Bullets & Lies (Talbot Roper 01)

by Randisi, Robert J.

  “Nothing,” Roper said, “and nobody. That’s the point. Somebody is planning to kill the three of you. I don’t know why. I decided to take all of you someplace neutral, and I picked Gilette because it’s between Helena, Montana, and Pierre, South Dakota.”

  “What are we gonna do when they get here?”

  “We’re going to talk,” Roper said. “We’re going to figure this out.”

  “What about those affidavits?”

  “I don’t know,” Roper said. “I’ll have to decide whether or not I’m still concerned with those.”

  “Ain’t that the job you took on?” Wilkins asked. “To get them signed?”

  “Somebody hasn’t been truthful with me,” Roper said. “I’m going to decide who that is.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then I’m going to make them tell me the truth.”

  “And us?” Wilkins asked. “Me, Davey, and Zack?”

  “I’m going to do my best to keep the three of you alive.”

  “I’m happy to hear that.”

  “When was the last time you saw any of these men?” Roper asked. “Any of the four of them?”

  “The war,” Wilkins said.

  “Not since then?”

  “No.”

  “No contact at all?”

  “No.”

  “Why?” Roper asked. “Were there any hard feelings after the war?”

  “No.”

  “What about between all of you and Westover?”

  Wilkins hesitated, then said, “I think I’m gonna wait for the others to get here before I answer any more questions.”

  Well, Roper thought, that was part of an answer. There was definitely something going on that he didn’t know about. He no longer felt any responsibility to keep in touch with the lawyer, Harwick, or Victoria Westover. They had both lied to him.

  He still had to ascertain if Donald White had lied to him as well.

  “How about some food?” Wilkins asked.

  “I don’t want you on the street,” Roper said. “I’ll go and get something and bring it up here.”

  “Okay,” Wilkins said. He looked around. “I don’t mind stayin’ here. Nice room.”

  “Yeah,” Roper said, walking to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  43

  Roper found a small café and ordered a couple of steak dinners that he could take with him. As he headed back, he decided to stop in a saloon and get a bottle of whiskey they could share. He would have preferred beer, but he couldn’t carry the food and two beers back to the room.

  “I can give ya a bucket of beer, if ya want,” the bartender told him. “And a coupla glasses ya could put in yer pocket.”

  “That sounds good,” Roper said. “Let’s do that.”

  While he waited, the smell of the steaks began to fill the room. There were two men sitting at a table together, close to the bar. Some others seated farther away didn’t pay him any mind. These two, though, began to sniff the air.

  “You got you a woman waitin’ for you in your room?” one of them asked.

  “No,” Roper said. “Just me.”

  “Two steaks, two glasses, both for you?” the second man asked.

  “I get hungry during the night,” Roper said.

  The two men exchanged a glance. They looked like a couple of ranch hands who had come into town for a beer or two. One of them got up and walked over alongside Roper, who didn’t like it. He backed away a few steps.

  “Hey, take it easy, friend,” the man said.

  “I don’t like to be crowded,” Roper said.

  “Hey, we’re just wonderin’ if you got yourself a good-lookin’ woman in your room,” the man said. “This town ain’t got much in the way of women.”

  “Even if I did, why would I tell you?”

  “Well, we’d be willin’ to chip in on whatever you’re payin’ her.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The man frowned, obviously taking offense. “Whatsa matter, you don’t like to share?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, what about this?” The man lifted the napkin off one of the dinners. “How about sharing one of these steaks?”

  “I thought we just established that I don’t like to share.”

  Roper did not want to attract attention while he was in Gilette, but this idiot would interpret that statement as cowardice.

  The bartender came out with the pail of beer and two glasses. They weren’t shot glasses, but they were small enough to fit in Roper’s pockets—as long as he didn’t have to bend over.

  “Here ya go,” the man said. “Leave the man alone, Hobie, he’s a stranger in town.”

