by Bill Dugan
“I think I’ll wait for him to tell me that. We got to discuss my compensation. After all, I have a contract, and honorable men got to honor pieces of paper like that, don’t they?”
“You wouldn’t know an honorable man from a diamondback. Where’s Tommy?”
Kinkaid jerked a finger toward the cell-block doorway. “He’s in there, like I told you. You can visit with him if you like, but you ain’t taking him. Not now. Not yet.”
“Give me the key.”
“It ain’t locked. You can go in.”
Henessey stomped to the door and pulled it open. He moved down the cellblock and stood in front of Tom’s cell. He tried the door, but it was locked. He saw the blood, and he called to Tom, who hadn’t moved, “Tommy, you alright, boy? Tommy? It’s me, Lyle Henessey. You alright?”
When he still got no answer, he curled his big hands around the bars and tried to pull the door open. It didn’t budge, and he slammed a fist into the lock-plate in frustration. He ran back to the office.
“What did you do to that boy?”
“He was resisting arrest. I persuaded him it wasn’t a good idea.” Kinkaid laughed. “Took some persuading, too, he did.”
“I know what you’re doing, Kinkaid.”
The marshal shook his head, rocking slightly in the chair. He lowered his feet to the floor, tilted his hat back, and smiled into Henessey’s face. “I do too, Lyle. I do too.”
“You won’t get away with this.”
“Think not? Well, then, maybe the kindly folk of Cross Creek don’t want law and order after all. Maybe they just want to whine and snivel. Afraid of a bunch of drunken cowboys, that what it was, Lyle? All you big men bring in a whip to keep the little boys in line?”
“You’re mad, Kinkaid.”
“Not mad, just real good at my job. And I guess you got to be a little crazy in this business. I mean, it is more dangerous than selling beans and mucilage, Lyle. Of course, if you got somebody better in mind, well, then maybe we should just see if he’s up to snuff.”
“I know what you’re doing. And I know why.”
“That makes two of us, Lyle.”
“I’m warning you, Kinkaid, anything happens to that boy, you’ll have to answer for it.”
“I got nothing but answers, Lyle. You ought to know that. Buy ’em by the box in your store.”
Chapter 19
MORGAN WAS SITTING up when Henessey stormed in. He knew the news was bad, and he slipped down off the counter. His head throbbed and he felt with his fingertips for the painful lump on the back of his skull. “Where’s Tom?” he asked.
“He’s in jail, Morgan. And he’s been beat up pretty bad.”
Morgan started for the door, but Henessey blocked his path. “Where you think you’re going?”
“To get my gun.”
“No you ain’t, Morgan. That’s just what Kinkaid wants. You know it and I know it. But you ain’t in no shape to lock horns with that bastard. We got to do this carefully.”
“You do. I don’t. I’m not a careful man, Lyle.”
“You are now, whether you like it or not. We’ll do this one by the book. And we’ll do it right.”
Morgan tried to brush past him, but Henessey locked him in a bear hug. He dragged the struggling man back toward the storeroom. Morgan was still groggy, and Henessey was a big, powerful man. He might not have been in the best of shape, but in his weakened condition, Morgan was still no match for him.
Henessey shoved him into the storeroom and closed the door. He dropped the lock bar in place, then turned to the two men in the store. “Ben,” he said, “go get Tate Crimmins. You get him here and you get him here fast. I don’t give a damn what he’s doing. I don’t care if he’s foreclosing on a mortgage, you get him.”
Ben nodded once, tried not to look dubious, and shook his head more vigorously.
“What the hell you waiting for, Ben?” Henessey shouted. “Go get Crimmins. Now!”
He turned to the second man. “David, find Albert Mitchell. Bring him here. We need us a lawyer.” David moved toward the door.
Morgan was pounding on the inside of the storeroom door. “Open the door, dammit, Lyle. That bastard’s got my son.”
“I’ll open it, but you got to promise to listen to me if I do.”
“Open it, Lyle!”
“You gonna listen to me?”
Henessey cringed when he heard glass breaking. “Lyle, less you want every damn jar and bottle in the place broken, you open the goddamned door.”
