Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel (31 page)

CHAPTER 46

Ferdie Lance had run hard for days through hill country brush and scrub Oak west of Austin, confused and frightened. His brain had turned to fire, thoughts rushing, coming so fast he could not organize them. Occasionally stopping to walk his horse, he’d kept it alive for several days before it fell, exhausted. He’d walked for two more days, hiding and searching wildly behind him, certain he was being followed.

At the point of collapse, Ferdie came upon a small spring feeding a pool of clear water at the base of a fractured limestone cliff. He fell, drank, then dozed. He screamed, bolted upright, ran blindly into the cliff face, and knocked himself senseless.

Ferdie had known the law would come after him, someday. But he’d laughed it off. He’d never known a lawman smart enough to outwit him. But it had happened, lawmen on his trail, and he’d found himself terrified. The marshal who’d tracked him through the streets of Austin had been a magician, a ghost who knew his every turn, every thought. The man had followed no matter the measures taken to hide his tracks. He was out there, somewhere, lurking. Ferdie was certain.

As Ferdie lay unconscious, the demons came. His mother screamed. “
They’ll get you, Ferdie. They’ll hang you.”

Ferdie’s agitated, dream starved mind leapt from his childhood, raced through adolescent abuse. He’d peeked through the knothole, watching as his mother thrashed on their bed, one man after another. He’d tried to sleep, but she was insatiable. She’d used him as well, grabbing, pulling and biting. She’d even sold him to her clients, never letting him love her again, hug or nurse, never letting him sleep.

The sun burned into the white of Ferdie’s face. He swished a fly away from his nose.
They’re coming!
He bolted straight up, eyes wide.

Ferdie Lance, stop where you are
.

Ferdie put both fists to his head, banging repeatedly on his temples.
One of the marshals had called him by name.
He scrambled to his feet, turned completely around searching for cover. A pile of fractured limestone rocks stood a few feet away. He dove for the pile and hunkered against a low boulder, belly pistol in hand, eyes darting to and fro.

How could that be? They’d never seen him before.
Someone must have told them about him. It couldn’t have been one of Kinch West’s gang, for none of them knew his name, and most of them had been killed. The rest had disappeared into hiding, for he’d sought their comfort and assistance from the beginning without success. It might have been the Governor, but he had more to lose than anyone. Yancy? No, he was too much of a limp-wrist and tied too closely to the Governor, or was he? Maybe he’s trying to change sides. But what good would it do Yancy to turn? No, it had to be someone else.
Someone who knew everything.

* * *

Ferdie crashed through the locked door of the boutique. Mary Sue screamed. Insane rage distorted Ferdie’s face into a caricature of evil, twisted and demented. She felt her knees go weak. Dark stars danced about her peripheral vision. She shook her head, stepped back from the counter. “Ferdie, what are you doing? Why did you break down the door?”

Ferdie uttered an incomprehensible growl as he stalked her, pushing mannequins and racks of clothes out of his way. “You told those marshals about me, didn’t you?” Ferdie kept coming, kicking boxes and sidestepping other obstacles in his path.

Mary Sue backed toward counter. “Wha—what are you talking about Ferdie? I haven’t even seen any marshals.”

Ferdie put his hand on his bone handled knife, started to draw it from its scabbard, inch by inch. His eyes had turned red, face contorted beyond recognition. He tried to herd Mary Sue into a corner, but she stepped behind the counter, toppled several boxes of clothing in the hallway and bounded up the backroom stairs, screaming as loud as she could. Ferdie rushed to follow, tripped over a stack of furs, landing face first on the floor.

Mary Sue was able to reach her room, bolt the door before Ferdie could get there, but she knew it would not be long before he broke in. She looked around, saw the French window overlooking the street below, ran out onto the balcony and screamed for help.

The only person on the street was an old Negro driving a farm wagon with two bales of cotton on the flat bed. He looked up for an instant, and then flicked his long whip to hurry his swayback horse along. Obviously, he was not interested in becoming involved with a screaming white woman.

