Lone Star 04 (13 page)

“About what?”

“I
can
walk in and insult anyone I want. Because I'm a Starbuck.”

Gaiter went red. “Well, goddamn—!”

“Only I wouldn‘t, Marshal. Because I don't believe in abusing power. That goes for local officials on up to very rich ladies, by the way. And I don't have any respect for someone who does. What I can do and what I
will
do is use whatever power I have to see that murderers are brought to justice. Here, or anywhere else.”

Gaiter blinked. “Jesus, when did we start talkin' about murder?”

“Just now. Two people out at the settlement and Tom Bridger here in town. If you're mixed up with anyone who has blood on their hands, I'll see that it rubs off on you.”

“Now hold on there...” Gaiter raised a hand. “You are
way
out of line, lady.”

“Good,” Jessie said firmly. “Then it won't bother you if I walk over to the telegraph office and bring about a dozen federal marshals and judges into Roster. Real sharp-eyed boys who'll go over this place from the town drunk on up.”

Gaiter looked right into Jessie's flashing green eyes and decided she might not be bluffing at all. He wasn't sure just what money could do, but he had an idea it might do plenty. For the moment, at least, he wasn't sure Jessica Starbuck couldn't call Rutherford B. Hayes himself down to Roster.

“Well, Marshal?” asked Jessie. “You think maybe you'd like to help us out some?”

Gaiter looked pained, then suddenly relaxed and grinned past her shoulder.

Jessie turned around and saw why.

“Good evening, Miss Starbuck. Marshal.” Torgler smiled and tipped his hat, let his eyes flick over the room, and somehow missed Ki completely. “Another pleasant evening, isn't it? I hope you're enjoying your stay here, dear lady.”

“Not too much, thanks.” Jessie gave him a narrow, thoughtful look. “How about you?”

“Miss Starbuck came by to see Lucy—ah, our prisoner,” Gaiter put in quickly.

Torgler raised a brow. “Oh, is that so? May I inquire as to why, Miss Starbuck?”

Jessie returned his polite smile in kind. “May I inquire as to why you're
inquiring,
Mr. Torgler?”

“Of course. Miss Lucy Jordan is my client. I have been retained to represent her.”

Jessie tried to hide her expression, but Torgler caught it and looked pleased. “You're a—an attorney?” Jessie looked up at the ceiling. “Now why didn't I guess that right off? Just who retained you, Mr. Torgler?”

“Why, Miss Jordan herself.”

“And I guess you'd object if I wanted to ask her a few questions.”

“Oh, I'm afraid I'd
have
to, ma‘am.” Torgler looked as if turning Jessie down hurt him deeply. “Since you are the plaintiff charging Miss Jordan with alleged assault—”

“Alleged
assault?” Ki stood up straight.

“Yes.” Torgler turned on him with eyes cold as ice. “Miss Jordan is being held, sir. She has yet to see a judge, hear formal charges, or be tried—if she
is
to be tried.” He turned abruptly to Jessie. “Of course you can't talk to her. That would hardly be fair to Miss Jordan, now would it?”

“It—” Jessie swallowed her anger and looked from Torgler to Gaiter. The marshal was grinning like an ape, but his smile faded under Jessie's withering glance. “Ki, come on. I don't guess we have any more business here. I'll be seeing you again, Mr. Torgler.”

Torgler's eyes almost closed. “I do hope so, dear lady.”

Jessie turned and stormed out of the room, Ki at her heels. As she stalked across the street toward the hotel, two young boys from the café passed her, heading back for the marshal's office. Both were loaded down with trays covered with white linen napkins, and Jessie picked up the tantalizing odors of thick, sizzling steaks, mashed potatoes, and peach cobbler. Two bottles of the best whiskey in Roster jiggled in the second boy's coverall pockets.

“Will you look at that!” Jessie stopped and glared, fury clouding her features. “Torgler and
poor
little Lucy and the marshal are having a picnic, right there in the damn jail-house! It's a good thing I don't have a couple of sticks of dynamite and a match, Ki. I'd be sorely tempted to use ‘em!”

Chapter 10

It was after six when Ki tapped lightly on Jessie's door, and the two wandered out of the hotel and across the street to the Silver Bell Café. The evening was still bright under a luminous summer sky. The sun wouldn't flatten into Colorado for another two hours, and the day would linger on after that. Jessie hadn't eaten since five that morning, and she felt as hollow as a drum. She'd missed the noonday meal at the village, being somewhat occupied with Feodor and not even thinking about food. When the big steak arrived, she worked through it with a will, polishing her plate clean with a thick piece of bread.

Ki watched in amazement. He was a hearty enough eater, but no match for Jessie in one of her ravenous moods. “I'm glad this place wasn't out of food,” he said soberly. “It would be embarrassing to watch you shoot your way through the kitchen.”

“Don't laugh, friend.” Jessie gave him a stern, reproachful look. “If Torgler and his crew had cornered all the steaks in town, I might have done just that.” Jessie leaned back in her chair and let out a breath. “Ki, I think there was a lot that Tom Bridger could have told us about what's going on in this place. The longer we hang around Roster, the easier it is to see why they killed him. If you ask me, everyone in town's for hire. It'd be a lot easier for Torgler if they all wore price tags on their collars.”

The occupants of the other two tables were eyeing Jessie curiously. She glared them down and leaned across to Ki. “We know he's bought Gaiter, and God knows who else. There's Lucy, of course, and likely a bunch of assorted gunmen like those two on the train.”

