Cold-Blooded, page 21
Pleasant Woodis reached inside his buckskins and produced a silver liquor flask. “Here, Luke, this will help heal what ails you.”
Luke chose to be suspicious. “What the hell is it?”
“Bonded bourbon, my boy. It will do you a world of good.”
Not one to refuse a drink, Luke took a hearty swig and passed the flask to Jess. “Here, Casey, get some whiskey down you. You look like Custer when he first saw the Indians. Your eyeballs are as big as silver dollars.”
The bourbon helped and Jess was grateful for it. “I think we’ll find Jasper Dunn somewhere here on 11th Street,” he said. “Luke, are you in or are you out?” He took off the oilskin. “Here, wear this.”
Luke took the coat, held it out at arm’s length and let it drop to the boardwalk. “If you’re right about Dunn, Casey, we don’t want anything that will slow us on the draw.”
“Then you’re in,” Jess said.
“Yeah. That is, until I’m out,” Luke said.
* * *
“I heard gunfire,” Jasper Dunn said. “Looper should be back by now.”
“Me, I heard a mighty big rifle,” Silas Topper said. “You want me to go find Casey and end it?”
“No, Mr. Topper, I want you here. And you, Mr. Talon.” Dunn looked around at his diminished force. Apart from the men he mentioned, there were only five others, none of then named guns. Dunn was not overly concerned. Outlaws were a restless breed, but once he took over Koenig’s holdings and the big money started to roll in they’d come crawling back with their tails between their legs. “You other men, go find the sheriff and make sure he’d dead. If he’s not, kill him and kill anyone else who might be with him.”
The five exchanged glances. Finally one of them, a man with a terrible knife scar on his cheek, said, “Boss, I hear the lawman is mighty slick with the Colt. I don’t want to brace him. Send Topper. He’s the gun.”
“‘Send Topper,’” the little draw fighter said, contempt in his voice. He spat in the scarred man’s direction, then, “Squires, you’re a damned lily-livered coward.”
Topper drew and fired.
The bullet clipped an arc from the tag of the tobacco sack in Squires’s vest pocket. Hit hard, the man staggered back, a look of shocked surprise on his face. Grinning, Topper let him have another in the belly and then watched the man fall. Topper took a few smiling moments to savor the kill, then swung his fancy Colt on the other four.
“Anybody else too yellow to brace a hick sheriff?” he said.
That question was met with silence, then an older man with iron gray hair said, “We’ll find him.”
“You’d better,” Topper said, his eyes ugly. “Now I got the taste for it, I’m in the killing vein today.”
The four men trooped up the stairs and when they were gone, Dunn said, “Was that really necessary, Mr. Topper?”
“Sure it was, boss,” the little gunman said. “There’s no room for cowards in this organization.” Arrogance in every step, he strolled over to Destiny Durand, put his forefinger under her chin and forced her head up so she looked at him. “What do you think, little lady? Was it necessary?”
“You’re the coward,” Destiny said. “The man you killed wasn’t even armed.”
“Then he should’ve heeled himself, huh?” Topper grinned.
“You’re a contemptible piece of low-life trash,” the woman said.
“I take that from nobody, especially a whore,” Topper said. He drew back his hand, but Dunn’s sharp command stopped him.
“No, Mr. Topper! I don’t want to return damaged goods.”
The gunman let his hand drop. He said, “You’ll be my woman one day soon and by God I’ll teach you respect with a dog whip.”
Topper walked away and Ford Talon relaxed. If Topper had slapped the woman he would have made a play. Dunn’s revolver lay in front of him on his desk and the man could be sudden. Talon knew he’d have taken hits from both Dunn and Topper. The question was: Did he want to throw his life away? Or did he want to live?
Right then Talon had no answer . . . but it was something he’d need to think about very soon.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
“Boys, we got company,” Pleasant Woodis said, his voice sounding a warning. He, Jess and Luke Short were in the middle of the rain-lashed street and slowed by mud.
Four men had stepped out of the warehouse opposite, a medium-sized building with faded red paint on the across its front that said: J. S. PRINGLE & SONS, WAREHOUSEMEN.
