Sathow's Sinners (17 page)

“Owwww!” Pescaterro cried as he scaled his hand with the metal container full of hot towels. The outlaw then wiped furiously at his face to clear his eyes.

Recognizing an advantage when he saw one, Nate looked around for something else he could put to use. There was another jar of clear liquid in an open cabinet. He picked it up, sniffed its contents and recognized the pungent scent of pure alcohol that was probably used to clean scissors and razor blades. He waited for Pescaterro to make some progress with the soap and when the outlaw finally spotted him, Nate tossed the alcohol into his face.

Since Pescaterro's eyes had been open wide, he got a full dose of the bitter liquid. He may have been mad before, but now he lost whatever was left of his mind. Clenching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth against the burning pain, Pescaterro lunged forward to get his hands on the man who'd sent him over the edge. Nate was lucky to step out of the way and hurried over to the length of wood that Jerry kept to use against unruly customers.

Before Nate could get a solid grip on the club, the barber grumbled into his hands. It had probably just been a complaint about the state of his shop, but the words were just loud enough to be heard. Pescaterro spun toward the sound of the rasping voice and stomped toward it while growling, “Found you, you bastard!”

“What?” Jerry squeaked. He couldn't get another word out before Pescaterro picked him up by one arm and the collar of his shirt. Squinting through a haze of pain and rage, the outlaw pivoted on both feet to throw Jerry out the front window.

Glass shattered loudly, and the barber let out a pained cry as he landed on the boardwalk outside. Passersby spoke in surprised voices and a few ladies screamed at the sight before them. Jerry pulled himself up on all fours, cut and bleeding in several places by glass that he'd broken with his body.

“I got you now,” Pescaterro snarled as he wiped his eyes and stepped outside through the broken window. For a moment, he just stood there blinking furiously while using his sleeves to sop up as much of the alcohol and soap as he could. Half the time, he was clearing his eyes and the rest of the time he was wiping the mess back into them. When he was finally able to see again, he looked down at the barber in dazed confusion. “Where the hell is the bounty hunter?” he grunted.

Nate answered by cracking the barber's club against the back of Pescaterro's head. The outlaw staggered and turned around while collecting himself for a renewed attack. Rather than wait around for the fight to commence again, Nate drew back the club and swung it with all his might. Some of the impact was dulled by the mess of hair sprouting from Pescaterro's scalp as well as the general thickness of his skull, but that second knock combined with the first were enough to drop the outlaw to the ground.

The people who'd witnessed Jerry's exit through the window now stood to gawk at Nate and Pescaterro in silence. Nate looked around just long enough to satisfy himself that none of the locals were about to enter the fray on Dog Ear's behalf. Then, he propped the length of wood on his shoulder and walked back into the barbershop to retrieve his pistol. When he returned, he found a familiar face among the astonished crowd outside.

“You sure took your sweet time in getting here!” Nate said to Frank.

“I was having a word with Grey,” the preacher said. “What on earth happened here?”

“I'll explain it while we work. Now help me get this lunatic shackled good and tight.”

T
he offices of Anstel & Joyner were located in the newer section of Joplin's business district. They were housed in a wide building with three floors, which made them slightly larger than the bank which was directly across the street. Black carriages were lined up in front of the building, tended by drivers who knew better than to say a word to the well-dressed men who walked in and out of the offices. They scowled at Deaugrey as he passed them, however. When he saw that, Deaugrey tipped his hat and ambled toward the front door.

“Do you have an appointment?” asked the barrel-chested man who greeted Deaugrey almost immediately upon entering the building.

“I certainly do,” Deaugrey announced. “And I'd hate to be late for it because of a well-meaning but troublesome lackey.”

The man was somewhere in his thirties, had short brown hair, spectacles and a narrow, bushy beard that was reminiscent of a goat's. He raised one eyebrow and replied, “That'd be better than being late because you got tossed into the street and kicked beneath a set of wagon wheels.”

After giving that a moment's consideration, Deaugrey said, “I suppose you're right. The name's Deaugrey Scott.”

There was a set of stairs nearby. Two men stood there. The one who descended them first had a solid build and was slightly taller than average. His round face was smiling at the moment but had the potential for something much darker. Salt and pepper whiskers covered his chin and most everything below the neck was covered in an expensive dark blue suit. “There he is!” he declared. “I was hoping you'd arrive.”

“Why wouldn't I?” Deaugrey replied.

“I realize my invitation wasn't exactly traditional.”

“The most recent invitation was fairly straightforward.” Looking past the first man toward the top of the stairs where Abraham Keyes stood, Deaugrey added, “It was the earlier introduction that left something to be desired.”

Keyes smirked without saying anything.

“Yes,” the man in the dark blue suit said. “But, considering the company you keep, you must understand why I'd be somewhat skeptical that you'd pay me a visit of your own accord.”

