Robert J Randisi

by Bounty on a Baron (v5)

  “Anything.”

  “Give her what she wants, on me,” Decker said.

  “Sure.”

  Decker eyed Martha, who was young and blonde…and alive, just like he was—only he was lucky to be alive.

  The bartender poured Martha a shot of whiskey. She raised the glass to Decker in thanks. Decker raised his in return, downed it, then called for his beer.

  He took the beer over to the poker game and watched for a while. It was low stakes and slow—paced, and he had no desire to sit in.

  “See that feller sitting on the porch at Jo’s today?” one of them asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Imagine living off a woman like that, jest sitting around her house while she works,” another man said.

  “What about the time he spends away?” someone asked. “Where do you suppose he goes?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Maybe he’s got hisself a woman in another town,” one of them said. “You know, like living two lives?”

  Decker was listening intently.

  “Unfriendly cuss, that one. You’d think since he’s been in and out of this town nigh onto a year he’d say hello or something. He ever talk to you boys?”

  “He’s been in the store once or twice,” one of them said. “Talks real slow and careful, like. Can’t figure it out. Maybe he’s simple-minded.”

  The others laughed at the prospect, although one of them said it was unlikely that a pretty woman like Josephine would take up with a simpleton.

  Suddenly they looked up at Decker, as if just real izing that he was watching.

  “You wanna play, mister? We got an empty seat.”

  Decker turned and looked at Martha, who was standing at the bar. She smiled invitingly at him.

  “Maybe just a little while,” he said, taking the seat.

  Or at least until he found out where this Josephine lived.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Josephine was nervous, but she understood why Brand couldn’t go to the livery stable himself and look at all the horses. If the man who was after him was in town, then he couldn’t afford to be seen.

  It was late, but the stable was still open. The liveryman, however, must have gone to have dinner. Josephine wondered why the man didn’t lock up when he left the stable. It would be very easy for someone to steal a horse.

  She entered the stable and found it shrouded in darkness. She looked around for a storm lamp, found one, and lit it. Carrying it with her, she went from stall to stall, hoping that she wouldn’t find what she was looking for.

  She found it, in a stall all the way in the back. The stall contained a good-looking gelding, and the saddle that went with the horse. Hanging from the saddlehorn was a hangman’s noose.

  She shivered when she saw it. She would have hugged herself except that she had the storm lamp in her hand. The gelding gave her a baleful stare, as if wondering who she was and what she was doing there. Then he looked away.

  Josephine backed out of the stall hurriedly, then turned to run. As she did, her feet got tangled, and then the heel snapped off one of her shoes, causing her to fall. The storm lamp was jarred from her hand. It landed on a patch of hay, and she saw the flicker of flame as the hay started to catch fire. Moving quickly, she grabbed a nearby blanket and smothered the flame. Luckily, the oil had not leaked from the lantern or there would have been a blaze that she couldn’t have put out with a blanket.

  Moving as quickly as she could, Josephine put the lantern back on the wall hook where she had found it and ran out of the stable.

  Brand waited at the house. He knew he should have gone to the stable himself, but he couldn’t take the chance of being seen there. If Decker was in town, he was going to have to kill him, and it wouldn’t do to be seen snooping around the man’s horse.

  Once he killed Decker, his only problem would be the sheriff. He would be the only one who knew who Brand really was. He could pay the man for his silence, he thought. But once that started it would never stop.

  No, he’d have to kill Roman, also, but in such a way that no one would suspect he had done it.

  If he could kill both men quickly and without anyone finding out about it, there was a chance he could save his life here in Broadus.

  He’d killed for less in the past.

  No sooner had he started playing than Decker noticed something. One of the men at the table was a professional gambler. It struck him odd that such a man would be in a low-stakes game instead of across the street for much more money.

  There was one glaring reason why he was over here.

  He was cheating.

  In the Broadus House, no one noticed, but across the street at the Dice Box he would have been caught almost immediately. So here he sat, stealing hardearned money penny by penny instead of dollar by dollar—so to speak.

  Decker was seated directly across from the man, so he knew how the man was cheating.

  The man—whom the others called “Cal”—was dealing now. He paused to cough, covering his mouth with a handkerchief from his jacket pocket.

  “Excuse me,” he said, replacing the handkerchief. “Cards are coming out, gentlemen. Draw poker.”

  He dealt each man five cards. Decker picked his up and spread them; he had three tens and thought this was as good a time as any to call the man for cheating. If the man seated to his left hadn’t opened, he would have. Now, he raised.

  “A dollar,” he said, which was a large raise for this game. The others were losing, but they stayed in, possibly seeing the hand as a quick way to get some money back.

  When the bet went around to Cal, he said, “I raise a dollar as well.”

  Since they all were in for the first dollar, they stayed for the second.

  “Cards?”

  “Two,” said Decker when it was his turn.

  When everyone had his cards, the opener timidly bet fifty cents.

  “I raise,” Decker said. “Two dollars.”

  The two players to his left folded, and Cal gave him a long look.

