Death In Helltown

by John Legg

  “Belle, I think. I ain’t certain.”

  Bloodworth pushed to his feet, grimacing just a bit as his bad leg argued with him some. “Obliged, boy.” He turned and began walking away.

  “Hey! Hey, mister! Wait. You can’t leave me here like this.”

  Bloodworth stopped and looked back. He smiled, without warmth. “Yes, I can.”

  “But …”

  “I told you there wasn’t anything I could do for you. You’re dyin’, boy. Can’t stop that.”

  “You could put me under, save me some pain.”

  “You hurtin’ that bad, are you?”

  “Yes, dammit. You know that.”

  Bloodworth nodded. “I do, yep. You got a gun there. You can help yourself.” He turned and walked away. As he mounted his horse, he heard a shot.

  Chapter Nine

  Wichita was another booming end of the trail cowtown, much like Dodge. And like the latter city, it had its own district across the tracks where cowboys, ruffians and whores spent their time. And it was where Bloodworth expected to find Ed Tucker. He left his horse at the livery, got himself a room in a hotel in the good part of town, refreshed himself and then filled his belly with chops and rutabagas, followed by apple cobbler.

  He headed across the tracks and began going from saloon to saloon. He had a bare description of Tucker, but it should be enough. At least he hoped so.

  He went from bar to bar, asking about a cockeyed man at each. But none of the barkeeps seemed willing to talk. With limited funds — he had left most of his recent bounty money back in Dodge when he had ridden out in such a hurry —Bloodworth couldn’t really grease the tongues of such men, so he was left at a loss for the most part.

  He finally decided that continuing doing this would be foolish and simply a waste of his time. So he started making the rounds of brothels, starting with the poorer ones. But the madams, and the girls, were no more amenable to speaking than the barkeeps had been, whether he asked for the cockeyed man or a whore named Belle. They grew especially quiet when they realized he wasn’t planning to spend any money. Again, the lack of funds prevented it, even as he considered doing so for a fling with one of the girls. One time, however, he did notice—or thought he did—a slight reaction in one of the girls’ eyes, but he could not be sure. And with Belle seemingly a common name among the fallen ladies, he could never be sure one if any of them was the right one even if someone had decided to open her mouth.

  With dawn not far off, he headed back to his hotel, disappointed and annoyed.

  ** ** ** ** **

  Fortified by a decent late breakfast of bacon, fresh hen’s eggs and a half pot of coffee, he headed for the marshal’s office.

  “What can I do for you?” Marshal Royce Hobbs asked, eyeing Bloodworth suspiciously.

  “Lookin’ for a fellah. Thought maybe you could help.”

  “What’s this fella supposed to have done?”

  “Killed a woman and bad wounded a fellah during the holdup of a stage north of Dodge.”

  “What’s your interest in it? You a bounty man? I don’t much cotton to such men.”

  “Yes, I’m a bounty man. And I don’t cotton to sons a bitches killin’ people on my stage.”

  “Your stage?” He raised an eyebrow at Bloodworth.

  “I was ridin’ shotgun,” Bloodworth spat out.

  “Reckon you wasn’t doin’ a very god job of it then.” There was almost a smirk on Hobbs’ face and in his voice.

  “I got three of ’em. He’s the only one left.”

  “What’s this bird’s name?”

  “Ed Tucker.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “You’re full of cowshit, Marshal. I could see in your eyes as soon as I mentioned the name that you know him or at least know of him. I expect you got paper on him.”

  Hobbs shrugged. “Why do you think he’s in these parts?” he asked, hoping to get Bloodworth’s mind off him knowing the man.

  “I was told he often keeps company with a whore here. Name might be Belle.”

  “So why’n’t you check the whorehouses?” Hobbs sounded rather smug.

  “Ain’t no one at those establishments willin’ to say anything. I thought you, bein’ a lawman and all, might be of some help.” A touch of anger crept into his voice.

  “Hell, I can’t keep track of every pissant outlaw comes here and spends time the other side of the tracks with some sportin’ gals.”

  “Then you ain’t much of a marshal,” Bloodworth retorted.

