2
The crazy man rushed toward the carriage house, his hands outstretched and his fingers clasping in anticipation of opening the door to get to a horse. A rifle shot cracked through the air, spitting a round to knock a hole into the upper corner of the wide wooden structure. Still in his saddle, Frank levered another round into the Winchester he’d just fired and sighted along the top of its barrel.
“I knew it!” the crazy man shouted without even taking the time to look in Frank’s direction. “Everyone at this place wants me dead!” He changed his direction faster than a jackrabbit and darted around the carriage house.
“He’s making for the woods,” Frank said.
Nate was already running to catch up to the escapee, leaving the sanitarium and its workers behind. “I see him, damn it.”
“Want my help now?”
“No! Just stay put.”
Knowing that Frank was surely grousing about how stubbornness was some kind of sin, Nate kept moving. About twenty yards ahead of him, the escaping patient ran, his loosely fitted gown flapping around his legs. Bare feet dug into rich soil warmed by the ever-present humidity of a waning Missouri summer. Insects darted through the air, growing thicker in the short distance between him and a dense patch of trees that stood like a wall at the edge of the McKeag property line.
“Stop!” Nate shouted.
The crazy man didn’t spare the time it took to look over his shoulder. Instead, he pumped his arms even harder to build up steam before vaulting over a log that lay half-buried in a mess of weeds and dirt.
Nate fired a quick shot into the air, which did nothing to slow the other man down. Even a lunatic would most likely know that anyone who had a prayer of gunning him down wouldn’t be able to do it while at a full run. Unwilling to holster the pistol, Nate pushed himself until the muscles in his legs started to burn and made certain to keep an eye open for that log. He launched himself over the obstacle, clearing it with significantly less space than the man who was just about to reach the cover of the trees.
Skidding to a halt, Nate stretched out one arm so it could be used to steady the Remington. His breathing was heavy enough to be a problem, so he swallowed a gulp of air and ignored the pounding of his heart while taking aim. The first time he squeezed the trigger, he knew his shot was wide. Nate kept track of where the crazy man was headed using the edge of his vision. Then he shifted his aim a bit and fired again.
Although his bullet struck exactly where it was supposed to, it still wasn’t enough to get the job done. Nate fired again, blasting through the rest of the branch he’d picked out until the entire gnarled length of wood toppled from its tree. Its thicker end dropped to form a rough barrier in the path the crazy man meant to take.
The man in the gown leapt without breaking stride and for a moment, it seemed he might actually clear the branch in front of him. Although his right leg made it over the obstruction, his left snagged on the branch and brought him down amid a storm of flailing limbs and foul language.
Nate put everything he had into his strides. His boot twisted at a painful angle thanks to what could have been a rabbit’s hole, but he kept charging forward. Even when something silver whistled past his head, he kept going. The crazy man had gotten to his feet by now, so Nate ran even harder.
Having chased more fugitives than he could count, Nate could feel all the way down to the marrow in his bones when he was close enough to capture another one. The rest of the world and all of its other inhabitants faded away as he focused on the skinny man in the filthy cotton gown. That man headed deeper into the woods, moving faster than most creatures on two legs could despite the limp marring every other step. Nate didn’t waste time in firing another shot or taking the breaths needed to form any more words. He simply tore after his prey as if it was what he was put on God’s earth to do.
Sunlight barely touched this stretch of wooded ground, stabbing through between a leafy canopy the wind was constantly moving and the birds that called those boughs their home. Nate could tell the crazy man was catching his second wind and would eventually find a way to prolong this chase or make it a whole lot worse. Slowing to a jog, Nate aimed his Remington from the hip and fired two shots. They hissed wide and to the right of the fleeing lunatic but were enough to convince him to circle around the other side of the tree directly in front of him toward a much harder path.
The man in the gown had to leap over another log, and once he was airborne, it was too late to dodge the stump behind it that was partially buried in mulch. Screaming like a banshee, the lunatic hit the stump and landed in the bushes.