  “Seems like you think you’ve got something, fella.”

  “Cost you money to find out.”

  “Oh, it’ll cost one of us money,” Cal said, “that’s for sure. I raise ten dollars.”

  “Ten dollars?” the opener said. “That’s…that’s too high.”

  “Then fold,” Cal said without looking at the man. “Leave this here game to me and mister…”

  Decker didn’t bother supplying his name. He looked at the man who had opened, and the man quickly folded.

  “I raise twenty,” Decker said.

  “Twenty?” Cal said. “This game is starting to sound like it belongs across the street.”

  At that point, Cal began coughing and took out his handkerchief. When he paused in his coughing he placed the handkerchief on the table, obstructing the view of his hand for a moment. He started coughing again, brought the cloth to his lips, and then replaced it in his pocket.

  “I’ll see you and raise you the same,” he said to Decker.

  Decker studied his cards for a moment, then said, “All right, I’ll call. I’ve got three tens.” He spread his cards on the table.

  “Oh, too bad,” Cal said. He put his cards down, revealing an ace-high flush.

  As he started to reach for the pot, Decker drew his gun and placed it on the table.

  “If you touch that pot, I’ll kill you.”

  Cal froze. He stared at Decker’s face, then the shotgun, then his face again.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Everyone else in the place did, though. They crowded around to see who would get shot. They didn’t much care which, as long as it was one of them. It would give them something to talk about.

  “That isn’t the hand I called,” Decker said, indicating the cards on the table.

  “What?”

  “The hand I called is in your pocket,” Decker said, “with your handkerchief.”

  “Are—are you accusing me of cheating?” Cal as
ked.

  “Yes.”

  “For a small pot like this?”

  “Yes.”

  Cal laughed nervously.

  “If I was going to cheat, wouldn’t it make more sense for me to work the Dice Box across the street? The games are bigger there.”

  “They’d also spot you in a minute there,” Decker said, “like I did. You’re not very good at it. Tell me, why is it your cough has suddenly cleared up?”

  “My…cough?”

  “Take out the handkerchief,” Decker said.

  Slowly, Cal sat back and reached into his pocket.

  “If you come out with a gun, I’ll kill you. If you come out with the handkerchief, and not the cards, I’ll kill you. Have I made myself clear?”

  Sweating, Cal nodded. He took the handkerchief out and placed it on the table. Decker leaned over and unfolded the cloth, revealing five playing cards, face down. He turned them over, showing everyone how they read.

  “A pair of threes,” Decker said. “That’s the hand I called, and you lose.”

  Cal’s hands were on the table, and he was nervously drumming his fingers.

  Decker raked in his pot.

  “Are—are you gonna—kill me?” Cal asked.

  “For such a small pot?” Decker asked. “Certainly not—providing you’re out of here in five minutes.”

  “I’m gone, mister.” Cal pushed his chair back so quickly that it toppled over when he stood up. “I’m gone.”

  Decker watched the man run for the door, and the spectators went back to their drinking, disappointed that no one had been shot.

  “We owe you, mister,” one of the men at the table said.

  “Just be careful who you play with in the future,” Decker said, standing up.

  “You ain’t playing no more?” one of them asked.

  Decker looked at the end of the bar, where Martha was still standing. “No, I have another appointment.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Decker could count on the fingers of one hand the times in his life that he’d been with a whore. Most of them had taken place when he’d been much younger. In recent years, when he’d been with a woman, it was always by mutual choice; money had had nothing to do with it.

  Martha was an exceptional whore. She was extremely lovely, with blonde hair, a slim waist, rounded hips, and full, shapely thighs. She was only about twenty-two and as close to being truly beautiful as any woman Decker had ever seen.

  When she had taken a slightly drunk Decker to her room the night before, she had made him feel as if she were doing it out of desire. Through the night, when they’d made love, she’d made him feel as if he was the only man who had ever pleasured her like that.

  When the bounty hunter woke up the next morning he felt embarrassed and glad that Martha was still asleep. He rose, dressed, and put some money on her dresser before leaving. He looked at her while she slept, and she seemed even prettier than she’d been the night before, when her face had been all painted. Now it was clean, and he could see what she really looked like. He was sorry she was a whore and that they hadn’t spent the night together just because they’d wanted to.

  He knew why he’d gone with her. It had been a reaction to almost being killed. The worst way for a man to die was to be shot in the back, and he hadn’t escaped by much last night. The best way for a man to know he was alive was to be with a woman—especially a woman as desirable and skilled in lovemaking as Martha.

  Out on the street he stretched until his bones cracked. His eyes felt gritty because he’d only slept half the night, and his head ached from the whiskey he’d consumed hours before, but all in all he felt fine.

  He was alive.

  From his office Kyle Roman could see the Broadus House, and he happened to be looking out the window when Decker came out. Roman knew he couldn’t very well put the squeeze on Brand if Decker took him in. He was going to have to find a way to deal with Decker.

