Better Off Dead

by William W. Johnstone

  “A bottle of Bass.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “Boss, this is serious,” Valentine Kilcoyn said. “Frank Tansey was the best there was. Hell, some say he was the fastest gun who ever lived.”

  “Second fastest,” Caleb Perry said. “I think Shawn O’Brien proved that.”

  “He drank a bottle of Bass after he killed Tansey. Just stood there in the saloon, drinking beer as cool as you please.”

  “When I destroy Big Buck, I’ll destroy O’Brien with the town,” Perry boasted. “He doesn’t scare me.”

  “Boss, about the town . . . do you think that’s wise? I mean, there’s bound to be survivors and people talk. Next thing you know, we got Rangers on the doorstep.”

  Perry’s smile was condescending, as though he was speaking to a child. “Mr. Kilcoyn when the good folks of Big Buck look up at the steam frigate, what will they see?” He raised a hand. “No, don’t tell me, I’ll tell you. The answer is Mexicans at the guns. If the Rangers investigate, I’ll be suitably horrified. I’ll say, ‘My dear sirs, the frigate was stolen by a band of renegade Mexican thugs led by some dastardly white ruffians. They bombarded the town with the intention of robbing the bank. But after the airship was disabled by their gunfire, my brave foreman and some loyal workers hunted down the miscreants and killed them to a man. Have a cigar.’”

  Kilcoyn shook his head. “But, boss, why destroy the town at all? I’ll willingly gun the mayor for you and make it look like he blew his own brains out.”

  “Why destroy the town? A very good question, Mr. Kilcoyn. The answer is—because I can. I want my invention to be the greatest terror weapon of the steam age and I must see it in action. This worthless little hamlet full of equally worthless people is not London or Paris, but it’s first-rate proving ground.” Perry sat back in his chair. “And what is more, the annihilation of Big Buck will take place before this month is out, say within ten days. The presence of this Shawn O’Brien person has forced my hand.”

  “We’ll go after him again and we’ll kill him,” Kilcoyn said. “Now that he’s wearing a star on his shirt, he’s made himself an even bigger target.”

  “Good. I’m putting you in charge of that. But be discreet, Mr. Kilcoyn. No public display. I don’t want O’Brien’s death tracked back to me.”

  Kilcoyn’s grin was not pleasant. “The blade makes no sound, boss.”

  “Huzzah!” Perry clapped his hands. “A capital solution to a thorny problem.”

  After Kilcoyn left, Flora March, Perry’s new woman, asked, “Do you like killing people, Caleb? You always talk about cannons and destroying cities.”

  Flora was not as talented as Lizzie Skates, but Perry gave her credit for trying. “My dear, I have a deep, abiding hatred for humanity, a vile infestation plaguing this beautiful earth. It would not bother me in the least if a great meteor came down from the heavens and destroyed all of you.”

  The girl pouted. “Do you hate me, Caleb?”

  “Perhaps you most of all because you have something I want and need and that makes me vulnerable.”

  “What does that mean, Caleb . . . vurn . . . vurnib . . .”

  “It means you’re stupid with only one function in the world and that is to lie on your back and open your legs.”

  “You’re cruel to me, Caleb. Why are you so cruel to me?”

  Unlike Lizzie’s, the girl’s eyes were empty, devoid of high intelligence. She had a sweet, caring nature that Perry never cared to notice.

  “Oh for God’s sake, pour me a drink. I told you that you’re not here to ask questions.”

  * * *

  “You get the idea, Buck?” the foreman named Sam Shillingford asked. “We hit fast and I use the knife before O’Brien can squawk.”

  “Or draw,” Jacob O’Brien said.

  “Yeah, we don’t want that. He’s way too sudden. You pin his arms and I’ll do the sticking. The whole thing won’t take but a few seconds and we’ll be in good with Mr. Perry.”

  “How will we know where to find him?”

  “The guards told me they see him on the street just after nightfall. They say he checks every alley as a good little sheriff should. That’s when we grab him. You up for it, Buck? We’re on our own in this.”

  “Sure. I got no liking for lawmen.”

  “Me neither. While we’re at it, I’ll carve up that pretty face of his, make him an ugly corpse.” Shillingford scowled. “Hey, I made a good joke and you didn’t laugh.”

