Blackshot Sixshooter Collection

by Kurt Barker

  “Wait,” came another voice from a high-backed chair by the end of the bank counter. The chair creaked, and a woman stood up and faced Blackshot. She was quite pretty, with large blue eyes and her long brown hair pulled into a loose bun at the back of her neck. She wore a brown riding skirt that hugged her lithe body, and her neat white blouse was filled by a generous bosom. “I am the other interloper that Sheriff Watkins mentioned, Special Agent Emily Boone,” she said in a flat, emotionless voice. “I have placed myself in charge of this operation, and if you are working on this job, then you are working for me.”

  Chapter 5

  Blackshot grinned. “Thanks for the offer, ma'am, but if I wanted to work for the government I'd have gone and signed up for a special agent gig, too.”

  “Look, Mr. Blackshot,” Agent Boone said evenly, “I am no more keen to have you involved in my operation than these men are, but if Mr. Donovan has seen fit to hire you, then I will accept your help as long as you follow my orders.”

  “That's big of you.”

  “The only important thing to me is the success of the operation. Surely you would agree that we will be better prepared if we coordinate our actions? Let's work together and play our roles in unison.”

  Blackshot looked over her shoulder at the sheriff. “How about you, sheriff?” he said, “Has the special agent given you a role to play yet?”

  Sheriff Watkins' face turned to purple and he started towards Blackshot. “You shut up or I'll wipe that smile off your ugly face,” he growled through gritted teeth. “This is still my town, you piece of shit! If you think-”

  “Sheriff Watkins,” Boone said calmly but sharply, holding out her arm to bar him from approaching Blackshot. “You are not helping the situation. Everyone has to take orders and work together for the good of the operation, and that's all there is to it.”

  The sheriff glared at Blackshot through narrowed eyes. “Fine, we'll do it your way, lady-- for now! But once this situation is over I'm going to teach this smart assed-”

  “Once this situation is over I don't care what you do,” Agent Boone interrupted. She motioned to the bank manager. “Mr. Baldinger, bring that diagram showing the floor plan of the bank. I want Mr. Blackshot to see it so we can coordinate our movements.”

  Blackshot tipped his hat and turned to the door. “My movements are taking me to the saloon,” he said with a smile. “You may coordinate the rest of your operation based upon that information, Agent Boone.”

  The crowd at the saloon had not decreased since Blackshot first passed it, and the large ramshackle room was alive with dozens of mingled voices and clinking bottles. Blackshot sat on a short stool in the back of the room with a tip cup of whiskey on a barrel in front of him.

  He had not come to the saloon to drink, nor indeed to disrupt Agent Boone's plans, for despite her superior attitude and patronizing tone toward him he felt more confidence in her abilities than in those of the hotheaded sheriff when it came to securing the payroll in the bank. Instead Blackshot had come to the saloon to look for information. If the “black hat” gang was indeed planning to rob the bank when the payroll came in, then they had to be staying nearby, either holed up in town or camped on the prairie close to the city limits.

  He had stopped by the boarding house on the way to the saloon and had charmed the initially suspicious matron into telling him about her guests. She was a nosy, gossipy woman and had been able to provide a surprising amount of details about the men staying in her rooms, and none of them had seemed to Blackshot to be in any way suspicious in their activities.

  From there Blackshot had gone on to the saloon and mingled with the patrons, mostly cow punchers getting drunk after bringing their herds to the railroad. The conversations he struck up had not revealed any leads, other than that no one had seen anyone camped near the city. Now he sat at the back of the room, considering his next move. The gang had to be close. They needed to survey the layout of the bank, get an idea of where guards would be-

  Blackshot was drawn from his musings by a strange sight that caught his eye. A young woman had entered the bar; she was short and plump and her blonde hair was trimmed close and curled under her round chin. She wore a bright satin dress, sheer stockings, high heeled boots and enough makeup for any three women. It was obvious to Blackshot that she was a “lady of the evening”, and while the sight of a whore in a raucous saloon was no unusual sight, the young woman was not mingling with the patrons. She went straight to the bar and spoke to the bartender. He seemed to be expecting her, and left the room through a curtained door, returning a few minutes later with a stack of sandwiches and a tall flask which he filled with coffee from a pot on the back of the bar. These were loaded into a small sack and after the woman had fished some money from her cleavage and handed it to the bartender, she took the sack and left the saloon.

