the saloon by himself.”

“Down deep, men like him are cowards,” Slocum said. “They're used to running over other people and get a bigger hat size for their swelled heads.”

“Still, Wolf's dangerous.”

“So is a rattlesnake. That's why you wear boots and step real careful when you're around them.”

She reached over and put a hand on Slocum's arm.

“John, why can't you just let all this alone? You don't need to clean up Durango. That's the constable's job.”

“One constable. One full-time deputy. Both slower than molasses in January, brainwise and gunwise.”

“Still, that's his job. Not yours.” She withdrew her hand and sighed as if she knew that her words were falling on deaf ears.

“One of his men shot Lacey. One of the twins. She never had a chance. And he caused the deaths of at least three other men that I know of. If I walk away from this, Wolf will get his way in this town. He'd probably kill the constable and his deputy and have a clear field to rob and kill. Men like him, if they get the advantage, wind up owning the towns they sully. I'd hate like hell to see that.”

Amy took on a pensive look.

“So would I,” she said.

Slocum squared his hat as if ready to leave.

“What now?” she said.

“I'll escort you back to the Mother Lode. We'll go in the back door and you hide behind the bar so you won't get hurt.”

“John, I'm scared,” she said.

He stood up. “Don't be. If my plan works, it'll all be over in a minute or two.”

“You're that confident.”

He took her by the hand and stood her up.

“I am,” he said. Then he lowered his head and kissed her on the lips.

She embraced him. The kiss lasted several seconds.

“Umm,” she said. “I should keep you here,” she breathed.

Slocum smiled. “Let's go,” he said, “or I'll forget what you really came for.”

She laughed. “You make it all seem so simple,” she said.

“Nothing is simple. But you can make things simple if you stick to your guns and walk a straight line.”

“I don't even want to think about it,” she said.

They walked out of the room and Slocum locked his door behind him. He had thought about taking his belly gun with him, but a six-gun was all he would need. If things worked out, he wouldn't be real close, or use up all six cartridges in his Colt.

They walked to the lobby. It was empty and quiet as a tomb. Jules was not at his desk.

“Follow me,” she whispered when they were outside.

They walked past the hotel, then between two buildings to the back alley. In a few minutes they arrived at the back of the saloon.

Suddenly, Amy stopped and grabbed Slocum's arm.

He saw the man as soon as she did.

He stood in the shadows, but he was smoking a cigarette. The tip glowed orange in the dark.

“One of the bartenders?” Slocum whispered to her. They were about thirty yards away and not in the middle of the alley, but closer to the saloon.

“No,” she whispered.

“You recognize him? Even in the dark?”

She didn't answer right away. She looked at the man. When he took another puff on his cigarette, part of his lower jaw lit up.

She gripped Slocum's arm.

“I know him,” she said. “He's one of Wolf's men. Let's get out of here.” There was a tremor in her voice.

Slocum stared at the man. He wore a six-gun. He was definitely on guard.

So Wolf was a careful man. He wasn't leaving anything to chance.

That changed everything. For the moment, at least. His mind raced and he thought about Amy, the danger she was now in.

He pushed her up against the building, then led her to the passageway between the saloon and the building next to it.

“Stay here,” he told her in a hushed whisper.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. If I shoot him, Wolf will hear the gunshot and be on the alert.”

“He will,” she said.

“Who is he? Do you know?”

She nodded.

“His name is Jimmy John. Jimmy John Grimes. And he has a reputation.”

“That's good,” he said.

She looked up at him, puzzled. She couldn't see his face clearly, but she could see that his mouth was shut tight and he looked determined.

“Why is that good?” she asked.

“A man with a reputation thinks that's a shield that protects him. He thinks that everybody who comes up against him is a coward and will tremble in fear at the very sight of him.”

“Most men would,” she whispered.

“Not this man,” Slocum said. He patted her on the arm. “Stay here,” he said. He reached around his side and pulled his knife from its scabbard. Then he stepped carefully and quietly back into the alley.

He hunched low and approached the landing in back of the saloon.

He stalked his prey in deep shadow, silent and invisible.

As silent and as invisible as Death.