The Shopkeeper (5 page)

The gun came to my hand as easy as scratching my ear, and my thumb pulled the hammer back without the slightest thought. Two shots fired so quick it sounded like one. Never breaking stride, I continued toward the two contorted men, who now leaked blood into the dirt. I had hit each brother center-chest, but one of the Cutlers gurgled and squirmed for a bit before he finally became still.

This was worse than I had imagined. The dead bodies lay in unnatural positions, and their shirtfronts smoldered from the close gun flash. Blood had already spread around the bodies like grotesque wings. The pools may have looked like angel wings, but I doubted these two were destined for heaven.

Recovering some of my composure, I kicked their guns free of their holsters. As I scanned my periphery, I opened the loading gate, ejected the spent cartridges, drew two bullets from my gun belt, and reloaded in a smooth, practiced motion. Assuring myself that no additional danger lurked, I holstered my gun.

I paused a moment to tilt my face until I could feel the last rays of a dying sun. Unexpectedly, I felt exhilarated. Was it because I was still alive or because I had assuaged my guilt? Too complicated.

Exhaling slowly, I turned my back on the once-vile Cutler brothers.

I walked the length of the street toward Sharp. Jenny stepped from a building, and I thought I saw the barest of nods, but I could have been mistaken.

Sharp just nodded, so I turned back toward the print shop. I walked slower than normal so my shaky legs would not collapse under me. I had never shot anyone before, and I had trouble figuring out why I felt so elated. The most startling thing was how vivid this dirt-colored town suddenly appeared.

I glanced toward the print shop. Doc, Richard, and Jeremiah stood on the boardwalk looking bewildered. I strode right by them, took my seat at our card table, and fanned out the thirteen cards that sat on the table undisturbed. Slowly the three men followed suit and took their positions.

Jeremiah looked at me as if I should say something. So I did.

“Two.”

Chapter 9

“Two?” Dooley looked baffled. “Two Cutlers?”

“Ain’t gonna be no trial,” Jeremiah said. “Washburn likes to settle these matters in ways that frighten people … keep ’em in line for the future.”

“What’re you talking about? The matter’s settled.”

“Washburn’ll never let this lie.” Jeremiah glanced toward the open door. “He doesn’t abide anyone triflin’ in his affairs. Politics, business, or hired hands.” Jeremiah leaned toward me and poked a finger almost in my face. “You did all three.”

This made no sense. Just because I had a duel with the Cutlers did not mean I meant to challenge Washburn. I had done what I had done on impulse; I certainly had not been thinking about Washburn, a man I had never met. I turned to Richard, who seemed the least emotional. “What will he do?”

Richard took a moment. “He’s got other bad men, but they’re more bodyguards than killers, and none compare with the Cutlers for pure meanness. Ya killed his best weapons.” Richard collapsed against the back of his chair and seemed to slouch in defeat. “He may bring in someone special.”

“He won’t meet me directly?”

That got a nervous laugh. “Washburn surrounds himself with guards armed with rifles and shotguns. You feel edgy just saying good morning to the man.” Richard hesitated a beat. “No, you’ll never meet him man-to-man. Not his style.”

Richard looked worried. I glanced at Doc and Jeremiah and saw similar expressions of concern. “You all look so grim,” I said. “Perhaps I should just leave town before he hears about this.” This caused all three men to throw furtive looks at each other. Frustrated that they knew something I did not, I looked at them hard and said. “Tell me.”

Dooley looked scared. “Washburn may come after us.”

“Why? Because you befriended me?”

Richard shifted in his seat. “Doc and I have a history with Washburn. So far he’s only sent us the kind of warnings you can’t ignore. Now, he’ll assume we encouraged you. If you leave, he’ll look for another way to make a statement that’ll discourage others from interfering.” Richard gave a forlorn look at Dooley. “He’ll likely use us for his object lesson.”

“You’re town elders. Respectable.”

“He doesn’t care. His ambitions extend far beyond this shabby town.”

We sat in silence, and my sudden euphoria dissolved into dread for my newfound friends—and then for myself. There had to be a way out of this mess. Of the three men, Richard had the best grasp of Washburn and his tactics. He edited the newspaper, and he must have run stories about Washburn. My guess was that Richard had been the subject of a stiff lecture, or worse, from Washburn or one of his minions. That would account for him not investigating the Dave Masters shooting. And at some point, Doc had probably classified some dead body as murder. I looked at Jeremiah, and his more relaxed expression told me he had not previously crossed Washburn. I was faced with an ugly dilemma. If I stayed, there was a chance Washburn would confine his revenge to me, but if I ran, he would pick other targets for retribution. From everything I had heard, this man insisted on getting his way.

“I need to get to Washburn,” I said.

“You’ll never get close.”

