Crow Bait (12 page)

Lancaster had some direction now, so he decided to take the time to have something to eat. He hadn’t had a good meal since the beef stew in Peach Springs—the only memorable thing about that visit, unless you call killing four men memorable. The meal he’d had during the few hours he was in Seligman left much to be desired.

He stopped into a saloon for a beer and some advice from the bartender on where to eat.

“Got a few good places in town,” the young man said, “but my pick is Jilly’s. Go out the door, turn left, and walk two blocks. It’s small, but really good.”

“Thanks.”

“Ain’t you gonna finish the other half of your beer?” the bartender asked.

“Half is good for me,” Lancaster said. “Thanks.”

After a good steak at Jilly’s, he went to the Broken Branch, the saloon the sheriff had said Sweet frequented while he was in town. If it wasn’t the largest, busiest saloon in town, it had to be close. Somebody was pounding on a piano in the corner—badly—while girls worked the floor, bringing drinks to men
who were either gambling or just sitting at tables, laughing and drinking.

The bar was crowded, but as usual Lancaster was able to find a space big enough for him. He got the bartender’s attention, ordered a beer, then proceeded to nurse it while listening to the conversations going on around him. In a bar this crowded, there was no point in starting to ask questions about a man named Sweet. It made more sense to wait for the place to empty out some. The only thing was, he didn’t think he could nurse one beer that long.

Of course, it would take a lot less time to question women than men, since there seemed to be about five girls working the floor. Maybe one of them would remember.

He still decided to wait a while, though. He’d attracted a little attention entering as a stranger. Better to give the novelty some time to wear off, give people a chance to forget that he was there.

There were two bartenders working the long bar, and he noticed one of them watching him. The man was experienced, in his forties, with eyes that saw everything. He noticed Lancaster was taking a long time to finish one beer, so Lancaster called him over.

“Can I get a fresh one?” he asked. “This has gone kind of warm.”

“Sure thing.”

The man drew him a fresh beer and brought it over.

“Don’t let that one go warm,” he advised.

“I’ll try not to,” Lancaster said, “but two is usually my limit. I’m afraid I’ll have to make this one last.”

“Well,” the bartender said, “you only drank half of the first one, so you got another half to go.”

There were too many customers for the bartender to spend too much time with one, but Lancaster noticed the man kept an eye on him even while serving others. A man like that would notice everything that happened around him. Lancaster might not have to ask anyone questions if he started with the bartender.

But the barman would be busy most of the night. Lancaster decided to finish the beer and head over to the whorehouse. Maybe somebody there would be able to give him something.

“Leavin’?” the bartender asked. “How about that other half a beer?”

“I’ll be back for it,” Lancaster said.

The bartender nodded, and Lancaster left.

Maisie’s was a two-story building that had seen better days. Shutters were either hanging or missing, but all the windows were intact, and they were clean. There were other buildings in the area the same age, but in a more advanced state of disrepair. Lancaster had a feeling the rent was cheaper than somewhere else in town.

Lancaster entered and was immediately approached by the madam.

“Are you Maisie?”

“That’s me, honey,” she said. She had heavy makeup on her face to try to hide her wrinkles, but unsuccessfully. The fact that she was closing in on sixty was obvious. “What kind of girl do you like?”

He decided to play this differently than he had done in Henderson.

“I’m tracking a man. I understand he was in town a couple of weeks ago, and I know he likes prostitutes. Somebody told me you have the best girls in town.”

“Well, that’s true,” she said. “What’s your man look like?”

“Average-lookin’, but his name is Sweet. I’m hoping one of your girls will remember him.”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “He was here—twice. After that I banned him.”

“Why?”

“He hurt one of my girls.”

“Which one?”

“Her name was Carla.”

“Was?”

“She’s gone,” Maisie said. “Left town right after that. Might have left the business, too.”

“When did she leave?” Lancaster asked.

“A few days after the sheriff ran Sweet out of town,” she said.

“Where’d she go?” he asked. “Do you know?”

“Why?”

Lancaster shrugged. “I’m just curious.”

Maisie gave him a long look.

“You’re good at this,” she said. “You think maybe she liked bein’ hurt and followed him?”

“It’s possible.”

She frowned at him.

“Haven’t you ever known women who liked being hit?” he asked.

“Unfortunately,” she said, “yes.”

“What about this one?”

“She wasn’t here long enough for me to get to know her that well,” Maisie said, “so I can’t say.”

“Was Carla her real name?”

“Yeah. She was new to the business, so she used her real name.”

“Did she make any friends?”

“Not one,” Maisie said. “Nobody liked her.”

“All the more reason she might have followed him,” Lancaster said.

“You married?” she asked.

“No.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Why not?”

“You seem to know women too well for one to want to live with you.”

“Well,” he said, “I’ve never been accused of that before. And I don’t really lead the kind of life a woman would want to share.”

