Reaper's Fee

by Marcus Galloway

  Catherine had seen what that gun could do in the proper hands. In fact, there was only one hand for the pistol and it was the same hand that hovered over it now.

  “What did he want with me?” Nick asked.

  Snapping herself out of the silence that had enveloped her, Catherine replied, “He said he needed to ask you something, but didn’t say what it was. I know it had something to do with a lot of money.”

  “How much is a lot?”

  “So much that he was willing to hand over a thousand dollars as an advance if I could help steer him in the right direction.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She nodded. “And that was without any bargaining on my part. I probably could have gotten a higher offer.”

  “Maybe, but collecting it would have been another matter.”

  “Just the fact that he offered that much with a straight face told me a lot. Or do you think it was all just a load of dung?”

  Nick rubbed his chin and felt the fresh whiskers that had taken up residence there. Even through the beard, he could feel the scars and lines as if they were tracks left in freshly blown sand. “It wasn’t dung,” he muttered. “At least, not all of it. Even if he figured on killing you, he wouldn’t have parted with that amount of money so easily. Not unless he was certain he could miss it if push came to shove.”

  Knowing better than to question Nick’s instincts on the matter, Catherine told him, “He wanted to know where you were.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “To try back tomorrow. It was the best I could do with you coming up on us so fast like that. Do you think he could have been an outlaw?”

  Nick chuckled coldly as he lowered his hand. “No man on the right side of the law bolts from a badge like that.”

  “Did he look familiar?” Catherine asked.

  “Nope. I don’t even know how the hell he found me.”

  Catherine closed her eyes for just a bit longer than it would take her to blink. A change drifted over her face like a stray cloud passing across the moon. “I think I may know how he found you.”

  “You do?”

  “Back when you and Joseph Van Meter were riding together, someone came here looking for me. Well…I guess they were looking for me so they could get to you.”

  Nick nodded solemnly. “And they almost found you. If Sheriff Stilson hadn’t covered our tracks, things might have turned out a whole lot worse.”

  “Well, it’s my guess that whoever came looking sent a telegram about what he found…or didn’t find. Someone at that telegraph office remembered you being mentioned, and that got around to someone else.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Nick grumbled. “I wonder why anyone even bothers with newspapers and such when there’s so many goddamn gossips in this world. Are you sure that’s the man who sent the message?”

  “No, but he’s the only one to come around after you since you put on that badge.”

  Nick took some of the edge from his voice when he asked, “What else did he say?”

  “Not much more than that. All he kept asking was where to find you.”

  Backing away from the bar, Nick placed his hand upon the gnarled grip of his pistol and said, “Then I suppose I shouldn’t disappoint him.”

  Catherine turned to face him, but didn’t move any closer. “Or you could just let him go. He didn’t even recognize you when he saw you, so he’ll probably just leave if I don’t give him anything else better to do.”

  “Or he might not leave,” Nick said. “Or…I might want to hear what he’s got to say.”

  “Why in the hell would you want to hear what he’s got to say? You just told me that he’s probably on the wrong side of the law. That’s not the life you lead anymore. You promised me that.”

  “What I promised was to take care of you the best way I know how. I’ve had a badge pinned to me for a little while, but I was earning money another way for most of my life before that and I’ll remind you that the money back then was a whole lot more than any deputy’s salary.”

  “No good can come from this, Nick!” Catherine said as she pounded the bar with her fist. “Everything’s been going so well since you decided to stay here with me. The Tin Pan’s prosperous. You’re a respected man in your own field and now folks even respect you as a lawman even though all you do is make the rounds every so often. You’re a part of this town, Nick.”

  “I’m a part of you,” he said as he stepped up to her and held both of her hands in his. “But that might not be such a good thing.”

  Catherine recoiled as if she’d been slapped in the face. “How could you say that?”

  “Because there’s parts of who I am that will never fade. They’ll never go away and I’ll never be able to wash them off, no matter what I do, what I say or what I pin onto my shirt. Those things will become part of you too, and you don’t deserve that kind of stain upon your soul.”

  Although she’d been fighting him at first, Catherine pulled her hands out of Nick’s grasp so she could take hold of his face and make certain he didn’t look away. “Knowing you is the best thing that has ever happened to me and if that brings some ghosts along with it, then so be it. I’ll go wherever you want me to go if you’ll have me.”

  “I know, Catherine.” Nick gently eased out of her grasp. He let his hands linger on her for a few moments before taking them away as well. “But you shouldn’t have to give up so much. You don’t deserve that kind of life.”

  “And you do?”

  Nick knew the answer to that and so did she.

  Neither of them wanted to say it out loud.

  FOUR

  The following day, Nick had plenty of work to do. Even though nobody had died, he was still short a few coffins after the outbreak of fever during the previous winter. His father had always taught him to prepare for the future and that meant spending the good times preparing for the worst. Because he was a coffin maker and undertaker, most folks’ best times just happened to be his worst.

