The Clements Kettle

by Erik Carter

  Because of this, though, I found myself in a general store trying to find a kettle that might possibly resemble a missing one in some vain last-ditch effort to save a young woman’s life. You know what they say the road to Hell is paved with.

  Jake took a small kettle from the wall. “This is pretty close.” He handed it to me.

  It was about six inches in diameter. Small, even for the trail. You might be able to cook up enough beans for two guys with it. I thought about the actual Clements kettle, my recollections of it from when I briefly got to see it at the Macintosh mansion. So small. From what I could remember, this new kettle was a fairly good facsimile.

  I weighed it in my hands, ran a finger along the rough black surface. “You think he’ll go for it?”

  Jake had seen the kettle a lot closer than I had. I trusted his opinion.

  “It really is a pretty good match,” he said. “The only thing is—”

  “I know. The handle.”

  Lilly had told me when she first came to my office that the Clements kettles had the plantation’s name stamped into the handle.

  Only for a sizeable prize would Mory be willing to go to all the trouble he had over the last several days. He would have learned everything there was to know about the Clements kettle by now. There was but a sliver of hope that he wouldn’t know about the writing on the handle. And after all the hard work he’d put in, Mory truly would kill Lilly if he didn’t get the Clements kettle tonight.

  Now all of our hopes hinged on a plain iron pot purchased from the Banner General Store.

  We stood outside the store. I took out a cigarette, offered one to Jake. He declined. As I took a drag from my cigarette, I assessed Jake. He was worn and beaten. That youthful poise I’d first noticed was gone. Deep circles lined the bottoms of his eyes. Probably hadn’t slept in a couple nights.

  During the chaos of the last few hours, I’d forgotten about Jake’s resemblance to Dodson. When you think a fella’s a murderer and that he’s kidnapped a young gal you’ve taken a shine to, all other thoughts sort of go on vacation. But now, I could see the resemblance again.

  I saw him in profile. He had the same cheeks and jaw. They both looked young, even younger than they were. Baby faces.

  I thought about last night, lying in the mud at the bottom of the hill. I’d struggled during this entire case, struggled with the idea of whether or not I could go through with it. If I was going to finish the thing, if I was going to save Lilly, I had to get over it. And I had to get over Dodson.

  So I decided to tell him.

  “You remind me of someone, Jake.”

  He turned to me. “Yeah?”

  “Name was Dodson. Kendrick Dodson. Young kid. Eighteen. I knew him in the war. Mory told you I was in the war,” I said, remembering what Jake had said when I met him in his office.

  Jake nodded. “Yes, he did.”

  “And he told you that I gave the command for a colored platoon to go on a suicide mission.”

  He nodded again.

  “Well, Dodson was among them. He was … simple. He wasn’t brain-dead or anything, but he was innocent. A few years behind. He came to me one day and asked me if everything would be okay. Guess he had a premonition. I told him it would be all right. I told him I’d watch out for him. Then he went to his death.”

  “How terrible.”

  “Yup.”

  “But I’m sure you did all you could.”

  The officers had said they would push my other platoons hard if I didn’t send the colored platoon. A lot more men would have died. I had done all I could.

  And Dodson would have agreed.

  “I did. And I know that now.”

  Presently I felt a whole lot better.

  I took another drag from the cigarette and retrieved my watch. It was a little after two in the afternoon. About ten hours to go.

  Jake looked at me gravely. “You may have done all you could in the war, but I’m not sure I’ve done all I could with this kettle fiasco. My father would be ashamed.”

  “You did what you thought was right. You acted honorably. As far as I’m concerned, when this is over you can go on your way.” Jake hadn’t killed anyone. Sure he’d been part of the kidnapping, but he’d had the best intentions. And besides, it was that rotten bastard Cosgrove that they’d kidnapped. I hadn’t arrested anyone with that badge of mine. I wasn’t about to start with Jake Adamson.

  He still looked dejected, though.

  “Come on, kid,” I said. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

  We walked down the road to Elmer’s.