Henessey shook his head. “Alright, alright, I’m coming.” Another crash echoed through the store as Henessey moved behind the counter and reached under for his gun. He unloaded it, dumped the shells in his pocket, and closed the cylinder.
Stepping back to the door, he reached for the bar just as Morgan began another assault. “Come on, Lyle, dammit!” Something else made of glass crashed against the door. The shards of the wreckage cascaded down the other side of the door as Henessey pulled the bar free.
The door flew open and Morgan charged straight into the barrel of Henessey’s Colt. He stopped, a stunned look on his face, but he didn’t back up.
“You gonna use that, Lyle?”
“If I have to, yes. You ready to listen to me?”
“If I have to, yes.”
“Alright, simmer down, then. I got people after Tate Crimmins and Albert Mitchell. We got to wait until they get here.”
“What for? Crimmins won’t do anything. You told me that yourself.”
“He will if I push him hard enough. We’ve had enough, Morgan. This ain’t going to go no further. You have my word on that.”
“Unh hunh. And who’s Mitchell?”
“He’s a lawyer.”
“Tom doesn’t need a lawyer. I don’t need a lawyer, either. I need my gun.”
“I’m trying to tell you we can handle it without that, Morgan. Don’t be so damned pigheaded.”
“No you can’t. Kinkaid wants me, and he’s about to get what he wants.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll worry later.”
“You listen to me now, you don’t have to worry later.”
Morgan was about to argue when Crimmins appeared in the store’s front door. “Lyle, what the hell’s going on?”
“Tate, your man Kinkaid’s finally gone and done it.”
“Done what?”
“He’s beat up Tommy Atwater and thrown him in jail.”
“Tommy? What for?”
“Because he’s trying to get to me,” Morgan said.
“But he can’t do that. He . . .”
“You ain’t listening to me. He’s done it, Tate. What we got to do is undo it. And I’m telling you right now, we are going to undo it. First we are going to get Tommy out of jail. Then you are going to tell Kinkaid his services are no longer required in Cross Creek. We can’t wait for the federal marshal. I want you there because you’re the father of this mess. You can help clean it up.”
Crimmins seemed reluctant. Morgan and Henessey realized at the same moment that Crimmins was afraid of Kinkaid. “No excuses, Tate. He’s gone, as of now, and that’s that.”
“What about the contract?”
“You do what you want. As far as I’m concerned, he broke it a long time ago. I should have done something sooner. But I won’t wait no more, I’ll tell you that. He about killed Morgan’s boy, and I think it’s our fault. I know it is. I got David Ray running down Albert Mitchell. We are going to do this according to the book. Albert will see to that.”
Crimmins lapsed into silence. Henessey was right and everyone in the store knew it. Morgan reached into his pocket and fished out a key. He flipped it to Ben.
“Go over to the hotel,” he said. “Room five. Get my gunbelt.”
“Morgan, I told you, you don’t need your gun. We’ve had enough gun play as it is.”
“Lyle, I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I’ve been dealing with this all my life. I
know what it’s like, and you don’t have a clue. I want my gun.” He turned to Ben. “Go get it, Ben, please.”
Ben stood there, the key in his outstretched hand. He looked at Henessey, then at Morgan, then back at Henessey. “Go ahead, Ben,” Lyle said. “And be quick about it.”
Crimmins cleared his throat. “You think you can take Kinkaid, Atwater?”
Henessey exploded. “Damn it, Tate! Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“I heard you, Lyle. But I’m asking him, not you. Can you, Atwater? Can you take him?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s plenty fast, I seen that often enough,” Crimmins said.
“Tate, what’s your point?”
“My point is, what if Kinkaid don’t want to be fired. We stir him up, we got a hornet’s nest on our hands. I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I was wondering could Atwater handle the situation. If it comes to that, I mean.”
“No you weren’t, Tate. I know you. You don’t think like that. Now, what were you getting at?”
Crimmins cleared his throat and was about to explain when David Ray and Albert Mitchell arrived. He waited impatiently for the situation to be explained to Mitchell, then he turned to Henessey again.