Mary Sue turned as she heard Ferdie pounding furiously on the door. Maybe she could talk to him, calm him down before he was able to break in. She ran back to the door and pleaded through the solid oak. “Why are you doing this Ferdie? I’ve done nothing to hurt you. I wouldn’t hurt you. Don’t you know that, Ferdie?
Please, Ferdie. Stop!
”

Ferdie Lance was totally out of control. His rage had carried him beyond a point of return. Everywhere he looked he saw enemies to be killed. His eyes saw red, blinding red interspersed with flashes of bright white light. He began to slash out in all directions. He had not forgotten Mary Sue, but no longer understood who she was. It was his
mother
behind the door, taunting him, baiting him, daring him to take her like a man.

Mary Sue jumped and screamed as a loud
bang
and a bullet came smashing through the door lock, scattering splinters and metal in its wake. Again, bullets thumped into the stout door as Ferdie fired his small revolver into the locking mechanism. It did him no good. The lock was damaged but not broken. The heavy bolt had not given way.

Mary Sue stepped back and ran to the window as she heard Ferdie throw his body against the door. The door would not hold much longer. Her only chance was to jump out the second story window. She stepped out onto the balcony, climbed over the frilly wrought iron guard rail, hung stretched as far as she could, then dropped to the wooden walkway below.

The wood gave slightly and kept her from breaking her leg, but her right ankle was badly injured. A wave of nausea and dizziness caused her to stagger and fall. She sat down to rest for a moment, but hearing more shots fired behind her, she got up and began to hobble down the center of the street.

Ferdie came out onto the balcony, barking—like a wounded dog—trying to look in all directions at once. He saw her and began firing. But he was a knife man, a slasher with poor skills as a gunman. The small caliber balls whined off the pavement stones, through Mary Sue’s petticoats and into the plate glass window of small a hardware and gun store across from the boutique.

Edson peered out the window of the store. He’d been waiting for the boutique to open, to warn Mary Sue and Dixie Potts of the danger from Ferdie Lance, should he return. While waiting, he’d decided to have his new cartridge pistol checked by the gunsmith. The last shot fired at Ferdie outside the cantina had missed high, though carefully aimed. Something was wrong, for him to have missed so badly.

The gunsmith now had Edson’s pistol in pieces, staring at the barrel. His older model cap and ball pistol, lay on the counter.

Mary Sue staggered as fast as she could, hoping to round the next corner before Ferdie could hit her. She was not fast enough. Ferdie leapt down from the balcony as if he did it every day, and gave chase, screaming, now in some guttural foreign language, or simple incoherence.

The reality of what Edson saw was not immediate. He’d heard popping noises, screams. He looked out to see a woman trying to run, and then a man jumped from the second floor above the boutique.

My God, it’s Ferdie Lance. He’s trying to kill Mary Sue.

Edson ran back to the counter, picked up his old Colt’s .44, and sprinted onto the street. He took dead aim at Ferdie’s back. The pistol went off with a roar—too much of a roar.

He’d last reloaded it the day he’d purchased the new pistol. He’d been careless. The result was disaster. He’d forgotten to fully seat one of the balls or clean up the loose powder sticking to the cylinder. The loose powder ignited, flashed over to the other cylinders.
Chain fire!

The pistol bucked out of his hand. The barrel and loading lever separated completely from the frame, flew with a flapping whirr to strike Ferdie Lance on the back of his right knee. The explosion flash-burned Edson’s hand and left a small piece of shrapnel stuck through his index finger. Edson turned to the horse trough in front of the gun shop to cool off his hand, but continued to follow the ongoing scene.

Ferdie Lance stumbled and fell as the barrel assembly smashed into his leg. The man seemed impervious to pain. If anything, his rage became wilder. He struggled to his feet and continued down the street after Mary Sue, who now had a small lead.

Edson bolted back into the store. He grabbed a rifle he’d seen resting over the door sill, an old Spencer lever action repeater that had seen better days. He prayed it was loaded, stepped around the jamb and took dead aim on Ferdie as he reached out to catch Mary Sue by the hair.

Edson saw Ferdie flinch as the bullet smacked into his back, dust flying from the impact on his coat. He was amazed to see the man shrug off the wound, stand straight up with his arms outstretched. A large knife flashed in his left hand, Mary Sue’s long reddish hair in the other. Blood curdling screams echoed down the mostly empty street as both Ferdie and Mary Sue seemed to recognize impending death.