  I thought of Lilly. I had been trying not to think of her, but I still did. When I’d first suspected Jake and Kurt of kidnapping her, I’d had some awful visions of what might be happening to her. Now that I knew it was Mory who had snatched her, my thoughts were positively stomach-turning. The thing was, he could be doing anything to her. He could be treating her with the utmost respect. Or he could be beating her. There was no way of knowing with Mory.

  That’s what’s so confounding about Mory. His unpredictability, something he’d honed into a fine art. He trained for it. Creating uncertainty and confusion was his hallmark trait. One day you’re dealing with a gentleman extortionist. The next day you’re dealing with a violent, cold-hearted train robber. Sometimes his methods were demure; other times they were savage. And he always, always knew how to cover his tracks.

  Try managing a criminal like that.

  Of any lowlife in Desecho to have kidnapped Lilly, I would hope for anyone but Mory. Heck, I couldn’t think of anyone in the West who I wouldn’t rather have in his place. Mory was dangerous. And he was evil. That word, evil, gets used pretty freely, but as far as I was concerned, Mory was evil. In my mind evil was something that was relentlessly malevolent. Mory was just such an individual.

  More than anything, though, I would have rather had any other scum in Mory’s place at that moment because … I couldn’t beat Mory. I never had. He’s matched me step-for-step in every confrontation we’d ever had, and he always came out ahead.

  I thought of Lilly again.

  Mory wasn’t going to hurt her. He wasn’t going to beat me. Not this time.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The time had finally come.

  The stars were out in full force again, and I was thankful for it. We were going to need any advantage that we could get, and clear visibility was a good start.

  I was riding on Bob, and Jake was riding beside me on his own horse. The air was still and thick. Culver Canyon was less than a mile away. It was a few minutes before midnight.

  Nervous anticipation rumbled in my stomach. Oh, yes. Private investigators have nerves too. I took out a piece of licorice and chewed. Always helped to calm my gut.

  I’d spent the rest of the afternoon with Jake. Talk about nervous. He couldn’t speak without shaking. He’d barely eaten. A guy like him just isn’t used to stuff like this. I’d even had to show him how to shoot the gun Mory had given him. He said he’d never fired a gun in his life. It wasn’t the most confidence-inspiring piece of information I’d ever heard, given he was to be my only backup when facing Mory Kline and his always unpredictable bag of tricks.

  I finished my piece of licorice and took out a cigarette. I reached out with the case, offering one to Jake. He took it from me. His hand was still shaking. He retrieved a cigarette and handed the case back.

  “Borrow a match too?” he said. “I don’t smoke.”

  I lit a match for myself and handed the matchbook over to him.

  I guess I should’ve known all along that Mory was involved. Seemed like he was involved in everything I tried to tackle. The only problem was, I could never tackle him. He was a snake. And like any snake, he always managed to slither his way out of trouble.

  We rounded the last ridge, and Culver Canyon lay before us. In front there was a lone figure on a horse and beyond him, a covered wagon with no horses tethered to it.

  The figure lit a cig
arette as we approached. His head was tilted down, and his face was hidden. He wasn’t going to reveal himself to us. Not yet. Mory had a flair for dramatics, even though he always tried to play it nonchalant. Those are the most pathetic individuals—people who beg for attention yet feign modesty.

  Jake and I drew closer.

  The figure lifted his head once his cigarette was lit and smiled. Surprise, surprise. It was Mory. Always so theatrical. Golly, this little display of his was so effective, maybe I should just give in to his demands!

  Yawn.

  Behind Mory was a wagon on an extremely steep decline. This hill was something of a Desecho area landmark. Dead Kids Slope. Teenagers enjoy coming here to play a game they call “chicken” wherein two aspiring youths run down the hill toward the sheer cliff edge at the bottom. Whoever made it farthest down the hill before losing nerve and turning off to the side was the winner. The problem was, the grade was such that it proved difficult to maintain one’s footing, and the lads invariably ended up tumbling down the slope and taking flight over the edge. Each year, old Sheriff Simmons had to take a donkey ride to the bottom of Culver Canyon to scrape up a couple mangled corpses. By the following year, the memory seemed to be erased from the public’s consciousness, and the cycle repeated itself.