The four men were armed with belt guns and they looked tough and capable enough. But to Jess’s surprise the oldest of them, a gray-haired man, held up his hands and said, “You got no problem with us.”
“State your intentions,” Jess said. Like Luke, he held his gun by his side at arm’s length.
“Our intention is to walk away from here without a shooting scrape.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The women you want are in there. In the basement.”
Rain falling from the brim of his hat, Jess said, “Where is Jasper Dunn?”
“With the women, him and Silas Topper and a feller called Ford Talon.”
“You four are convicts?” Jess said.
“We were convicts, Sheriff,” the gray-haired man said. In a defeated gesture he let his shoulders sag. “And we don’t want to be convicts again.”
“What do you say, Luke?” Jess said.
“I say we gun them,” Luke said, his eyes fixed on the gray-haired man.
“Mr. Woodis?”
“I’m with Luke. They’re Dunn’s men and we can take them down right where they stand.”
“Hold your fire,” Jess said. “You men, unbuckle those cartridge belts and let them drop.” The four complied without hesitation and Jess said, “Go to the sheriff’s office and wait there until I return. I’ll decide what to do with you then.”
“Sheriff, we had no hand in the capture of those women,” a younger man said.
“What about the murder of poor old Bruno Cavanni?” Woodis said. “You had no hand in that, either?”
“No. It was none of our doing,” the younger man said.
“You’re a damned liar!” Woodis said.
Jess saw it coming and couldn’t stop it.
The Holland & Holland roared twice and the gray-haired man and another went down, shot all to pieces.
“No!” Jess yelled. “Damn it, no!” But he was too late.
His face like stone, Luke was firing, scoring hits. A man staggered back and clanged! against the corrugated iron wall of the warehouse. He fell in a heap, coughing blood. The remaining convict dived for the boardwalk, trying to reach his gun. He did grab it but when he brought his head up to fire, Luke shot him in the middle of his forehead.
The roar of gunfire ended and an unnatural quiet descended on 11th Street. The only sound was the steady patter of the rain, the only movement the ghostly drift of gun smoke.
Jess looked at the carnage that had been wrought in the space of several seconds and the taste of green bile was sour in his mouth.
Beside him Pleasant Woodis shoved a pair of shells into his rifle. “Last two, Luke,” he said. “Got to make them count.”
“Yeah, well, save Dunn for me,” Luke said. “I’ve a score to settle with that low-down son of a bitch.” He picked up a cartridge belt, thumbed out shells and fed them into his Colt. “I didn’t see you shoot, Casey,” he said.
“Those men had surrendered,” Jess said. “They’d laid down their arms.”
“We got the drop on them pretty good, huh, Sheriff?” Woodis said, smiling. “They never knew what hit them. Damned bunch of murderers.”
“You get lucky and get the drop on a man you take it,” Luke said, hanging a cartridge belt on his shoulder. “Live longer that way. As soon as you’d taken one step through the door of your office them boys would’ve done for you with your own scattergun.”
“They wanted out,” Jess said. “You heard them say that, Luke.”
“Sure they wanted out . . . when they saw three armed fellers facing them, one with an elephant gun,” Luke said. “I’d want out myself if I’d seen that there cannon in ol’ Pleasant’s hands.”
“Sheriff, you told them to shuck their artillery and got us the drop,” Woodis said. “Damn it all, boy, you done good. Now let’s go finish it.”
Jess Casey had thought his time in Hell’s Half Acre had taught him the ways of the gun and of the hard, unforgiving men who lived by its tenets.
Now he realized he’d been wrong.
He hadn’t learned a damn thing.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The warehouse door was still slightly ajar and Jess Casey pushed it soundlessly open. Gun drawn, he stepped inside—and was confronted by a huge empty, echoing space.
Luke Short silently jabbed a forefinger in the direction of a stairwell at the right side of the room and Jess nodded. His spurs chiming with every step, he crossed the floor and the others followed. He turned to Luke and whispered, “I’ll go first. Keep close.”