Nate rushed forward to leap over the log headfirst. It wasn’t a graceful landing, but most of his weight dropped onto the thrashing lunatic’s back. Before the crazy man could get his bearings, Nate grabbed one of his wrists and jammed it up tight against his back. Just as his elbow was reaching its limit, the patient attached to it twisted around to relieve the tension and pull his arm loose. He squirmed out from under Nate’s weight then scrambled to his feet and started to run again, unmindful of the fact that Nate still had a hold of his gown.
Using the crazy man’s momentum to help pull him up, Nate tightened his grip on the muddied garment and dug his heels into the ground. When the man’s gown snapped taut, Nate hauled back and pulled him to a halt. No matter how fired up the crazy man was, he couldn’t outmuscle his pursuer, and when it became clear that the man in the gown was still going to put up a fight, Nate dragged him around and swung him into the nearest tree. The lunatic bounced off its trunk and fell awkwardly onto his back.
Nate took a knee beside him, placed the Remington’s barrel against the other man’s forehead and thumbed back its hammer. There wasn’t anything better than that metallic click to catch someone’s attention.
Breathing heavily, the escaped patient blinked and smiled up past the revolver. “As I live and breathe,” he said with a hint of a Virginia drawl, “is that Nate Sathow?”
“It sure is. How’s life treating you, Deaugrey?”
“I seem to have found myself in a bit of a pickle right this instant, but I’m sure that’s about to improve.”
Nate stood up but didn’t holster his .44. “Don’t be too sure about that. After all the trouble I went through to find you, it might be better for me to just hand you over to them doctors back at the hospital.”
Now that he wasn’t flinging utensils or scampering like a rabid squirrel, Deaugrey Scott conducted himself with quiet composure. Accepting Nate’s assistance to stand back on his feet, he straightened up to a height that was just shy of average and dusted off a lean, wiry frame. The fact that he was still wrapped in a cotton gown soiled with blood, dirt and sweat didn’t make the slightest bit of difference to him as he straightened it like a gentleman tugging at the lapels of an expensive overcoat. “Considering the food they serve in that hellhole, I’d consider it more of a zoo than a proper hospital.”
“Looked nicer than any house I ever owned, but I guess you’re the expert on being locked up.”
“I suppose you were summoned here to talk me into staying?”
“Not at all,” Nate replied while walking back through the trees. “I heard you were thrown in here after running some sort of swindle in Jefferson City and came to offer you a proper job.”
“We’re a long way from Jefferson City,” Deaugrey pointed out.
“That’s right, because you pissed someone off there and then scampered all the way across the state before ending up in a hotel near the Arkansas border.”
“Nice hotel. Excellent breakfasts. I recall you’re fond of breakfast.”
“I sure am, but I can do without being forced to pay for some crazy man’s hotel bill just because I let it slip that he is a friend of mine.”
Deaugrey smiled even wider while moseying along as if he were merely out to stretch his legs. “You said that? I’m touched.”
“Was a friend of mine,” Nate amended. “Them cordial notions turned mighty sour the longer I had to follow your crooked trail all the way up here.”
Pressing a finger to Nate’s chest, Deaugrey said, “You went through an awful lot of trouble to find me. That’s the sort of thing a friend does.”
“It’s what a partner does and, God help me, I could use your talents for a job being offered to me and Frank.”
“Frank’s here?”
“He fired the rifle at you,” Nate told him. “You might have seen as much if you would have slowed down long enough to look. Come to think of it, if you would have taken a breath somewhere amid all that running and screaming you might have seen me before throwing all of that damn silverware.”
“It was a spoon,” Deaugrey scoffed. “Surely you can’t have gotten so soft that a spoon worries you?”
“You stuck a fork into one of them boy’s shoulders.”
