Lone Star 05 (12 page)

A light from the front window cast a yellow shaft out onto the street. The detectives skirted the light and marched to the tall double doors. Hewn from sturdy oak, they swung heavily open as Monkston and Hodges passed inside. Then the doors closed behind them and they stood face to face with the young deputy, whose mouth fell open in fear and shame.

“Well, I'll be damned!” Monkston sneered under his breath.

The deputy sat at a desk, his feet firmly lifted atop it, playing with his underdeveloped prick.

“What's he doin‘, Mel?” asked the beanpole with the Greener.

“If you don't know, Hodges, I'm not going to tell you.” Then, to the shocked young man he said, “Now put it away and it won't get blown off. And after that, take us to the prisoner.”

The deputy righted himself and managed to say, “Who—who are you?”

“You're as bad as this one with the questions,” Monkston said, indicating his partner. “Just bring the keys with you.”

Monkston pushed his derby hat even farther back on his head, revealing a dark widow's peak flanked by shiny red skin. He was close to his quarry, had it trapped and scared, and was closing in now for the capture. Luck was with him, he thought, giving him an inexperienced guard, reducing the likelihood of gunfire. One thing he didn't want was to arouse the rest of the town.

But Mel Monkston hadn't counted on a chance interruption of the routine he had carefully observed for days. One of the other guards returned for his thin coin purse, which had dropped from his pocket on his way out. He saw it on the floor by the desk before he saw the detectives. When he lifted his eyes finally, Hodges gave him no time to react.

The skinny detective swung the big shotgun around and, in panic, squeezed one trigger. Yellow-red flame and gray smoke erupted from the squat barrel. He felt the kick of the explosion against his midsection. Without taking aim, the shot was wide, but the proximity of the target insured a fatal hit.

The shot pulverized the Mormon guard's right shoulder and chest. Part of his neck was torn away in the bargain, and his head lolled like a doll's head as he stumbled back. He hit the wall and crumpled there, sinking lifeless to the floor. Behind him, the wall was spattered with his blood.

“Holy shit, you lame-brain!” Monkston yelled at his halfwit partner. Now they'd have to move quick. He turned back to the deputy, who was plastered to another wall, his eyes wide with terror. All he could see was the other barrel of Hodge's scattergun trained right at his face.

“Want me to take care of this one, Mel?” Hodges said simply.

“No, for Christ's sake. Cover the door while I go down and release the prisoner.” He snatched the keys from the deputy's belt. The deputy did not move. Then he descended to the basement dungeon.

Monkston hadn't taken two steps when he heard his partner's shouts, muffled by another gunblast. He turned and ran back to the front office, his .50-caliber long gun at the ready. But he didn't get a chance to use it.

As he stepped into what had once been Hodges's pitted face, now spilled all over the floor, he winced. He pulled his eyes away from the gore in time to see the marshal's angry, bulging eyes and a rifle muzzle aimed at his own heart.

“Wait a minute now—” he began. Sweat popped out across his forehead. He opened his mouth to speak again.

The portly marshal blasted Monkston nearly in two, discharging the big gun with a roar, sending the hot pellets tearing through the detective's gut. For a second it looked as if Monkston were trying to hold his two halves together before he toppled, a wrecked, bloodied hulk dressed in a fancy suit.

The deputy who had been stuck to the opposite wall, watching the show, bent over and puked at the sight and smell of the carnage. Three men torn to shreds. When he recovered, he tried to answer the lawman's questions.

“Who in blazes are these folks?” Then, taking a closer look, he recognized them—or what was left of them. “Those blamed detectives from Nevada—damn.”

“They wanted to take the prisoner. They killed Jimmy there. I thought they was gonna kill me.”

“Well, they didn‘t, so quit crying. They paid for what they done to Jimmy.”

What remained of Monkston and Hodges lay silenced, lifeless. Their mission had ended in failure—but others would try.

Just then Ulysses Scott burst in, levering a cartridge into the chamber of his raised Winchester. He stopped short when he saw the charnelhouse into which he had come. “Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered.

 

Jessie and Thad were walking back to her hotel when they heard the shots, a series of rifle and shotgun reports. It was over in thirty seconds, and by that time Jessie and the bounty hunter were running toward the jail. They guessed immediately that that was where the action was centered.

“I wonder who the hell it is?” Thad said, as he led Jessie through the night-dark streets of Skyler. As they ran, they saw lights going on in most of the houses along the way.

“Could be anybody,” said Jessie. “Maybe your friends Fagan and McKittrick got impatient and decided to take things in their own hands.”

“I doubt it. That's not how they operate—they wouldn't call all this attention to themselves. They like to work quietly.”

Residents spilled out of their homes, some of the men hefting guns along with them as they scrambled to the source of the gunfire.

Jessie fell behind Thad Hill, who stopped for a moment to let her catch up. Breathlessly she said, “Whoever it is will have the whole town to contend with.”

“If they're not dead already,” Thad replied. “Come on.”

They reached the courthouse just as Ki arrived there. Jessie called out to him, “Ki, what's happening?”

But Ki knew no more than she did. “I just heard shooting, Jessie. As long as you're all right, I'm not worried.”

“Thanks, Ki, but we've got to find out whether Thomas has been hurt.”

Thad Hill caught sight of Mueller and Joshua Carpenter on the edge of the crowd. Two unwelcome faces—and it was apparent that neither of them was directly involved with this incident. So who the hell was left? His bounty-hunting colleagues? No sign of them. He turned to Jessie and said, “Our friends Mueller and Carpenter are here.”

“I wonder if they know anything,” she said. “I wouldn't be a bit surprised if that Mr. Mueller had something to do with this.”

