Sentinels (23 page)

“I've never paid anyone to kill. And you and I are nothing alike.”

“You see?” Diggs turned to Lyle and Franklin. “Denial.”

“People around here know we own this land,” Sarah said. “They'll ask questions, go to the sheriff if we suddenly disappear. For all you know, we've already tipped him off that you're threatening to kill us.”

“Doubtful. I know you want to see me disappear as much as I want you off the face of this earth, only I've beaten you to it. Now, it might be too late for you, Mister Jenkins, but not for your wife and child.” Diggs waited for Sarah to look at her. “My dear, please go upstairs—my man here will accompany you—and fetch your child. Bundle the youngster up as you please.”

She turned to Toby for direction.

“I'd do as he says, lady,” Lyle said.

“Go,” Toby whispered.

“Indeed, go,” Diggs said. “Lyle, if she does anything that in the slightest might suggest rebellion, shoot her on the spot—but not the child. I'm not completely without heart.” He smiled.

Sarah ignored him and marched upstairs. A few moments of thumping and rummaging elapsed and she returned with Isaac wrapped in a blanket.

“Sit down.” Lyle nudged her from behind and she slapped at his hand, eyeing him coldly. The sight of his sleeping son offered Toby no comfort.

“Now's the time,” Diggs told Franklin.

He left wordlessly to complete the assignment.

“I have a surprise for you, Toby and wife. And here he is”—Diggs lingered his voice so Toby and Sarah could see who followed Franklin inside—“now!”

Sheriff Clement walked in, glancing at the floor and not at the two prisoners.

“How much is he paying you? At least tell me that.” Toby seethed.

“Enough,” Clement mumbled it, ashamed.

“More than enough,” Diggs said. “Don't try to outbid me, you won't win that battle, either.”

“How could you do this?” Toby looked at the sheriff, sunlight glinting off the star of authority pinned to his chest.

“Why didn't you just sell him the land in the first place like he asked?” Clement came off as pleading. “It didn't need to come to this.”

“Oh my God.” Toby whispered it to himself, not looking at anyone. It finally made sense. Toby had been telling Noah the truth the entire time. He focused on Diggs. “You killed Sheriff Cole.”

“Indirectly, yes,” he said without hesitation. “Lyle here did the dirty work.”

Lyle lingered next to Sarah before stepping back so he could see both of their reactions. The fiendish grin never left his face and hinted that Cole would not be the last person he'd cut apart.

“Good God, you couldn't buy him so you killed him,” Toby said.

“Imagine Sheriff Clement's surprise upon finding in your barn a couple of knives with remnants of Cole's clothing,” Diggs said. “Oh, and his sheriff's star that you took as a keepsake. What would the town think? I know what it would think: Savages. You killed those Klansmen and the soldiers for discovering you, and then Cole for putting it all together. So you ambushed him. Sloppy work, Toby, my boy.”

“I always knew when you were following me.” Toby shook his head, regretting that he'd missed something. “But I never suspected those sheriff's deputies outside of the church. You planted them there. You wanted me to hear all of those, those lies.” He addressed Clement, who grimaced. “So how many of your deputies are on Diggs's payroll? It can't be all of them. I refuse to believe all of those men would whore their dignity.”

“Those two fellows you heard speaking outside of the church.” Diggs said. “They spun some other tale to the man who was in there with you. His reaction needed to be genuine, too, to sell the snake oil. Boudreaux might not be in on it, but a few other deputies are assisting me. But you need not worry about them.”

“So the entire force isn't corrupt?” Toby said.

“Sadly, no. But the ones I have will suffice.”

Deputy Cornelius Arnold entered and stood near Clement.

“May I, Mister Diggs?” Arnold said.

“Fine,” came the agitated reply.

Arnold addressed both Toby and Sarah. “I am sorry about all this. I don't know you. I got nothing personal against you. I need the money. I swear that's it. I'm so sorry—”

“That's enough, Deputy,” Diggs said. “You asked to address them, and you have in the most pitiful manner. Now be quiet.”

Arnold stayed next to Clement looking equally sullen.

Toby spotted through the front window two deputies milling around the water well. One of them hocked up a loogie and sloppily spat it down the chute.

“Now, your minute to consider has long since expired. But I've had a change of heart. I will put back on the table the financial proposition I originally offered you—plus another five thousand dollars.”

“No,” Toby said.

“Toby, take it,” Sarah said, careful not to startle Isaac.

“I will give nothing or sell nothing of mine to this man.”

“Toby, I get some say in this, and I'm saying deal. Don't you realize your child's life is at stake here?”

“Sarah, he ain't gonna let us live. Not with so many ways for us to expose what he's done. He's toying with us.”

Silence. Sarah waited for Diggs to break it by disputing Toby's accusation.

