“Okay.”
“So what do I do?” Belle asked.
“Just go back to work,” Grey said. “And don’t—”
At that moment there was a knock at the alley door.
“Who’s that?” Belle asked.
“Relax, it’s probably somebody lookin’ for a game,” Widmark said.
“Should I get it?” Grey asked.
“I’ll get it,” Widmark said. “Just in case. You take Belle out the front.”
“Adam—” Belle said.
“Go ahead!” he said.
“Come on!” Widmark snapped, grabbing her arm. He pulled her into the game room.
Widmark walked into the adjoining room, to the alley door, and opened it.
TWENTY-ONE
“I’m lost,” was the first thing Thomas could think to say when the door was opened by a man wearing a gambler’s three-piece suit.
“Are you?”
“It’s kind of dark out here.”
“So it is,” Grey said. “Come on in.”
Thomas entered, found himself in what looked like a storage room only partially lit by the light coming in the door from another room.
“My name’s Adam Grey. This way, please,” Grey said, leading Thomas through that door.
Here he saw a small room with four chairs and a burning lamp on a table.
“Are you here for a game?” Grey asked.
“A game?” Thomas asked. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Why are you here then, sir? And who are you?”
“My name is Thomas Shaye,” he said, taking out his badge. “I’m a deputy sheriff from Vengeance Creek.”
“Vengeance Creek?” the man repeated. “You’re a little off your patch, aren’t you, Deputy?”
“I’m trackin’ two killers.”
“And you tracked them to the door of my establishment?”
Thomas looked around curiously.
“Just what kind of establishment is this?” he asked.
“I provide . . . games, for people to bet on.”
“A gambling hall?”
“You could say that,” the man said, “but I don’t supply the usual games. You won’t find poker and faro. The town has certain limitations on those games.”
“So your games are illegal?”
“You could say that.”
“Does the sheriff know about this?”
“You could ask him,” Grey said. “He’s in the next room.”
Thomas frowned. He didn’t like crooked lawmen, but that wasn’t what he was in Nogales for.
“Never mind,” Thomas said. “I was followin’ a woman and she came here.”
“A woman? Does she have a name?”
“Belle,” Thomas said. “That’s all I know. She works in a saloon—”
“I know who Belle is, Deputy,” Grey said. “She was here, but isn’t anymore.”
“Where is she?”
“You might find her back at the saloon.”
Thomas deliberated a moment, then said, “I assume she came here to tell you I’m lookin’ for Red Fleming.”
“Red Fleming?” Grey asked, appearing surprised. “Is that who you’re tracking? He’s a killer.”
“That’s what I said,” Thomas replied. “He killed a man in Vengeance Creek, and so did his brother.”
“The same man?”
Thomas grew impatient.
“Does that matter?” he demanded.
Grey put his hand up and said, “I was just asking for clarification.”
“They each killed a man,” Thomas said, “and I’m gonna bring them back to stand trial.”
“Not to hang?”
“That’ll be up to the judge.”
“So you intend to bring these men back alive?”
“That’ll be up to them.”
“And you think you can do that?” Grey asked. “Bring in both of the Fleming boys?”
“It’s my job,” Thomas said. “Don’t matter if I think I can do it or not.”
“That’s very . . . noble of you, Deputy. Say, I’ve got an idea.”
“What?”
“I don’t know these fellows, of course, but there are plenty of men in the other room who would like to bet on whether or not you can bring them in. What do you say? I’ll cut you in for a piece of the action.”
“And if I get killed?”
“I’ll pay double. See, I’m going to back you.”
“So that’s the kind of games you run?” Thomas asked. “Where a man’s life is the stake?”
Grey shrugged his shoulders. “It makes things interesting.”
“And how does the sheriff feel about that?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Grey asked. “Like I said, he’s in the other room. But you better wait until after the fight.”
Thomas compressed his lips and bit his tongue. He had his father’s impatience for lawmen with even a hint of dishonesty. It didn’t matter if they were taking money to look the other way, or for shooting strays, none of it sat right with the Shaye men.
“If you send a message to Red Fleming,” Thomas said to Grey, “tell him I’m comin’ for him.”
“I told you, I don’t—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Thomas said, cutting him off, “you don’t know him. Just give him the message.”
Thomas turned to head for the alley door.
“Deputy?”
He turned.
“You can use the front door, if you want.”
“The alley way will do fine,” Thomas said, and left.
TWENTY-TWO
Thomas awoke the next morning feeling wholly dissatisfied with his stop in Nogales. If anything, all he’d succeeded in doing was letting Red Fleming know he was behind him, and alone. Comfortable with the fact that there wasn’t an entire posse on their trail, the Fleming brothers might just turn and fight—or, more likely, bushwhack him.
As a U.S. lawman—and local, to boot, not federal—he would be perfectly justified in turning around and riding back to Vengeance Creek. He wasn’t even concerned about what his father and brother would think, because he’d be more disappointed in himself. There was no way he was going to allow the Mexican border to keep him from bringing two killers to justice. He’d keep the badge in his pocket, and when he dragged the Flemings back into the U.S., he’d take it out and pin it back on.