  “I know it,” Hobie said, “but me and Jake was just tryin’ to be friendly.”

  “Well, maybe he ain’t lookin’ for new friends.”

  “Why you takin’ his side, Lou?” Hobie demanded.

  “Because he’s a customer of mine. If you’re gonna start bothering my customers, I ain’t gonna let you come in here.”

  “Now, see there?” Hobie asked, looking at Roper. “You done got me in trouble with Lou.”

  “You got yourself in trouble, friend,” Roper said, collecting his things. He had the glasses perched in his pockets, the pail had a handle, and he’d have to balance the tray of steaks on one hand. As soon as he did that, though, he knew he’d be vulnerable.

  “I’m going now,” he said to the man. “Are we going to have any trouble?”

  “Trouble?” Hobie asked. “We ain’t lookin’ for trouble, are we, Jake?”

  “No trouble here,” Jake said.

  Hobie walked back to the table and sat down.

  “Enjoy your steak,” Hobie said, “and your woman.”

  Roper picked up his tray and left.

  When he got to the hotel room, he kicked the door with the toe of his boot. Wilkins opened it and asked, “What took ya so long? I’m starved.”

  “I stopped to get some beer, and a couple of guys tried to make friends with me.”

  “Who were they?”

  Roper walked in, kicked the door shut.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Locals. The bartender knew them.”

  “So we ain’t gonna have no trouble from them?”

  “I don’t think so,” Roper said. “Not the kind of trouble we’re worried about anyway. They just thought I had a girl in my room. Apparently they don’t have that many available women in town.”

  “That’s too bad,” Wilkins said. “You brung knives and forks?”

  “I did,” Roper said.

  He doled out the silverware and they sat on their bed to eat.

  “I could use me a woman about now,” Wilkins said.

  “I think we’re going to have to keep low profiles, Wilkins,” he said. “No restaurants, no women. We just have to keep to ourselves until the others get here.”

  “What if they don’t get here?”

  “They will, don’t worry,” Roper said. “I can depend on my men.”

  “Ain’t it nice to know that,” Wilkins said.

  “You served in the war with men you could depend on, didn’t you?”

  Wilkins hesitated, then said, “There was a time I thought so.”

  “So you couldn’t depend on Hampstead and Templeton?” Roper asked.

  Wilkins hesitated, frowned, then said, “I don’t wanna talk about nothin’ until I see them.”

  “That’s up to you.” Roper felt he could have pushed the matter, but decided against it. Maybe when the three survivors got together, he’d finally find out what was really going on.

  They ate their meal and drank their beer, talking all the while. They had done a lot of talking during the trip, but somehow never seemed to have trouble finding a subject.

  This time Wilkins kept asking questions about being a detective. Roper answered them as honestly as he could.

  “I suppose,” he said at one point, “if I hadn’t met Pinkerton during the war and star
ted working for him, I wouldn’t be a detective right now.”

  “How old was you?”

  “I was a youngster when I met him,” Roper said. “He saw something in me, took me under his wing.”

  “Then how come you ain’t a Pinkerton detective?” Wilkins asked. “Workin’ for him?”

  “I was a Pink for a while, but I decided to go out on my own.”

  “How did he take that?”

  “Not well,” Roper said. “He seemed to take that as a betrayal.”

  “You see him much?”

  “No, he wasn’t talking to me for a long time, and now he’s dead, so…”

  “Too bad.”

  They finished eating and Roper collected all the paraphernalia.

  “I told the folks who gave me this stuff I’d bring it back as soon as we finished.”

  “Can’t it wait ’til mornin’?” Wilkins asked.

  “It’ll only take me a few minutes.”

  “What if you run into yer new friends?” Wilkins asked. “Who’s gonna watch yer back?”

  “The saloon’s right across the street,” Roper said. “You can see it from the window. I don’t think anything’ll happen.”

  He carried everything to the door, which Wilkins opened for him.