“Missus Jenkins,” Diggs finally said. “You have the cooler head here. Why don't you retrieve the deed?”

She stood before Toby could stop her.

“I have to, Toby.”

“He'll kill all of us before the ink dries,” Toby seethed.

“I know. I know you won't hesitate to kill me and my husband.” She looked at Diggs, and then called to Clement, his hands stuffed in his pockets, still eyeing his shoes. “But can you live with seeing a baby shot?

“How about you?” she said to Franklin. “You really wanna see a baby killed?”

Franklin fidgeted. “No ma'am,” he managed and looked outside.

“Fuck Franklin, your boy's life means shit to me,” Lyle said from behind her. “I ain't doing it for free, though, Mister Diggs. But I'll gladly do it.”

Sarah saw the bloodlust in his expression. She held Isaac closer to her. She walked to retrieve from underneath the kitchen floorboards the metal box containing the deed and other valuables.

“Let my child live,” she said as Diggs snatched the parchment from her hand.

“Thank you, madam. Now, do you really think I need you and your husband's signatures on this slip?”

She didn't reply. Her eyes grew wide.

“You see, I can easily forge your signatures. I don't care if they don't appear to be identical. I never plan to be in a position where someone might question their authenticity. You've played your part, as have you, Toby Jenkins.”

Diggs flicked his left arm and a shiny silver derringer flipped into his hand. Toby closed his eyes and silently prayed. Diggs fired a shot right at Toby's heart. The shrill pop woke Isaac into a screaming fit. Sarah likewise wailed as Toby slumped back into the sofa. Ripped flesh poked through a small hole in his overalls.

“Lyle, one for good measure,” Diggs said.

Without blinking, Lyle fired his LeMat at the hole Diggs had made. A divot of meat flew from the ripped, burnt clothing that once covered Toby's heart. Ragged, sizzling flesh lurked underneath the tatters. Toby's head lulled to his right. His eyes remained closed, his mouth slightly agape.

Sarah, clutching her frantic child to her chest, rushed for her husband. Her peripheral vision caught something and it made all the more sense when she heard, “Sarah, duck!”

She dropped to the floor. Noah, standing outside of the back window, fired his Colt. Three shots sizzled through Deputy Arnold, who stumbled backward and fell through the open front window. Clement dove to the floor for cover.

Noah leaned through the frame and aimed at Lyle, who retreated up the steps unscathed as two bullets skimmed by him. Diggs scampered behind a confused Franklin to use him as a human shield.

One shot left. Think.

“Sarah, come to me!”

She picked herself up and charged the window, which was wide enough to allow her to sit on the sill, toss her legs over, and escape. Without Noah having to tell her, she sprinted toward the cornfields. Noah fired a shot through the house and into the front field to get the men to cower. He then chased Sarah, who didn't let the baby's added weight slow her step. Noah opened the gun's cylinder to load ammunition as he ran. Some of the bullets slipped from his sweaty fingers but he successfully loaded it just as the two deputies and seven railroad workers rumbled around the side of the house. Noah clicked shut the cylinder, turned and fired six bullets into the stampede of goons. One of the railroad men tumbled to the ground as Noah vanished into the corn.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Lyle, appearing in the frame of the bedroom window overlooking the backfield, fired his LeMat in the air. The explosion halted the posse just as it breached the stalks.

“Get out of there,” Lyle screamed. “Either he'll pick you off or you'll end up shooting each other! Come around front!”

Lyle did and met with his boss before holding court on the porch.

“Who the hell cleared the back?” Diggs pressed Lyle.

“The dead one.” Lyle pointed toward the barn-side of the house where two railroad workers dragged the corpse of their fallen brother. Not knowing where to put him, they left him on a dry dirt patch smack in the middle of where the barn and house stood. “For all we know Chandler caught wind of us coming up and hid in the cornfield. Can't clear that whole area, Mister Diggs. But we
did
plan for potential interference, and we will make this right.”

“
I'm paying you twats a lot of money. Start earning it.” Diggs stepped back to listen.

“I know where the son of a bitch lives,” Lyle started. “He'll either go there or straight to the Sheriff's Office—and we
will
beat him to either place since they're on foot. Ride the hell out of your horses, gentlemen.”

“What about his parents?” Diggs interjected. “He could go there too.”

“He might could.” Lyle spoke the latter two words as one. “But I'm figuring he's more apt to protect his own little boy after seeing what we done to the nigger.”

Lyle instructed one of the deputies, Richard Ellison, to ride to the Chandler plantation.

“Make up whatever excuse you have to just to get inside. If he shows, shoot 'em all. Sheriff Clement will come up with some reasonable cover story should it get to the point of killing the Chandlers, and it'll be worth your time and effort—won't it, Mister Diggs?”

“Indeed.”

Ellison, after receiving a nod from Clement, mounted his horse and galloped away.

