Stealing West (12 page)
He kept to the perimeter, avoiding detection or attention. It was easy enough to stay out of the line of sight of a bunch of drunken miners and cowboys, shouting and clamoring for drinks, for women, for Susie—the woman who apparently sounded as sweet as a songbird.
Thomas sighed with relief when he noticed the empty chair outside the dressing room. The last thing he needed to deal with was a guard—especially since the guard could have easily been placed there by Phoenix himself. He unbuttoned the strip of leather holding the gun to his holster and pressed his ear against the door, holding his breath to hear any sign of Leon.
“You know what else I like about Mexico? All these damn bounty hunters who think they're God's right hand can't touch us, no matter how much they might want to.”
That was definitely Leon's voice, and the words felt like weights tied around his chest. He hadn't sent Leon in to get friendly with Phoenix. All he needed to do was distract the man and give Thomas the window he needed. But Leon was wrong about one thing; Thomas would follow him into hell, if necessary, to claim his prize.
Any chance Leon had been talking to Susie vanished when Thomas heard Phoenix's answer. “Right. And if we stick close enough to the border, we can make as many trips into Texas and New Mexico that we want. Rustling is easy. Easier than robbing trains and coaches.”
Leon laughed. “Not as much fun, though. Don't tell me you don't like sticking it to the marshals whenever you get a chance. Someone needs to be teaching them a lesson. Might as well be us, right?”
“I knew you two would get along just fine.” A woman's lyrical voice. Silver Sue herself. “Can you hand me my shawl, Leon?”
“Oh, we're not going to settle down and rustle cattle forever. I'm still too young to retire. Just got to lay low for awhile. I've got bigger plans.”
“Are you going to come out front and listen to me sing?” Sue asked.
“Why don't you give us a private performance later tonight? I want to discuss some things with Leon.”
Thomas stepped away from the door, pressing against the wall and holding his breath, hoping the blind woman wouldn't sense him when she opened her door. He didn't want her caught in the middle of what was about to happen, especially if bullets started to fly.
He only caught the back of her head as she came into the hallway, but she didn't turn around as she walked slowly toward the stage. Her slim hand glided along the wall, feeling the way, but Thomas was more interested in the low voices that still drifted from inside the dressing room.
“If we get this talked about now,” Leon was saying, “I'll make sure I'm good and gone when she gets back. Give you two the privacy you want.”
Thomas peered through the crack of the hinges. Phoenix leaned against the edge of a dressing table, facing the door, with his thick arms folded over his chest. At the side, Leon sat sprawled in a chair, a too friendly smile splitting his features.
“You have a place to stay tonight? I've got a place here in town. You can bed down there for the night.”
Thomas swallowed, unnerved by Phoenix's friendly tone. He was a man notoriously unwilling to trust anybody. In fact, he was wanted for the murder of a man long considered to be his second-in-command—rumor had it that he had never betrayed Phoenix, but the suspicion was enough to sign his death warrant.
A dozen possibilities filtered through Thomas's mind. Maybe Leon had known Phoenix before that night. Or maybe Leon was just good at luring people into trusting him, with his wry words and laughing eyes.
No matter the truth, Thomas was going to put an end to it that night. With gun in hand, he pushed the door open.
Leon was the first to react, rising to his feet with his gun already drawn. Disappointment shot through Thomas, but he swallowed it down in order to coldly face both men.
Phoenix didn't move, though his face hardened. “I think you're in the wrong room, mister,” he growled.
“No, I think I've got the right room.” He cocked the gun with his thumb and kept it aimed at Phoenix. “Put your hands up. Both of you.”
A frown pulled Leon's brows together, though Phoenix was the one to speak. “You're a little outnumbered here. If you don't want to lose your knees, I suggest you mosey along.”
“I can take you in dead or alive. Your choice, Phoenix, but I'm going to collect either way.”
“Really?” His fingers twitched, but he didn't get close enough to his gun to merit a true threat. “Take care of him, Stroud. Consider it your initiation.”