  “I don’t take kindly to such words,” Hobbs hissed. His hand inched toward his pistol.

  “I don’t take kindly to two-bit marshals who are afraid of a two-bit outlaw. Or maybe you’re in cahoots with him.”

  “Goddamn you, boy…” His hand darted for his revolver.

  Bloodworth snapped out his six-gun. “That would be a damnfool thing to do, Marshal. I’d hate to have to splatter your skull all over the wall there. And it’d slow me down some in my search for Tucker.”

  Hobbs glared at him, “Damn you, you insolent bastard. I ought to…”

  “Shut your trap, Marshal. I didn’t come in here to cause you grief. All I want is Tucker. So, if you ain’t in cahoots with him, just tell me what cathouse he frequents and I’ll be out of your office.” He stopped and looked at Hobbs in question. “Unless maybe you’re hopin’ to get the bounty on him.” He could tell by the look that flashed across Hobbs’ face that he had struck a chord.

  “You know well’s that ain’t legal for a lawman,” Bloodworth said. “But I’ll say this: You help me get him and I’ll let you have the bounty. We’ll figure out a way to make it legal, or at least so it won’t raise too many eyebrows. I may be a bounty man and depend on bounties to make my way in life. But I ain’t interested in it this time. I just want to take Tucker and see he gets the justice he deserves.”

  “You aim to kill him, don’t you?” Hobbs asked, squinting up at Bloodworth.

  “I ain’t aimin’ to, but I’ll do so without a thought should he decide he won’t come along peaceably.”

  Hobbs stared up at him. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You can’t. But think on this: You ain’t gonna get the bounty on him anyway. At least this way you got a chance to pocket it.”

  Hobbs thought that over a bit, then nodded. “He usually hangs his hat at Mattie’s when he’s in town. That’s the third building on the left once you cross the tracks. If he’s around, it’s likely that’s where he’ll be. Or in one of the saloons. He favors Bert’s, down…”

  “I was in there last night. I’ll check it again.” He slid his pistol into the holster. But he backed toward the door, continuing to face Hobbs. He opened the door behind him, said, “Obliged, Marshal,” Then he slipped out.

  ** ** ** ** **

  Bloodworth walked into Bert’s and tramped up to the bar. The same bartender was on duty and he sidled up, seemingly having never seen Bloodworth before. “Whaddaya want?” he growled.

  “Information.”

  “I don’t serve information,” he said with a smile, amused at his wit. “Just drinks. Now, I’ll ask you again, whaddaya want?”

  The next thing he knew, the bartender had the muzzle of a .44-caiber Remington stuck in the underside of his nose.

  “Where’s Tucker?” Bloodworth asked coldly.

  “Don’t know.” He paled when Bloodworth thumbed back the hammer.

  “I don’t know,” the bartender said, panic in his voice. “Really. I ain’t seen him.” He swallowed. “Last time he was in here was two, three days ago.” He breathed in relief as the gun was suddenly gone.

  “Know where he might’ve gone?”

  “Nope. He’s pretty close-mouthed about his business. You might ask at Mattie’s.”

  Bloodworth nodded. “Obliged.” He tossed a silver dollar on the counter, turned and strode out. In minutes he pushed open the door to Mattie’s. The madam herself greeted him: “You again. Get out unless
you’re plannin’ to spend some hard cash.”

  It took a moment for Bloodworth to control the anger that flashed up in him. “Ma’am,” he said slowly, distinctly, “I ain’t ever hit a woman before, but I am mighty tempted to make you the first.”

  She blanched and took half a step back. “You wouldn’t dare,” she breathed, not certain at all.

  “I would. Now, where’s Tucker?”

  “Who?” She flinched when Bloodworth raised his arm, ready to strike. “He was here a few days ago. Spent a couple nights with Belle. We haven’t seen him since.”

  “You know where he’s gotten off to?”

  “No. Belle might.”

  “Get her.”

  “She’s sleeping. She works nights, you know.”

  “Don’t matter to me if she went to bed two minutes ago. Get her.”

