Wyatt sat back in his chair, ignoring the plaintive creak from the ancient wood. “What friend are you talkin’ about, Virg? I got an awful lot of friends in that line, for you to be playin’ coy.” He glanced over the wrinkled paper and frowned when he came to a name. “Jesse James?”
Virgil smiled widely beneath his massive mustache. “The same. We been gettin’ reports he’d moved out east for a few months now, but nothing certain. That there’s from a local sheriff.Claims the word comes from one of Jesse’s own men.”
Wyatt snorted. “They all turn on each other if you give ‘em enough time.” He quickly read through the rest of the message.
“No Frank? No Cole boys?”
Virgil shrugged. “Not in that report. But I couldn’t ask for much detail. You know how the connection can get.” He looked around slowly, grizzled brows pulled together in mild discomfort. “We got anythin’ to drink?”
Wyatt turned his chair around to face his desk and cleared an area for the message. “I think I drank the last of it before you came in.” His voice was muffled as he bent down over the sheet of paper. “This says there hasn’t been any major activity in Kansas City. You’d think if Jesse was there, he’d’ve felt the itch by now.”
“Don’t piss where you drink? There’s been some activity within a day or so’s ride of Kansas City. One big job, took out the Union packet. O’ course, the government boys are claimin’ it din’t have anything onboard, but those ain’t easy to take down. A lot of trouble for someone to take, to sink an empty boat.” Virgil stood up with a groan and moved to the window looking out onto the barren street. “Damn, I don’t want to go out there again. You ain’t got nothin’ to drink in here?”
“Comes to that, Jesse’s never been the soul of discretion where it came to pissin’ and drinkin’.” Wyatt stood up with a shrug and joined Virgil by the window. “The boys have been keepin’ a jug out back since the heat got up. Ask nicely, they might let you have a sip.”
Virgil gave a quick bark of laughter. “They ask nicely and might be I won’t drink the whole damned jug.”
Wyatt smiled and shook his head. “Come with me first.” He moved to a small side door and jerked it open with a quick pop. “You checked on ‘em lately?”
Virgil followed his brother down a small hall. “Nah, they put my hair up, an’ that’s a fact.”
Wyatt stopped at the end of the hall where a pair of wide doors stood closed. The raw wood made for a marked contrast next to the old, faded paneling of the hallway. The Over-marshal reached out and slapped down a locking bar. With a quick twist, he pulled one door open. Virgil stepped back, hand resting on the butt of his pistol.
The door opened to reveal a small, closet-like room where four human shapes stood stock still. Flickering red lights winked at several points on each body. Rigid metal armor was visible beneath mundane-looking riding leathers and wide-brimmed hats. Each figure sported a single crimson eye flaring from the center of its head, their light pulsing with an eerily synchronized rhythm. Each form wore a large metal star built into its armored chest.
“Well, they look alright to me.” Wyatt stood, eyes running quickly along each figure, glancing with cool familiarity for the story the flickering lights would tell. Each form was connected to a large, barrel-shaped RJ-1027 generator by a series of rubber hoses and metal wires.
“Sittin’ here in the dark, just waitin’ for their next chance to raise hell.” Wyatt’s eyes took on a look that mixed equal parts pride and wary discomfort.
“Wyatt,” Virgil’s tone was casual but curious. “You been leadin’ the charge for years to get one of these into every piss-ant town too poor for a decent whore house. You mind tellin’ me why you keep yours locked in a closet?” His voice had picked up an edge of dark humor.
Wyatt turned to his brother with a grin as he swung the doors closed again. “Simple, Virg. Too many folks have been jawin’ about these things spyin’ for Washington and Grant’s pet European Johnny-Come-Lately. Now, I don’t know if that’s happenin’ for a fact ‘r not. But I figure, we got plenty of real live human marshals and deputies hereabouts, we don’t really need these metal brutes on a regular basis. I figure, we keep ‘em in the closet ‘till we need ‘em, we take ‘em out, shake ‘em down, and set ‘em off. Then, when we don’t need ‘em anymore, we put ‘em back in.”
As the door creaked shut Wyatt rested one hand upon the rough fresh wood as if feeling for a pulse. “Damn if these ain’t interestin’ times we’re livin’ in, eh, Virg?”