“Go on, Tate,” Henessey said.
“Well, it’s like this.” Crimmins was stalling for time. “Kinkaid’s a gunfighter. And we’re all pretty much agreed that he’s out of control. But Atwater, here, he’s a gunfighter, too. I was just thinking . . . we owe Kinkaid the rest of his pay. By contract, I mean. Albert, you done the papers, ain’t that the way it is?”
Mitchell nodded. “That’s true,” he said.
“So, I was thinking, if Atwater takes care of Kinkaid, we can just pay him the money. He can be the new marshal or he can not. Whatever he wants. It won’t cost the town anything extra, either way.”
“Is that it, Tate?”
“That’s it.”
Atwater took two quick steps and planted himself squarely in front of Crimmins. He grabbed the front of the mayor’s vest and tugged it up under his chin. “You big tub of guts. I never took money in my life to shoot a man. You understand me? Never. And I ain’t about to start now. You make me sick. It’s men like you make men like Brett Kinkaid possible. You plant them and you tend them, you water and feed them, just like they was some kind of precious flower. But it isn’t like that. Not at all.” He shoved Crimmins and the banker stumbled back until he slammed into the counter. The impact rattled the change in the cash drawer. It was the only sound in the store, except for Morgan’s raspy breathing.
He started toward the door as Ben stepped up onto the boardwalk. He snatched at the gunbelt and buckled it on. He checked the cylinder, and put a shell in the empty chamber. The gun slid in and out of the holster once, then again. The shallow thud of steel on leather punctuated a whispered conversation between Henessey and Mitchell.
Morgan rapped on the door frame. “I’m going to get my son,” he said. “You can come along or you can wait here. I don’t give a damn.”
He started out the door, and Henessey called after him, “Hold on, Morgan. We’re coming.”
Atwater was already moving up the block by the time the rest of them made it through the door. Henessey started to run, and he caught Morgan three quarters of the way to the marshal’s office. Brett Kinkaid lounged in the doorway. His jacket was already pulled back behind his right hip.
“Morgan, try it my way first, please? It’s the best way. You know it is.”
“I want my boy, Lyle. I don’t care how I get him, but I want my boy. And if he’s as busted up as you say, you better get a doctor over here. One way or another, we’re gonna need one.”
Kinkaid hadn’t moved. Henessey watched him with one eye while he despatched David Ray to find the doctor.
Morgan stepped to the front of the marshal’s office. Henessey bulled in front of him, pinning Morgan behind him with outstretched arms.
“Gentlemen,” Kinkaid said. “Nice day for a walk. A little hot, though, ain’t it.”
Henessey looked back for Crimmins. The mayor was shuffling along behind the rest of the men, and Henessey shouted, “Tate Crimmins, you get your ass over here. Now.”
“That’s the mayor you’re talkin’ to, Lyle,” Kinkaid said.
“I know damn good and well who it is. You shut the hell up, you understand me?”
“Lyle, I am not in a particularly good mood. I had a troublesome morning, and when I get like that, I get impatient.”
Kinkaid moved away from the door frame and watched as Crimmins reluctantly came forward to stand beside Henessey.
“Marshal,” Crimmins said.
“Mr. Mayor. You got something to say to me?”
“You tell him, Tate. Damn you. Tell him.”
“You have Tommy Atwater in jail, do you?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Let him out, dammit.”
“Can’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.”
“I’ve had enough,” Morgan said, twisting away from Henessey’s grip.
Chapter 20
ALBERT MITCHELL JOINED the small knot collecting in front of the office. “Mr. Kinkaid,” he said. “What are you charging the Atwater boy with?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Public nuisance, obstructing justice, whatever.”
“What’s his bail?”
“Bail? He ain’t got no bail. It ain’t been set. Need a judge for that. No judge in town, you know that.”
“That’s right, there isn’t. But as mayor, Mr. Crimmins is authorized to function in such matters. He is a magistrate, and he can handle it.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
Crimmins looked at Mitchell. “I didn’t know that,” he said.
“Just do it, Crimmins,” Morgan snapped.
