Kill Crazy (14 page)

“What?”

“You didn't let me finish. He's having dinner with all of them, and the city is paying for it. Seems they are witnesses, and the marshal wanted them all together until after the preliminary hearing tomorrow.”

“And you say they are in the café now?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if the mountain won't come to Mohammed, then Mohammed will go to the mountain.”

“What?” Vi asked, confused by the strange comment.

“I'm going to the café.”

“Good evening, Miss Parker,” Collier said when Meagan stepped into the café.

“Mr. Collier, I'm told that Mr. MacCallister is dining here.”

“Indeed he is, miss. He is with Marshal Ferrell and the others, back in the New York room.”

“If you don't mind, I think I shall join them.”

“I don't mind at all,” Collier said. “I reckon the marshal will have to decide about that, though.”

“You leave the marshal to me,” Meagan replied with a pretty smile.

Chapter Nineteen

Duff stood when he saw Meagan step into the opening between the New York room and the main dining room.

“Are you going somewhere?” Marshal Ferrell asked.

“I'm going to invite Miss Parker to dine with us,” Duff said.

“I don't know about that,” Deputy Pierce said. “I don't think the city will pay for her.”

“The city won't pay for her, I'm sure,” Cindy asked. “Miss Parker was in the bank, yes, but she left before the robbery.”

“I'll nae be askin' the city to pay for her,” Duff said. “I'll be for payin' for her meal myself.”

Duff moved to a part of the table where there was an empty chair adjacent to him, and as Meagan approached the table, Marshal Ferrell, Deputy Pierce, and Mr. Caldwell stood.

“Thank you, gentlemen, and Miss Boyce,” Meagan said as she sat in the chair that Duff pulled out for her. “I do hope I'm not intruding.”

“Nonsense, you are not intruding at all, Miss Parker,” Marshal Ferrell said.

“Although, I suppose with an outsider among us, we must be careful about what we say,” Cindy said. “I mean, us being witnesses, and all.”

“The only problem that could cause would be if a potential juror was tainted by listening to evidence before the trial,” Marshal Ferrell said. “And while there have been a few women serving on juries here in Wyoming, the practice has almost been discontinued. And I know for a fact that if it actually goes to trial, Judge Pendarrow will not allow a woman to serve on one of his juries. So I see no problem with Miss Parker being here.”

“How lovely you look tonight, Miss Boyce,” Meagan said with a disarming smile.

The frown that had started on Cindy's face was replaced by a self-conscious smile.

“You understand, I don't have nothin' against you bein' here an' all,” she said. “I was just wantin' to do what is proper, is all.”

“I quite understand, and you are wise to be concerned. Being a witness in a case like this carries quite a responsibility.”

“Tell me, Miss Boyce, do you know the defendant?” Marshal Ferrell asked.

“What?” Cindy gasped. “Why would you ask that?”

“I told the marshal that I seen you with him back in Fiddler's Green,” Deputy Pierce said.

“You probably saw me with a lot of men,” Cindy said. “That's my job. I'm supposed to be friendly to the men who come so's they will buy drinks. That's what Mr. Johnson pays me for.”

“It just seems that you were a little more than normal friendly with him is all,” Deputy Pierce said.

Marshal Ferrell smiled. “Now, Willie, that sounds to me like you might be just a little jealous that a pretty girl was spendin' too much time with someone other than you.”

The others around the table laughed, and Deputy Pierce blushed.

“No, it ain't nothin' like that it's just that, well, I . . .”

Cindy reached out to put her hand on Deputy Pierce's arm. “Honey, don't you worry. We're spendin' time together now. And after this is over, why don't you just come on into Fiddler's Green and I'll spend as much time with you as you want—that is, as long as you keep buyin' the drinks.”

Again, everyone at the table laughed, including even Deputy Pierce.

 

 

After dinner, Marshal Ferrell signed the ticket for the communal dinner, while Duff paid for Meagan's meal.

“All right, folks, it's back to the hotel with you,” the marshal said.

“I'll be along later, Marshal,” Duff said. “For now, 'tis my intention to escort Miss Parker back to her own place.”

The expression on Marshal Ferrell's face indicated that he was against that idea, but as he considered it further, he relented, then smiled.