  “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

  Roper left the room and Wilkins closed the door behind him. He went back to his bed and sat down, but made up his mind very quickly. He stood up, picked up his rifle, walked to the window, and opened it. He watched Roper walk down the street, but he was more interested in the saloon across the street. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight to illuminate the street.

  He got down on his knees, leaned the rifle barrel in the windowsill, and settled down to watch.

  44

  Roper’s first stop was the saloon to return the bucket. As he entered, he saw that very little had changed in the two hours he’d been gone. The same number of men were sitting at tables, and nobody was leaning on the bar. Hobie and Jake had not moved, but they sat up straight as he entered.

  “Hey, back so soon?” Hobie asked. “Guess that gal you got ain’t much, huh?”

  “Hey, they probably just finished eatin’, Hob,” his friend said. “Now he’s gonna go back and see how good she is.”

  “Here’s your bucket,” Roper said to the bartender, ignoring the two men. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Another while you’re here?” the bartender asked.

  He would have liked one, but that would have been tempting fate. He could feel that Hobie and Jake behind him were aching for trouble.

  “Thanks for the offer. I’ve got to get back—”

  “Won’t take the time for a free beer!” Hobie called out, standing up. “In a hurry to get back to your room?”

  “You got law here?” Roper asked the bartender.

  “Yeah, we got a sheriff. Are we gonna need him?”

  “I don’t know,” Roper said. “Suppose you tell me.”

  “Them two are troublemakers, all right,” the bartender said.

  “How far are they going to push it?”

  “As far as you’ll let them, I guess.”

  “Great. I’ll have that beer. No, just give me a beer mug.”

  “A mug?”

  “Right.”

  “An empty mug?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay.”

  The bartender put an empty mug on the bar.

  “I tol’ you ya shoulda let us come to your room and help you with that gal,” Hobie said. “Now yer insultin’ us by not taking a free beer with us. Whataya think of that, Jake?”

  “I think it’s—” Jake started, but he stopped short when Roper turned, took two steps, and hit Hobie on the head with the empty mug. The man went down like a sack of shit.

  The mug didn’t break, so Roper brandished it in Jake’s face and asked, “What do you think of that, Jake?”

  “Oh…” Jake said, staring at the detective with wide eyes.

  “Tell your buddy when he wakes up that if he sees me again, he’s to keep his mouth shut. Understand?”

  “I—uh—I understand.”

  “Good.” Roper took the mug and set it back on the bar, said to the bartender, “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  Roper walked out and headed for the café.

  While Roper was returning the tray, plates, and utensils to the café, Jake poured some cold beer on Hobie’s face to wake him up.

  “What the hell happened?” Hobie demanded.

  “That fella hit you with a mug,” Jake said.

  “What?” Hobie got to his feet, looked around. “Where’d he go?”

  “Guess he went to the café to bring back their stuff,” the bartender said.

  “That sonofabitch!” Hobie said. “I’ll kill him.”

  “Hobie, he says if you see him again, you better keep yer mouth shut,” Jake said.

  “I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Hobie said, “while I’m killin’ him!”

  “You’re gonna need help,” the bartender said. He took a pistol out from beneath the bar.

  “You!” Hobie said. “You gave him the empty mug to hit me with.”

  “I didn’t know what he was gonna do with it,” the bartender said. “Hell, he was askin’ about the sheriff.”

  “Well, goddamnit, let’s go outside and get him, then,” Hobie said. “Are ya with me?”

  “I am,” Jake said.

  “Me, too,” the bartender said. “Can’t let a stranger get away with that.”

  “No, we sure as hell can’t,” Hobie said. He looked at the rest of the men in the saloon. “Anybody else comin’ with us?”

  Nobody moved.

  “Fine!” Hobie said. “Don’t nobody come outside until it’s all over.”