  Nick had been raised watching grave markers spread across one hillside or another. His father had taught him how to build coffins and he’d picked up the rest of the undertaker’s trade from a few others over the years. Most of his days were now spent at or near Ocean’s cemetery, tending the grounds, caring for the folks who were there to serve their time beneath it.

  Nick’s workshop was a small shack filled with fresh pieces of lumber and the tools of his trade. It smelled of cedar, oak, varnish and wood chips, which always brought a smile to his face. That smile wasn’t there at the moment, however. The stacks of empty coffins outside the shack were only growing taller, and each wooden box was the culmination of a few days’ work that had yet to bear fruit.

  The cemetery grounds were immaculate and every marker was cleaned off. In fact, several of the markers looked better now than when Nick had first carved them. He spent much of his quiet time making the letters more ornate or putting a brighter smile upon a cherub’s face. Unfortunately, the dead couldn’t express their appreciation by putting money in Nick’s pockets.

  Even though it was a beautiful morning, Nick didn’t spend much of it in the tranquility of his own personal boot hill. There was other work to be done, and most of that was in his parlor.

  Nick decided to walk into town. Even though Rasa or Kazys could have used the exercise, there was no reason to bother saddling up either of his horses. It wasn’t a long walk, but Nick took his time. There was nobody waiting for him when he got there.

  His parlor was dusty and had some cobwebs growing in the upper corners like moss spreading over the surface of a log. After sweeping them away, Nick rolled up his sleeves and got to work cleaning the rest of the place. He wiped off the display cases, straightened the chairs and arranged the Bibles in neat piles. When he was done, Nick stood at the front door so he could admire his handiwork.

  “You should have sent word you were doing all this cleaning,” Catherine said from just outside the door. “I would have h
elped.”

  Nick jumped and reflexively reached for his gun. Fortunately, he wasn’t wearing his holster, or he might have cleared leather before realizing who was there. “Jesus, Catherine,” he said. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  Grinning at the fact that she was the only one who could catch him off guard so easily, Catherine gave him a peck on the cheek and walked around him. There was a basket dangling from one of her arms and a bottle in each hand. “Sorry about that,” she said, walking to the display cases where Bibles and invitation samples were kept. “I would have knocked, but I thought that might startle you more.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Lunch. What does it look like?”

  “How did you know I’d be here?”

  “You usually stop by here on Wednesdays.” Glancing at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she asked, “Don’t you know your own habits, Mister Graves?”

  Nick had to stop and think for a moment before he realized that she was right. “I guess not. You haven’t brought me lunch for a long time.”

  “Well, I can’t be waiting around for you every day, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t mind doing so every now and then. I can’t stay long, though.” The farmers will be wanting lunch soon.

  Digging through the mix of sandwiches and fruit in the basket, Nick selected one of each and said, “I’ll take whatever I can get.”

  “You seem to be in a better mood. Did someone die?”

  Considering how well she kept a straight face, Nick might have been the only man alive to know that she was kidding. “No. Nobody died, but I’m considering shooting someone just so I can get back in business.”

  She waved that off and picked out a sandwich for herself. “Nonsense. The Tin Pan’s doing great. Even though the new bar brings in a few dregs, it’s turned out to be a good investment. We can afford to wait around for the next funeral.” Snapping her fingers excitedly, she added, “Missus Nordstrom looks fairly pale. We might be in for some prosperous times yet.”

  Nick shook his head and took a bite of an apple. “That’s terrible.”

  “I know,” Catherine replied with a crinkle of her nose. “I’m a devil.”

  They ate for a few more minutes without saying much of anything. It was good to savor the quiet times. Being in an undertaker’s parlor didn’t put a dent in either of them. They simply ate their lunch and then cleaned up when they were done.

  After packing the remnants into the basket, Catherine said, “By the way, that man came by the restaurant for breakfast.”

  Nick bristled and didn’t try to cover it. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him he might be able to catch sight of you at the gun shop.”

  That was the second time in two days Catherine had surprised him. Nick squinted as if he was trying to see through a fog before saying, “I thought you weren’t going to have any part in that business.”

  “If I want us to work together, that’s what we should do. Me hiding things from you and trying to undo them behind your back won’t do anyone any good. All I ask is that you return the favor.”

  “Okay. Why the gun shop?”

  “Because it’s not close to my restaurant or this parlor. You could avoid it if you chose. Also, he talked about you like he only knew you from your wild days, so it seemed like the sort of place he would expect to find you. It was either that or the saloon, and I didn’t want to set up anything with that much potential for a backfire.”

  Nick was speechless. All he could do was shake his head and laugh quietly under his breath.

  “What’s so funny?” Catherine asked.

  “Are you sure you never met Barrett?”

  “I’m sure. Why?”

  “Because that’s the same amount of thinking he put into every little thing he did.”

  “And I suppose you never planned ahead a step or two?”

  Nick chuckled once again, but at his own expense. “I was more the kind to steam ahead and try to dodge some of the hell I kicked up along the way.”