Recognizing his brother’s mood Virgil spun slightly and rested his back against the hallway wall, kicking one boot heel up against the wood. “What you mean?”
The younger marshal knocked on the door twice as if calling the metal men within to open up, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “You remember what it used to be like, before Carpathian? Before Grant came chargin’ over the hill? Before James and his filthy band of pirates took down that first Heavy Rail?” He turned to rest his own back against the wall. “You remember when none of this damned crimson gold existed? It was a man, standin’ or fallin’ on his own, and the speed of his arm was the difference between a tale worth tellin’ and sloppin’ for hogs on some dude’s ranch?”
Virgil screwed up his mouth as if sucking through his teeth, then spat on the floor in a neat, studied movement. “Wyatt, I followed you out here cuz you’ve always been the man with the plan. Whether you were firing lead or bolts of hellfire from your shootin’ irons, I been able to back your play cuz you always been good to me and ours. Now, we got fearsome weapons, and that’s not mistake. But damn, you gotta have noticed by now, those of us who are packin’ the RJ-1027 on a regular basis, we ain’t getting’ old nearly as fast as we should? And don’ you forget Doc, Wyatt. Without the Union tech they brought out with ‘em, he’d a been dead several times over by now.”
“Yeah, an’ we gotta beg for every power cylinder, every gun, and you remember the dancin’ we had to do to get Doc that fancy get up that breaths for ‘im? Like I been sayin’, I don’t know whose team those Union boys are pullin’ for half the time.”
Virgil pushed off the wall and turned to face his younger brother. “Wyatt, Grant and his eastern pals mightn’t have the best manners, and they sure’s manure don’t care about the little folk out in the territories, but we wouldn’t be able to do our jobs without ‘em. So, we beg when we gotta, we steal when we can, and we stand between the folks an’ everythin’ that’d roll over ‘em, whether it’s injuns, outlaws, or the damned Union itself. But right now, Wyatt, my throat’s gonna burst into flames if I don’t pour some water down it soon… “
Wyatt grinned at Virgil and nodded, spinning on his heel to walk back down the hall. He stopped at the door to the back room and gestured for his brother to go in ahead of him. “Well, you make a good point as always, Virg. And as far as the UR-30s go, if these reports of Jesse James in Kansas City are true, we’re probably going to need to bring all four of those galoots out of hibernation before we’re done.”
In the back room, several younger lawmen were sitting around a large table rolling dice or playing cards under the disapproving glare of an older man in long, black leather robes. The conversation came to an abrupt halt as the older men walked in. The deputies shot each other several furtive glances. Virgil did not seem to notice, kicking one man’s boots off the table as he passed, growling something about manners and pig sties. Wyatt pushed through a moment later and tapped the same man on the shoulder.
“Provencher, watch the front.” The small man hopped up seeing the Over-marshal standing there, and Wyatt smoothly slid into his seat.
“Ah, boss!” The young man whined, his dark eyes pleading. “Can’t I just—“
“The front, shave tail!” Virgil barked. “Or you want another smack up-side of your head you’ll feel till next Tuesday?”
Provencher shot the Over-marshal’s brother a spiteful glance and skulked out of the room
“Damn, that
man’s wearing a ten dollar Stetson on a five-cent head.” Virgil shook his head in disbelief. “This here the lot that’s gonna save civilization, Wyatt?”
Wyatt put the wrinkled report paper on the cluttered table, nodded to the man in the robe, and looked up at the rest of the men gathered there. “So,” the lead lawman smiled wisely at his charges. “What were ya’ll talkin’ about when Virg an’ I happened on in?”
One of the younger marshals looked at the others before clearing his throat. “Seems the Kid turned up in Yuma, claiming the bounty on twenty Injun scalps. Sounds like they had quite a little shindig up in the mountains.”
Wyatt stared the younger man down over the tips of his boots, now propped up on the table. “Might you be a tad clearer, marshal?”
The man cleared his throat and sat up straighter.
“William Bonney, sir. Billy… the Kid.”
The man in the robe snorted in contempt.
Wyatt snarled and turned to spit on the floor. “These animals and their pet names. G’damned William Billy the damned Kid Bonney! An’ who the hell’s paying out bounties for scalps in Yuma, for the Lord’s sake? Didn’t we announce we were stoppin’ that?”