“He was the one trying to feed me that god-awful soup.” Having followed Nate far enough out of the woods to sight the repurposed mansion, Deaugrey stopped and placed his hands upon his hips. Only now did he show the first signs of fatigue. “What’s this job you mentioned?”
“It’s big.”
“Do I get to hear more than that?”
“Not before those orderlies catch up to us, and I’d rather get you away from here than think of some excuse for the doctors to turn you loose.”
“You’d do that for me? I knew you still called me friend.”
Nate holstered the Remington and shoved Deaugrey along, limp and all. “I’ll get you away from here because the pay for this job is enough to make up for the trouble.”
“What’s my cut?”
“You get out of another asylum.”
Deaugrey stopped and twisted his face into a contemplative expression. “What happens if I refuse? These jobs of yours are rarely without their dangers, and the worst I get at McKeag’s is bad soup fed to me by lummoxes in smocks.”
“If you refuse, I’ll shoot you in the leg to make sure you stay at McKeag’s without making such a pest of yourself.”
“Would you honestly do that?” Deaugrey gasped.
Nate’s smirk could barely be seen. “What are friends for?”
3
The man who greeted Frank and Deaugrey upon entering Weslake’s Finery was none other than Monty Weslake himself. He made that much clear the moment he spotted Frank from behind the tailor’s frame that was being used to hold a silk waistcoat while it was being altered. The tailor’s enthusiasm waned a bit when he saw Deaugrey step inside the shop wearing his filthy, rumpled and torn dressing gown.
“A good day to you, sir,” Deaugrey said while tapping his fingers to his brow as though doffing a hat.
“Um . . . yes,” Weslake said. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
Frank stepped forward while adjusting his long black coat so it covered his guns while allowing his black shirt and starched white collar to be clearly seen. “My friend here is in need of some clothing.”
“Recently discharged from McKeag’s?” the tailor asked.
“That’s right. I suppose it’s fairly obvious. A simple shirt and pair of pants will suffice.”
“And a hat,” Deaugrey added. “Don’t forget the hat.”
“Yes,” Frank said. “Something simple.”
Weslake approached a table of assorted selections folded into neat piles. “I hate to be one to question a man of God, but these items you’re asking for . . . do you expect . . .”
Before the other man was forced to struggle even more with his words, Frank stepped in and told him, “While donations are always appreciated, I do have money to pay for these items.”
“That’s good to hear, Father,” Weslake said. “Business has been rather slow lately.”
Frank smiled and nodded once. “I understand.”
“So do I,” Deaugrey said. “I understand most folks only want to give to the poor when it suits them. They talk about charity only when they’re in a room filled with a congregation that can appreciate what they’ve done out of the kindness of their hearts.”
Weslake’s brow furrowed. Looking down, he selected a shirt from the bottom of a pile and held it up to Deaugrey. “This is about your size. The collar is frayed and a few of the buttons are missing. I can let you have it for half price.”
“Much obliged, sir,” Deaugrey said with a slightly thicker Virginia drawl. He hiked up the bottom of his gown like a saloon girl showing her wares and added, “I can also use some knickers, if you don’t mind.”
Such a lewd display in his shop could only be greeted by disgust or uncomfortable laughter. Opting for the latter, Weslake selected a pair of dark brown pants that matched the shirt in quality. When he handed over a pair of long underwear, he added, “You can have these for free if you put them on immediately.”
“Consider it done, my good man.” With that, Deaugrey went completely against the shopkeeper’s intent by stripping out of his gown and dressing himself in the middle of the store. He’d barely had a chance to button all of his buttons when he was distracted by a display of hats arranged on an iron rack.
Since he was the only one who took notice of Weslake’s discomfort, Frank stepped up to him with cash in hand. “Here you go,” he said. “I greatly appreciate your generosity.”
When he saw how much money he was being given, Weslake brightened up a bit. “And I appreciate yours, Father. This here is enough to cover those clothes along with a hat from the lower part of that display.”
