Crow Bait (15 page)

Sweetwater, Texas

Fielding and Williams had told Lancaster that Sweet left them a message to meet him in Sweetwater. They also told him that Sweet had a bank job planned, but they weren’t sure where it was. Could be Abilene, or maybe even Fort Worth.

Lancaster wondered about Sweet wanting to meet in Sweetwater. Did the man have that much of a sense of humor, or was the irony lost on him?

He rode into town, armed with a more accurate description of the man given him by Fielding. He hoped that when he saw Sweet he’d recognize him. The man’s face was still a mystery in his memory of the events in the Mojave Desert. His brain was still trying to put it all together, which led to bad dreams that ended in him coming awake in a cold sweat. The doctor had said his memory might come back on its own, might not come back, or might return as the result of a shock.

He hoped that seeing Sweet’s face would be that shock.

The man known as Sweet didn’t use his first name. He hated it. He had once told a woman his name,
and she had begun calling him that and he finally had to kill her to shut her up. Well, he also had to kill her so he wouldn’t have to share the proceeds from a big robbery with her, but that was another story. The way she used his first name was reason enough to have killed her.

Sweet was sitting in a saloon in Sweetwater, wondering when those two idiots, Fielding and Williams, would show up. If they didn’t get there in the next few days, he was going to have to try to find men someplace else. The payroll that was going to be in the Abilene bank would not be there forever. He couldn’t afford to wait more than a few more days.

The furthest thing from his mind at that moment was what had happened to Lancaster in the Mojave Desert. That was just an old job at the back of his mind and it never occurred to him to wonder about Lancaster, or about his two partners in that job. He was only looking ahead to future jobs.

Lancaster decided to keep a low profile. He was not going to ask questions in any of the saloons, and he wasn’t going to consult with the local law. He didn’t want to ask anybody about a man named Sweet. He was just going to look for him himself.

But Sweetwater was not a small town, and he knew a horse like Crow Bait would attract attention on the street, so he had to get him into the livery.

“That horse got you here?” the man in the livery asked.

“He’s done a lot more than that,” Lancaster said,
dismounting. “And don’t talk about him to anybody. I hear you been bad-mouthing this horse and I’ll be back to see you.”

“Hey,” the man said, eyes wide, “I won’t say a word, mister.”

“See that you don’t,” Lancaster said. “And take good care of him.”

“I will, I swear.”

Lancaster pointed his finger at the man one more time before taking his saddlebags and rifle and walking out.

He deliberately got himself a room in the smallest hotel in town. He left his rifle and saddlebags there, and then hit the street to start his search for Sweet.

Along the way he came across a small café and went inside for a bite to eat. The waiter was a quiet, middle-aged man who didn’t talk beyond asking him what he wanted, which suited Lancaster fine.

Lancaster did something he usually never did—sat at the window. He wanted to watch the street while he ate. Maybe Sweet would simply cross in front of him, making it easy to find him.

And maybe not.

He finished eating, then went back out to walk the town and check the saloons.

The Texas and Pacific Railroad had come through Sweetwater in 1883, and the town had grown since then to the point where it had five saloons and many other businesses. As far as he was able to tell, though, having walked through the town one time, there was no whorehouse. There might have been whores in the saloons, but he didn’t see a houseful of them.

He checked three of the saloons, preferring to peer in over the batwing doors rather than go in and have a beer at each of them. If he did that he’d be in no shape when he finally found Sweet.

When he got to the fourth saloon, a place called Del’s Saloon, he looked in the window, saw a man sitting alone at a table, and stared.

Was that him?

He moved to the batwing doors to get a better look. With the description from Fielding, this certainly looked like Sweet, but what if Fielding had been lying?

Lancaster decided to take a chance and walk into the saloon. Maybe Sweet would see him and recognize him. He knew if he had kicked a man half to death and left him to die in the desert, he would remember him.

The saloon was less than half-full, and Lancaster was able to belly up to the bar without having to attract attention.

“Beer,” he said to the bartender.

“Comin’ up.”

The man put a full mug in front of him, but Lancaster wasn’t paying attention. He had his head turned and was looking at the man at the table. Suddenly, as if he knew he was being watched, the man raised his head and their eyes met.

Lancaster felt the shock he’d been waiting for as he saw the man’s face.

It all came back to him.

He remembered his horse being shot and then the three men were on him. Sweet was the most brutal. Kicking him repeatedly when he was down, kicking him that last time as one of the other men called Sweet by name.