  Blackshot made his way through the crowd to the door and slipped outside. The blue sky had by now turned to dark purplish gray, and in the dusk the girl's shadow loomed long against the side wall of the alleyway as she passed the light from an open door. Blackshot stole silently down the alley behind her, staying well back and in the shadows as much as possible. His carefulness soon seemed unnecessary, for the girl walked straight on her way, seemingly unconcerned about the possibility of being followed and never looking back. This gave Blackshot misgivings about following her; perhaps he had read more into the scene at the bar than he should have.

  In spite of his doubts, he tailed the young woman until she reached her destination, the back of an old general store. Two new additional stories stood upon the original building, and a rickety staircase climbed to a door on the second story. The woman ascended the stairs and went inside without knocking. Blackshot crept close to the building and stood in the shadows of a nearby wall.

  He did not have to wait long, for the girl emerged from the building a few minutes later with the empty sack in hand and headed back toward the alley. Blackshot stepped out from the shadows and tipped his hat.

  “Good evening, ma'am,” he said with a warm smile.

  The woman started, looking at him furtively. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I was in the saloon and I happened to see you take food to that house. Who's staying there?”

  “I don't know what you mean,” the woman said nervously. She turned and walked quickly down the alley.

  Blackshot trotted after her. “Oh, it's just that a friend of mine wants to know. I think he's a friend of yours, too.” He pulled a roll of cash from his pocket and held out a bill toward her. “That's him. You know him?”

  A mischievous smile shone across the woman's face, and all trace of nervousness vanished. She took the bill and stuffed it into her cleavage. “I know him,” she said with a giggle. “We're real good friends.”

  “That's fine! Then I'm sure you wouldn't mind helping a real good friend and telling me who's staying in that house.”

  “Sure, but they ain't really anybody special; just some fellas,” she said with a shrug. “They pay me to bring 'em food and coffee to their room twice a day.”

  “Why don't they come down to the saloon and get their own food?” Blackshot inquired.

  “I dunno, they're funny sort of fellas,” the girl said, shrugging again. “I think they don't like being around other folks; the first time I brought them the grub, I figured to stay for a while- just to be friendly, you understand, but they didn't want me to.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “There's five of 'em. All of 'em funny sort of fellas. Y'know, they don't want no booze, either. They don't drink nothin' but coffee. Funny, huh?” She was silent a moment, then her eyes widened. “Hey, you don't suppose they're from the Temperance League, do you?”

  “I wouldn't worry about it,” Blackshot replied, suppressing a smile. “I reckon they're just funny sort of fellas. You get all kinds out here; it's the railroad that brings 'em in, you know.”

  Thus reassured, the girl smiled flirtati
ously at Blackshot as he thanked her for her time, and disappeared down the alley after making it clear to him where he could find her if he wanted to continue their conversation in a more intimate setting.

  Blackshot returned to the back of the general store and ascended the ramshackle stairs as silently as they would allow. He found the door unlocked, and slipped inside. The faint light from the smeared window glass did little to lessen the gloom of the dark, damp-smelling hallway; its cheap wallpaper peeling from around the row of doors that ran its length. The light of a weak lamp shown onto the landing of a staircase at the end of the hall, and the patter of muffled voices trickled down from above.

  Blackshot tread quietly down the hallway toward the stairs, trying each door as he passed and finding none that yielded. As he reached the bottom of the staircase a floorboard creaked, but not from under his feet; He whirled around to see one of the doors standing ajar, and from the darkness inside a rifle barrel emerged and roared with flame.

