Gun Work: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden (19 page)

Carl grunted. “Good idea. Jemson might not know you, Hayden, but he's sure to recognize me 'fore we can get all the way across this room. Best all be ready for whatever they might want to throw at us. But, you know, sure wish I had my shotgun.”

As surreptitiously as possible, Carl and Nate followed my lead. Loosed all the iron around their waists and got themselves primed for a fight. Didn't take much effort on Nate's part. Boy had blood in his eyes and murder in his heart. In a matter of seconds, everyone appeared ready. Three of us turned away from the bar at the same time.

“I'll go at them head on,” I said. “Carl, you take Staggers. Nate, you keep an eye on Neely. We'll just stroll over. Ask them some questions. See what happens. Any of them goes and gets froggy, don't hesitate.”

“Damn right,” Nate hissed.

Quirky smile played across Carl's lips. “Don't know 'bout you, but I'm screwed down and riding deep in the saddle, Tilden. Ain't gonna find me sitting on my gun hand. So turn 'er loose and let 'er buck.”

We stepped away from the bar as one man. Threaded our way between tables, chairs, and a packed crowd of noisy, happy, drunk, or near-drunk people, as we quickly moved across the room.

Jemson spotted us less than halfway there. Saw him shift in his chair. Leaned slightly toward Bronson Staggers. Whispered something to Staggers behind one hand, then reached over and patted Neely's arm. Swear 'fore Jesus the three of them looked like shocked puppies that had just discovered the first porcupine they'd ever seen sitting in the middle of their table.

Made my way right up to a spot directly across the table from Jemson. Came to a rocking halt and flashed a friendly, although blatantly insincere, smile. Couldn't have been more than five feet from the man. Hooked my thumbs on either side of the buckle of my pistol belt in an effort to try and put him at his ease. Hands on the grips of their weapons, Carlton and Nate took their positions, either side of and slightly behind me, and waited.

The raggedy-bearded Jemson pushed a Montana-peaked hat to the back of his grease-encrusted head with two fingers. Let the hand slowly, deliberately drift back down to the tabletop. He glanced over at Carlton and said, “Helluva thang, boys. A man can ride all the way down to Fort Worth for a bit of fun and relaxation, and lo and behold if some of Parker's favorite henchmen and killers don't show up to ruin his much needed recreation. You law-bringin' bastards are a long way from home, ain't you, Cecil?”

Carlton grinned, let out a contemptuous snort, then said, “Could say the same of a low-life
bastard
like you, C. W. Appears you boys are a right far piece from your regular stomping grounds up in the Kiamichi Mountains. Might find it a bit harder to rob, murder, and pillage amongst these Texicans. Folks around these parts don't particular take kindly to such behavior.”

Jasper Neely's piglike snout twitched, he grunted, then said, “You sons a bitches got no reason to go a-causin' us any trouble. We ain't in the Nations right now, by God. Ain't botherin' nobody. Jus' havin' a sociable drink with friends. Relaxicatin' in the finest waterin' hole 'tween Tuskahoma and San Antone. So, why don't y'all hair-covered walkin' assholes shuffle butt yourselves on outta here and leave us the hell alone.”

I hadn't heard much, but it was enough. So, I said, “Damn, Jasper. Case you haven't noticed it, these badges we're lugging around signify that the three of us are deputy U.S. marshals. Comes to the heavenly climes of law enforcement, we're a special breed of lawdog.”

Carl took up the thread and added, “Our commissions allow us to go anywhere in the United States, or its territories, in pursuit of those who provoke our attention. Right now, we're looking for the Coltrane brothers—Jesse and Leroy. Rumor has it you boys might've spent some time of late running with those murderous skunks. Wouldn't happen to have seen either of them, have you?”

Bronson Staggers's cold, hard stare zeroed in on me. Man had his hands hidden beneath the table. Made me a bit uncomfortable because I couldn't tell whether he was holding or not.

“We ain't seen the Coltrane boys. Either of 'em,” Staggers said. “Not sure I'd tell a trio of shit-kickin' stargazers like you even if'n I had.”