“Sweet, don’t…”

Lancaster noticed another thing, too, as their eyes met.

There was no recognition in Sweet’s face at all. He stared at Lancaster for a moment; then he turned his eyes down again, staring into his drink.

The man had no idea who he was, and so he also had no idea what was about to happen.

Lancaster took one sip from his beer, then turned and walked over to Sweet’s table, carrying the beer in his left hand.

“Sweet.”

Sweet looked up as he heard his name. He stared at Lancaster, and even this close he didn’t show any trace of recognition.

“I know you?”

“You should.”

Sweet took a moment; then he said, “Well, I don’t, so get lost.”

“Afraid I can’t do that,” Lancaster said.

Sweet looked up at him again. “You lookin’ for trouble, friend?”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Lancaster said. “I was just minding my own business when you and your buddies jumped me in the desert and left me to die.”

“What the hell are you—wait a minute.” Sweet squinted. “Lancaster?”

“That’s right, Sweet,” Lancaster said. “Mind if I join you?”

He didn’t wait for a response. He pulled out the chair across from the man and sat down.

“How the hell—”

“Never thought you’d see me again, did you?”

“You should be dead,” Sweet said. “I shoulda killed you, but—”

“But you weren’t being paid to kill me, right?” Lancaster asked. “You were being paid to leave me afoot in the desert with no water and no gun.”

“You know that?”

“I remembered just enough to know that the three of you were being paid.”

“So there’s no hard feelin’s, right?” Sweet said. “It was just a job.”

“Oh no, I can’t agree with you there, Sweet,” Lancaster said. “I’ve got lots of hard feelings, for you and your partners. But see…they’re already dead, so that leaves you.”

“They’re dead?”

“Yes.”

Sweet licked his lips.

“B-but they couldn’t tell you who hired us,” he said. “Only I know that.”

“And you’re gonna tell me, right?”

“Well,” Sweet said, a crafty look coming into his eyes, “maybe we can make a deal.”

“What kind of a deal?” Lancaster asked.

“I’ll tell you who hired me, and you let me go,” Sweet said. “Simple as that.”

“I’ve got a counteroffer.”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me who hired you,” Lancaster said, “and I’ll kill you quickly.”

Sweet rocked back in his chair. “That’s a joke, right?”

“No joke,” Lancaster said. “Make no mistake, Sweet. There’s no way you walk away from this alive. Not after what you did to me. But how you die, well, that’s up for discussion.”

“How about this?” Sweet asked. “Why don’t I just kill you right now?”

“Do it,” Lancaster said. “Go ahead. With your hands? Your gun? Or do you plan to kick me to death?”

Sweet stared at Lancaster.

“That’s what I thought,” Lancaster said. “You don’t have two more men to back your play this time.”

“Look, I told you already,” Sweet said. “It weren’t nothin’ personal. We was hired to do what we did.”

“And you’re gonna tell me by who and why.”

“Well,” Sweet said, “you got somebody mad at you, that’s for sure. Had somethin’ to do with somebody you killed.”

“So, what? Somebody’s wife? Somebody’s father? Brother?” Lancaster asked.

“I don’t know,” Sweet said. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t care. It was a lot of money.”

“And how specific was this person when they hired you?” Lancaster asked.

“Whataya mean?”

“Why the Mojave?”

“That’s what…they wanted,” Sweet said. “For us to strand you in the of the Mojave. They said take your horse, your gun, your water, and leave you.”

“And you didn’t ask why?”

Sweet shrugged. “Like I said, it was a lot of money.”

“But you didn’t leave me right in the middle of the desert,” Lancaster said. “If you had I might be dead now.”

“Well, I didn’t see any reason to wait,” Sweet said.

“You got impatient,” Lancaster said. “You hadn’t been paid yet, right?”

“Not all of it.”

“So after you left me you had to go and meet your employer to get paid. That means he or she was in Nevada, right?”

“So?”

“But do they live in Nevada?”

Sweet didn’t answer.

“Sweet,” Lancaster said, “the harder you make this on me, the harder it’s gonna be on you.”

“Naw,” Sweet said, “naw, you ain’t gonna kill me. Not while you don’t know who hired me.”

“And if you’re so bound and determined not to tell me,” Lancaster asked, “what’s the point of me keepin’ you alive?”

Sweet stared at Lancaster, then picked up his drink—whiskey, by the look of it—and swigged it.

“I ain’t just gonna lie down for you, Lancaster,” he said.