“We are not entirely without help if we need it,” Ki grinned. “Remember that swarm of federal marshals and judges you threatened to toss at Gaiter?”

Jessie didn't laugh. “Gaiter'll buy that. A man like Torgler knows better.” She had learned that lesson the hard way after Alex Starbuck's murder. The law was next to useless in this kind of fight. The cartel was playing for high stakes, and one of the deadliest weapons it brought into play was its seemingly bottomless purse. Small fry like Gaiter, and even professional assassins like Lucy Jordan put no strain at all on the organization's funds. The cartel operated on a grander scale than that—buying the men who
made
the laws, as well as those who enforced them. Wherever money talked, the cartel opened its pockets. Jessie was well aware of the fact that high-placed men across the country—men in business, the military, the railroads, even in Washington itself—were in the pay of European interests. And sometimes, even the most honest and iron-willed men who
couldn't
be bought with money and the promise of power could be broken to the cartel's will in other ways. When a child's in danger, or it's hinted that a lovely young wife might be maimed through some unfortunate accident, a man can be persuaded to change his mind.

And that, thought Jessie, was perhaps the ugliest and most menacing aspect of the cartel's power. How do you fight an organization of ruthless and powerful men who will use any weapon at their command—without becoming what they are yourself? It was a question she had asked herself more than once.

 

 

Night was swiftly drawing a curtain over the plains when Jessie and Ki left the café. Jessie had said little since supper, and Ki knew what was gnawing at her mind. He felt it too—as if things they couldn't see were pressing in around them, and there was nothing they could do to keep them away.

“If I was a drinker,” said Jessie, “I think right now would be a good time to open up a bottle. Don't guess it would solve a thing, though, would it?”

“Not a great deal,” said Ki. “Jessie, in the morning I think we should go back out to the settlement and talk to Gustolf and the others. We know a lot about what's happening here and who's behind it.”

Jessie shook her head. “Those folks don't want to hear about international cartels and crooked sheriffs. They've got a werewolf on their hands, Ki—or think they do, which works out to about the same thing.”

“We know that's not true.”

Jessie stopped and faced him. “But we don't know much else, do we? Like how you get a wolf to tear out a man's throat.
We
don't have any answers, and that old man has all he needs. He's going to sell out for sure, Ki, and likely get down on his knees and
thank
our mysterious land buyer for giving pennies on the dollar.”

“And that mysterious buyer will turn out to be Torgler.”

Jessie looked pained. “Uh-huh. One of his flunkies made the offer when Gaiter sent Gustolf over to him. But you can be sure Torgler himself will be on hand to close the deal. He'll have the cash right with him, waiting for the proper time to pop up out there. Which I'd say is just about now, wouldn't you? With a brand-new death in the village?”

Ki didn't answer. Jessie stopped and stretched, brushed hair out of her eyes, and gazed into the gathering dark. There was a light in the marshal's office and a pool of yellow around the door of the Morgan Dollar. The rest of the town was silent and deserted. As Jessie watched, a shadow stepped off Gaiter's porch and stalked into the street.

“Who is it?” asked Jessie. “Torgler, going after more whiskey and steaks?”

“No, it's the marshal,” Ki said after a moment. “I think he's making his evening rounds.”

“I didn't know he bothered,” Jessie said acidly. “Gaiter pretending he's a lawman is about the—” She caught herself and sighed. “I've really let that man get to me, haven't I? For some reason, Ki, he angers me more than Torgler or Lucy Jordan. Maybe it's because he's such a little fish in all this mess, and doesn't even know it. Slip him a handful of shiny gold coins, and he thinks he‘s—”

“Jessie—” Ki's steel grip brought her quickly out of her thoughts. “Jessie, turn around and get back to the hotel—
now!”

“Ki? What is it?”

“I don't know,” he snapped. “Just do it.” His face was a rigid mask. Black eyes darted past her, searching out the night. Jessie knew that look and didn't question him again. She turned on her heels and broke into a run down the wooden sidewalk.

“Gaiter!”
Ki shouted suddenly behind her.
“Look out!”

Jessie blinked, and it was over.

“Jessie!” Ki came up out of a crouch.

“I'm all right. I think . . .” She pulled herself up and went to him, one eye on the darkened alley. Half a dozen men came out of the Morgan Dollar and stared cautiously in their direction.

“Bring a lantern over here,” shouted Ki. “Hurry!” Several of the men started toward them. Two ran back into the saloon yelling for lights. Ki bent over the marshal and struck a match.

“Oh, God!” Jessie's stomach turned and she quickly looked away. Gaiter's throat was completely gone. His face was twisted in horror.

Ki tossed the match away and stood. “You saw it?”

“Yes, I saw it, all right. Ki, that thing was too big to be a wolf!”

“It was a wolf,” he assured her. Ki gripped her shoulders and gave her a long hard look. “You saw it, Jessie, and so did I. It was a wolf. It wasn't anything else.”

Four men strode up, glanced curiously at Ki and Jessie, and squatted over the marshal. A tall young man with a lantern pushed them aside and stared down at the body. “Jesus Christ, it's Jack Gaiter!” He handed the lantern to another man and walked over to Ki. “You see what happened, mister? God
damn
—looks like a grizzly got to him.”

“A wolf,” said Ki. “A very
large
wolf.” He glanced at the badge on the man's vest. “You are a lawman?”

“Sort of,” he grunted. “I'm Mac Delbert, an' I know who you and the lady are. I did a little deputy work for Jack—what there was of it.” He squinted narrowly at Ki. “A
wolf?
You sure, mister?”