  Mattie spun and hurried off. Bloodworth strolled into the parlor. A few of the girls were there and looked up at him with interest. When he shook his head, they went back to talking quietly among themselves. A moment later, a large, scowling man with long, greasy hair and several missing teeth wandered in.

  “Mattie says you’re bein’ a pain in the ass,” he said in a voice like rain rattling on tin.

  “That so?” Bloodworth surreptitiously slid the loop off the hammer of his pistol.

  “Yah. So you best leave. Now.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll have to rip your head off and kick it around some. Playin’ with it.” He managed to grin and smirk at the same time.

  “Reckon I best leave then.” He took two steps, whipped out his revolver and slammed the barrel across the man’s head. The big fellow didn’t go down, but he was weaving. Bloodworth stuck his pistol in the man’s ear. “I reckon you ain’t got much in the way of brains, boy, but I’ll be happy to remove what little you got with this here Remington. And that’d leave an awful mess for Miz Mattie.”

  “Don’t,” the man mumbled.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Max. Maxwell.” He bent, and rested his hands on his knees.

  “Well, Max, just what am I gonna do with you? I’d rather not mess up Miss Mattie’s place.”

  “Could let me go.”

  “Could. But then you might just go get some friends, and then I’d have to shoot a bunch of people.” He sighed. “Aw, hell,” He smacked Max in the temple. This time the big man went down. he groaned a couple of times, then was silent.

  “Nobody’s handled Max quite like that,” Mattie said from behind him.

  He turned, slipping his pistol away as he did so. “He’s a damn fool. Thinks everybody’s gonna quake in their boots ’cause he’s so big and fierce lookin’.”

  Mattie nodded and offered a half smile. “I’ll get Belle.”

  “Reckon I’ll come with you. Just in case you was planning to send another man out here. You did, I’d have to kill him and neither one of us would want that.”

  Mattie nodded again, turned and went out, with Bloodworth right behind. As they climbed the stairs, Mattie said over her shoulder, “I wouldn’t.”

  Moments later they entered a small room. Mattie gently shook the shoulder of the young woman sleeping in a narrow bed. “Belle. Belle, honey, wake up.”

  Belle glanced around at Mattie, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “Mattie?” she murmured. “What’s wrong?”

  “This gentleman would like a word with you.”

  “It’s too early for me to entertain, Mattie. You know that.” She sounded annoyed.

  “Just talk, Belle. Now get yourself up.”

  With a sigh, Belle threw off her blankets, revealing pale skin and small, taut breasts. Unconcerned, she arose, showing her full naked body. Bloodworth couldn’t help but look, and maybe desire. Just a little.

  Belle slipped on a thin robe. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Name’s Harlan Bloodworth.”

  “What do you want, Mr. Bloodworth?” Her tone was not at all pleasant.

  Chapter Ten

  “Where’s Ed Tucker?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t give a damn. Now let me go back to sleep.”

  Bloodworth raised his eyebrows in surprise when Mattie hauled off and smacked Belle across the face.

  Belle looked at her employer in shock, a hand rubbing her already reddening cheek.

  “Tell this man what he wants to know,” Mattie ordered. Her face and voice were hard.

  “What if I don’t know much?” Belle asked meekly.

  “Then tell him whatever you do know.”

  “Where’s Tucker?”

  Belle hesitated only a moment, long enough to see Mattie getting ready to smack her again. “He … He said he was going to Dodge.”

  “Dodge?” Bloodworth asked, surprised. “Why in hell would he go back to Dodge?”

  “I don’t know. He said he did something near there. I thought he was crazy if he had done something wrong there and was goin’ back. But he seemed cocky, almost as if he was tryin’ to show up the marshal or something.”

  Bloodworth nodded. Many a hard man were arrogant like that, often to their own demise. “When did he leave?”

  “Two, three days ago, I think.” Belle looked a little sheepish. “I been busy.” She glanced sideways at Mattie almost as if seeking her approval.

  “What was he wearin’?”

  Belle shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t payin’ attention to his duds. He did have a new hat, though. He seemed mighty proud of it. Buckskin color, short, flat crown, snakeskin band.”