Another of the men nodded. “Yessir, we sent that out over the wire first thing after the meeting at the Cosmopolitan. But some’s ain’t followin’ suit, sir.”
“The warden over at the Territorial Prison, sir, he’s got some strange notions. An’ he’s been known to back ‘em up with gold he says is from the government. Word is, the Kid—“
“Can we please not call him by that ridiculous nickname?” Wyatt’s tone was even, but he was clearly getting annoyed.
The deputy speaking swallowed. “Yessir. Bonney, sir. Word is, Bonney turned his twenty scalps in to the warden at the prison, sir, and got paid in good hard gold.”
Wyatt stared off into space for several moments, his left hand playing with the end of his mustache. His eyes flashed as he scanned around the room. Many of the younger men were smiling at the news, some even muttering behind raised hands.
“Has anyone given any thought to what Sitting Bull and the other chiefs may well do when news of this reaches them?” The Over-marshal’s voice was cold despite the room’s oppressive heat.
The man in the robe shook his head. “You’re askin’ fer a bit much, Over-marshal. Thinking, and whatnot.”
That seemed to put a damper on the men. “Well, sir, they’re already savages, killin’ innocents wherever they go.”
Virgil shook his head and looked down at the younger men with contempt, wiping water from his lips with the hand that held the sweating metal cup. “The Warrior Nation hasn’t wandered into civilized areas for over a year now. They’re out there in the wastelands, in the hills, deserts, and mountains, running around bouncing off the army troops, Carpathian’s nightmares, and anyone else stupid enough to go seeking them out. They haven’t been a danger to normal townsfolk in a coon dog’s age.”
“Well, they weren’t much of a threat to the K-… to Bonney, sir.” Another of the young men tossed out. “I have a cousin in Yuma, said he and his men just threw twenty bloody scalps on the table, pretty as you please, and then tore the dock district up raisin’ hell with the gold the warden give ‘em.”
“And that’s interestin’, Johnson, but it doesn’t really address the issue at hand, now, does it.” It was not a question, and the men at the other end of the table sat up to hear what Wyatt thought the real issue was.
“What was Bonney and his bunch of misfits doing out in the mountains in the first place? How’d they find a Warrior Nation war party in the first place? Those folks aren’t the easiest to find when they’re out in the boonies, and why’d they go lookin’ for the savages in the first place? And what in the name of Sam Hill were the braves doing out that far west? Twenty braves, that’s no walk in the park back east, if you follow me.”
“Well, they were talkin’ that they took some hits, sir. There was a lot of talk that they were splittin’ the take on fewer shares than they’d expected.”
Wyatt pinched the bridge of his nose with one rough hand. “But what pushed them out there that far? Either of them, for God’s sake?” He looked over at his brother. “We ain’t heard the end of this, have we Virg.”
Virgil shook his head. “No, Wyatt. No, we ain’t. Somethin’ goin’ on out there, and that’s for sure.”
The robed man nodded earnestly. “Going to get worse before it gets any better.”
Wyatt looked at the robed man. “What do we have over that way? Are there any of our new-minted marshals out that far?”
“Slaughter ranges out that way, sir, but we ain’t heard from him in months.” He looked apologetic.
Wyatt pursed his lower lip and shot a gust of breath up into his mustache as he thought. “Any UR-30 units around Yuma?”
Blank stares and vaguely-shaken heads were the only responses, and Wyatt lifted up his boots, letting the chair slam back down onto the wooden floor. “Well fat load of good those damned machines have been, eh? Anyway, send a wireless out for Slaughter. Tell him to be on the lookout for Bonney or any of the men he’s known to run with. That damned Johnny Ringo was running with him for a while, along with that injun outcast, and the big ugly guy with the teeth… what was his name?”
Virgil grinned around a thick toothpick. “Williamson. They call him ‘Smiley’… ” The old marshal grinned even wider at the younger men. “You don’t want to know why.”
Wyatt gave his brother a look before going on. “Anyway, yeah, send out a message for Slaughter to be on the lookout for any of these boys. I want to know what they’re up to, if we can find out. It’s about time we hit some of these larger outfits – Bonney, the James ‘n Younger gang, the real players that have been causin’ the most grief in the new order.”