  Jacob shrugged. “Sorry. I was thinking about tonight. I’ll enjoy taking down the man who killed Frank Tansey.”

  “He was one of the best, was Frank.”

  “Yeah. He’ll be sorely missed.”

  “If you want, you can take the credit for the O’Brien kill,” Shillingford offered. “I don’t mind. I just want to please Mr. Perry. Hell, he’ll give both of us a raise.”

  “That’s true blue, Sam. Remind me to do you a favor one time.”

  “Until this evening then, Buck,” Shillingford said, sticking out his hand.

  Jacob nodded but ignored the proffered handshake. “Yeah. Until this evening.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Shawn, I won’t let you risk your life again,” Maria said. “It’s getting too dangerous for you in Big Buck and I want you to leave.”

  “What about your brother?” Shawn stood at the hotel room window looking down at the street where a dray with a broken axle blocked other wagon traffic. It seemed that an ox wagon bullwhacker had taken the dray driver to task and the two were engaged in fisticuffs, much to the delight of passersby on the boardwalk. If the situation got out of hand, he planned to break up the fight, but not much damage was being done by either party.

  “Forget about my brother, Shawn. Forget you even heard the name Manuel Cantrell.” She slipped into a long black dress with a high standing collar and then hung the chain of her pocket watch around her neck. “He’s a lost cause.”

  Shawn turned from the window. “It goes deeper than that. After Hamp died, it became a personal matter between Caleb Perry and me. I’ll leave after I kill him and return this insane town back to sanity.”

  “That is where the danger lies. You’re right. This town is afflicted by madness. Abaddon has taken over its people mind, body, and soul.”

  “And as I told you, it’s now my job to set it free.” He turned back to the window. “Ah, good straight right, sir. I think the bullwhacker has this fight won.”

  Maria’s high-heeled boots thudded on the threadbare rug as she stepped beside Shawn.

  He put his arm around her slender waist. “Yup, the dray driver has had enough. He’s staying down.”

  “They’re all mad.” She grimaced.

  Shawn smiled. “Wagon drivers fight all the time, even in the big cities. I think New York and Boston are the worst, but Rome is not far behind.”

  “Will you take me to Rome one day, Shawn?”

  “I’d love to. My father is a close personal friend of Pope Leo the Thirteenth. They exchanged rosaries, but His Holiness got the better of that bargain. The colonel’s was gold and he got pewter in return.”

  “Did the Pope Leo bless the rosary he gave to your father?”

  “Yes, several times.”

  “Then it was Colonel O’Brien who got the better of that bargain.”

  “Spoken like a gal who was educated at a mission run by nuns.” Shawn smiled.

  “French nuns to be exact,” Maria pointed out. “Were you ever taught by nuns? They’re very strict.”

  “No, I was taught by a man named Luther Ironside. And he was very strict.”

  “You often talk of Luther Ironside, Shawn. I’d like to meet him and your family. I’ll go with you now, on the next train. We’ll leave this terrible place together.”

  Shawn shook his head. “Maria, if I did that, I’d be pissing on the memory of Hank Sedley. I’ll leave when Caleb Perry is rotting in hell and not before.”

  “Then you’
re a fool.” Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head. “No, no, Shawn, you’re not a fool. You’re an honorable man and I’m not used to dealing with honorable men. Do what you have to do, but don’t expect me to be a part of it. I’ll come back later for my things.”

  “You’re leaving me?”

  “Yes I am. I won’t stay around and watch you die in the street, Shawn.”

  “Maria, I won’t die that easily.”

  “No you won’t. But in the end, you’ll do the honorable thing and you’ll be killed. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I can’t bear to have terrible pictures in my mind.” She stepped to the door and left.

  Shawn stood and watched her go, wondering if she’d walked out of his life forever. He looked into the street where the dray was being repaired and the driver was nursing a black eye. He felt that a part of him, maybe the best part of him, was gone and there was not a damn thing he could do about it.