“You like the hunt too much, huh?”

“No,” he said. “This is personal.”

“Got anything to do with the cut over your eye?”

“Definitely. I don’t suppose Sweet said anything while he was here that you might’ve heard, that would tell me where he went?”

“No,” she said, “but Carla did say somethin’.”

“What?”

“She said she thought she might do better for herself someplace like Amarillo.”

Amarillo, he thought.

The Texas panhandle.

He left the whorehouse with a good feeling. All he needed was something from the bartender to confirm that Sweet headed for Texas. The man watched and he listened. If Sweet said anything useful, the bartender would have heard it.

As he was approaching the saloon again, he noticed the sheriff coming from the other direction.

“Lancaster,” he said.

“Sheriff.”

“A minute of your time?”

“Why don’t we go inside—”

“Too noisy,” Sheriff Manning said. “Let’s talk out here.”

“Okay,” Lancaster said. “Okay.”

“What’s on your mind?” Lancaster asked.

“I talked to Abe Walker,” Manning said. “He’s the Wells Fargo man here.”

“And?”

“He confirmed what you told me,” Manning said.

“Okay.”

“But you told me you’re trackin’ a man named Sweet?” Manning said. “He only knows that you were hired to find a man named Beck.”

“I told you that,” Lancaster said. “I gave you both names.”

“Yeah, but you told me you were tracking both of them for Wells Fargo.”

“I don’t think I really said that, Sheriff.”

“Well, you led me to believe it.”

“If I did, sorry,” Lancaster said.

“What’s this about Sweet?”

“He and a couple of partners were hired to kill me,” Lancaster said. “They almost succeeded.”

“So you’re hunting them.”

“Him,” Lancaster said. “Sweet.”

“What about the others?”

“They’re dead.”

“Killed by you?”

“No,” Lancaster said. “They got killed before I could find them.”

“So you need Sweet to find the man who hired him.”

“Right.”

“Any leads yet?”

“There’s a bartender in here who’s real observant,” Lancaster said. “I’m gonna ask him what he knows.”

“What about Maisie’s?”

“I went there. Sweet was only with one girl, and she left town.”

“Oh yeah,” Manning said. “Hurtin’ that girl was the last straw. That’s when I ran him out.”

“What was the first straw?”

“He started some trouble here,” Manning said. “Got into a fight.”

“With who?”

“Another stranger,” Manning said. “He left town the next day.”

“Damn.”

“But your bartender might be able to tell you more,” the lawman said. “Which one are you talkin’ about?”

“I don’t know his name, but he looks real experienced.”

“Probably Ray,” Manning said. “Tell him I said he should help you any way he can.”

“Thanks, I will.”

“I’ve got to finish my rounds,” Manning said. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

“Right.”

Lancaster watched the sheriff walk off, then went through the batwings into the Broken Branch Saloon.

Lancaster got himself a spot at the end of the bar this time. It was away from a lot of the action, probably the quietest place in the saloon. The bartender brought him his beer and said, “On the house.”

“I only had half comin’,” he reminded the man.

“That’s okay,” the bartender said. “Drink however much of it you want.”

“Are you Ray?” Lancaster asked.

The bartender had been in the act of turning away. He stopped short and looked at Lancaster.

“That’s right,” he said. “How’d you know?”

“The sheriff told me,” Lancaster said.

“Why would he do that?”

“He said you could help me.”

“With what?”

“I’m looking for somebody.”

“Bounty hunter?”

“No,” Lancaster said, “this is personal.”

“Anythin’ to do with that scar over your eye?”

“Yes.”

“So, who you lookin’ for?”

“A man named Sweet,” Lancaster said. “The sheriff told me he caused some trouble in here a couple of weeks ago.”

“Well,” Ray said, “we did have some trouble, but we always have some trouble. What makes you think I can tell one troublemaker from another?”

“Because you’ve been at this job a long time,” Lancaster said. “You notice things—like me only drinking half a beer.”

“Well,” Ray said with a grin, “when a fella orders a beer and doesn’t drink it all, that’s kinda obvious.”

“Still,” Lancaster said, “I think you notice things that aren’t so obvious.”

“Like what?”

“Like a man like Sweet looking for trouble,” Lancaster said. “Talkin’ too loud at the bar? Maybe sayin’ somethin’ about where he’s headed.”

Ray leaned on the bar and pulled on his lower lip. “Sweet, Sweet…Sheriff ran him out of town, right? Damaged one of Maisie’s girls?”

“That was the story,” Lancaster said.

“Whataya mean?”

“The girl may not have been so damaged,” he said. “Looks like she might have followed him.”

“To where?”

“That’s the question,” Lancaster said. He didn’t want to put any ideas into the bartender’s head by mentioning Texas.