The knife started down in a wide arc as Edson fumbled to reload the unfamiliar rifle.
Lever, then cock
. He’d forgotten the sequence for an instant, but still managed to get off a poorly aimed second shot. Ferdie’s knife exploded just as it passed through Mary Sue’s hair, sparks showering down on the scene as it flew through the air. Ferdie turned, screamed wildly as he looked down at his hand, and then ran off into an alley like a tomcat on fire. He disappeared before Edson could fire a third round.

Mary Sue was covered with Ferdie’s blood and her own vomit, but she was alive. The first huge slash Ferdie had made had failed to reach its target, Mary Sue’s neck, instead cutting a tangle of hair from her head. He had carried it off like a macabre trophy, waving it through the air as he ran.

Mary Sue rose to her knees, but could not stop her body from convulsing. Edson carried her to the shelter of the boardwalk. Several people appeared, gawking. He ordered them to get a towel and some water. Two ladies moved to comply. One rushed to assist him with Mary Sue, a terrified look on her face. It was Dixie Lee Potts.

CHAPTER 47

Edson sat cross legged on the hotel room floor, back against the wall. He took off his hat, examined the soaked sweat band, and tossed it onto the bed. Mobley and Jack sat on the sofa, waiting. Edson took a deep breath.

“I tracked Ferdie Lance to the river. His footprints show him running flat out when he hit the water. From there, he just disappeared. He was hit bad, but never slowed down. There was a good strong blood trail all the way, close to a half a mile.

I checked both sides of the river, to see where he might have come out. Nothing. When I got to Marsten’s camp, I used all fifty of his men to search five miles on both sides. Again, they found nothing. Not even a broken stick, footprint, or blood—just
nothing
.

I think he’s dead. Sunk to the bottom of the river. He had a bullet hole in his back, so if he died in the water, he’d have gone straight down. The catfish will have sucked him down to bone inside a week.”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know, Edson, I’ve seen men keep going for weeks with enough bullets in them to kill a buffalo. You just can’t tell.”

Mobley agreed. His own chest wound was proof a single bullet did not always kill. “Edson, you did good. Now we need to concentrate on Hooks and Davis.”

Mobley picked up his pistol, opened the loading gate and slowly rotated the cylinder, inspecting each round to be sure they were all unfired and well seated, and that the primers had not swelled to interfere with rotation. He then shoved the pistol into his waistband. Once more he checked to be sure it would neither fall out nor hang up when removed quickly, and he was ready. He turned and looked at his two men. “Let’s go.”

Mobley had given much thought to Judge Hooks. No federal judge had ever been charged with corruption, nor impeached. But that did not mean corruption did not exist. When discovered, it had been dealt with out of the public eye, which is the way Mobley thought proper. As far as he was concerned, the court must continue to protect its image, for without the respect of the public, it would be worthless as an institution. Sometimes that image had to be protected by harsh, but internal action. Now, with war looming and Judge Hooks in position to interfere with anything Mobley thought to do about it, he could no longer delay. If there was to be justice here, it must be swift. Like one of his field trials, the issue had to be decided on the spot. But again, he found himself asking how far he was prepared to go.

The Excelsior Hotel was only a few blocks from the small red brick federal courts building, and with Mobley’s long strides, they covered the distance within a few minutes. A sign over the door declared,
United States Circuit Court for the Western Division of Texas.

Mobley stepped inside and scanned the anteroom, Edson and Jack behind him. To his right was a small courtroom, complete with elevated bar, dock, seats for a jury, and tables for opposing counsel. At least fifty seats were available for spectators.

To the left, a snarly looking white haired man about fifty years old stood glaring at him from behind a desk, itself partially concealed by a rail and a counter. Behind that man, a younger man dressed in a fine pin-striped suit was busy at a desk, numerous law books stacked before him. Directly behind the second man, a sign on a closed door proclaimed:
The Honorable Aubrey J. Hooks.

The snarly clerk continued to glare as Mobley walked to the counter. “Are you Judge Hooks’s clerk, sir?”

“Of course I am,” the man snapped. “Who did you think I was, the town dentist?”

This must be the man, Shinn, mentioned in the diary.

“No, but I think you may have need of him soon.”

The clerk’s face twisted into a smirk. “Exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means if you don’t change your attitude real soon, you’re goin’ to have a genuine need for a good dentist.”

Jack stepped over the rail and stood in front the man’s desk. Edson moved off to the right, watching the younger man.