  Roper was walking back from the café, and as he came within sight of the saloon, he thought he better cross the street. As he started to do that, the batwing doors opened and three men came out. He recognized them as Hobie, Jake, and the bartender. It looked like the bartender was taking their side.

  “Hey, stranger!” Hobie shouted.

  Roper stopped in the middle of the street and turned.

  Wilkins watched from the window as three men came out of the saloon and braced Roper. He brought the rifle to his shoulder, sighted down the barrel, practically over Roper’s shoulder. The detective was doing everything he could to keep him alive. It was time for Wilkins to return the favor.

  “What do you fellas want now?” Roper asked.

  “You can’t get away with cold-cocking me with a beer mug,” Hobie said.

  “You wouldn’t shut up any other way,” Roper told him.

  “You wanna shut me up, do it like a man, with your gun,” Hobie said.

  “You want to die that bad?”

  “That’s big talk from one man facing three,” Hobie said.

  “Two cowhands and a bartender,” Roper said.

  “You got a big mouth, you know, mister?” the bartender said.

  “Your friends are the ones who started this with their mouths,” Roper said. “I’m willing to let it drop and go to my room. I’m tired.”

  “’Fraid we can’t do that, mister,” Hobie said. “We can’t let strangers come into our town and treat our folks this way.”

  “I didn’t treat your folks in any way,” Roper said. “I treated you that way. Why don’t you tell your friends to go back into the saloon and you and me will settle this man-to-man.”

  “Hell,” Hobie said, “he’s scared!”

  Roper wondered how, with all the towns he could have chosen, he’d actually picked Gilette, which seemed to be populated by morons. It never occurred to him that these were part of the whole Howard Westover affair. They were obviously just locals who liked to hoorah strangers.

  Damn it, he was either going to end up dead or involved with the local law. And he didn’t particularly look forward to either outcome.

  45

  Talbot Roper w
as not a gunfighter. He was not a fast gun. He was able to hit what he shot at, and he reacted during this kind of situation calmly. It was not the fastest gun who survived, but the most accurate. But facing these three men, he knew that one of them was bound to get a true shot off. They were not the Castle brothers in Los Lunas. These were men who were more used to using their guns.

  This would be a lot more difficult.

  Wilkins decided to key on the man in the center. Flanked as he was by the other two men, it pointed him out as the leader. The minute he touched his gun, Wilkins would kill him.

  Hobie Patton fancied himself a fast gun. He was the fastest draw and the best shot on his ranch, and he’d won the turkey shoot every year for the past five years.

  He was ready to put this stranger in the ground.

  His friend, Jake Weaver, wished he were back in the saloon with a beer in his hand.

  The bartender, Lou McCarver, had his gun tucked into his belt. He’d been in plenty of brawls in his saloon, and plenty of shootouts there, but he’d never been involved in a shootout on the street. He wanted to get this over with because he had a lot of dirty glasses behind the bar.

  Roper kept his eyes on Hobie, standing in the center. Jake looked scared. And the bartender looked distracted. He had to take Hobie first. On the other hand, the light was on in his room and he saw Wilkins in the window. From up there, he figured Wilkins would pick Hobie out as his target. He was better off concentrating on the other two. He was going to be real angry if he got killed by a distracted bartender.

  “Go ahead, Hobie,” he called out. “It’s your play to call.”

  “Don’t rush me, friend,” Hobie said. “Don’t be in such a hurry to die—”

  Hobie went for his gun, surprising even his two partners. He’d hoped that talking to Roper would distract him.

  Roper heard the rifle shot from behind him, just a split second before he fired his own gun twice. The air filled with the sound and smell of gunfire and then suddenly it was quiet.

  Roper saw that all three men were down. His gun was still in his hand. He looked down at himself, didn’t see any blood. He used his left hand to check himself out, but there were no holes. Apparently, he had come out of the situation unscathed. He didn’t know how many times Wilkins had fired from the window, but at least that first shot was true.