  Bloodworth thought for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you kindly, ladies.” He tipped his hat to both, turned and walked out. At the bottom of the stairs, he glanced into the parlor. Max was sitting on one of the couches, holding his head. He did not look up.

  Within half an hour, Bloodworth was in the saddle and trotting out of Wichita. It was a long haul back to Dodge, and Dogtown was a fine place to stop. He figured he’d stay the night there, have a decent meal, a few drinks, sleep in a real bed.

  ** ** ** ** **

  Bloodworth walked into the first saloon he found, the Pig’s Blood, and waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The place was dark, and smoke clouded the air that moved only when he had opened the door. Two faro tables were doing a brisk business and several tables were occupied with men who were either drinking, gambling, or both. He stood, eyes scanning the foul room, then moved forward. Suddenly he stopped. He couldn’t believe his luck when he spotted a man in a buckskin-colored, short-crowned hat with a snakeskin band. A grim smile crossed his lips.

  Bloodworth limped forward, slipping the loop off the hammer of his Remington. He stopped against the bar and ordered a beer. He slid his pistol out and stuck it into the side of the man to his left. “I’d be obliged was you to come along peaceably with me, Mr. Tucker,” he said quietly.

  He realized in an instant that he had underestimated Ed Tucker. The man was faster than he had expected. He whipped around, his elbow catching Bloodworth a glancing blow on the side of his forehead. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stagger Bloodworth. His pistol went off, singeing Tucker’s shirt, he thought. And as his pistol jerked out his hand, skittering across the floor and his side bounded off the bar, he heard someone beyond Tucker yelp.

  But he did not care because someone grabbed him in a bear hug from behind, and Tucker moved toward him from the front. Bloodworth had the fleeting thought that it was strange that Tucker just didn’t shoot him, but he had no time to wonder about it.

  He planted his good leg on the floor and kicked out with the other. The sole of his boot caught Tucker in the midsection, driving him back and knocking the wind out of him. As the foot came back to earth, he half swung and pushed off with both feet, smashing his captor’s back against the edge of the bar. He smiled as he heard ribs crack. The man released him.

  A cowpuncher was moving up on his left, six-gun in hand. Bloodworth grabbed his beer glass, whirled and hurled it at the man, w
ho ducked. Bloodworth leaped forward and smashed a fist into the drover’s face, then again, and once more, driving the man to the ground. He scooped up the man’s pistol. He spun to face another cowboy coming at him with a knife. Once more he kicked out, and the man crashed to the floor.

  He heard someone else coming, and turned, thumbing back the hammer of the pistol. The man skidded to a stop. “You don’t want to die, friend. Especially over the likes of him.” He jerked his head in Tucker’s direction.

  The man looked at him in puzzlement.

  “He and his pals robbed a stage north of Dodge, killed a woman and damn near killed the driver. Hell, the driver might even have gone under by now. Now, you don’t look like some heartless bastard who’d think little of gunnin’ down a woman, and a high-class one at that but if you are that kind of man, you best think to pull the trigger on that hogleg.”

  The man hesitated only a second before he half knelt and set the pistol on the plank floor. “I got no argument with you, Mister,” he said, stepping away from the weapon.

  Bloodworth nodded and looked around. “Anyone else of you aim to make stink about this?”

  No one said anything. Until someone shouted, “Behind you!”

  Bloodworth knew it might be a trick, but he couldn’t take the chance. He whirled. Tucker had almost regained his breath and was reaching for the six-gun stuck in his belt. Bloodworth shook his head. “That would be unwise,” he said, realizing that he was breathing heavily. It was disconcerting to look at Tucker’s off kilter eyes. He shook off the feeling.

  “To hell with you.” Tucker started to snatch out his Colt. Bloodworth fired, aiming to shoot Tucker in the arm, but with his uneven breathing and the slight unsteadiness after the fight, he missed by a bit. The bullet caught Tucker high on the chest, in the meat just below the collarbone.

  “Seems you ain’t the shot I thought you was,” Tucker said with a sneer mingling with a grimace of pain. “Don’t know how in hell you ever made a livin’ as a bounty hunter.”

  “You ever think I shot you there because I wanted to? I aim to take you back to face justice.”