Slocum Giant 2013 : Slocum and the Silver City Harlot (9781101601860)

by Logan, Jake

  Hands shaking a mite, she tucked the deed into her dress pocket. For a moment she touched the cool metal of the derringer alongside it. One way or another she would free her son.

  Marianne left the stables and mounted, resolutely riding for the edge of town and the abandoned stock tank.

  25

  “No question in my mind,” Sheriff Whitehill said, raising the beer mug to his lips. He licked off the foam before pouring some of the bitter fluid down his gullet. He made a face, then put the empty mug on the stained table. “I got witnesses comin’ out the ass that Frank was stalkin’ Texas Jack up in Santa Fe.”

  “Whoever killed him did you a favor,” Slocum said. He leaned back, watching the fat barkeep pace back and forth like he was trapped in a cage. “Think of the expense of a trial, then a hanging.”

  “Likely he’d have been sent to prison. Yuma’s got room right now, or so I hear.” Whitehill motioned for another round. Slocum wasn’t going to object since the sheriff seemed inclined to pay in return for someone listening to his bragging about good detective work.

  “So who killed him?” Whitehill fell silent as the barkeep delivered the beers and then left, walking slow as if he hoped to overhear what the two men were talking about.

  “I’ve got my suspicions. There are a passel of miners out at the Argent Mine who wouldn’t take kindly to anyone killing Carstairs. For all his faults, his crew respected him.”

  “As a miner, maybe, but he was a son of a bitch. Lost a dozen men in less than three months ’cuz he pushed them to take risks underground.” Whitehill took a deep breath, stared at the beer, then downed it in a long gulp. “That’s why Smitty bamboozled those two urchins into settin’ explosives. He figgered nobody’d notice if they got blowed up. He was right.”

  “Almost right,” Slocum said. He left his beer on the table, watching the bubbles die a rapid death along the rim. “Marianne’s not the kind to let her boy risk his skin like that, especially without telling her.”

  Whitehill laughed and then said, “She’s a fine mother. You gonna drink that, Slocum? Can’t let a beer go to waste.”

  Slocum pushed it across to the lawman, who began sipping at it. He made a face at the bitter taste, then upended the mug as he had done before. This kept the taste from gagging him.

  “You find anybody in Santa Fe who knew where Bedrich’s strike was?”

  “He never got to the land office, but I seen a copy of an assay report that should have gone with a formal claim. That’s one hell of a strike he found, if the ore’s any indication.”

  “So a man recording that claim is likely to be rich?”

  “Filthy rich. I think Texas Jack wanted to get free of Frank to work the claim. That’s why he gave up a moderately good mine, but Frank wised up and knew Texas Jack was up to something. Probably thought he was owed half.”

  “But he tried to take it all,” Slocum said. He looked up and motioned.

  “Who’s that?” Whitehill said. “Son of a bitch, he ain’t comin’ in here! I—”

  “Calm down, Sheriff. He won’t be here but a minute.” Slocum motioned more decisively. Billy McCarty came in, looking fearfully at the sheriff.

  “You’re supposed to be watchin’ after your friend,” Whitehill said.

  “Aww, Randolph’s all right. He’s asleep over in the hotel lobby. I been doin’ some, uh, work for Mr. Slocum here.”

  “What’d you see, Billy?” Slocum took out two bits and spun the coin on the table. The whirling silver mesmerized the boy. As it slowed, he grabbed it faster than a striking snake. Slocum was impressed with the boy’s reflexes and good eye.

  “He rode on out o’ town like the demons of hell was after him. I followed a ways, then came right on back. He went to the old stock tank.”

  “The one where you and Randolph played?” Slocum asked.

  “Played. Hell, Mr. Slocum, we—” Billy looked at Whitehill, more defiant than before. “We hung out there, that’s for sure.”

  “He’s out there now?”

  “What’s this all about?” Whitehill demanded.

  “Just cleaning up some unfinished business. No need to get your dander up, Sheriff.” Slocum left the Lonely Cuss, but Billy tugged on his sleeve and stopped him when they got outside. Slocum looked at him, then tensed at the expression rippling across the boy’s face.

  “He tossed somethin’ into Miz Lomax’s cell. She busted out a few minutes later, then lit out goin’ in the same direction.”

  “You did good not saying anything in front of the sheriff. Did Marianne hurt Dangerous Dan?”

  “Locked him in his own cell,” Billy said, grinning wickedly. “Where all them lawmen belong, if you ask me.”

  “You’re sure Randolph is still in the hotel?”

  “Was not five minutes ’fore I found you in the saloon.”

  “You stay with Randolph and don’t let him out of your sight. You’ve got that knife of yours? Use it if anybody tries to kidnap him again.”

  “Yes, sir!” Billy flashed his knife and waved it about.

  Slocum was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of that sharp-edged weapon. Billy’s bloodthirstiness would keep Randolph safe, and woe to anyone trying to harm him.

  • • •

  Marianne Lomax slowed and finally drew rein on Tucker’s stolen horse so she could look over the dark earthen bank of the old stock tank. She had no idea why it had been abandoned, but it presented a real threat for her now. The dark walls, broken in places, afforded her mysterious benefactor in escaping jail—and Randolph’s kidnapper—any number of places to hide. A single shot would take her from the saddle and doom her son.