“Duff MacCallister, I've drawn everyone together for mutual protection. But I know you well enough by now, my friend, to know that if there is anyone who needs no protection, it is you. By all means, escort the lady home at your pleasure.”

 

 

“I hope you weren't upset that I imposed myself on you tonight,” Meagan said as they strolled from the City Café back toward her dress emporium. They turned off First Street and walked up Clay Avenue, passing under street lamps at the corners of First, Second, and Third streets, moving in and out of the bubbles of light that spilled out onto the boardwalk. They could hear the piano from Fiddler's Green. Meagan's dress emporium was right next door to Fiddler's Green.

“Of course you dinnae impose. Now, why would you be for saying such a thing?” Duff replied.

“I don't know. I thought perhaps I might have come across as a bit too pushy.”

“Lass, you can nae be too pushy with me,” Duff said. They reached the emporium, then stepped under the awning that extended over the front porch. Here they were in shadows, shielded from view by anyone who might be passing by in the street at the moment. From the saloon next door, they could hear the piano player. Then he began playing a song that several of the cowboys knew, and they started singing along, the music raucous and off-key.

The cowboys laughed at the ribald lyrics and continued to sing, each verse getting more ribald than the one before.

Duff and Meagan looked at each other for a long, wordless moment. Then he kissed her, at first gently, showing both his affection and his respect for her. But the kiss continued, and as Duff felt this soft, beautiful woman press herself against him, he was powerless to hold onto his own sense of propriety. Her lips parted under his, and her tongue darted into his mouth. His blood turned to molten steel and he knew there would be no turning back. The kiss lasted for a long, drawn-out moment—a moment that neither of them wanted to end.

Then a strange thing happened. As if planned, the music from the saloon next door changed. No longer was it the loud and raucous caterwauling of many. Now the music was soft and melodious, being sung by only four voices, which blended in perfect harmony.

“Duff, must you return to the hotel right away?” Meagan asked in a quiet voice that was husky with desire. “Couldn't you come up and stay with me for a while?”

“Lass, if I come up, I fear I can nae trust myself to be the gentleman you think I am.”

Meagan tugged gently at his hand.

“Come,” she said.

“Meagan, do you know what you are asking?” Meagan smiled at him, and even though they were standing in the shadow under the awning, he could see her eyes gleaming with the light of a distant street lamp.

“Aye, Duff,” she answered, smiling as she mocked his accent. She reached up to trace the tip of her finger across his lips. “I know exactly what I am asking.” She leaned into him and they kissed again.

Next door, the music continued, as if the quartet were now singing just for Duff and Meagan.

Tugging him gently by the hand, Meagan started up the stairs with Duff right behind her. She unlocked the door to her apartment, then led him into her bedroom. There she lit a candle, the single taper lighting the distance between them. Then, without once looking away in shame or embarrassment, Meagan began to undress.

Downstairs, the music continued. Outside, on the street, a horse passed by, the hollow clump of its hoofbeats echoing back from the buildings that flanked Clay Avenue. A clock chimed in Meagan's bedroom, and in the distance a coyote howled.

Duff and Meagan were oblivious to all sounds and intrusions. They had built a cocoon around them, constructing a world in which only they existed.

 

 

Johnny Taylor and the others left Bordeaux at dawn the next morning, then stopped for a little palaver when they were less than two miles from Chugwater.

“You are sure the witnesses are all in the hotel?” Johnny asked.

“Yeah,” Ike said. “Like I told you, I was in the café last night when they all come in and had supper. It was the marshal and the deputy, some real big feller, the banker, and some woman.”

“The big man is Duff MacCallister, the other fella's name is Caldwell. He was the bank teller,” Johnny said. “And the woman's name is Cindy Boyce.”

“You know all their names?” Leroy asked.

“Yeah, I do. It's always good to know who you are dealin' with,” Johnny said. “Most especially if I'm goin' to get my brother out of jail.”

“If Emile hadn't shot that other bank clerk, like as not we wouldn't be in this trouble right now,” Short said.

“Are you saying that if we just stole the money they'd let it go and nothing would ever come of it?” Johnny asked.