Jemson looked thoughtful and a bit perturbed at the same time. Rubbed his stubble-covered chin with the back of one hand. “Maybe I missed it, but I don't think you mentioned Benny, Marshal. Would indicate to me as how you boys ain't lookin' for Benny. Why come is that? Coltrane boys never do anythang lest they do it together. Puzzles me a mite that Benny's name ain't come up?”

“Already have that runny pile of cow flop in custody. He's sittin' on his bony bohunkus in the basement dungeon back in Judge Parker's courthouse in Fort Smith.” Nate's words sliced through the air like a freshly sharpened hay sickle.

Subtle change spread over Jemson's outward demeanor. “That a fact.”

“Is indeed,” Nate continued. “If we can't find his brothers, poor ole brainless Benny'll likely have to stumble up those long, terrible, lonely steps to the Gates of Hell gallows alone. Face judgment 'fore a crowd of thousands of spectators, all of 'em eatin' roasted corn on the cob and waitin' to get a gander of him when he hits the end of Maledon's oiled hemp noose, then messes all over hisself like a week-old child.”

Staggers's face and neck flushed. Man squirmed in his chair like his pants might burst into flame. “Didn't have to go sayin' nothin' like that, damn your sorry soul. Sweet Jesus. Just ain't nothin' worse'n hangin', you ask me. Sure would hate to hear as how the Coltrane boys done got theyselves strung up. What the hell you Parker bastards think they went and done, anyhow?”

A nail-biting tension, soaked in a river of rising blood, kept edging up with every back-and-forth exchange. Staggers went to twisting his neck from side to side and blinking way too fast. Jemson kept rubbing at his jaw and chin like no-see-ums were eating him alive. Neely had begun to sway in his chair in the manner of a Baptist revival attendee caught in the slow rhythm of unheard music.

Reckoned we had just about twisted their tails enough. Backed away from the table a step. “Way we heard it they murdered an entire family, name of Cassidy, up in the Nations near Dutch Crossing. Even men as evil as the Coltrane boys can't go killing regular folks just for the fun of it and think they can get away with such a barbarous act.”

Staggers twisted in his chair and mumbled, “Don't believe a word of that load of horseshit.”

“Doesn't matter a single whit what any of you believe,” I said. “We have warrants for them, and you can bet the ranch we'll serve them. So, you boys run across Jesse or Leroy, best let them know we're on their trail and that we will catch them. And, once we've caught them, we'll see they hang. Want some advice, I'd recommend you stay as far from Jesse and Leroy as you can get. Close proximity at this particular time could lead to an early grave.”

“Heard 'bout the way you catch folks, Tilden,” C. W. Jemson, growled. “Not many as you go out lookin' for come back breathin'. Yeah, I know you. Know you fer the cold-hearted killer you are.”

Carlton glared across the table like he might reach over and snatch Jemson's hooked nose right off his face. “Why don't you go on ahead and say something else stupid and arrogant, C. W. That way I'll feel more'n justified in reachin' over this table, jerkin' your sorry ass outta that chair, and slappin' you nekkid.”

Placed a hand on Carl's arm, then flashed another tight, grinning smile at Jemson. Let a bit of steel creep into my voice when I said, “Trust me when I tell you, C. W., might be right dangerous to keep company with the Coltrane boys for any time in the foreseeable future. But if you should run across either of them, be sure to deliver my message exactly the way you heard it.”

Jemson's thin, cruel lips curled away from yellowed, tobacco-stained teeth. Nervous twitch in his pockmarked cheek when he said, “Well, now, we'll just sure enough do that, Marshal. You star carriers can depend on our complete cooperation. Yessir, its always law and order top to bottom for me and the boys here. That's us, for sure and certain. Born to help the law, by God.”

Backed away from Jemson and his lethal friends, then turned and hoofed it for the Elephant's front entrance. Carlton followed. Nate was the last man out. He didn't give his back to those brigands until he'd darted through the Elephant's café doors onto the boardwalk, then he drew both pistols.

I HIT THE White Elephant's batwings so hard those swinging, café doors sounded like pistols going off when they slapped against the outside wall. Had a gun in each hand. Quick as I could, turned left, out of the brilliant wedge of light that cascaded onto the boardwalk from the doorway. With Carl and Nate in tow, we headed north along Main Street fast as we could heel it.