  * * *

  Later that night, the weather turned unseasonably cool and it started to rain just a little, drifting up from the south as fine as a mist. Three men dressed in slickers left the Abaddon building and walked into the street. The black man in front angled toward the boardwalk and the others followed. There was still a while to go before dark, but the saloon windows glowed yellow, all the lamps inside lit against the gloom. He motioned to the others to follow him. He stepped into the shadow of a storefront and nodded in the direction of a man who’d just walked out of the saloon. “Once that gentleman gets out of the way, we’ll move.”

  The man was short and had a potbelly. He peeled the band off a cigar and dropped it onto the boardwalk. A match flared, temporarily illuminating the plumpness of the man’s face, and then he stepped back inside.

  “Now.” The black man and the others walked through the fragrance of rose water as they passed the saloon and stopped at the entrance to an alley.

  “This one for sho’,” the black man said. “I seen the sheriff go in here this past two, three nights, me. Always around this time.”

  “He carry a lantern?” Sam Shillingford asked.

  The black man shook his head. “No. He got good eyes, I guess.”

  “Shotgun?”

  “No, sir, Mr. Shillingford. Just the Colt on his hip.”

  Shillingford nodded. “All right, Jules, you can head back to the foundry. Me and Mr. Ross will handle it from here.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Shillingford.” The black man glanced at a blacker sky. “Rainy night though, sho’ enough.”

  Shillingford watched the man go. Light from the saloon windows gleamed briefly on the shoulders of Jules’s slicker and then he lost himself in darkness. “You ever see one of these, Buck?” Shillingford pulled a massive bowie knife from the sheath on his left side. “This is the twelve inches of good Abaddon steel I’ll ram into O’Brien’s guts.”

  Jacob nodded his approval. “That’s a real mean Texas toothpick if ever I saw one.”

  “Damn right.” Shillingford was a big man with mean blue eyes and his spade-shaped beard fell to the second button of his slicker. “Now into the alley with us and let’s get it done.” His teeth flashed in the darkness, revealing incisors like a wolf. “I’m looking forward to this killing. Are you?”

  “You bet,” Jacob said. “I’ve always enjoyed a pigsticking.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The clink of a bottle, the thud of a big man’s body as he stumbled against the wall of the hardware store that formed one side of the alley, and then a string of curses that raised the surrounding air temperature at least twenty degrees were heard in the alley.

  Jacob O’Brien smiled to himself. Yup, that was Shawn all right. Shillingford’s slicker rustled softly as the foreman tensed and turned to him, warning that he should get ready to make his move soon.

  Jacob nodded but couldn’t tell if Shillingford saw him or not.

  The sound of clinking glasses and a woman’s strident laugh carried from the saloon to the alley. Somewhere a feral cat wailed its hunting song and an outraged dog barked.

  Shawn stopped. Jacob heard the snick of his brother’s Colt leaving the leather.

  Shawn had the instincts of an Apache. “Is anyone there?”

  The hiss of Shillingford’s labored breathing seemed loud. Rats scuttled and squeaked at the end of the alley.

  “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

  From the saloon drifted the solemn dong . . . dong . . . dong . . . of a grandfather clock striking midnight.

  Shawn moved forward slowly, sensing danger. “Who’s there?” Closer, one small step at a time . . . closer . . .

  Jacob’s Colt was in his hand. Across from him, Shillingford was a hulking black shadow. Only the huge blade of the bowie glinted. The big man’s mouth was stretched wide in a savage grimace and his breath slid softly in and out between his back teeth, a deadly, predatory animal steeling himself for the kill.

  To Jacob’s surprise, he heard Shawn’s Colt drop back into the holster.

  “Damn rats.” Shawn turned his back . . .

  And Shillingford yelled, “Get him!”

  The darkness shifted as the huge foreman got to his feet and charged, the knife ready in his hand. His turned to Jacob, expecting help.

  Jacob fired into the middle of the hazy white oval of Shillingford’s face and the man screeched as lead smashed into the bridge of his nose. The shot ringing in his ears, Jacob was aware that Shawn’s revolver was coming up fast. Panicked, he yelled, “It’s Jake!”

  “Jake?” Shawn questioned.

  “Yeah, it’s me and be damned to ye for a useless, trigger-happy lawman.”

  “I could have killed you,” Shawn said.