  Chapter 6

  Blackshot leaped against the wall as the bullet tore past him and thudded into the wooden stairs, sending a shower of splinters across his boots. In a flash his pistol was in his hand and he sent three shots into the open door. The muzzle blasts illuminated the dark hall briefly, and Blackshot saw the man in the doorway dart back into the room, but not before one of the bullets had cut through his forearm, leaving dots of blood on the swinging door.

  Suddenly, Blackshot saw from the corner of his eye a tall, long-haired man jump down from the stairs to the landing just behind him, pistol in hand. He swung the gun toward Blackshot, but hesitated for a moment, a puzzled look flashing across his face. The pause was only for an instant, but Blackshot used it to lunge up the stairs and jerk the man's hand aside just as bullets began pouring from the gun barrel. The slugs smashed into the wall and ceiling of the hallway as the man was driven backward by Blackshot's bulk.

  With his free hand, Blackshot pushed the barrel of his Colt into the gunman's stomach and let loose. The man's body jerked as the slugs burst out of his back and punched holes in the thin wall behind him as the tattered wood was painted red. Blackshot had not released his grip on the man's gun hand, and as he heard rifle barrel of the man at the hall door clank against the door post, he yanked the dead man's body behind him. A bullet caught the dead man in the chest, slowing his descent momentarily as he slumped to the floor. Blackshot sent a bullet whizzing just over the lifeless man's shoulder as he fell; blood spurted from the other man's chest as the impact sent him staggering back into the door frame. A second bullet spattered the door with his brains and brought him to the ground with a heavy thud.

  Blackshot pulled his other pistol from its holster and advanced slowly toward the open door, but no sooner had he descended the staircase than he heard heavy footfalls sounding on the floor above, heading for the stairs. As the steps clattered down the stairs Blackshot fired off several rounds into the bottom of the stairs above his head. A gurgling cry echoed in the stairwell and a big bearded man came tumbling down to the landing, clutching his groin with blood streaming from between his fingers. He collapsed face down in the corner with a shotgun clattering to the ground beside him.

  More footsteps thumped on the ceiling above, and Blackshot heard angry voices swearing. Then a cacophony of gunfire erupted and bullets came tearing through the ceiling, filling the narrow hall with smoke and sawdust and shattering the floorboards beneath. Blackshot sprang to the stairs and his long legs brought him to the landing and then to the next floor with a few quick strides.

  As he surmounted the stairs, Blackshot came face to face with a muscular man with a thick blond beard who bore two revolvers which he was emptying into the floor. Confronted suddenly with the big black clad man looming up beside him, the bearded man dropped his guns and threw himself at Blackshot with a snarl of rage. They stumbled together down the staircase toward the landing, but Blackshot's hands found the banister and his powerful arms drew him back into balance.

  The bearded man's thick arm swept Blackshot's hat from his head as it curled around his neck. He sent his other fist driving toward Blackshot's head, but Blackshot deflected the heavy blow with his forearm, and it glanced off his shoulder. With his other hand he grabbed a fistful of the man's shaggy hair and jerked his head backward. The man grunted and pawed at Blackshot's face, trying to better his grip around his opponent's neck. Blackshot shook free from the man's hold, and with all his prodigious strength he drove the heel of his hand up into the big man's exposed throat, crushing his windpipe.

  As the man stumbled back against the landing wall, clutching his throat as blood spilled onto his beard, Blackshot's fists came hammering into his ribs and solar plexus. The thin boards of the wall, weaken by the bullet holes they had suffered earlier, cracked as the man's heavy body fell against them. Blackshot backed up against the banister and rammed his boot into the big man's chest, sending him smashing through the wall and plummeting down into the alley below.

  As the broken body slammed to the ground with a dull thud, the sound of breaking glass came to Blackshot's ears from the floor above. He quickly retrieved his pistols and ascended the stairs, keeping his guns trained ahead. At the end of the upstairs hall a door stood open, and the light from a lamp inside flooded out into the dingy hallway.