He knew it was dangerous to take his gun off Phoenix, but he couldn't ignore the threat of Leon, either. If he did, he'd either tip off Phoenix that they were working together, or he'd catch a bullet from his ostensible partner. Neither option appealed. Thomas kept the barrel trained on Phoenix, but he addressed Leon.
“Don't do anything you know you're going to regret.”
A familiar playful smile curved Leon's lips. “Aw, now c'mon, Grady. When have you ever known me to have regrets about anything?”
Before Thomas could fully weigh Leon's words, Phoenix straightened. “You know this son of a bitch, Stroud?”
“You could say that.” His smile widened. “You could say I know him quite well, actually.”
Phoenix cursed under his breath. Thomas saw his shoulders tighten in anticipation of reaching for one of his guns, but in the split second Grady had to pull the trigger, Leon reacted first. He swung sideways, and the deafening retort of his shot made Thomas's ears ring.
Phoenix slammed back in his chair, blood spurting from the hole in his throat. His eyes were wide with surprise, but they dulled quickly as the bullet did its work.
At point blank range, Leon couldn't have missed. But it wasn't the accuracy that stunned Thomas, it was the speed. Leon's reflexes were sharp—and quick enough to be a killer. He couldn't help but wonder if he would have even had a chance if Leon had turned on him instead of Phoenix.
“I guess you didn't want to go to Mexico after all?”
Leon hadn't moved. He stared at the dead body and shook his head, his cheeks oddly pale. “Not with the likes of him, anyway.” He swallowed. “He's really dead, isn't he?”
He wasn't just dead, he was damned near decapitated at that range, the bullet having sheared right through his throat and neck. He almost asked Leon what he thought would happen after shooting from less than five feet away, but the tremor in Leon's hand stopped him. He ignored the growing pool of blood and crossed to Leon's side, gently taking the gun from his shaky grip.
“Yeah, he is. Come on, we don't need to stay in here.”
Dark eyes lifted to his, searching for something for endless seconds before Leon turned away from the mess and let Thomas lead him into the hallway. Men were already starting to rush up to find out the source of the noise, but one hard look from Thomas and they hesitated.
Leon backed up. “You do what you have to do,” he said, ignoring the crowd. He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “I'll just get out of the way.”
Thomas didn't need him there, though he wasn't keen on just letting Leon go to wander around San Francisco on his own. Especially since he didn't look too sure of his own feet.
“Meet me at the saloon. I might be awhile.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
Thomas didn't quite believe he meant that, not with how shaky it sounded coming out, but Leon was gone, fleeing the scene as swiftly as he could.
He watched Leon for a few moments, then turned back to the growing crowd. A man pushed his way through, his silver badge looking dull and tarnished in the hall's dim light.
“I'm the sheriff. What the hell is going on here?”
“You got here fast.”
“I was already here, listening to Silver Sue. You going to answer me or am I going to have to haul you in?”
“Sheriff, I'm Thomas Grady, a bounty hunter. And that man in there is—was—David Phoenix, wanted in California, Colorado, Texas, and New Mexico territory for cattle rustling, train robbing, and murder.”
The hard look on the sheriff's face softened and he extended his hand. “John Jefferson. Pleased to know you.”
They began the process that would ultimately result in Thomas being paid his bounty, but his mind wasn't on business. He couldn't stop thinking about the way Leon's hand trembled, or the stark surprise, and horror, in the man's eyes.
CHAPTER 9
Leon couldn't get the image out of his head. All that blood ... he'd never seen so much blood before. He'd seen death more than once, and he'd seen men get shot at point blank range, but never by his gun, never by his deed.
Leaving the lamp out did nothing to dull the pictures. If anything, the red stains filling his vision got brighter, more brilliant. They glistened, whether his eyes were open or not. He tried to abolish them with shots of whiskey, but the very first one made him sick. Now the nearly full bottle sat abandoned on the table next to him.
It was done. Everything was over. He'd killed a man, and Thomas was going to collect the bounty, and as soon as he came back, Leon would be free to go. He could go to Salinas and find Kenneth now, free and clear. He could take his share and go anywhere he wanted actually, and as long as he played it smart, he could live a long and easy life.
But he couldn't get his legs to work at the moment. It had taken everything he had just to get back to their room. So he just sat in the chair and tried to block out the smell of blood still churning his stomach.