  “Damn right you could.” Jacob stepped close to his brother and shoved a folded paper into the pocket of his shirt. “Read that later. Listen up. Two men came at you in the alley. You shot one of them and the other scampered. Got that?”

  Shawn made no reply.

  As men’s voices were raised in the street, Jacob said, “Damn it, Shawn. You got that?”

  “I got it.”

  “Good, then I’m out of here.” Jacob turned, walked quickly to the end of the alley, and was gone into the gloom.

  “What happened here?” Ambrose Hellen stepped into the alley, a scattergun in his hands. “O’Brien, it’s you. Are you hurt?”

  Behind him several men craned their necks to see what was going on.

  “No.” Shawn repeated what Jake had said. “Two men came at me in the alley. I shot one, but the other feller ran.”

  “Lantern,” Hellen said.

  One of the onlookers passed the lantern to the bartender, who adjusted the flame higher and then stepped to the dark mound of the fallen man. “This is Sam Shillingford. He’s one of Caleb Perry’s foremen.”

  Shawn stepped beside him. “Is he dead?”

  “As dead as a bullet between the eyes can make a man.” Hellen raised the lantern, the better to see Shawn’s face. “Damn good shooting and a damn big mistake. Now Perry will really keep trying until you’re dead.”

  “Maybe. Unless I get to him first.” Shawn felt angry with Hellen and didn’t quite know why.

  The bartender sighed. “I’ll send for Dorian Steggles. I guess Perry will want to bury his dead.” He shook his head. “Right between the eyes in almost pitch darkness. Could be you’re right, O’Brien. If I was Perry I’d be damn worried.”

  * * *

  When Shawn returned to the hotel, Maria’s clothes and other things were gone. He stood in the middle of the floor and looked around him. He saw Maria’s shadow everywhere, gliding around the dark, dingy room like a candle flame. He didn’t love her, but her presence pleased him and made him feel whole again after the death of his wife had shattered him into so many sharp pieces that cut him daily.

  He lit the lamp, sat on the edge of the bed, and opened the note Jake had stuck into his pocket. He smiled as he saw the familiar block letters, awful spelling, and hit-and-miss punctuat
ion. Jacob was arguably one of the most brilliant pianists of the age, yet he’d had so much trouble with reading, writing, and arithmetic that after hiring tutor after tutor who threw up their hands and quit in defeat, the Colonel had despaired of him.

  Shawn read the note.

  DERE SHAWN. I HOPE THIS NOTE FINDS YEW WELL. LIE LO SHAWN AND DONT LET PERRY GIT TO YEW. I HAVE A GUD PLAN IN MIND AND YULE NO WHEN IT HAPPENS. LISSEN FOR THE BANGS AN KUM A-RUNNIN.

  YURE VERY AFECTONATE BRUTHER,

  JACOB O’BRIEN, ESQ.

  PS. IF I AM KILT YEW CAN HAVE MY HOSS

  Shawn folded the note and stuck it back into his pocket before he thought its contents through. Jake had a plan to release Manuel Cantrell and it involved bangs and bangs meant shooting. Was he about to grab Cantrell and then shoot his way out of the foundry? It seemed unlikely. Jake’s scholastic skills were sadly lacking, but he was a very smart man. Depending on revolver fighting to save Manuel didn’t make sense. He must have something else in mind. But what?

  Shawn took off his gun belt, hat, and boots and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The woman smell of Maria was still on her pillow. Her drowsy morning smile, so sweet with invitation, was the last thing he remembered before he let sleep take him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “Sam Shillingford should be asleep in his bed right now, not lying in a dirty alley like a slaughtered hog,” Caleb Perry said. “Why did you leave him, Ross?”

  Jacob played the role of confused, not-too-smart gunman. “There were too many of them, boss.”

  “Shawn O’Brien is only one man!” Perry was livid. “You cut a hole in the wind running from one man.”

  “He had others with him, deputies maybe. It could’ve been one of them that shot Sam. It all happened so quick.”

  “Damn you, Ross, for a yellow-bellied dog. I’ll have you shot for this.”

  Jacob took that standing, unwilling to show his hand. He let his head hang in pretended remorse and shuffled his feet. In the distance, a locomotive bell clanged as it neared the loading dock and the guard outside Perry’s door walked back and forth, his boots thudding.