“I don't think so, Jessie,” Ki interjected. “I spoke to both men just a few minutes ago. Mueller claimed that he was working out a deal with the Mormons to take the prisoner away. And he said he had hired the two bounty hunters, Fagan and McKittrick, to help him.”

Jessie looked to Thad. “Did you know about this?” Somehow she couldn't believe that he did.

Thad shook his head, bewildered. “First I've heard of it. Can't say I'm surprised, though. Mueller looks like he can afford to make it worth their while. And he chose two tough ones.”

“We can't let them do it,” Jessie said simply. In her mind she now acknowledged Mueller as the chief obstacle to finding out the truth about Thomas Starbuck and to getting the youth out of Skyler in one piece. And what was Mueller's interest in the prisoner? This was a question she had pondered more than a few times over the past several hours. Well, if Mueller had the two bounty hunters on his side, Jessie had Ki and Thad Hill.

Fingering the Smith & Wesson in his holster, Thad assured her, “They won't get out of that door with him.”

Now those very doors swung open and the crowd, which had swollen to several dozen, stepped back as if on signal. The town marshal and his deputy emerged, carrying the bodies of the detectives, and behind them came Marshal Scott. The gray-haired federal lawman carried the intruders' weapons and the coil of rope.

Joshua Carpenter pushed his way to the front of the milling throng and confronted Scott. From where they stood, Jessie, Ki, and Thad could not hear what was said. But they saw the deputy U.S. marshal dismiss Carpenter and walk away, disgust scoring his weathered features.

“He doesn't look too happy,” Thad said. “Wonder what he told Carpenter.”

“Ki,” Jessie said, “why don't you follow the marshal. Keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't get into any trouble. I want to see him later. Thad and I will stay here and find out what happened.”

“Don't
you
get into trouble, Jessie,” Ki said. “I think the marshal will just go back to his room. He has the look of a man who has seen something he wishes to forget.”

Ki slipped away down the street after Scott.

“Your friend seems to know a lot about a lot of things,” Thad said to Jessie.

“He often surprises me with what he knows,” Jessie said.

By the time she and Thad had made their way to the courthouse doors, Carpenter had taken control of the situation, with Mueller at his side. “Everybody get on home!” he shouted. “This breakout attempt is over and done with, a lesson learned. Now just get on. Tend to your families and I'll tend to this.”

The mob peeled away, men moving off in small groups, grumbling among themselves. They obeyed their leader with reluctance this time; they had hoped for at least a hanging or some more fireworks. Disappointed, they made for home.

Behind Joshua Carpenter, on the plankwalk in front of the courthouse, the town marshal and the deputy had laid out the two dead men. Thad recognized them as the private detectives from Nevada, and told Jessie so. What fool stunt had they pulled here?

Their bodies lay stiffening in the night air, bloody splotches staining their clothing, their mouths open in final deadly disbelief. Jessie turned away from the gruesome sight. She had seen her share of death, but each time it still turned her stomach.

Thad was talking to Carpenter. “What happened here?”

“Two men have been killed tonight in an attempt to take the prisoner,” Carpenter replied.

“You see, Mr. Hill, how useless it is to hope to get your hands on the boy,” Mueller interjected. “Unless and until Mr. Carpenter releases the prisoner into my custody, he shall not see the outside of that jail cell.”

“I don't know why you're telling me that, Mueller,” Thad said. “I'm strictly minding my own business. You ought to do the same.”

Jessie Starbuck looked from Mueller to Carpenter. The bearded Mormon met her gaze defiantly, daring her to cross him. She did. “I can't believe it—you're giving the Starbuck boy over to him? You said you were interested in justice, Mr. Carpenter. This is like giving a bank robber the key to the bank. How do you know what Mueller has in mind? And the boy—if what they say is true, he's a murderer. Mueller is not the proper authority.”

“The Lord God is my authority, young lady,” said Joshua Carpenter, leaning on his walking stick, his beard outthrust. “Whatever his decision, I shall abide by it. I am in his hands, as is the boy. Indeed, as are we all.”

Within the hour they met in Jessie's room. The night was fully dark now, and a single oil lamp, on a small crooked table in the corner, illuminated the room. She and Ki waited for the other two to arrive.

Thad came in first, with a quick smile at Jessie and an extended hand for Ki. “It's good to meet you, Ki. I didn't get to say so earlier.” He sized up the man in a long glance. Like nearly everyone else, Thad was duly impressed with the Oriental's demeanor and below-the-surface strength. He had, by now, heard about the battle with Solomon Morris. “Jessie talks mighty high of you.”

Ki bowed and shook the bounty hunter's hand. “I'm sure she exaggerates.”

“I do no such thing, Ki,” the woman said, smiling as these men nodded gravely at one another. “I just tell the truth—or else I keep my mouth shut.”

Ki's dark eyes brightened, but he said only, “As you say, Miss Jessie.”

The irony was apparent to Thad, who laughed and said to Jessie, “You do better than most women I know, as far as talking, that is.”

“I don't want to hear about all your women, Thad,” Jessie told him.

The bounty hunter sat down beside her on the hard bed. He took off his hat and hung it over a bedpost. Stretching his muscles, he tried to smooth out the kinks—after all, the lovemaking session with the girl had caught him after a week of inaction. And he looked at Jessie with plain, deeply felt affection. All those other women meant nothing to him now—not after Jessie Starbuck.

In the dim light, her bright hair looked darker and hung down to her shoulders. Dressed in only a light blouse and jeans, her bare feet dangling over the side of the bed, she looked quietly sensuous, like a young female mountain cat waiting to encounter her mate. But Thad Hill told himself to put such thoughts out of his mind for now. There would be no time for mooning over her—yet. Maybe after they finished this business with the kid ...