  “Yes, well, try not to kick any up today. If you want to see what’s on this fellow’s mind, I know I can’t stop you. If you’d like to keep things quiet for a change, avoid the gun shop and then chase him out of town wearing that badge of yours.” Cautiously, she added, “You do still have the badge, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Catherine took the basket and pointed to the bottles that were still on the counter. “That’s sarsaparilla. You’re not getting any of that vile liquor you forced me to buy until after business hours.”

  “Not vile,” Nick corrected. “Vodka.”

  “Same difference.”

  With that, Catherine patted Nick’s cheek and walked out of the parlor.

  It was funny how such a simple thing as lunch could make such a big difference. In fact, Nick hadn’t even realized how glum he’d been until the clouds had lifted. Now, when he looked around, he saw a prosperous business in a friendly town. That business had now been cleaned, which made it seem even better.

  A bit of Nick’s budding optimism faded when he thought about the other news that Catherine had brought. As attractive as the idea of chasing this stranger out of town seemed, Nick simply couldn’t do it. There were too many possibilities attached. His old friend Barrett had taught him that much.

  Then again, it was sometimes healthier to avoid Barrett’s advice like the plague.

  FIVE

  Willhemene Pass, Colorado

  January 1865

  “Give me all your money,” Barrett said as he stomped into the cabin like a dog nosing its way through the back door. He wasn’t normally a big man, but the layers of furs, coats, shirts and long johns he wore added a considerable amount of bulk to his frame.

  Nick was asleep in a corner, huddled there in a position that might have been uncomfortable if he still had any feeling in his legs. As it was, the cold chewed at him all the way down to the bone. He was so cold, in fact, that reaching for his pistol was the first time the young man had ever heard his joints creak.

  “Go to hell, asshole!” Nick snapped as he finally managed to take his gun from its holster.

  Barrett didn’t even flinch when he found himself staring down the barrel of Nick’s pistol. His eyes were wide open and he trembled with something other than cold or fear. “Don’t be such a cocksucker, Nick. I’m serious.”

  “I am, too,” Nick replied as he thumbed the hammer back. “Serious as hell. And you’ll be dead as hell before you take the money I got.”

  “I helped steal most of that, too, you know.”

  “And you ain’t stealing this.”

  Nick’s face reflected anger as well as pain from awakening his previously deadened nerves. The shack wasn’t much bigger than an outhouse, and had been put together so poorly that it let in more snow than it kept out. Nick’s boots scraped against the floor as he fought to sit up. When he pressed his back against the wall for support, it caused the boards behind him to creak like an old man begging for mercy.

  “The only one to steal from us is you, remember?” Barrett said with a grin.

  “That was different. That was to get in one of the biggest poker games in the area.”

  “That’s what you say about all of ’em, and when the hell are you gonna take my advice? Faro’s where the real money’s at.”

  Nick was tired of arguing. A stiff wind ripped over the side of the mountain and tore through the shack like a set of wolf’s fangs ripping through an exposed neck. “What do you need money for?” Nick asked as he tucked his gun under the outermost of the blankets wrapped around him. “We don’t even got enough to pay for a hotel.”

  “How much do we have?”

  After staring at Barrett for a few more seconds, Nick realized the other young man wasn’t about to go anywhere. Nick let out a sigh and started going through the arduous motions of peeling off the blankets surrounding him like a cocoon. Once the blankets were gone, Nick was still wrapped u
p in a tangle of garments, ranging from an old sailor’s coat to a few layers previously worn by federal infantry.

  “I wanted to go into town,” Nick grumbled. “I wanted to get someplace to stay. Even a back room in a goddamn saloon would be better than this.”

  “This,” Barrett said, rubbing his hands together, “is perfect. Nobody knows it’s here, so it’ll make a perfect spot to hole up.”

  Nick stopped what he was doing and snapped his eyes back up to his friend. He’d known Barrett Cobb since they were both kids. They’d formed their first gang together. They’d run off to start robbing general stores together. They’d robbed armories and a train together. They’d also watched various members of their gang drop like flies when the shooting started.

  At the moment, Barrett and Nick were the only members of their gang still in Colorado. The rest of his friends could have been dead or in Oklahoma, for all he knew. “You got something planned, Barrett?” Nick asked.

  Barrett shrugged and didn’t even try to cover the grin that was creeping onto his face. “Maybe, but it’ll take some cash to get going.”

  “How much?”

  “At least a hundred. Maybe two.”

  Nick’s hands curled into fists inside his pockets. “If I had that much money, why the fuck would I be curled up in a ball in all this goddamn cold?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you’ve been holding out.”

  “You calling me a thief?”

  “No. I said maybe you were holding out. You know…for an emergency.”

  Slowly, Nick’s scowl faded and he took one hand out of his pocket. Apart from a few scars and several calluses, it was in perfect working order. The whiskers on his face may have been long, but they weren’t nearly thick enough to form a beard or come close to hiding the resignation on his face. He opened his fist to reveal a few wadded bills and some large coins. “There’s twenty-four dollars and fifty cents.”

  Barrett scowled, but it was more good-natured than the expression that had darkened Nick’s features. “I’ve got thirty. Seems like we were both holding out.”

  “I ain’t handing it over until I hear what you got planned.”