“No, I ain't a-sayin' that. But what I am a-sayin' is, if Emile hadn't shot him, we'd be off plannin' our next job right now. Instead, we're hangin' around tryin' to rescue Emile, who got his ownself into trouble in the first place. I mean, we said before we ever even started on this that we wasn't supposed to shoot nobody.”

“That ain't quite the right tellin' of it, Al,” Bart Evans said. “You was out back with the horses, so you didn't see what happened. The fella that Emile shot reached down under the counter and brung up a scattergun. Like as not, if Emile hadn't 'a shot him, that banker woulda took the head off one of us.”

“Which one?” Short asked.

“I don't know. Coulda been mine for all I know. But the thing is, he didn't kill none of us, 'cause Emile kilt him first. Seems to me like we, all of us, owe it to Emile to get him out . . . seein' as he saved our lives 'n' all.”

“He didn't save my life,” Short said.

“Well, he saved mine, and that's good enough,” Evans said.

“We're goin' to rescue him from the jail, and that's all there is to it,” Johnny said.

“How are we goin' to do that? Have you got 'ny plans?” Ike asked.

“Not exactly.”

“If I was you, I think 'bout the first thing I would want to do is take care of the witnesses,” Ike said. “I mean, all three of 'em bein' together like they are, it shouldn't be that hard. And if they got no witnesses, even if your brother goes to trial, they won't be able to find nothin' on him.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said. “And if we do that, we can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. MacCallister is with them, and I want that son of a bitch dead.”

Chapter Twenty

It was just after eight o'clock in the morning when Deputy Pierce came down to the hotel to escort the three witnesses to the city courthouse where the preliminary hearing was to be held. Duff was waiting in the lobby when he arrived.

“Good morning, Mr. MacCallister. You're up early this morning,” he said.

“Aye, ready to take care of my civic duty,” Duff replied.

“Have you seen the others?”

“Nae.”

“I'll get the clerk to roust them up,” Pierce said. He walked over to the front desk.

“I wonder if you could send someone up to fetch Miss Boyce and Mr. Caldwell for me?”

“Yes, sir, I'd be glad to,” the clerk replied. He wrote a couple of room numbers on a piece of paper, then called the bellboy, a youngster of about sixteen. “Tommy, please go knock on the doors to these two rooms,” he said.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Helms.”

“Deputy, can I speak to you for a moment?” Helms asked after Tommy left.

“Sure, what is it?”

“It's about the room for Mr. MacCallister.”

“What about his room?”

“Well, sir, I'm not sure if it would be right for me to charge the city for it.”

“Why not?”

“He didn't sleep in his room last night, Deputy. He never even picked up the key.”

Pierce looked over at Duff and, remembering that he had escorted Meagan Parker home last night, smiled.

“I'll be damned,” he said.

“But here is the problem,” Helms continued.

“He did sign the registration book, you see. And Mr. Calhoun . . . he owns the hotel as you know . . . well, he keeps track of the money by the names in the registration book. And seein' as Mr. MacCallister's name is there, I don't see how I can't charge him. Not without paying for the room myself.”

“Don't worry about it, Mr. Helms. The city agreed to pay for the room. We didn't make any provision that he had to sleep there. Go ahead and charge for it.”

“Yes, sir, Deputy, if you say so. That will make it a mite easier on me—I mean, dealin' with Mr. Calhoun and all.”

“I hope it doesn't take them a long time to get ready. I should have come over earlier to fetch them,” Pierce said, looking nervously toward the clock.

 

 

Bernie Caldwell was the first one to come downstairs. They had to wait a little longer for Cindy Boyce to make her appearance.

“You'll nae be needing us after this hearing, will you, Deputy?” Duff asked.

“The marshal didn't say one way or the other, but I don't think so,” Pierce replied. “Leastwise, not until the regular trial. Then, of course, we'll be needin' you again.” He looked up at the clock. “The hearing starts in fifteen more minutes. What do you think is holding up Miss Boyce?”

“You aren't married, are you, Deputy?” Caldwell asked.

“No, why?”

“Because if you were married, you would know better than to even ask such a thing. I'll tell you what holding her up. What's holding her up is that she is a woman. That's all there is to it.”