“Ah, sir, James ain’t so bad, surely?” The youngest man in the room was smiling openly. “I mean, he’s sorta like Robin Hood, ain’t he?”
Another of the younger men perked up. “Yeah! I mean, I heard he took down banks, stages, and the like, but he’s the Simon Pure when it comes to raisin’ hell out in the territories!”
The younger men were laughing again, slapping each other and nodding.
“You remember the stories come out of Diablo Canyon? Before the UR-30 automaton got sent that way? Place was like a bandit’s paradise, and Jesse James was king!”
“He was! He was! They say, before the metal marshal got turned loose on that burg, Jesse’d come an’ go like a lord! Wasn’t a workin’ bank in the town, cuz’a he and his boys!”
“Bah, hobble your lip!” Another young marshal waved away that whole line of thought. “Jesse’s yesterday’s dime novel, boys! You heard about the scalps! Jesse don’t hold a candle to Bil—…” A look at the Wyatt brothers sitting blank-faced at the end of the table, then a quick resumption. “William Bonney, that’s how he rides! Why, Jesse James is a coffee boiling flannel-mouth when you put him next to Bonney!”
“You ain’t got nuthin’ under yer hat but hair!” One of the young men stood up, fist on the table. “You gotta shut your shave tail, corn-cracker mouth! Jesse James’d—“
When the butt of Wyatt’s massive pistol cracked against the surface of the table it sounded like an explosion in the small, close room. The heavy metal of the handle left a gauged scar in the surface, and every man, including Virgil, leapt up and stared at him. There was an array of emotions flaring in the eyes around the room that ran the gamut from angry to terrified. Most of the young men were deep into the terrified band.
“I see one of y’all smiling for Jesse James or any of these other yahoos, it’ll be the last fool thing you do wearin’ one of my stars. ‘N the next thing you’ll be doin’ is sittin’ in my calaboose for givin’ aid and comfort to a confirmed enemy o’ the people. Have I made myself crystal clear?”
The Over-marshal’s voice was cold, his eyes blazing with radiant hatred. The younger men in the room could only nod as Virgil shook
his head and resumed his seat.
“These men are nothin’ but unreconstructed algerines, and they,” he gestured out the back door to the rest of the town, “don’t need us throwin’ fuel on the fire of their so-called ‘legends’. And as for Jesse James, the man’s a foul little bully, a heartless killer, and an empty-headed blowhard playing to the gallery an’ feeding off the gullibility of people too stupid to realize they’re as much victims of him and his ego as any bank ever was.”
Wyatt Earp’s eyes were wild as he scanned the room, nostrils flaring. The young men, cowed back into their seats without a sound, could only nod again, eyes pinned to the Over-marshal in his red-faced fury. The robed man stared severely at the cowed youngsters.
Wyatt looked into each man’s eyes before leaning back in his chair with a sharp nod. “I trust I won’t have to speak on this again. I don’t care how the gullible rubes out there feel about a man. Anyone who don’t respect the law gets no respect from us. We’ve got to start reinin’ in these bandits, show the people we mean it when we say we can keep ‘em safe. First chance we get, we’re gonna hit one of the big boys, and we’re gonna hit ‘em hard.”
The Over-marshal reached out and picked up the wrinkled wireless report with a fist that shook with anger. “Jesse James is still the big bug as far as most folks are concerned, regardless of your little shindig here today, and especially if he was behind that boat job. You just know it was loaded with Treasury gold, too. He’s been on the shoot the longest.” He was calming down a little, and sat back into his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. “If we can put a spoke in his wheel, we can nail his legend to the counter and convince the rest of them to pull in their horns a bit.”
Wyatt looked around the room again. Virgil was grinning around the stick in his mouth, but the younger men looked questioning; one of them even on the verge of speaking. The Over-marshal put up a single finger to forestall a potentially-career-ending gaff.
“Jesse was the mastermind behind the big train job that hit that first Union Heavy coming out of Kansas City for the border forts all those years ago. Before that, we had every bunko artist, four-flusher, hard case, and soaplock on the ropes, heeled with the army’s castoffs. Not a one of them could stand against even the underpowered RJ-1027 weaponry we were getting’ back then. But that all ended the day one man convinced every last knuck and road agent to band together and hit that supply train.”
The Jessie James Archives Page 5