Luke nodded and Pleasant Woodis said, “Right behind you, sonny.”
But then the door at the bottom of the stairwell was flung open and a man’s voice said, “Come in, Sheriff Casey, and welcome. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Is that you, Dunn?” Jess said.
“As ever was, Sheriff. What can I do for you?”
“Release the two women and then we can talk,” Jess said.
“How many with you?” Dunn said.
Jess didn’t hesitate. “Twenty Texas Rangers, all well-armed and determined men.”
He heard the smile in Dunn’s voice when he said, “Then come down by yourself and we’ll negotiate.”
“It’s a trap,” Luke said. “Don’t listen to him.”
“There’s no negotiation involved, Dunn,” Jess said. “Send up the two women and I guarantee you a fair trial for murder and kidnapping. I can’t be any more on the square than that.”
“Well, if you won’t come down, Sheriff, then here’s my offer,” Dunn said. “Are you listening?”
“I’m listening,” Jess said. “State your piece.”
“Then here are my conditions. First, withdraw your men. Second, provide five horses and leave them saddled outside. If by midnight I have not received the deeds to Kurt Koenig’s properties, you will guarantee me safe conduct out of Fort Worth.”
“Dunn, forget the deeds. You’re not going anywhere,” Jess said. “I intend to put you on trial for the murder of Bruno Cavanni and others and I aim to see you hang.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Sheriff,” Dunn said. “And now you have forced me to change my plans. At one minute past midnight I will cut the throat of Joselita Juarez. The girl’s death will conclude our first round of negotiations. We will then bargain for the life of Miss Destiny Durand. Let’s not, at this early stage, think about the outcome if our second round of talks fails.”
Luke Short, angry beyond measure, yelled, “Dunn, you low-down son of a bitch, I intend to shoot you dead on sight.”
“Is that also your answer, Sheriff Casey?” Dunn said. “For the girl’s sake I hope not.”
“What you ask with the horses an’ all will take time, Dunn,” Jess said. “I’ll need a few hours.”
“You have until one minute past midnight to make up your mind,” Dunn said. “I await your decision.”
* * *
“Let’s rush the door,” Luke Short said. “Barge right in there with guns blazing.”
“Luke, you’re in no condition to rush anywhere,” Jess said. “And when I come to study on it, neither am I.”
“Then what do you suggest we do, Casey?” Luke said. “Stand here and twiddle our thumbs until midnight?”
“I say rush the door,” Woodis said. “I can touch off this here rifle pretty damned quick.”
“Yeah, and the howitzer shells it shoots are liable to go right through Dunn and hit the women,” Jess said.
Woodis scratched his hairy chin. “Hell, I never thought about that. They could, you know.”
“Well?” Luke said, raising an eyebrow at Jess.
“I’m thinking, Luke.”
“Then think fast, cowboy,” Luke said. “Time is a-wasting.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
“Boss, come midnight, let me do the cuttin’,” Silas Topper said. He stared at Joselita Juarez. “You won’t feel a thing, little gal.”
Jasper Dunn said, “Of course, Mr. Topper, I’ll leave the throat cutting to you. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“You’re trapped like a treed possum, Dunn,” Ford Talon said. “That cowpoke sheriff isn’t going to let you leave here alive.”
Dunn waved a hand in the direction of the two women. “I have bargaining chips. They’re my ticket out of here.”
“Killing the girl will cut them down to one,” Talon said. “Maybe not such a good idea.”
“It will show the sheriff and his cronies that I’m serious,” Dunn said. He rubbed a nervous hand across his mouth. “Mr. Topper, the syringe, please.”
All at once the little gunman was wary. “Boss, do you think this is a good time to be taking that stuff?” he said.
“It will relax me, Mr. Topper, and help me face the trials to come. Now, if you please, the syringe. I’ll come to my desk. Mr. Talon, keep an eye on the stairs. If anyone makes to come down, kill him.”
“You can’t trust him, boss,” Topper said. “I’ve got the stairs covered.”
Talon said nothing, then watched as Topper opened a desk drawer and removed the syringe from the box. “I melted the rock myself, boss,” he said. “This will keep you happy for a spell.”