Shinn snorted out a laugh, but backed up to give Jack room. He started to speak, and then stopped abruptly as Jack’s pistol came up smoothly and entered his open mouth.

Jack growled. “Bite down on that barrel until I tell you otherwise, Mr. Shinn. You are Lloyd Shinn, are you not?”

The man gurgled, nodded his head carefully. Fear replaced the snarl on his face. The other man rose to his feet, hands at his side in plain sight. There was no fear in his eyes, only curiosity.

“Mr. Shinn, I am Judge Mobley F. Meadows. I am going in to see Judge Hooks in about two minutes. When I come out, you’d better not be in sight. If you are, you will be arrested and will spend the rest of your natural life in jail. If you are still in Texas by tomorrow midnight, I will send my two deputy marshals after you. Do you understand?”

The clerk apparently did not, for he immediately tried to back away and object to the orders. Jack twisted the barrel slightly in the man’s mouth, the front blade sight threatening to tear his upper palate and break several teeth. The man groaned and tried to grab at his mouth, but Jack was relentless. The barrel stayed put.

“The indictment will charge tampering with official court records. It will also include aiding and abetting the bribery of a federal judge, namely, Aubrey J. Hooks. I have no intention of allowing you or Judge Hooks to stink up the reputation of the federal court, so you’d better take my warning seriously. I mean every word of it. You get out of Texas and keep your mouth shut, or I’ll track you to hell and set fire to you myself.”

The man’s eyes opened wide, streaks of yellow vein on the whites, pupils at pinpoint. He nodded weakly as Jack removed the barrel from his mouth. He grabbed his coat and scurried out the door.

Mobley stared at the other man. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, medium height, with short ginger brown hair, clear face and bright eyes. He looked to be intelligent. “And who might you be, sir?”

The man coughed. “I am Obediah Morris, your Honor; law clerk for Judge Hooks. I’ve only been in this position a few months, sir, and I know nothing of any bribery. It is a fact though, Lloyd Shinn is a gigantic waste of skin and I cannot say I am unhappy to have witnessed your method of dealing with him.

As for Judge Hooks, I’ve had my suspicions of his competence and character, because of the many times he refused to follow the law as I have researched it. But, bribery? I’ve no knowledge of that. The man is a complete drunk, but I’ve known many good men who have suffered that malady and have still managed to do their duty, so I have not judged him poorly on that account. Do you have proof of your charges, sir? If so, I shall leave his employ immediately.”

Mobley was taken with the young man. There was nothing in the records supplied by Yancy to suggest his involvement in any of Hook’s misdeeds. It occurred to Mobley that he might need an independent witness to the next act.

“Mr. Morris, where did you go to law school?”

The man shuffled slightly then straightened up. “I was trained at Harvard Law, sir, in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The finest law school in the land, I believe. After that, I clerked for Justice Webster Stone of the Massachusetts Supreme Court. I have always wanted to settle in Texas, and after five years came here to be with Judge Hooks. I have planned to open my own practice next year here in Austin, but now, I don’t know.”

“Well, I do. You’re going to go in with me while I confront Judge Hooks and demand his resignation. After that, I am going to swear you in as acting magistrate of this court until the President appoints another judge to take Hooks’ place. It should be a valuable experience. You will have a chance to put all the research you’ve been doing to good use. I will expect absolute perfection. If I get it, you will have my recommendation for appointment to higher position. Is that acceptable?”

Obediah Morris’s face brightened. Mobley knew his offer was more than magnanimous, it represented the opportunity of a lifetime for the young clerk. Even more, Morris would be indebted to Mobley and unlikely to spread word of what was about to happen.

Morris nodded.

“Good. Now, let’s get down to business.” Mobley turned and marched stiffly to Judge Hook’s door, opened it, ducked through, and planted himself firmly in front of a huge desk, the red-faced Aubrey J. Hooks looking up at him in surprise. The man was holding a bottle of whiskey, half full, about to pour himself a drink.

Jack stepped to the right side of the desk, Edson to the left. Obediah Morris remained by the open door. Mobley reached out, snatched the bottle from Hooks’ hand and poured its contents out on the floor. He then drew his pistol and placed it on the desk in front of Hooks.