  Approaching carefully, Blackshot saw threadbare curtains fluttering through an open window opposite the door. Broken glass was strewn on the floor beneath the window. He looked inside and saw a half dozen black hats and black dusters lying on a bed in the corner. The last man was nowhere to be seen. Had he jumped out a third story window to escape?

  Blackshot looked out the window and saw to his chagrin that this side of the building was not even; a ledge jutted out like a balcony from the floor below, and another broad ledge extended from the roof of the ground floor. A dark figure was scrambling across this lower ledge, but before Blackshot could even raise his gun the man disappeared into the blackness of the alleyway.

  Blackshot swore and ran for the stairs. As he burst through the door into the cool night air, he heard the crack of gunshots echo through the alley. He sped down the stairs to the dusty ground and ran to the end of the alley. He flattened himself against the wall and stole a look around the corner.

  Half way down the alley the body of a man lay motionless in the dirt, smoke wisping from the barrel of a silver revolver near his limp hand. At the end of the alley stood Agent Emily Boone, her thick brown hair shining gold in the light of a gas lamp, and the butt of a short-barreled repeating rifle resting on the broad curve of her hip.

  “Good evening, Mr. Blackshot,” she said. “Are you still looking for the saloon?”

  Chapter 7

  “What are you doing here?” Blackshot asked, looking Boone over. She wore a tight bolero jacket over her blouse, and a pair of iron handcuffs hung from her belt. As he drew near to her he could see sweat glistening on her upper lip, and her voluptuous breasts rose and fell against the thin blouse. A flat brimmed hat lay a few feet behind her in the street. “Out for a stroll?”

  “I received information from one of my sources about the location of the gang,” Boone replied, brushing past him as she headed down the alley toward the hideout.

  “The former location of the gang now,” Blackshot said.

  “How did you find it?”

  “I have my sources, too.” Blackshot grinned as he thought of the chubby blonde whore. Agent Boone's sources were probably more conventional than his, although obviously no more effective.

  Boone regarded Blackshot with a hint of doubt showing in her otherwise emotionless face. “And they're definitely the right gang? You're sure?”

  Blackshot waved toward the stairs. “The black hats and dusters are right there in the room. See for yourself,” he said. He reached out a finger and poked the handcuffs by her side. “You won't be needing these.”

  “I assumed that when I heard all the shooting. You should have come to me when you found out where th
ey were. We could have confronted them together. It wouldn't have been as dangerous that way.” Boone looked up at the light streaming from the shattered wall, and then down at the crumpled body below the hole. “Or as messy.”

  “You're right,” Blackshot replied. “I would have felt much safer if I had known you were there to give me orders.”

  Boone sighed. “I'm not going to apologize for running an orderly and effective operation, Mr. Blackshot,” she said. “You may not like it, but you don't need to; you're out of this now. You can collect your fee from Mr. Donovan and be on your way.”

  “Why, if I didn't know better I'd think you don't want me around,” Blackshot said with a smile.

  “I still have a job to do,” Boone said, turning away from him and proceeding down the alley. “Your job is done. I have no reason to interact with you any further.”

  Blackshot turned toward the street and started walking back to the bank. His job was done.... wasn't it? The robbers were dead, the threat to the payroll was gone; it was all neatly tied up, but in the pit of Blackshot's stomach a little hint of unease was eating at him. It was just a feeling, nothing concrete, but the more he thought about it the more it all felt wrong. There was still danger, a threat of some kind.

  Almost unbidden Blackshot's feet turned and took him back to the hideout at a brisk pace. Agent Boone was at the top of the rickety staircase at the side of the building when he emerged from the alley.

  “Emily!” he called sharply. Her head jerked around, surprise showing on her normally expressionless face. She had not expected to hear her first name like that, and Blackshot was not sure why he had used it, but he continued regardless, “Be careful. I don't think this is over.”