Dunn bared his forearm and Topper plunged the needle into a vein and emptied the syringe. Dunn took a shuddering breath, then smiled and said, “I will be just fine now. As they say, it is already making me feel like a hero.”
“Just you sit there and relax,” Topper said. “It’s a long time until midnight.”
“This is wonderful stuff, Mr. Topper,” Dunn said, his voice drowsy. “We’ll flood Fort Worth with it, and beyond, and become very rich men. I might even travel to Europe and become a fine gentleman in Paris or Rome.”
It had been long in coming, but now Ford Talon decided the time was right to make himself heard. He stepped to Dunn’s desk, where the man’s watch lay beside his Colt. Talon picked up the watch and said, “Dunn, can you hear what this says?”
“Yes, I can,” Dunn said, smiling. “Why, it says tick-tick-tick.”
Talon nodded. “That’s right, Dunn, tick-tick-tick. It’s ticking away what’s left of your life. You’ll never be a fine gentleman, you’ll be a corpse in a pine box in the Fort Worth graveyard.”
The drug would not permit Dunn to be angry. But his voice was vicious as he said, “No, you impertinent pup, you’ll be the one rotting in the graveyard. Mr. Topper!”
Destiny Durand, long familiar with the new breed of Texas draw fighters, called out, “No! Let him be, Topper.”
But the little gunman wasn’t listening. He was eager for another kill. He said, “Talon, I’ve wanted to shut your big yap for a long—”
Ford Talon drew and fired. His target was Jasper Dunn.
Surprised and then appalled, Dunn took the hit in the center of his chest. He knew he was a dead man, and in the depths of despair he cried out, a long, anguished scream that echoed around the basement like the smashing of brittle glass.
Silas Topper was slowed by a full second, but when he drew his speed was blinding. He pumped two bullets into Talon and then a third as the man collapsed to the floor.
Jess Casey was midway down the stairs when he fired through a gap in the wrought-iron banister. Silas Topper never saw it coming. Hit, then hit again, he staggered on his feet, looking around for the shooter. Then he caught sight of Jess.
“You!” he screamed, his gun coming up.
Jess fired again and again and again until his Colt clicked on an empty chamber. Three shots. Three hits. Topper dropped to his knees, staring at Jess, who walked toward him, ejecting spent shells from the cylinder of his Colt.
Topper’s ashen face took on a look of astonishment. “How . . . how?”
Jess smiled. “It was easy. I got the drop.”
“I’ll be damned,” Topper said. Then he fell on his face, a dead man.
* * *
Joselita Juarez and Destiny Durand, who vowed that she’d take a hundred different kinds of female revenge on Kurt Koenig for taking no part in her rescue, left the basement to Jess Casey and Luke Short. Pleasant Woodis had gone to fetch Big Sal, a woman he said he secretly admired.
Luke opened the lid of what looked like a small brandy barrel and looked at the brownish black granules inside. “So that’s it, huh?” he said to Jess.
“That would be my guess,” Jess said.
“So Dunn figured he could make a fortune selling this stuff?”
“He did. He would have had repeat customers for life.”
“What are you going to do with it, Casey?” Luke said.
“Destroy it and then have the Rangers track it back to its source.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t be too hasty here,” Luke said. “I mean there’s nothing illegal about selling it.”
“No. But there’s plenty that’s immoral about selling it,” Jess said. He smiled. “You’ve got the White Elephant back, Luke. Go home.”
Luke sneezed. “I think I caught a damned cold.”
“Seems like,” Jess said.
“Let me have only this barrel,” Luke said. “I want to see if there’s a market for the stuff, so you can tell the Rangers.”
“Go home, Luke,” Jess said. “Take care of that cold.”
“You’re not going to change your mind?”
“No.”
Luke walked to the stairs and stopped. “You did good against Topper, Casey. You’re not too bright, but you’re learning.”
“Thank you, Luke,” Jess said.
“But I still don’t like you,” Luke said.
* * *
Jess Casey looked around the blood-splashed basement.