“Deputy Drew Preston is in on this and he's manning the Sheriff's Office at this moment,” Clement said. “I think it might be wise to send another of our men there to help watch over the town should Chandler try sneaking in. He knows some of us are dirty, just not who.”

The remaining deputy, Bruce Hughes, rode toward town to update Preston and monitor Henderson for unwelcome arrivals.

“Kill Chandler and whoever else is there. We'll stage it to look like Chandler did it, like he went berserk,” Lyle told Hughes before he left.

He then ordered Delbert Johnson, leader of the railroad workers, to take one of his pals to Noah's home.

“Be real quiet,” Lyle said. “Wait until he shows, kill him and whoever else's there and then burn the place to the ground with them in it.”

“What the hell you gonna do?” Johnson shot back. “Sit back and drink sweet tea?”

Lyle took stock of the railroad men, Sheriff Clement, Brendan in the carriage, and Franklin.

“He might come back,” Lyle said. “But Toby's assassins
will
come back. The woman knows this area good. Maybe they'll plan some kind of attack. But we also got work to do around here—like burying the nigger.” He turned to Franklin. “Get on that. Take him out back next to Stanhope's grave.”

The big man acquiesced as Lyle continued his conversation with Johnson.

“I need your best shots here with me. Brendan can handle a gun, so can Franklin. Toby Jenkins's men are still out there waiting for a Klan attack that ain't gonna happen. They're gonna wise up and they
will
come back, and we need to be ready for 'em. Or would you prefer to stay here—considering what happened to those other Klansmen and the Army boys?”

“I ain't scared. If that Chandler guy goes home we'll kill him quick and get back here just in case you're right,” Johnson said.

Even though Johnson towered over Lyle by a good five inches, it didn't stop Lyle from bumping chests with him.

“I
am
right, dammit!” Lyle said. “Whoever that nigger's got working for him—they don't fuck around. They'll kill us all. In fact, if you find the bitch and the kid, bring them back alive—we might need them as leverage against whoever's out there. Ride in the rig out back, but park it far enough away from Chandler's place so you don't give yourself away.”

“You want me to bring them
all
back?”

“Nah, I'd prefer killing Chandler myself, but do what you have to. Him, his wife, his boy: burn them all. I'm assuming you can handle Toby's woman and the kid.”

Lyle told Johnson where to find Noah's house.

“Yeah, I know where he's at,” Johnson said, and with the other guy, Sam something—Lyle never caught it—hopped into the wagon and barreled up to the road.

Franklin dragged Toby by his armpits out of the house, the back of his boots leaving a trail to the grave, where Diggs and the remaining railroad workers waited.

Etched on the crude wooden cross overlooking the empty plot were the words “Jenkins” creeping down the thick vertical stick, and “Toby” scratched along the horizontal one.

“Put him in,” Diggs said.

“This ain't right,” Franklin said. “Who the hell digs their own grave?”

Diggs raised his finger, as if about to reply with a theory but he hesitated. And for the first time that Franklin had been around the Englishman, he saw Diggs take on the appearance of concern—worry, even.

“I have no earthly idea,” Diggs said quietly.

Franklin slid Toby into the grave with reverence for the dead that neither Diggs nor Lyle would afford.

“Where's the shovel?” one of the railroad men said.

“Indeed, where?” Diggs looked around the vicinity, before saying, “Likely in the barn, go take a look.”

Franklin and two of the men obliged and returned with a single shovel.

“There was a broken handle next to this one,” Franklin said, holding up the shovel. “Same exact make. Must've hit a rock while digging.”

“Well then, it will take twice as long now, won't it?” Diggs said. “Franklin, since you're holding the shovel, you do the honors.”

He then spoke to the stragglers. “The rest of you may consult Brendan, he'll arm you each with a shotgun—and you may keep them. You'll be on watch. I want one of you up high, enough to see three-hundred-and-sixty degrees—I don't care how you manage it. The others will patrol the grounds. Franklin here will join you when he's done disposing of
that
.” Diggs nodded to the grave.

“Yessir,” the railroad workers said and about-faced to join Brendan.

“Franklin, my boy, I will be inside examining the deed. You will come get me immediately should anyone—I don't care who—happen upon us.”

“Shouldn't we just shoot 'em? I mean, you don't seem concerned about us shooting everyone else.” He didn't care whether Diggs caught his mounting disdain.

“Just come and get me, Franklin. I'll do the necessary thinking for both of us.” Diggs flicked a dismissive wave to which Franklin had grown accustomed. “Oh, and when you're done burying Jenkins, drag that dead railroad chap into the back of the barn—I'm assuming that grave is too small for the both of them.”

“Looks that way. I'd prefer not to keep digging, if that's all right.”

“Very well.”

Diggs abandoned Franklin, who didn't let the other men see him weep as he tossed dirt into the grave.