He checked out of his hotel and walked to a café he’d found halfway between the hotel and the livery for his breakfast. He was enjoying his ham and eggs when the sheriff walked in and came over to his table.
“Mind if I sit?”
“Go ahead,” Thomas said. “Want some food?”
“I had breakfast, thanks.”
“How about some coffee?”
“That I’ll always say yes to,” the local lawman said, “as long as it ain’t mine.”
The sheriff sat, righted a cup on the table and poured himself a cup while Thomas continued to eat.
“What’s on your mind this mornin’, Sheriff?” Thomas asked.
“You are,” Sheriff Dewey said. “I heard you talked with Adam Grey last night.”
“I did.”
“Well, whatever he told you,” Dewey said, “I’d take with a grain of salt.”
“I figured out that much for myself,” Thomas said around a piece of ham. “What’ve you got for me that I don’t already know?”
“Okay,” the lawman said, “I know you don’t think much of me. I’ve got a gambling problem—”
“Hey,” Thomas said, cutting him off, “that’s between you and whatever you believe in. I ain’t here to judge you, but I don’t like bein’ lied to. You told me you didn’t know Red Fleming.”
“And I don’t,” Dewey said. “That wasn’t a lie. But Grey, he knows every outlaw and thief who rides through here. They have to pay him some kind of tribute. So he knows Fleming, and he probably knows where he is. I came to warn you. Red Fleming probably knows you’re comin’.”
&n
bsp; Thomas ate the last of his eggs, then sat back in his chair.
“I know that, too,” he said.
“Well then, maybe you don’t know this,” Dewey said. “They’re still in Nogales, right across the border.”
Thomas sat forward.
“You’re right, I didn’t know that,” he said. “Not for sure, anyway.”
“Well, good.” Dewey finished his coffee and stood up. “Then maybe I helped you.”
“You can help me more by ridin’ over there with me,” Thomas said.
“Now that I can’t do, Deputy,” Dewey said. “You know that.
No jurisdiction.”
“Is there any law over there?”
“Yeah,” Dewey said, “their own kind of law.”
“Okay then,” Thomas said. “Thanks.”
“You headin’ out now?” Dewey asked.
“Not sure,” Thomas said. “I’m gonna have another cup of coffee and consider my options.”
“Fair enough,” Dewey said. “Watch your back.”
“I will,” Thomas said.
The sheriff walked out, and Thomas waved the waiter over so he could pay his bill and get to the livery before Dewey decided to go and talk to Adam Grey.
TWENTY-THREE
Across the border, Red and Harry Fleming were eating breakfast.
“What do they call these again?” Harry asked.
“Huevos rancheros,” Red said. “Jesus, Harry, if we’re gonna be down here a while you’re gonna hafta learn some Spanish.”
“And these are what?” Harry asked, looking at what was on his fork.
“They’re eggs!”
“Ain’t no eggs like I ever seen,” Harry complained.
“Just put ’em in a tortilla and eat ’em,” Red said. “I like ’em just fine.”
Harry did as his brother said, loaded some of the dubious-looking eggs into a tortilla, rolled it up and bit into it.
“So, how long we gonna be down here, again?”
“At least until Candy gets here,” Red said, “maybe longer.”
“Why we gotta wait for him?”
“Because Candy’s been ridin’ with me a long time,” Red said, “and he’ll have some information for us.”
“Like wha—”
“Oh, just shut up and eat, Harry!” Red snapped. “If you hadn’t gone to that town to get your ashes hauled, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”
“I told you that guy deserved killin’!”
“I don’t care! Just eat and shut up.”
Morosely, Harry bit into his tortilla, wishing he had some bacon.
Later, while Red was in his room with the waitress, Harry Fleming took a walk around town. Nogales was a poor excuse for a town, not a place Harry wanted to spend a lot of time in. But Red liked the food, and he had a woman, and he wasn’t worried about a posse crossing the border. Harry thought about moving along on his own, but the last time he’d done that, he’d gotten into trouble in Vengeance Creek.
He went into a general store, looked at some sombreros and serapes, bought himself a licorice stick and went outside. Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a rider, one he recognized, and ducked back inside.
Damn it!
He waited for the man to move on so he could step out again. He hit the street running, heading for the hotel. When he got there, he ran right to his brother’s door and burst in.
Red was pulling on his trousers and stopped to stare at his brother
“You just missed her,” he said. “Mighta got a look at her naked.”
“He’s here,” Harry said, “just rode in.”
“Who?”
“The deputy,” Harry said. “The one who arrested me. Thomas Shaye.”
Red straightened up.
“Is he alone?”
“He was when I saw him.”
“What was he doin’?”
“Just ridin’ in.”
“So he just got here,” Red said, grabbing his shirt and pulling it on.
“What are we gonna do?”
“We’re gonna make sure he’s alone before we do anythin’,” Red said.
“And then we’ll kill ’im?”
“We’ll see, Harry,” Red said. “Don’t be in such a hurry to kill a lawman.”
“We’re in Mexico, Red,” Harry said. “He ain’t no lawman here.”
