The Pinkerton Job (12 page)

THIRTY-NINE

Anderson walked into the cantina. Sandusky was sitting at a table with a beer. Sitting across from him Delilah was nursing a beer of her own.

“The men are all in place, Harlan,” Anderson said.

“Out of sight?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Bring the horses around to the back,” Sandusky said. “If this goes wrong, we'll have to hit the trail again.”

“Why don't we go out and fight?” Delilah asked. “I ain't afraid of the Gunsmith.”

Sandusky stood up, took a step, and backhanded her across the face, knocking her to the floor.

“You sayin' I'm afraid of the Gunsmith?”

“N-No, Harlan.”

“Then shut up,” he said. “Don't open your mouth again unless I wanna put my cock in it.”

“Yeah, sure, Harlan.”

“Get up!”

She got to her feet and sat back down. Her big breasts moved easily inside her shirt, which she had to readjust as she sat. Anderson watched.

“Cal!”

“Yeah?” Anderson said, still staring.

“Move those horses around the back.”

“Yeah, sure, boss,” Anderson said.

Anderson went out. Soon after they could hear the horses being moved.

“Delilah, you wanna go out there and shoot it out with the Gunsmith?” Sandusky asked. “Be my guest, honey.” He sat down, wrapped his hand around his beer.

“No, Harlan,” she said, “I'll stay in here with you.”

Sandusky looked over at the Mexican barkeep, who stood quietly behind the bar.

“You got any whiskey?” he asked.

“Sí, señor.”

“Bring me a bottle and a glass.”

“Sí, señor.”

But the man hesitated just a little too long.

“Wait a minute,” Sandusky said. “Stand right there.”

The man froze.

“Delilah, go see if there's a shotgun behind that bar.”

“Sure, Harlan.”

She got up and walked to the bar, a livid bruise showing on her cheek. Reaching over the bar, she came out with a twin-barrel Greener shotgun. She carried it to Sandusky and handed it to him.

“Twelve gauge,” he said. “Nice gun.” He looked at Delilah. “Siddown.”

She sat.

“See these barrels? They ain't parallel. They fire so that the shot comes out and then intersects at a certain point, tears a man apart at a certain range. Further away the shot starts to spread, makes a whole different kinda mess.”

He looked at the bartender.

“Bring me that whiskey!”

“Sí, señor.”

The bartender grabbed a glass and bottle, carried them to Sandusky, and set them down on the table in front of him.

He uncorked the bottle, poured a shot, and drank it. Then he looked at Delilah.

“Want one?” he asked her.

“Sure, Harlan.”

He poured another glass, shoved it across the table to her. She polished it off immediately.

Anderson came in, this time from the back.

“The horses are tied off behind this place, boss,” he said.

“Good,” Sandusky said. “Now we wait.”

“What if they don't come?” Anderson asked.

“Then we'll just head back to the United States,” Sandusky said. “Go on. Get out of here.”

“I think I'd like it better that way,” Anderson said.

“You're feelin' antsy, Cal?” Sandusky said. “Why don't you use that whore in the back?”

“No thanks,” Anderson said. “I peeked in at her. She's fifty if she's a day.”

“Well, take Delilah, then,” Sandusky said.

“Harlan—” Delilah said.

“Go ahead,” Sandusky said. “Take Delilah in the back, use 'er. Get some of those nerves out.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sandusky said. “Go ahead. Anything happens, I'll let you know.”

“Harlan—” she said again.

“Go on,” Sandusky told her. “Show Cal a good time, Delilah.”

“Sure, Harlan,” she said. “Sure.”

She stood up, walked to the back door, Anderson right behind her, a spring in his step.

FORTY

Clint, Siringo, and Horn rode into Socorro.

“They're here,” Clint said.

“I can feel 'em,” Horn said.

“You fellas are spooky,” Siringo said.

“You spent too much time as a cowboy,” Horn said. “Your nose is full of manure.”

“Check the rooftops,” Clint said.

It was dead quiet.

“Listen up real good,” Horn said. “Somebody will cock their gun.”

Siringo looked at Horn as if he was crazy, but he kept his ears open.