Inky, thick layer of lightning-tinged cloud cover, no moon, and sheets of drifting rain contributed to a murky, sinister night. Remember it as being so dark Fort Worth's flickering, yellow-tinged streetlamps, though fairly close to one another, provided little in the way of helpful illumination. Only other available light shimmered over and around the saloon's front entrance, lay in pools on the boardwalk, or lamely oozed from the curtain-poor windows of other still-open businesses along the west side of the street. Way I had it figured a man could stand in the covering shadows and not be seen by someone within spitting distance who found himself caught in the poorest puddle of available lamplight.

All those thoughts buzzed across my heaving mind, as I pulled to a halt about thirty feet down the boardwalk from the White Elephant's entrance. Decided to take my stand out front of Ella Blackwell's Shooting Gallery. Joint was damn near right next door to Luke Short's place. Only thing separating the two businesses was a narrow, midnight-black alleyway.

Twirled around, pointed toward the entry of the shooter's paradise with one of my pistols and said, “Get up inside Black-well's entrance far as you can, Nate. We don't want those skunks to see all three of us if they do come pouring out of the Elephant, grow a crop of smarts for the first time in their benighted lives, and manage to spin around our direction.”

Carl took a spot on my left, nearest the street. A cocked weapon in each hand, he leaned against a porch pillar and sucked at his teeth. Sounded as calm as a horse trough in a drought, when he said, “You really think those idiots'll step out shootin', Hayden? Mean, hell, that'd be mighty stupid. Leave the ignert churnheads standin' right out in the light. Make perfect targets.”

“Figure if they have any idea at all where the Coltrane boys are, Carl, they're gonna come fogging through the Elephant's front door behind a curtain of hot lead. Besides, think you might've jerked Jemson's tail a bit harder than necessary. May have even insulted him a mite.”

“Doubt that. Not sure you could insult anybody that stupid. 'Course, suppose anything's possible. But, maybe they'll just let it all slide. Slink out the saloon's back door. Vanish into the night to do whatever evil it is men like those three brigands do when no one's watchin'.”

Backed up against Ella Blackwell's sheltering door frame, could barely see Nate when he rolled the cylinder of one of his weapons across an extended forearm and said, “By God, I doubt that, Carl. Have my doubts that snaky, vicious skunks like Staggers, Jemson, and Neely will let our visit pass. Fact is, way I've got it figured, them no-accounts should be hittin' the door just about right now.”

Those wildly prophetic words had barely fallen from Nate Swords's lips when the White Elephant's fancy, bloodred batwings exploded in a bullet-rendered cloud of gore-colored flying wood splinters and hot lead. Thunderous explosion was followed by a roiling cloud of spent black powder and splintered fragments of the wooden doors that showered down into the muddy thoroughfare.

Directly across the rain-soaked quagmire that was Main Street, people out front of the Empress Saloon and Beer Hall went to hollering and running in every direction imaginable. Next day we would discover as how the Jemson gang's initial salvo gouged half a dozen holes in the popular watering hole's front façade.

Heard scared, surprised folks inside the Elephant as they yelled, turned furniture over, and ricocheted off the walls in an effort to hide themselves, or get away from the promiscuous blasting. Heavy footsteps rumbled all through the building as terrified revelers heeled it for the nearest exit.

Remember thinking as how there's just nothing like the fear of brutal, impending death to send normally reasonable, thoughtful folks into a blind panic. Turn the stoniest amongst us into shrieking children, searching for the comfort of parental protection.

Brought both my pistols to bear on the White Elephant's bullet-ravaged, smoky entrance and waited. Didn't take long for the ball to open and really get rolling.

Stooped in a gunman's crouch, both arms extended, hands filled with a brace of Remington pistols, Bronson Staggers leapt through the demolished entryway first. He landed in the middle of the now sharply defined pool of iridescent light left by the missing doors, then swung around to his right, away from us.

Plain as rat pills in a sugar bowl, the ignorant, squint-eyed wretch couldn't see for more than a few feet. So, typical of his type, he went to firing at anything he could hear, or thought he could hear. The few people bold enough, or unthinking enough, to be out on the street yelped, screamed, or swore, and dropped behind the nearest available cover.