  He watched until the bounty hunter was out of sight. Then he walked away from the window and poured himself another cup of coffee.

  The only reason a man would be coming out of that place early in the morning would be Martha. For a moment the sheriff envied Decker. He’d spent some time with Martha himself.

  The next moment, Roman smiled as he figured out a way to get Decker out of his way without killing him.

  Decker entered the livery stable to check on John Henry and found the liveryman in an agitated state, mumbling to himself and shaking his head.

  “What’s wrong?” Decker asked.

  “Looks like there was a fire here last night,” the old man said.

  “A fire?” Decker demanded. “Is my horse all right?”

  “Oh, sure, mister. Your horse is fine. Fact of the matter is, it was just a small fire. Looks like somebody put it out with a blanket.”

  “Where was the fire?”

  “Come to think of it, it was in front of your horse’s stall.”

  “Show me.”

  The old man led Decker to the spot, and sure enough, there was a scorched patch of hay just across from John Henry’s stall. He went into the stall to check the horse.

  “How you doing, boy?” he said. The gelding turned his head and looked at Decker. “Had some excitement here last night? Huh?”

  He patted the gelding’s neck, checked him to make sure he hadn’t been injured, and then left the stall. As he did, he stepped on something and looked down.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “What?” the old man said.

  Decker bent over and picked the object up. “It’s the heel of a shoe.”

  “Looks like it’s from a woman’s shoe.”

  “Yeah,” Decker said, turning it over in his hand. “Doesn’t it?”

  He looked down at the burnt hay and the scorched blanket. Then he thought about what the man at the poker table had said the night before, about Josephine and her strange man. During the course of the game one of the men had mentioned that the house was at the south end of town.

  He wondered if Miss Josephine wasn’t missing a heel from her shoe today.

  Decker found a café that was open early and went inside for breakfast. He was glad to be the only customer and put the shoe heel on the table while he ate his eggs and bacon.

  If the man living with Josephine was the Baron, then why would he have sent her to the livery? What would she have been doing near John Henry’s stall?

  What would she have seen while she was there?

  A horse…

  A saddle…

  And then it hit him.

  The hangman’s noose.

  His trademark.

  Now the Baron knew that Decker was there, but how had he known to send someone to the livery to look? And how had he become aware that Decker was after him in the first place? There was only one answer to that.

  Sheriff Kyle Roman.

  For some reason, Roman had gone to the Baron and told him that Decker was in town—no, if he had mentioned Decker by name, then the Baron wouldn’t have sent his woman to the livery to check.

  Roman was playing his own game here but what was it? If he and the Baron were friends, then he surely would have mentioned Decker by name. Why hadn’t he?

  Decker was drinking a cup of coffee when Roman walked into the café. He spotted Decker and walked right over to his table.

  “Decker,” he said, “I got to take you in.”

  “For what?” the bounty hunter demanded.

  “Murder.”

  Decker stared at the man and said, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You were with a girl named Martha last night.”

  “So?”

  “So this morning she’s dead, strangled.”

  “What?”

  “I’m arresting you for her murder.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The instant Roman looked into Decker’s cold eyes he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. He went for his gun but Decker sai
d, “Don’t do it, Sheriff.”

  Roman froze.

  “I’ve got my gun on you under the table. It’s been pointing at you since you walked in.”

  Roman wet his lips and then said, “You’re bluffing.”

  “Try me,” Decker said. “You’ve seen my gun. It won’t be any problem for me to fire through this table.”

  Again, Roman wet his lips.

  “You can’t do this, Decker. I’m the law here.”

  “Piss-poor excuse for a lawman, if you ask me. What kind of evidence do you have against me to arrest me?”

  “You were the last one with her.”

  “She was alive when I left.”

  “You can’t prove that.”

  “And you can’t prove she wasn’t.”

  “That’s for a jury to decide.”

  “No,” Decker said, shaking his head. “What’s your game, Roman? You want me out of the way so you can deal with the Baron? You can’t collect the bounty. As a matter of fact, I doubt you’re man enough to even try him.”

  Roman didn’t answer. He was standing there very awkwardly, beginning to sweat, not knowing what to do.

  “Oh, wait a minute, I get it now,” Decker said. “Blackmail. You and I are the only ones who know who he really is. Get me out of the way and you can make him pay for your silence, huh?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “He won’t pay you, you know,” Decker said. “He’ll just kill you.”

  Roman frowned, wetting his lips again.

  “My breakfast is getting cold, Sheriff,” Decker said. “I’d appreciate it if you would get out of here and let me finish.”

  “I’ll just wait for you outside and arrest you there, Decker.”

  “No, you won’t. If you try me, Roman, I’ll kill you.”

  “You can’t kill a town sheriff. You’d be on the run for the rest of your life.”

  “That won’t concern you, because you’ll be dead. Think about that.”

  When the sheriff didn’t move Decker took his sawed-off out from beneath the table just to show the lawman that he wasn’t bluffing.

  “Jesus—” Roman muttered, staring at the shotgun. Then he slowly backed out of the café.