Duff and Caldwell laughed at the deputy's expense. A moment later, Cindy came down the staircase, then walked into the lobby flashing a big smile to the three men who were waiting for her. Duff stopped in mid laughter. Never had Cindy looked more like Skye than she did this morning. She was even wearing her hair exactly like Skye, as if someone had told her how Skye wore her hair. A few errant strands of hair fell across her forehead and she reached up to push them back, using just her index and middle fingers, exactly as Skye had.

For just a moment, Duff felt a twinge of guilt over the night he'd just spent with Meagan, as if, somehow, he had cheated on Skye. He forced the thought out of his mind.

“Why, Mr. MacCallister. You look as if you have seen a ghost,” she said.

“I beg your pardon, lass. 'Twas nae my intention to stare, so.”

“I waited up for you to come in last night, but you must have slipped past me without my noticing.”

A frown of curiosity spread across Duff's face. “And would you be for tellin' me, lass, why it is you were waiting on me?”

“No reason,” Cindy said. “I just wanted to tell you good night.”

“Well then, 'tis sorry I am that I missed it,” Duff replied without any further explanation.

“We've only got about six or seven minutes to make it to the hearing,” Deputy Pierce said. “We'd best be goin'.”

Deputy Pierce led them out onto the front porch of the hotel.

 

 

Meagan Parker had awakened that morning to an empty bed. She had no idea how long it had been since Duff left, but the aroma of him lingered in the sheets . . . the spice, wood, and lavender scent of his soap, a hint of leather, bay rum, and his own musk. She had mixed feelings about him having left without awakening her. On the one hand, she would have welcomed the intimacy of his being in her bedroom this morning; on the other hand, she knew it might also have been an awkward moment for both of them. She was sure that he had thought that as well.

Getting dressed, Meagan went downstairs to the emporium, but instead of opening her shop, left the CLOSED sign hanging in the window of the front door.

 

 

Johnny Taylor and the other riders had pulled hoods down over their faces, and were riding into town at the very moment Deputy Pierce and the others were coming out of the hotel.

“Look!” Ike shouted, pointing. “There they are!”

“We can end this right now. Let's gun 'em down!” Johnny said, slapping his legs against the sides of his horse.

The riders all broke into a gallop. Johnny pulled his gun as a signal to the others, and they rode hard down the middle of the street.

Seven masked men, riding galloping horses, raised quite a commotion, and those who were crossing the street had to move quickly to get out of the way.

Meagan had planned to attend the preliminary hearing, and had just stepped out onto the porch in front of her shop when the gang of riders came galloping down the street, firing their pistols. At first she thought the firing was indiscriminate, but then she saw that they were all wearing hoods, and they were shooting toward Duff and the others who had just stepped out from the hotel. She saw Deputy Pierce go down.

Duff MacCallister made no effort to get out of the line of fire, but seemed to expose himself even more. Her heart was in her throat with fear that he might get shot, but she had to admit that she had never seen anything quite as magnificent as the sight of him standing there, totally unconcerned for his own welfare while he engaged the group of outlaws.

 

 

“Get back in the hotel!” Duff shouted, pulling his pistol to return fire. Cindy and Caldwell darted back inside, but Deputy Pierce was sitting on the boardwalk, leaning back against the front wall of the hotel, bleeding from a leg wound.

Duff returned fire. He had the disadvantage of standing in the open, but the advantage of having a stable platform from which to fire. The riders had the advantage of being fast-moving targets, though that was counteracted by the disadvantage of having to fire from the saddles of galloping horses.

For a moment, the shooting sounded like a battlefield as the guns popped loudly, the echoes rolling back from the lines of buildings that flanked both sides of the street. By now, everyone had gotten themselves out of the line of fire as Duff continued to engage the galloping horsemen. Two of the riders were shot from their saddles as the horses galloped out through the other end of town.

Moving quickly toward the two downed men, Duff approached them cautiously, and with his pistol at the ready. Reaching down carefully, he pulled the hoods off their heads. As it turned out, caution wasn't necessary. Both men were dead.