“Well, gimme some time to think about it and maybe somethin’ will come to me.”

“I can give you some incentive—” Lancaster said, reaching into his pocket.

“No, no,” Ray said, “I ain’t tryin’ to squeeze ya. If the sheriff said I can help ya, then I will—if I can.”

“Okay,” Lancaster said. “Then I’ll check back in with you tomorrow.”

“When do you wanna leave town?” Ray asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“So no pressure, huh?”

“Just whatever you can do for me, Ray.”

Ray gave Lancaster a salute and went back to work. Lancaster finished off his beer and turned in.

In the morning Lancaster went to the livery to make sure Crow Bait would be ready to travel.

“Hey, mister,” the liveryman said, “your horse just about ate me outta oats.”

“He’s got a good appetite.”

“I know! And it don’t show on ’im. But don’t you worry, I’ll have him ready to travel.”

“Much obliged. Maybe about midday.”

He left the livery and went back to Bessie’s for breakfast. The young waitress served him but didn’t make any conversation.

After breakfast he figured he had two stops to make. He had to talk to Ray and to Sheriff Manning. He had to talk to Manning first, because the Broken Branch wasn’t open yet.

As he entered the sheriff’s office, he was struck by how cramped it was.

“I know,” Manning said, when he saw the look on Lancaster’s face. “They’re supposed to be building a new jail. That’s why I was goin’ to a meeting yesterday.”

“How’d it come out?”

“Not good,” the lawman said. “Half the town council thinks they need a church. Another church.”

“Too bad. What’s the other half say?”

“That’s what the mayor is workin’ on. You come to say good-bye?”

“Almost,” Lancaster said. “I still have to talk to Ray this morning. What time’s the Broken Branch open?”

“Ten, but hell, go over and bang on the door. He’s usually in earlier to clean the place up and get it set up for the day.”

“Thanks,” Lancaster said. “The quicker I talk to him, the sooner I can be on my way.”

“I hope you find what you’re lookin’ for,” the lawman said.

“I will,” Lancaster said.

“You sound sure.”

“I am,” Lancaster said, “because I won’t stop until I do find them.”

He left the sheriff’s office, crossed over to the Broken Branch, and banged on the locked door.

Ray opened the door and peered out at Lancaster through one good eye. The other one was swollen shut.

“Hey, come in,” he said, backing away. “You want some breakfast?”

“I ate,” Lancaster said. “What happened to your eye?”

“I ran into two friends of Sweet’s last night,” he said.

Lancaster followed him to a table in the back, where he was eating ham and eggs.

“Coffee?” Ray offered.

“Yeah, I’ll take a cup.”

Ray got up, went behind the bar, and came back with another cup, which he filled from the pot already on the table.

“Anyway, I was askin’ some questions about your man Sweet—”

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble, Ray,” Lancaster said. “I just wanted you to see what you could remember.”

“Well, I was askin’ anyway, and apparently your boy Sweet’s got friends all over the place. These boys heard I was askin’ and they paid me a visit. Jumped me outside when I left for home. Said I better stop askin’ questions if I knew what was good for me.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, I gave as good as I got, and they ran off. Guess they figured me for an easier mark.”

“Know who they were?”

“Strangers passin’ through,” Ray said. “Not even here for a day. You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think they’re on their way to meet Sweet,” Ray said.

“And you don’t know their names?”

“Sorry.”

“What’d they look like?”

Ray described two men who could have been outlaws or cowpokes. There was nothing unusual about them except for one thing.

“One of them was wearing a big silver ring on his right hand,” Ray said, pointing to his eye. “That’s how I got this.”

“Silver ring,” Lancaster said. “That’s better than nothing. Thanks, Ray.”

“I figure they stayed the night and left this mornin’,” Ray said. “You can check at the livery when you pick up your horse.”

“I’ll do that. Hey, let me give you something for that eye.”

“Give me enough to buy a steak.”

“To put on your eye?”

“No, for supper tonight,” Ray said. “I love a good steak smothered in onions.”

Lancaster passed over some money and said, “Here, have two.”

Lancaster picked up Crow Bait and asked the liveryman about two men leaving earlier that morning.

“Sure thing,” he said. “Looked like they been in a dustup, too. All bruised and such.”

“Did they say anything about where they were going?” Lancaster said. “Maybe something they didn’t know you could hear?”

“All I heard them say was that they better get their asses goin’,” the liveryman said. “They had to meet some other fella.”

“Did they say where?”

“No,” he said, “but they rode west.”

“West? You sure?”

“I know which way is west, young feller.”

“I’m sure you do,” Lancaster said. “Can you tell me anything about their horses?”

“Like what?”

Lancaster took a few dollars from his pocket and handed them over to the startled man. “Like anything that might help me track them?”

“Well, now that you mention it,” the liveryman said, “their horses coulda used some new shoes…”