*   *   *

The instructions given to Kane and the men were, “Don't fire too soon. Don't make any noise. And don't anybody panic.”

Well, that was easier said than done when dealing with someone like the Gunsmith.

The men were scattered on rooftops, and in deserted storefronts.

One scraped his foot on the wooden floor.

Another cocked the hammer on his gun.

A third coughed.

And then somebody panicked . . .

*   *   *

Clint, Horn, and Siringo heard the sounds just before the first hurried shot was fired. A bullet struck the dirt in front of them, and then they were off their horses as the snipers began to fire . . .

*   *   *

In the cantina Sandusky heard the shots. Anderson had been in the back for a while with Delilah, whose screams had died down. But he was sure they were still so busy they didn't hear the first shot. Maybe not even the ensuing shots. Sandusky knew from experience how much noise Delilah could make, even if she was just breathing hard in his ear. And he knew Anderson would be grunting like a pig.

He stood up and, taking the shotgun with him, went out the back door to the horses . . .

*   *   *

Horn jarred his injured leg as he hit the ground, but he quickly made his way to cover behind a dry horse trough. Normally the water made a trough good cover, but since this one was empty, there was a chance a bullet might go right through it. Still, he didn't have much choice . . .

*   *   *

Clint hit the ground with his gun already out. He held tight so it wouldn't be jarred from his hand. He spotted men with rifles on the rooftops, and fired. One man yelled, and fell off the roof. The air was soon filled with the sounds of shots . . .

*   *   *

Siringo thought to grab his rifle as he leaped from his saddle. He hit the ground hard, but came up onto one knee with the rifle pressed to his shoulder. He saw one man fall from the roof, fired, and took care of another one. He knew that the ambushers were firing wildly, but that he, Clint, and Horn would be firing calmly and accurately. Even outnumbered, this gave them an advantage.

Siringo got himself out of the street, took cover behind some crates.

*   *   *

There were shooters on both sides of the street. Clint and Siringo ended up taking cover on one side, and Horn on the other. Most of the shooters were on rooftops, but there were a few on the ground level, inside stores.

Clint saw a storefront with a broken front widow. There were two gun barrels sticking out.

“Cover me!” he shouted to Siringo.

He broke cover, ran over to that building, flattened his back against the wall. The overhang gave him cover from across the street, so he was virtually unseen by any of them.

He inched over to the window, and as a hand came out holding a gun, he grabbed it by the wrist and yanked. The man came tumbling out the window. Clint shot him before he could get his feet back under him.

The other man inside backed away from the window, but Clint stepped out, confronted him, and shot him.

Two more down . . .

*   *   *

Cal Anderson finally heard the sounds of the shots once he was done with Delilah. She lay on her back, big breasts flattened out against her chest, her legs wide open, black pubic bush covered with his semen. Her breasts were already starting to show bruises from where he'd gripped them cruelly.

“What the hell—” he said, getting to his feet.

Delilah rolled over and got her feet on the floor, reached for her clothes.

“Sounds like all hell has broke loose,” he said, doing the same.

“We better get out there,” she said dully.

“Too bad,” he said, leering at her. “I was kinda hopin' to stick my dick in your ass.”

“We're done, Cal,” she told him, reaching for his gun.

“Yeah,” he said, “unless Harlan says different.”

“Harlan,” she said, “can go to hell.”

“I'd like to see you tell him that,” he said, staggering as he tried to get his leg into his trousers.

“Maybe I will,” she said, “but I'm gonna send you there first.”

He was still hopping around on one leg when she shot him in the groin.

She was tired of being used . . .

FORTY-ONE

Horn shot two men on the roof across from him. One fell off, while the other staggered back. He didn't reappear, so Horn assumed he had killed him.

He studied the rooftops across from him, didn't see any more men. He saw Clint across the street, standing in front of a store where he had killed two men. Horn judged they had killed about six ambushers so far.

Not bad.

He started to ease himself from cover when suddenly a body fell from above him, almost landing on him . . .