Deaugrey opened his arms wide as if he meant to embrace the well-dressed man who was now walking toward him. “Well, here I am. See how far a man can get just by asking nicely?”

The well-dressed fellow nodded and offered his hand. “I'll tuck that lesson away for the future. I'm Preston Anstel.”

Shaking Anstel's hand, Deaugrey said, “Pleased to meet you. Now let's talk business.”

Anstel draped an arm around Deaugrey's shoulders and steered him toward the stairs. “Since time is a precious commodity to every man, I'll save both of ours by being blunt. I'm told that you've spent a fair amount of time in various sanitariums over the course of your years.”

“
Fair
is hardly a word I would use to describe that time,” Deaugrey said in a wounded tone of voice.

“Quite. Is my information correct?”

“It's correct, Mr. Anstel,” Keyes said as the short procession passed him on the stairs. Falling in step behind them, he climbed the stairs while making less noise than a cat stalking an unsuspecting pigeon.

Deaugrey ignored Keyes and told the man beside him, “You are correct, sir.”

“Good,” Anstel replied. “Then I assume my information regarding you recently spending some of those unfortunate days in McKeag's Sanitarium is also correct.”

“It is.”

“Excellent. I, myself, have never seen the inside of one of those places. Please don't take that as an insult to you, but more of an admission of ignorance on my part.”

“If only more men were so willing to admit that very thing,” Deaugrey said wistfully.

As far as Deaugrey could tell, the second floor was filled mostly with shelves of books and an abundance of little desks where little men sat hunched while scribbling into large ledgers. There were hallways in the distance and several other doors, but he didn't have a chance to see much more before they'd climbed to the much quieter third floor. Just past that landing was a single hall that extended all the way back to a large door. There were only six other doors along the way, three on each side.

Anstel led the way to the second door on the left side of the hall, opened it and stepped inside. When Deaugrey paused before following, Keyes shoved him forward. The room was sparsely furnished, but comfortable. Its floor was carpeted. Two of its walls were papered. All three chairs situated there were padded. The shelves on the other two walls were filled with leather-bound volumes marked only with dates and Roman numerals.

Standing beside one of the chairs, Anstel propped an arm upon its backrest as if he were posing for a portrait beside his favorite Arabian stallion. “While you were in McKeag's,” he said after the lengthy pause he'd taken to enter the room, “did you have the opportunity to visit with any of the other . . . guests?”

“A few,” Deaugrey said.

“What about a young woman by the name of Melanie Cavett?”

Deaugrey tapped his chin as he thought. He then lowered himself into one of the chairs, crossed his legs and turned his eyes upward as if to ponder the designs that had been etched into the wood trim along the upper corners of the room. “You know what might jog my memory? A glass of brandy.”

“How about a knock to the head?” Keyes asked.

“You'll have to pardon my associate,” Anstel told Deaugrey. “He is rather straightforward.”

“He's also had his chance to do things his way,” Deaugrey pointed out. “And he made a mess of it.”

“He did at that,” Anstel replied while shooting a pointed glare at Keyes. “Abraham, fetch us both a glass of brandy, will you?”

Keyes stalked out of the room.

Once the door had been shut most of the way behind the lean gunman, Deaugrey asked, “Were you the one who sent him to that mining camp?”

“Yes,” Anstel replied curtly. “But his orders were merely to bring you back here. I was quite dismayed when I heard how he attempted to accomplish his task.”

Although Deaugrey didn't believe that for a second, he said, “It's nice to have a conversation with someone like yourself, Mr. Anstel. Or . . . should I call you Preston?”

“Either is fine with me. Now, does the name Melanie Cavett sound at all familiar?” When Deaugrey began tapping his chin again, Anstel asked, “What about Casey Pescaterro?”

“Now
that
name does strike a chord.”

“I thought it might. He is one of many men who will lead the charge against you. I daresay they won't be nearly as civilized as myself when they come calling.”

Putting on a convincingly puzzled expression, Deaugrey asked, “Whatever would a known murderer like Pescaterro want with me?”

“He works for the Western Cartage Company. They have their spies throughout this town in an effort to cripple me and my prosperous business. Since you are now a guest of mine, thugs like Pescaterro and his ilk will tear after you just as viciously as they have torn after me.”

“If only there was some way I could be protected from such a terrible fate,” Deaugrey said drily.

Anstel grinned like a child who knew he had every adult that mattered wrapped around his little finger. “I'll admit, offering my protection is something I've done plenty of times in situations like this. However, considering your circumstances, I'd say you're already in need of a more secure arrangement. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here talking to me. Am I right?”

Keyes reentered the room carrying a half-full brandy glass in each hand. He gave one to Anstel and the other to Deaugrey.

Swirling the liquor in the curved glass, Deaugrey sniffed it and then took a healthy sip. “Ahh. This does seem to jog my memory. I believe I did meet a certain girl named Melanie while I was in McKeag's house of horrors. Short in stature. Long, strawberry blond hair. Green eyes and quite a generous pair of—”

“That's her,” Anstel cut in. “Was she still incarcerated the last you saw her?”