He felt like he waited hours for Thomas's return. He wasn't sure how to deal with the man he would kill for—had killed for. Especially since that man already thought he was a cold-blooded killer. He stiffened when the door opened, Thomas's tall figure outlined against the light from the hallway.
“Do you mind if I light the lamp?”
“Go ahead. It's your room now.” The words just slipped out. Grady's slight hesitation before stepping inside meant they hadn't gone unnoticed.
The door shut out the light, and for a moment, Leon could only hear the other man. He tried to follow Thomas's progress through the room, but he walked lightly. When the lamp flared to life, he was surprised to find himself looking at Thomas, and Thomas gazing back.
“The sheriff will be giving me the money tomorrow morning. I do have five hundred in cash, though, if you want to take it now.”
He didn't want to think about the money, not just yet. That was too real, too definitive, and he had enough going through his head already. “How's Susie?” he asked instead. “Did you see her?”
“No, I didn't. But the official story is that I shot him in self-defense, so you don't have to worry about that following you around.”
Though he nodded, Leon knew it wouldn't be enough. Phoenix was bad news, but he'd meant something to Susie or she wouldn't have been as relaxed in his company as she was. She might hear the official story, but she would know who she left behind in her dressing room. Leon bore responsibility for it, whether Thomas took the blame or not.
“I think I'll wait ‘til tomorrow for the money. Need someplace to crash tonight anyway, and I don't think I should go see Susie straight away as it is. If that's all right with you.”
“You can stay as long as you want.” Thomas sat on the edge of the bed and hung his hat on the post before turning to his boots. “You plan to go see Susie?”
“Yeah.” His throat burned. He itched for another shot of the whiskey but knew it was taking a bad risk. “I'm going to give her half my take. It won't make up for what I took, but it's something, I figure.”
“Why? She's running with him, she would have been a wanted criminal before long. Would you have still given half your take if I shot him?”
Leon half-shrugged. “I dunno. But doesn't matter. I'm the one who did it.”
Thomas set his boots aside and unbuckled his holster. “Well, it's your money. Just be careful. She's likely going to be with a few guys from Phoenix's gang. They're liable to shoot you and take the other half.”
“Susie's not like that.” His protest was automatic, even if Grady's argument made sense. A bubble of nervous laughter rose to his lips. “But hey, even if they are there, I'll just shoot ‘em like I did Phoenix. Killed one man now. Shouldn't have any problems killing more.”
“I wouldn't be so sure about that,” Thomas muttered as he stood. Leon watched him approach, unsure of what Thomas intended to do until he reached for Leon's hand. He pulled Leon to his feet with ease and directed him toward the bed. “I think you'll feel better if you get out of those clothes. They need to be washed.”
He was surprised to see blood splattered across his shirt front. He hadn't even noticed it before Thomas's able fingers worked at the buttons. “Maybe that's why I can't stop smelling it.” He tried to reach up and help, but his hands shook too badly. “I thought I must have just been going out of my head or something.”
“No.” Thomas's voice was as steady as his fingers. “You were close enough that ... well, if you can still smell the blood, it might not hurt to have a bath, too.”
“No, I don't want to be a bother.” He held his arms up automatically in order to let Thomas pull the shirt off his shoulders. “Unless it bugs you. I can sleep on the floor or with the horses if it does.”
“I don't think you should worry about bothering me.” He wiped his thumb over Leon's cheek. “I'm at least going to wash your face. And maybe pour you another drink, because it sounds like you need it.” He gently pushed Leon to the bed, then crouched at his feet and tugged off his boot. “I'm not going to send you out to sleep with the horses.”
He stayed motionless, watching the top of Thomas's head as he worked on Leon's boots. It was comforting, seeing him there, and he couldn't resist reaching out and skimming fingertips over his hair. When Thomas glanced up, Leon pulled his hand back, heat rushing up his neck.
“I know you don't care,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “And I know you won't believe me, but I've never done that before. Killed a man, I mean.”
“Why do you think I don't care?”
“You said so. You told me all you cared about was your five hundred dollars.”