  The wagon sitting behind Mory teetered precariously on Dead Kids Slope. It was about fifty feet to his rear, and a large wooden chock was behind one of its wheels, keeping it from rolling. A rope was attached to the chock. It was a very intricate little scenario he’d set up here. Again, very theatrical.

  “Hey-a, Barn,” Mory said as we approached.

  “Mory,” I said.

  Another man appeared from behind the wagon. Good God, it was Jeff Norris. If the situation weren’t so serious, I would have laughed out loud. One of the smartest men in town was being assisted by one of the dimmest.

  Jeff Norris had a head the size and shape of a small boulder. He was a petty, and I mean petty, criminal best known for his unsuccessful robbery at Fannie’s. Before they took him in to the Sheriff’s office, the gals tarred and feathered him with their big pink, purple, and red peacock feathers. It made the Tucson newspapers, no foolin’.

  Jeff was holding the other end of the rope that was attached to the chock. I get it, Mory. Jeff will pull the rope, and the wagon, where Lilly was undoubtedly held, will go whizzing down the slope straight toward the voluminous canyon below.

  Jake and I stopped about twenty feet from Mory. He regarded us with that ridiculous, snarky smile of his.

  “I’m so glad you could make it,” he said, looking at me. Then he turned to Jake. “I’m surprised you’re here, Jake, but it’s good to see you once again.”

  Jake didn’t respond. He just glared at Mory.

  Mory continued. “I believe you’ve met Jeff before, Barn.”

  “Oh, yes. We’ve met,” I said. I turned toward Jeff and called out, “Me say hi, Jeff!”

  Jeff didn’t seem to get my sarcasm. He nodded, even smiled a little.

  “You got something for me?” Mory said.

  “We do,” I said.

  I held up the kettle.

  “Good. I got something for you too.” He turned toward the wagon and yelled, “Jeff.”

  Jeff thumped a big clod of a fist against the side of the wagon. There was a shuffling underneath a blanket within. Lilly emerged.

  There was a gag in her mouth, and her hands were bound. Her hair was frazzled. Her face was dirty. Her eyes connected with mine and pleaded.

  Now then … Here’s where I might be expected to scream “Lilly!” and shake my fist at Mory calling him a diabolical fiend—or maybe pull out my Colt and open fire with a power from the heavens. But that’s not my style. And that’s not what she needed.

  I looked her straight in the eye. I didn’t nod. I didn’t blink. But she knew. She relaxed ever so slightly.

  “Tied up the damsel, huh, Mory?” I said. “I would have expected more from you.”

  “I’m good at what I do,” he said. “I never claimed to be cosmopolitan.”

  “You’re about to get your damn kettle,” I said. “I imagine you’re feeling pretty satisfied.”

  “You know what? I am. But it’s almost as satisfying to see you groveling. I like seeing Mr. Barnaby Wilcox following my commands.”

  “Do you know the hell you’ve wreaked with all this, Mory?” I said. “Why? Why go through all this trouble?”

  “Now come on, Barn. You’re the detective.”

  Ol’ Mory wanted to play, did he?

  “Okay,” I said. “It began with your connection to Jimmy Blue Eyes. Somewhere along the line, maybe during some drunken bender, Jimmy told you that Lionel Cosgrove had willed his expansive collection of artifacts to his main employer, Connor Macintosh. Macintosh was itching for a way to get rid of Cosgrove. Jimmy had surely offered to kill him outright, but Macintosh was smarter than that. He knew it had to be untraceable. A guy like that can bide his time.”

  “He sure can,” Mory said. “That Macintosh was one conniving son of a gun.”

  “Turn the calendar forward several pages,” I said. “There you are, Mory, minding your own business, working on some scheme, when out of the blue Jake Adamson approaches you and tells you about a guy named Kurt Leonard who was trying to get an artifact that belonged to Lionel Cosgrove. Somewhere in that devious mind of yours a memory surfaced. You remembered Jimmy telling you that he was looking for a covert way to dispatch of Cosgrove.