*   *   *

Siringo fired at the roof, just above where Horn had taken cover. The man fell off the roof, and almost hit Horn, who had started to come out from behind the trough.

“Hey!” Horn yelled. “Watch it!”

“Sorry!” Siringo shouted.

*   *   *

Clint studied the rooftops in front of him, waiting for someone with a rifle to show himself. By his count they'd taken care of seven men.

He took himself back over to where Siringo was crouched.

“You see Sandusky?”

“No,” Siringo said, “and I ain't seen a woman yet either.”

Horn came walking across the street, reloading as he did.

“I heard some horses,” he said. “I think the rest of them hightailed it.”

Clint and Siringo also reloaded. All three kept their eyes peeled.

“Let's take a look around,” Siringo said.

They walked down the street, aware that they were being watched from some windows, but apparently by denizens of Socorro, who had taken refuge from the firefight.

Finally, a door opened and a man crept out.

“Don't shoot,
señor
,” he said, his hands up.

“Relax, old timer,” Siringo said. “We're not gonna shoot you.”

“They are all dead,
señores
,” the man said. “You have killed them, or chased them off.
Gracias
.”

“What about the leader,
señor
?” Clint said. “Where would he be?”

“They were using the cantina down the street,” the old man said, pointing. “I am going to tell my people they may come out.”

“Go ahead,” Siringo said.

The three of them walked to the cantina and entered, guns in hand. The bartender stood behind the bar with his hands up.

“Where are they?” Siringo asked.

“They went
out the back,” the said. “They took my shotgun,
señores
.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Clint said.

They went through the back door, found it similar to the one in Juarez, rooms where whores could take their johns. They found a woman, too old to be a whore but obviously still working, in one of the rooms, and she waved her hands at them.

“No, no, no,” she said.

“Take it easy,
señorita
,” Clint said.

She calmed down when Siringo said something to her in Spanish. She replied at length.

“What'd she say?” Clint said.

“She says she's the only
puta
here, but that one of the men took a gringa woman into another room.”

“Let's check it out,” Clint said.

They moved farther down the hall, found a couple of empty rooms, then the room they wanted.

As they entered, the woman sitting on the bed looked up. She started to lift her gun, then decided against it and just let it drop from her hand. She looked like a once attractive woman who had lived a hard life. The room smelled like sex.

On the floor was a dead man, lying on his face, not even half into his trousers, a pool of blood around him.

“Is that Sandusky?” Clint asked.

Siringo bent over to look, but the woman spoke.

“No, that's Cal Anderson,” she said. “Sandusky's second in command.”

“And you?” Horn asked.

“Delilah,” she said.

“Sandusky's woman?”

She nodded.

“Where is he?” the detective asked.

She shrugged, said, “He gave me to Cal, and while we were in here, he left. Rode off. Our horses were in the back, but his is gone.”

“Why did you kill him?” Horn asked.

She shrugged again. “Just tired of bein' used and bruised, I guess.”

Horn left the room to check the horses and make sure she was telling the truth. He was back in seconds.

“She's right,” he said. “One horse rode off.”

“He used the commotion to get away,” Clint said. “Probably hoped some or all of us would get killed.”

“Are you Siringo?” she asked the detective.

“Yes.”

“He talked about you,” she said. Then she looked at Clint. “The Gunsmith?”

“That's right.”

She looked at Horn. “You ain't Elfego Baca.”

“No,” he said, “Tom Horn.”

“Baca had his own business to take care of,” Clint said.

“So none of you is dead.”

“No,” Siringo said.

“Good,” she said. “Then you'll catch him.”

“Oh, we'll catch him,” Siringo assured her. “Any idea where he went?”

“Yeah,” she said. “He said he was going back to the U.S.”

“We'll track him,” Horn said. “We got 'em all except him.”

“And you,” Clint said to Delilah. “What should we do with you?”

“I don't really care,” she said.

“Let her go,” Siringo said.

“What?” Horn asked.

“He used 'er,” Siringo said, “and tossed her away. What good does it do to put her in jail?”

“I agree,” Clint said.

Horn shook his head. “You guys are soft.”

The three of them looked at her one more time, then turned and left the room.