“Oh my, yes. The demons plaguing her aren't going to be letting go anytime soon.”

“Then perhaps you might also know where patients at McKeag's are taken when they become particularly troublesome?”

Deaugrey took another sip of brandy. “I might.”

“Would you care to include that as part of our civilized conversation?”

“Not for free. After all, isn't commerce the height of civilization?”

Anstel's face was an unreadable mask. Not a single feature twitched as he said, “My associate Mr. Keyes could always take you into another room and start breaking your bones until you tell me what I asked for.”

“That wouldn't be very civil.”

“Neither would some of the other things I could come up with. But, that's where we are if you want to stonewall me.”

“Just coming here is a risk,” Deaugrey said.

“You think your friend Nathan Sathow would try to kill you?”

“He doesn't appreciate it when his partners go behind his back.”

“If it's money you want, I can offer you a tidy sum for telling me where next to look for Melanie Cavett,” Anstel announced. “You see, she is no longer at McKeag's and I suspect she's been moved to an alternate location. Oftentimes, doctors have connections to more than one sanitarium, or there might be another place where the difficult patients are kept. I could eventually find this information out for myself, but I need to know right away. If you can provide me with this information, I can make it worth your while.”

“How much are we talking about?” Deaugrey asked.

“Five hundred dollars and a ticket to anywhere you like as long as it's a suitable distance away from Joplin.”

“I've got a better idea. Why don't you keep your money? It's really not that hard to come by and I'd rather have something else.”

Although he didn't show any surprise, Anstel did seem genuinely interested the moment his offer of payment was refused. “What would you like?”

“Start by telling me why this idiot here tried to shoot me,” Deaugrey said while flicking a hand toward Keyes, “when you could do the same thing very easily right now in this very room.”

“And perhaps you could tell me why you came to this room,” Anstel said, “when you must have been fairly certain that Mr. Keyes would be here.”

“I didn't know anything of the sort,” Deaugrey lied. As far as he could tell, his deception landed perfectly on everyone within earshot. “I know that your company and Western Cartage are locked in some sort of pissing contest, which means there's good opportunity for money to be made. When I came here yesterday, I merely asked to speak to the man in charge because I thought I could provide my services and get rich in the process.”

“Rich? That depends on how far you're willing to go.”

“What do you need her for?”

“Melanie Cavett is the sister of Samuel Cavett, the founder of the Western Cartage Company.”

“Ahh,” Deaugrey sighed. “So you want to find the buxom Miss Melanie for use as leverage against your competitor.”

Anstel's nod was barely visible. Just another subtle nuance, like the bend of a single wisp of flame within a roaring fire, but Deaugrey's ever-searching eyes picked it up.

“One thousand,” Deaugrey said while letting the brandy glass dangle between two fingers. “Pay me that much right here and now and I'll not only tell you where Melanie was taken, I'll have her brought to you.”

Anstel's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you're paying me.”

“
How
could you do that?” Keyes asked.

“Let's just say Melanie and I were—are—more than just acquaintances,” Deaugrey said. “When a woman as sweet as that one comes your way, any man should hang on to her.” Licking his lips, he added, “And there are so many places on her that are just made for a man to hang on to.”

Holding the brandy under his nose, Anstel drew a breath that was long enough to fill every bit of his lungs with the liquor's fragrance. His eyes stared straight ahead, but were clearly focused on nothing. His thoughts rolled around behind them before finally settling in the place they needed to be. “You'll get half now,” he said after he'd snapped his focus back onto Deaugrey. “Half after you bring her here. I'll need to get a look at her to make absolutely certain she's the young woman I require.”

“Of course. How long has it been since you've seen her?”

“A while.”

Deaugrey winced. “You should know that spending time in any sanitarium will change a person. Both physically and spiritually.”

“I don't give a damn about her spirit,” Anstel said. “Just bring her to me.” He walked over to one of the bookshelves and removed two wide volumes that looked to have been cut vertically so they were shorter than their neighbors. That way, they could fit on the shelf without hanging over while also covering the large handle hidden behind them. Anstel pulled the handle, which brought the entire shelf swinging outward on well-oiled hinges. Behind the shelf were not one, but four safes arranged two across and two high. Both safes on the top were similar and didn't seem extraordinary in the slightest. The one on the bottom left was taller and wider than the rest, mostly due to its walls, which looked thicker than the top two combined. The safe on the bottom right struck Deaugrey as downright peculiar. He caught sight of something etched into one corner of that one before Anstel opened one of the top safes and withdrew a stack of cash.

“Here you go,” Anstel said as he closed the safe and spun the dial. “As I'm sure you've seen, I'm good for the rest and plenty more. If you prove to be a valuable enough asset in the days to come, I can indeed make you rich.”