“Judge Hooks, you disgust me. You are a man without honor, a miserable thief and disreputable skunk. You deserve to be shot for the scandal and shame you have brought upon the judiciary of these United States.”

Mobley became aware that his “
Wild Eye
” look was forming, thought for an instant it might be inappropriate for the circumstance, then decided to follow his instincts. Let it flow. The man deserved all the scorn he could heap on him.

Mobley reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the resignation paper he had earlier prepared. He slapped it on the desk next to the pistol. “You have two choices. Sign this resignation or pick up that pistol. If you don’t choose to sign, you can end your own miserable life, or—I’ll do it for you.”

Judge Hooks stammered, and then drew back in his chair. “What? You can’t come in here threatening me.
I’m a United States Circuit Court Judge.
I’ll do neither of those things.” He turned to the door. “
Shinn, call my marshals in here, now.”

“Shinn isn’t around anymore, Judge. He saw the evidence and ran like a striped-assed ape for the far hills. Now it’s your turn. Sign that paper, or pick up that pistol. I’ll not have you stinkin’ up my profession.”

“
Your
profession? Who the hell are you anyway? Have I met you before?”

Placing his hands firmly on the desk, Mobley leaned forward until nose to nose with Judge Hooks. “Yes, but it does not surprise me that you don’t remember. You were making a fool of yourself at the governor’s mansion. I am United States Circuit Court Judge Mobley F. Meadows, and I am here now to judge you for your misdeeds. There will be no appeal.”

Mobley stepped back and placed Yancy’s diary on the desk. “I have in this diary all the evidence I need to bring you up on charges of bribery, felony corruption, and high misdemeanors. It includes dates, times, places, amounts, and the rulings you’ve made in exchange for payments. I don’t have time to play games with you. A war is about to start. I am trying to stop it. You will resign or use that pistol. You have no other choices.”

Judge Hooks’ faced turned a much darker shade of red. He hesitated. “And, if I choose not to accept one of your alternatives,
you
shoot me? Is that it?”

He looked up at Mobley, and then slowly ran his eyes back down to the pistol. “Yes, you look the type to shoot an unarmed man. Well, if you think I am going to just roll over and let you have your way with me, you’ve got another think coming. Let me see this alleged proof.”

Mobley pushed the diary forward. “I suggest you look at the last entry. It’s in Yancy Potts’s own writing and lays out precisely what you were paid to make your last ruling. Read it and choose. I’m getting’ tired of this palaver.”

Judge Hooks picked the book up with shaking hands and flipped it open to the last page. The shocked look on his face told Mobley the man recognized the truth of the matter. The bribe listed had taken place within the past week. More, it showed payment for the decision he’d made regarding the governor’s land reappraisal commission.

Hooks began to sweat profusely. With a sudden lurch, and remarkable speed, he grabbed for Mobley’s pistol. He lifted and cocked it, pointing at Mobley’s chest.

Jack lashed out, grabbed the pistol with his left hand over the hammer, preventing it from discharging. He slowly, agonizingly, overpowered Hooks until the pistol was turned completely around, pointing backwards. Hooks let go. Jack pointed the pistol at the man’s head, turned and looked questioningly at Mobley.

Mobley stared at Hooks, furious. There was no choice now. He could not allow Hooks to remain in power. He was about to take the gun from Jack’s hand, to do what was necessary, but stopped short.

Hooks suddenly pushed back, eyes wide. His complexion changed from bright red to grey, then white. He put his hand on his chest as if in pain. He gasped, tried to catch his breath, but obviously could not. He looked pleadingly at Mobley, then slid from his chair with a crash and vomited on the floor.

Mobley stepped back as Judge Hooks fell. For a brief moment, he felt compassion, an instinct to help. The moment passed. He half-turned, keeping his eye on the huge man now spread-eagled on the floor. “Morris, is there a doctor around here?”

“Yes, just down the street.”

Mobley hesitated as he looked at Hooks, then back to Morris. Jack and Edson were wide-eyed, but made no moves. Mobley stepped around the desk and reached down to check for a pulse on Hooks’ carotid artery. He felt the pulse flutter rapidly, fade, then seem to stop completely. He jerked his hand back as if he’d been burned, turned and looked up.

“Morris, I think Judge Hooks has just made his decision. An honorable one. To be sure, I’d like you to go get the doctor and bring him here, to see if anything can be done.”