 

 

Although everyone had run for cover when the gunfire erupted, they began to drift back out onto the street now. Because of that, the street was crowded with people who had gathered around to stare at the bodies of the two outlaws.

“I'll be damn! I know that feller,” someone said, pointing to one of the bodies. “That's Al Short. He was playin' cards with a bunch of us just the other day.”

“The other one is Jim Blunt,” Schumacher said.

“A friend of yours, Francis?” Marshal Ferrell asked.

Schumacher shook his head. “Only reason I know him is that I've seen him in the Wild Hog a time or two.”

“Make way, folks, make way!” Nunnelee called as he brought his wagon down the street, parting those gathered around the bodies like Moses parting the Red Sea.

“Hey, Tom, are you giving Mr. MacCallister some of the money you're makin' from the city on these folks he's kilt? This makes three, don't it?”

“It'll be four once we hang the one we got in jail,” another added.

There was a spattering of laughter at the comment.

“It isn't as if I were getting rich off this. The city gives me five dollars apiece for burying them,” Nunnelee said.

“Plus two dollars for the coffins, don't forget,” another said. “I told the others in the city council, why bother with a casket? We could just wrap 'em up in burlap and bury 'em.”

“That's just real Christian of you, R.D.,” Curly Lathom said. Curly was the town barber, and his current client was standing beside him, still wearing the barber cover, and with half his face lathered. R.D. Clayton, the man Curly had spoken to, was a mule trader, and a member of the Chugwater City Council.

“Why pay for a coffin for an indigent? There ain't nobody around that's goin' to be offended, 'cause if they was, they would be paying for the funeral. And it sure as hell don't make no difference to the folks we are buryin'.”

As the discussion was going on, Nunnelee got help from a couple of the others, and the two bodies were loaded into the back of his wagon. Climbing back into the seat, he clucked at his mule, turned it around, and started back toward the mortuary.

“All right, folks, nothin' left to see out here now,” Marshal Ferrell said. “Get on back out of the street so traffic can get through. The stagecoach will be arrivin' here soon, and you know how Don Pratt likes to whip up his team to make a show of it when he comes into town. I wouldn't want to see any of you get run over.”

“Hey, Nunnelee!” the man who was getting a shave called out to the undertaker. “You goin' to put these two boys up on display like you done the other one?”

Nunnelee neither replied nor looked around. But he did hold his hand up and wave a finger.

“What do you think that means?” the half-shaved man asked. “You think that's a yes or a no?”

As soon as the shooting was over, Meagan hurried down to the hotel to be with Duff, but he had gone out to check on the two downed men. She saw the deputy sitting on the porch, leaning back against the wall. He had taken off his hat and was holding it over a wound in his leg.

“Deputy Pierce, you are hurt!” she said, squatting beside him.

“I don't think it's too bad,” Pierce said, though his voice was strained with pain.

“Let me see the wound,” Meagan said as, gently, she lifted his hat to see the dark red, nearly black hole of the bullet entry wound. “It's not bleeding badly. That's a good sign,” she said.

By now a couple of other men had arrived.

“We'll look after him, ma'am,” one of the said. “No need for you to get all bloody.”

“Thank you, Miss Parker,” Deputy Pierce said.

“I didn't do anything,” Meagan said.

“You come to check on me,” Pierce said. “And for that, I thank you.”

Meagan smiled at him, then moved to the edge of the porch to wait as the crowd in the street began to disperse and Duff came back to the hotel. He frowned when he saw her.

“Were you outside when the shooting started?” he asked, concern for her showing in his voice.

“I was in no danger,” she replied. “What about you? Are you all right? Were you hit or anything?”

“I've nae a scratch,” Duff replied. “And it does nae look as if Deputy Pierce is bleeding all that much, so I do nae think the bullet hit an artery. Soon as we get him to the doctor I think he'll fare all right.”

“If you fellas will help me up, I'll walk down to the doc's office,” Deputy Pierce said.

“Nonsense, Willie, my buckboard is right here,” one of the two men answered. “We'll ride down.”

After the bodies in the middle of the street were removed, the crowd dispersed, and Deputy Pierce taken down to the doctor's office, Marshal Ferrell came over to the hotel. He touched the brim of his hat toward Meagan.