“Excellent. What about boots?”
“And a gun!” Deaugrey chimed in.
“The shop next door sells any kind of boot you might need. Shoes too,” Weslake said. “As for the gun . . .”
“Never mind the gun,” Frank cut in. “You’ve been a great help. Thanks again.”
Barefooted, his shirt open to display a pale bony torso, holding his pants up with one hand, Deaugrey said, “I can use some suspenders too.”
Frank handed over a bit more cash to cover the request.
Deaugrey wasn’t in much of a hurry to finish dressing. In fact, he seemed to lose interest with each task once he was slightly more than halfway through with it. They walked to the neighboring leather goods store to quickly purchase some boots. The owner of that place was more amused with Deaugrey than the tailor had been and sent them on their way with a mismatched pair of boots that had been pulled from a bin. Upon seeing the sign above the bin, Deaugrey laughed. “Irregulars,” he said. “How appropriate.”
Frank paid for the boots without further explanation and showed the other man to the door. Once outside, Deaugrey was still hopping into his boots while Frank patiently followed behind with the newly purchased hat in hand.
“I owe you for these clothes and such,” Deaugrey said.
“You owe us for a lot more than that if I recall.”
“Oh, I suppose there was the matter of getting me out of that wretched sanitarium. I imagine Nate already has plenty of ways lined up for me to repay that debt.”
“If you don’t like that sanitarium or any of the others you’ve seen, then perhaps you shouldn’t put yourself into them.”
“I’m not the one who makes that arrangement,” Deaugrey replied. “It’s not like a hotel, you know. The folks who work there are usually quite insistent.”
Now that Deaugrey was mostly dressed, Frank handed him the hat, a dented bowler that looked as if a small animal had chewed on the left section of its brim. “What was it this time?”
“Looking for a confession, Preacher?” Deaugrey said with disdain.
“Only if you’re looking to give one.”
Deaugrey stopped at the corner of the boardwalk and looked at the crossroads in front of him. He stood up straight, buttoned his last button and placed th
e bowler on top of his head as if he were about to address a small audience. “I’ve had quite my fill of those looking to dig around behind my eyes, thank you very much. Did that one there ask you to rake me over the coals?” he inquired while nodding a bit farther down the street where Nate stood leaning against a fence. Beside him was a hitching post where two horses and a mule were tied. “Having known him longer than you, I’d suggest you put your foot down with him every now and then before you become just another one of his dogs.”
“Dogs?” Frank scoffed. “Is that what you think of the men who work with Nate?”
“Not all of them, but there are plenty.”
“I can agree with that,” Frank said. “Partially, at least. But you’ve known me for a while as well. You must know that I’ll always want to know what causes a man to sin or what demons may be whispering into his ear.”
Deaugrey smiled wide and said, “When those demons talk to me, padre, they sure as fuck don’t whisper.”
Frank wasn’t about to flinch at the claim or react in the slightest to the turn of phrase that was so obviously meant to jab at his sensibilities. Instead, he turned to look down the street intersecting with the one where Nate was waiting. “There’ll be a posse coming for you eventually. That could be them right now.”
When he saw the small group of men gathering at the other end of the block, Deaugrey shrugged. “It usually takes a bit longer for the assholes running those sanitariums to give up on their search and ask for help from the outside. I’d say we’ve got another hour or two at least.”
“Then do you have a place to recommend where we might get a bite to eat?”
“Come now, holy man. There was a guiding hand that allowed us to take our leave from McKeag’s house of horrors. I’d call it luck, but you may call it by a more fanciful name. Whatever name you prefer, I think we’d both agree it’s best not to test its limits.”
“If you think any sort of divine presence had a hand in what happened at that sanitarium, then you are more confounded than I’d imagined. It was undeniably luck,” Frank sighed. “And it’s best not to push it when it comes your way.”
Sathow's Sinners Page 2