“I must.” I shifted my gaze to capture the eyes of all three men. “Even if I eliminate another intermediary, he’ll just hire another and then another. This beast must be killed at the head. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Dooley slapped his cards on the table. “Not metaphorically. Kill him … if you can.” His voice sounded harsh.

“That’s quite barbarian, Doc. I thought you were a civilized man.”

“I’m a frightened man. And you should be too. It’s a hell of a lot easier to thwart two morons than to prevail against a clever villain with the morality of a hungry lion.” Dooley pulled on his ear and then shook his head. “This is quite serious. You’re far too calm.”

I thought I must appear calmer than I felt, but I knew Washburn did not scare me as much as the Cutlers had. I picked up my glass of bourbon and took a small sip, holding it in my mouth a moment. I swallowed hard and then said, “The Cutlers were new to me, but I’ve dealt with ruthless, ambitious men before.”

“Perhaps, but I know the game.” Their doleful eyes did not encourage. My chair made a harsh scraping noise as I scooted closer to the table. “Tell me everything about the man. I need to know about his mines, his other business interests, political dealings, mistresses, everything.”

Richard stared at me. “I’ll tell you the only thing you need to know.” Richard leaned forward. “Mr. Sean Washburn, Esquire, has ruthlessly built a huge empire on top of innocent and not-so-innocent corpses. He’s a scary man, and he’s probably already planning to add a few more carcasses to his grotesque pile.”

“Then we need to plan as well. Or do you intend to sit here and brood until he makes a visit?”

Dolley began to swirl his bourbon glass through the wet ring it had sweated onto the table. “His empire’s big, all right, and we probably don’t know the half of it. Nor all the people throughout the state that he’s corrupted.”

“Goddamn it.” I banged my glass on the table. “You say he’s already got reason enough. I need to fight him where I can get at him directly. No surrogates.”

Jeremiah spoke for the first time in a while. “Makes sense. We can’t kill an endless supply of thugs, and we can’t just sit here and wait to die.”

I was taken aback. “Thank you for the plural pronoun.”

“Not as generous as it sounded.” Jeremiah gave me an angry look that said this was my fault. “We’re all in this thing now, whether we like it or not … and I don’t.”

“I could distance myself from all of you.”

“Too late. You’ve already pulled us in.” Jeremiah expression had not softened.

I didn’t make excuses but looked at each man sequentially. Finally, Richard said, “Okay, we’ll tell you everything we know.”

Chapter 10

I stepped out of the telegraph office, leaving behind a stunned operator. The man had sworn an oath of secrecy, but I feared that this news was far too rich for him to keep my message secret for long. I needed to move fast.

Two nights ago, Richard and the others had told me what they knew about Washburn, and I had used the time to think through the possibilities. Standing under the eave of the telegraph office, I felt myself take a deep breath. Settling on a course of action had lifted my mood. The draft from my New York bank would take several days, but in the meantime, I could do some groundwork around the edges of my plan.

By the time I had left Richard’s print shop on that fateful night, the Cutler bodies had magically disappeared, and someone had shoveled unsoiled dirt over the bloodstains. Everyone pretended that nothing had happened, but an ugly tension clung to the townsfolk. When the sheriff failed to seek me out to ask even cursory questions, I knew Washburn had nasty plans for me.

I looked across the street at the bank. Richard had explained how Washburn had slowly seduced Eugene Crown, the president and owner of the only bank in town. At first, he shared a small piece of the action with the banker in exchange for reasonable loans to finance his Pickhandle Gulch ventures. Washburn gradually dragged Crown in so deep that he had no choice but to ride the Washburn wagon wherever it was destined to go. Now the bank made loans to hardly anyone else, because it had committed all its capital behind Washburn’s schemes. Richard also suspected that Washburn had ordered Crown not to support anyone else’s ambitions.

The town might look ramshackle, but the bank building looked sturdy as a rock. In fact, the bank was actually constructed with stone chiseled into relatively uniform squares. Although the big mines and the stamp mill used their own safes to store bullion, the amount of money pulsing through the town put a lot of cash in the bank. I hoped I had not underestimated what it would take to pull off my little gambit.

As was my habit of late, I carefully scanned both sides of the street to make sure people were acting normally. Nothing looked threatening. I had also taken to wearing my gun at all times. I found the constant wariness tiresome; I could also feel myself getting used to it. The town might pretend, but I couldn’t. Washburn planned my comeuppance sooner or later, and I vowed not to be taken by surprise.

I stepped into the street, intent on setting my own trap for our unsavory feudal lord. A brilliant sun immediately made me squint and tilt my head until my hat brim gave me some relief. The bank had two great steel doors that gave the building the look of a vault. I stepped inside to find a paneled wall interrupted by two iron-barred windows. Inside one of the cages, a tiny man peered at me with apprehensive eyes.