  “Then you got to thinking about Cosgrove himself. You thought how much you hated him, how much he hated you. You thought about his stranglehold on Desecho, the fear he brings to its people. That power should have been yours.”

  Mory nodded. “Damn right it should. I own this town, Barn. You know that.”

  “A million little ideas fell into place at once,” I said. “Here was your chance to whack your most hated enemy using these two simple fools, Jake and Kurt. They wanted one of Cosgrove’s artifacts, and you told them you could help them. You said that breaking into Cosgrove’s mansion would be too big of a risk. Instead, they should kidnap Cosgrove and ask for the kettle as ransom. You supplied them with guns, found them a good cave, set everything up.”

  “You’re spot-on so far, Barn,” he said. “I’m really enjoying this.”

  “Jake and Kurt followed your instructions and nabbed Cosgrove, left the ransom letter. Then you moved on to part two. You found Jimmy Blue Eyes. You told him that you’d heard Lionel Cosgrove had been kidnapped and that the kidnappers were going to kill Cosgrove if they did not receive the ransom. This was a golden opportunity for Jimmy, you assured him. Here was a chance for him to knock off Cosgrove in an untraceable way. If Jimmy and his Blue Eagles were to intercept the ransom before it got to the rendezvous point, the kidnappers would kill the old man. Jimmy would have effectively killed Cosgrove for his employer Macintosh in a way that couldn’t possibly be traced. Conveniently enough, you were able to tell Jimmy exactly when and where the kettle was to be delivered.”

  Mory laughed. “Jimmy didn’t ask too many questions. Abstract thought was never his strong point.”

  “Now your little plan was set in motion. With a few choice words here and there, you’d just set up the execution of your biggest adversary. Jimmy and his Blue Eagles intercepted the kettle and took it to Macintosh with the good news that Cosgrove would soon be dead.”

  Mory nodded. “Yes, but then I encountered a snag.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “You hadn’t counted on the fact that Jake and Kurt were no killers. They extended the deadline, gave Lilly some more time to get the kettle to them.”

  “Luckily, though,” Mory said, “the boys came through for me in the end.”

  “Kurt lost his mind and killed Cosgrove. Your plan worked.”

  “And what a beautiful plan it was,” Mory said. “Gives me chills just thinking about it.”

  “Along the way,” I said, “Jimmy Blue Eyes decided to take a little flight
down a mineshaft, quieting yet another member of your farce. Maybe, just maybe, you gave him the wings.”

  Mory didn’t deny it. He continued to smirk. “And now here we are.”

  “Right,” I said. “Because somehow you figured out that I now have the kettle.” I glanced over at Lilly. Just go with it, I tried to say in the split second our eyes connected. “During this whole fiasco, you did your research on the Clements kettle. You discovered its desirability, its perceived value. You knew that you had to have it. So you took a page out of your own book and kidnapped Lilly, using the kettle once more as your ransom.”

  “Wanna know how I figured out that you have it, Barn?” he said.

  “I yield the floor, Mory,” I said. “My voice is getting tired.” I was only half joking. I wasn’t used to talking that much.

  “I knew Lilly was still having you track the kettle even after the old man was killed. So I hired Jeff here to track her down for me.” He motioned back towards Jeff Norris. He’d been so quiet during my recounting of Mory’s exploits that I’d almost forgotten he was there. He smiled with pride at Mory’s use of his name.

  “You’re one discerning employer, Mory,” I said.

  “Jeffery might need the instructions repeated a time or to, but he works for cheap,” Mory said. “I paid him a few bones to trail Lilly. He followed the two of you all the way out to Tucson, all the way to Macintosh’s.”

  It was then that I remembered seeing someone I’d thought was the mystery man behind the Macintosh mansion after Kurt had taken off with the kettle. I hadn’t been delusional after all.

  “He saw everything,” Mory said. “He saw you break into the house. He saw the third member of your party shoot Macintosh dead and then take off with the kettle. But he stuck with Lilly like I told him to. Jeff’s nothing if not obedient. He trailed you two all the way through the desert to Dry Rock Basin. Guess your accomplice didn’t quite get the kettle to the drop-off point on time, did he?” Mory snickered again.