Crimmins cleared his throat, once, then a second time. His voice sounded strangely thin, as if his collar were too tight. “Ten dollars. That about right, Albert?”
Mitchell nodded.
“I got the money,” Henessey said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. “Ten dollars?” He counted out the bills and handed them to Crimmins. Then he turned to Kinkaid. “There, now let him go.”
Mitchell stepped up onto the boardwalk. Henessey followed him. Kinkaid squared up, blocking the door. “Where the hell you think you’re going?” he asked.
“We’re going to get Tommy Atwater,” Henessey said. “You got no reason to hold him, now. Get out of the way.”
“Don’t you think his father ought to be the first one to see him? Seems like if he can’t afford to pay to get him out, the least he could do is be the one to pick him up.”
Morgan stepped onto the boardwalk “I’ll get him,” he said.
“Through me, though. Ain’t that the way it’s supposed to be, Morgan? Ain’t you supposed to go through me?”
“No. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be. I’m through with that.”
“You disappoint me, Morgan. It’s plain to see you’re nothing anymore.”
Morgan swung and caught Kinkaid by surprise. The punch landed in Kinkaid’s mid-section, and he doubled over, falling backward into the office. Morgan was on him in a flash. He jerked Kinkaid’s gun free and threw it out into the street, then he propelled him on through the door. Kinkaid landed in the dirt. He lay there stunned as Morgan turned to move back into the cell block.
Henessey rushed in after him, snatching the keys from a wooden peg over the door. He unlocked the cell and yanked the door open, then stepped back to let Morgan inside.
Tom still lay unconscious. His left arm was draped, palm down, over his face. The back of the wrist was covered with dried blood. His neck and the front of his shirt were bloody, the dark stains already beginning to flake on the skin and peel away. Morgan knelt beside the cot, reached up for Tom’s hand, and pulled it away gently.
When he saw Tom’s face, the nose flattened where he had been kicked, the ugly gash under o
ne eye, and all the blood, he cursed. Tom’s eyes had been blackened, and both cheeks were swollen. He groaned as Morgan moved the limp arm to one side. “Tommy? Can you hear me? Tom? It’s me, Mor . . it’s Dad. Are you alright?”
Tom groaned again, and his head flopped to one side, but his eyes didn’t open.
Morgan got to his feet. “That sonofabitch,” he shouted. “Where is he?”
He started back through the cell block as the doctor stepped in. He knocked the doctor to one side as Henessey clawed at his back. “Wait, Morgan, hold on, now. Just wait, dammit.”
But Morgan was in no mood to wait. He barreled through the front door and out onto the walk, Henessey right behind him. A crowd had begun to gather, and they buzzed excitedly as Morgan stepped into the street.
He walked up to Crimmins and shook him by the shoulders. “Where is he?”
Crimmins shook his head. “Don’t know. He just left. He . . .”
Morgan shoved him aside. Someone pointed toward Largo’s, and Morgan started to run.
“He took his gun,” Crimmins shouted.
Morgan ignored him. He stood in front of Largo’s and shouted, “Come on out, Kinkaid.”
There was no answer. Morgan bent to pick up a rock and threw it under the swinging doors. “Kinkaid! Kinkaid, come on out.”
He stepped toward the walkway, feeling that awful tension between his shoulders. It came down to this. The thing he wanted to avoid, the thing he had tried to hide from, and to outrun, and to pretend had never been. But he couldn’t avoid it. There was no place to hide, and it was too fast for him. It was his life, and he would have to live it this way, whether he wanted to or not.
Morgan picked up another rock and tossed it into the bar. He saw a shadow just inside the doors and a second later one boot. But it wasn’t Kinkaid. The boot was plain, and dusty, not the fancy Mexican leather Kinkaid wore. A second later the doors started to move and a burly man wearing an apron burst outside.
“He’s in there,” he said. “Kinkaid’s in there.”
“Tell him to come out.”
“He won’t do it. Says you should come after him.”
Morgan knew better. He wasn’t going inside. If Kinkaid wanted him, he would have to come out. In a loud voice, he said, “I don’t have time for this bullshit. If he doesn’t have the guts to come out, that’s fine with me.”