“I never thought you would,” Lancaster said. “But why cover for your employer? You’ll be dead and they’ll go on living.”

“And when they find out you’re still alive, they’ll hire somebody else,” Sweet said. “You’ll be lookin’ over your shoulder for the rest of your life. You don’t want me, Lancaster. You want who hired me.”

Lancaster gave that some thought. Sweet began to look hopeful. He didn’t think he had much chance going up against Lancaster in a fair gunfight. There had to be another way out. He looked at the batwing doors, hoping to see Fielding and Williams come through.

“Don’t be lookin’ for them,” Lancaster said.

“For who?”

“Fielding and Williams,” he said. “They’re in a cell in Amarillo.”

“Goddamnit!” Sweet said.

“Okay,” Lancaster said. “Okay, Sweet.”

“Okay, what?”

“You’re right,” Lancaster said. “I want the person who hired you.”

“And?”

“Tell me who hired you,” Lancaster said, “and I’ll let you walk out that door.”

Sweet looked hopeful, then suspicious.

“Oh no,” he said, “you gotta be more plain than that. You let me walk out, then you come out and shoot me. Huh-uh. I want you to say it. If I tell you the name, you’ll let me go.”

“If you give me the name of the person who hired you, I’ll let you go.”

“And you won’t come huntin’ for me again.”

“And I won’t come huntin’ for you again.”

“And you won’t ever kill me.”

Lancaster hesitated; then he said, “And I won’t ever kill you.”

Sweet still looked suspicious.

“This is too easy,” he said.

“Hey,” Lancaster said, “what can I say? You convinced me.”

Lancaster left the saloon with the name of the person who had hired Sweet to strand him in the desert. He also had the location.

He hated letting Sweet go, but he actually believed that the man would take his employer’s name to the grave just to be ornery.

He still had to find Gerry Beck. But even Gerry was going to have to wait until Lancaster settled with the person who paid to have him left in the desert.

The problem was, he thought that once he heard the name he’d know who it was. But even armed with the name, he had no idea who the hell this person was.

Just outside Reno, Nevada

Lancaster had checked the ranch out in the daylight. It had a lot of hands, but at this time of night they were all in the bunkhouse. He had left Crow Bait in a stand of trees a few hundred yards away and come the rest of the way on foot.

He would like to have observed the place longer, but he didn’t have the time. He didn’t want to hang around Reno too long. Word might get back to the ranch. No, he had to go in tonight.

He worked his way to the back of the house without being seen and found a door that led to the kitchen. In daylight he’d been able to see that the house was a two-story Colonial with white columns in front, based on the mansions of the Deep South. A man with a house like this had to have servants—a cook, a maid, probably a manservant of some kind. He also might have had a wife and some children. But at the moment the kitchen looked dark and deserted.

He tried the door and found it locked, but with a little pressure from his shoulder it gave and he was in.

Once inside, he drew his gun and moved to the
doorway. It led to a dining room, also dark and empty. He had chosen to hit the house at two
A.M.,
feeling that any family would be asleep.

He moved across the dining room to the entry hall, and noticed that there was a light burning on the first floor of the house, at the end of a hall.

He looked upstairs, at the darkness there. Upstairs, family members might have been asleep in their beds, including the man he was looking for. But he decided to check the light out first.

As quietly as he could he moved across the hardwood floor to the hallway, toward the room with the light. It was probably the rancher’s office. If that was the case, then his search was over.

He stepped into the doorway, pointing his gun into the room. The figure behind the desk looked up at him in surprise.

“Who are you?” the girl asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“But I live here,” she said. “You don’t.”

“Good point.”

He looked back up the hallway, then stepped into the room, holding his gun down at his side.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Angie,” she said. “What’s yours?”

“Lancaster. How old are you, Angie?”

“I’m fourteen, so don’t go thinkin’ I’m just a kid.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Lancaster said.

“Are you here to steal?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then what are you doin’ in my house?”

“I’m looking for a man named Roger Simon. Do you know him?”

“Of course,” she said. “He’s my father. He’s upstairs asleep.”

“With your mother?”

“No,” she said. “My mother’s dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. How did it happen?”

“A man killed her,” she said.

“When did that happen?”

“Last year. Are you here to hurt my dad?”

“No, Angie,” he said. “I’m here to talk to him. Why don’t you go up and tell him I’m here?”

“He’ll be mad that I was in his office.”

“Honey,” Lancaster said, “I guarantee you he won’t be mad.”