“That’s true,” Red said, strapping on his gunbelt. “That’s very true.”
“So we’re gonna do it, then?”
“If we do it, Harry,” Red said, “we’ll do it when I say so.
Understand?”
“Yeah, yeah . . .”
“After all,” Red went on, “he’s here because you went off by yourself and got into trouble.”
“I get it, Red,” Harry said. “I get it!”
“Okay, then,” Red said, “let’s find out if Deputy Shaye is here alone.”
Thomas Shaye rode into Nogales on the Mexican side of the border, badge in his pocket, eyes peeled for any sign of Red or Harry Fleming. It wouldn’t do for either one to see him before he saw them. But he was prepared for anything. If they ran into each other on the street, he had no qualms about drawing his gun.
Nogales on the Mexican side was quite different from Nogales on the U.S. side. For one thing, it seemed dirtier, dustier, and the buildings all looked as if they would fall over in a stiff breeze. He reined in his horse in front of the Cantina Rosita and dismounted. Inside the place was practically empty, with a couple of men dozing beneath their tilted sombreros. He walked to the bar and uttered the only word of Spanish he knew.
“Cerveza.”
“Si, señor.”
The squat Mexican bartender set a mug of beer in front of him. He took two sips, knowing it wasn’t going to be cold. But at least it was wet.
“Thanks.”
“Por nada.”
He turned with the mug in his hand and looked over the interior of the place. He and the bartender were the only men who were awake. The five others seated at tables—three alone, two together—were all dozing over their drinks. And from the looks of them, they were all Mexicans.
He turned back to the bar.
“Any gringos in town?” he asked.
“Si, señor.”
“Where?”
The bartender pointed at Thomas, who laughed.
“Okay, what about other than me?”
“Perhaps a few,” the bartender said, with a shrug. “Here and there.”
“Nobody . . . noticeable?”
“Señor?”
“You know,” Thomas said, “recognizable? Wanted names?”
“No one like that, señor,” the man said. “Not that I know of.”
“I see.” Thomas paid for his beer. “Where’s the nearest livery stable?”
“At the end of the street, señor.”
“Thanks.”
“Señor,” the bartender said, “you are a bounty hunter?”
“No,” Thomas said, “I’m not,” and left the cantina.
TWENTY-FOUR
Red Fleming told Harry to remain in his hotel room until he came back.
“Why?”
“Because Shaye knows you, dummy,” Red said. “If he sees you, he’ll know we’re here. Just lie low until I come back.”
“Don’t you kill ’im without me,” Harry warned his brother.
“I ain’t goin’ near him,” Red said. “I just wanna find out if he’s alone.”
Red left his unhappy brother sitting on his bed, and departed from the hotel.
Naturally, he didn’t know where Thomas Shaye had gone. Most likely he got a drink, or went to a hotel, or stopped at the sheriff’s office. Red decided to have a drink first, and went to the biggest cantina in town. He was lucky. As he started to approach the front door opened and Shaye stepped out. Red quickly jumped back up onto the boardwalk across the street, and into a doorway.
Shaye picked up his horse’s reins and started walking down the str
eet, probably to the nearby livery stable.
Red Fleming gave him a little bit of a head start, then followed.
Thomas found the livery but had to wake the hostler up to make arrangements for his horse.
“Sorry, señor,” the man said, “but it is siesta time.”
“Then I’m sorry, but my horse needs tendin’ to.”
The hostler yawned and said, “Of course, señor. And how long will you be stayin’?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas said. “I guess that depends on how long it takes me to find what I’m lookin’ for.”
Most men might have asked him what he was looking for, but the fiftyish hostler was probably more concerned with getting back to his siesta, so he only nodded and took Thomas’ horse to a stall after the deputy had removed his saddlebags and rifle.
Thomas left the livery. On the way there, he had passed both a hotel and the sheriff’s office. He decided to first go to see the sheriff. He found the office, but did not knock on the door for fear of it collapsing beneath his fist. Instead he simply opened it and entered.
The interior seemed both fusty and dirty, as did the man behind the desk who, at that moment, was leaning back in his chair with his feet up, dozing. His chair was balanced only on its rear legs.
Thomas knew he was going to have to interrupt another siesta.
He cleared his throat, but the man at the desk didn’t stir. He got closer and saw the sheriff’s badge on the man’s shirt, as opposed to a deputy’s badge. He cleared his throat again, and this time the man moved, but didn’t wake. He waved a hand in front of him, as if warding off a fly.
“Sheriff!” Thomas yelled.
The sheriff’s feet immediately came down off his desk, and his chair came down with a bang onto its front legs.
He opened his eyes and blearily tried to focus on Thomas.
“Señor?”
“Sorry to disturb you, Sheriff,” Thomas said.
“No, no,” the man said, waving Thomas’ apology off, “what can I do for you, señor?”
He was a fairly young man, although probably ten years or so older than Thomas.
“My name is Thomas Shaye,” Thomas said, digging his badge out of his shirt pocket. “I’m a deputy from Vengeance Creek, Arizona.”
“Arizona,” the sheriff said. “I am afraid you have no authority here, Deputy.”
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