  She stepped down and used the bulk of the horse as a shield. Not knowing where the kidnapper hid made this futile. For all she knew, she was exposed on the wrong side of the horse’s body, but it made her feel a little better. Clutching the derringer hidden in her skirt pocket until her entire arm trembled, she took a step forward.

  Aware of any slight noise, she advanced until she reached one breach in the earthen wall. She heard night birds swooping down on small animals trying to sip at the scum-covered water. Tiny death cries mocked her. The wind had died and in the distance a coyote howled mournfully. But she heard nothing of the man who had stolen away her son.

  “I have it. Where’s Randolph?” Marianne tried to speak up strongly, putting on a brave front. The reality betrayed her emotions. A shrill voice, trembling and unsure, only bolstered her adversary’s courage.

  For all she knew, he might get off on her fear. The crinkle of paper in her pocket as she pulled the derringer out a small amount so it wouldn’t get caught on cloth told her what Frank’s partner actually wanted. Torturing her the way he did might be fun, but his greed drove him to kill. The deed Bedrich had hidden away in the hollowed-out tent pole made all this worthwhile for the man.

  “You brought it?”

  She spun, looked around, then elevated her gaze to the top of a dirt wall. Starlight glinted off the muzzle of a rifle pointed down at her.

  “Where’s my son?”

  “Safe enough. For the moment. He’ll die if you don’t have the deed and give it to me.”

  She started to yank out the derringer and fire, but the shot for her was impossible. All the man exposed was an arm, a hand, and the rifle. She could only make him mad. He had her squarely in his sights and held the high ground. She had never understood the advantage before. Now it worked against her, having a sniper able to track her no matter how she ran or hid.

  “That’s not good enough,” she said. Marianne dropped the pistol back into her pocket and clutched the deed, pulling it out to flash whitely in the night as she waved it about. “You don’t get this without me getting my son first.”

  “I can kill you.”

  “You don’t know if this is the deed. It might be a map to w
here I hid it. A map that’s no damned good to you unless I tell you the key.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  Marianne wanted to cry out that she wasn’t. She knew the pitch of her voice would betray the lie. It took all her self-control to remain silent. Let the son of a bitch find his own answer.

  “Don’t think you are,” he said. “But you spin a good tale. I’ve heard that.”

  Marianne tensed. She finally identified the voice.

  “Gallifrey!” Marianne tried to hold her tongue, but the revelation that the owner of the Lonely Cuss was Frank’s partner stunned her.

  “Took you long enough to figger it out.”

  “You greedy bastard!”

  “Greedy? Yeah, maybe, but I ain’t makin’ a dime off the saloon. Got bills comin’ out my ears and bill collectors threatenin’ to break my head if I don’t pay up.” Tom Gallifrey stood, silhouetted against the stars. He still held the rifle pointed down at her.

  The shot would still be hard for her to make. And the bluff she ran with Gallifrey might mean her son’s death. She hadn’t heard a peep out of Randolph. Gallifrey might have him tied up somewhere else. If she killed Gallifrey, she might never find her son before he died of thirst and hunger.

  “Put the deed under a rock and ride away. I’ll set your boy free when I stake the claim.”

  “But the map is—”

  “You’re lyin’. That’s the deed. You made that up about this bein’ a map to where you hid the deed, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said, slumping.

  She bent, put the deed under a rock so a tiny breeze wouldn’t carry it off, then looked up. Fingers wrapped tensely around the derringer again. Her finger tapped nervously on the trigger.

  “Where’s Randolph?”

  For a moment, Gallifrey vanished from sight. She heard rock and dirt sliding into the pond, then the saloon owner appeared in the notch in the pond wall. He kept the rifle leveled on her. She would have to distract him, then draw and fire.

  When she found out where he had hidden her son.

  “Your brat’s in town. Go to the Lonely Cuss and ask my brother. He’ll tell you.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Tell him the owl’s roostin’ tonight. That’s the code that’ll let him know you gave me the deed.”

  Gallifrey dropped to his knees and snatched up the deed, holding it over his head to get the faint starlight onto the page. Marianne knew this was her only chance. She whipped out the derringer, held it in both hands as she aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  The dull metallic click made her cry out in horror.

  Gallifrey looked over and laughed harshly.

  “You didn’t think I’d give you a gun that’d fire so you could use it against me, did you?”

  “How’d you know I wouldn’t shoot the deputy?”

  “Didn’t much matter if you tried and nuthin’ happened. I know them lawmen too good. Shove a gun under their noses and they’ll beg you not to shoot.”

  Marianne tried to fire the derringer again. Again all she got was the hammer falling on a punk cartridge.

  “You get on back to town. But first . . .”

  Gallifrey moved fast. He batted her hands holding the tiny pistol out of the way, stepped close, and kissed her hard. The move so took her by surprise she couldn’t resist. He pushed her away.

  “Maybe when I’m rich I kin pay you to come to my bed.”

  She went crazy, clawing at Gallifrey’s face. He shoved the rifle muzzle into her belly and held her at bay.

  “Reckon that means you don’t want to see any more o’ me. That’s fine. You won’t. I’ll stake the claim and get rich and let you and your guttersnipe starve.” He poked harder. Marianne took a step back, stumbled, and fell heavily.

  This spooked her horse. It reared, clawed at the air, and then ran off.

  Tom Gallifrey laughed and disappeared behind the earthen walls. Before Marianne could get to her feet, she heard his horse galloping away into the night. Tears of frustration ran down her cheeks.

  “If you lied about Randolph, so help me, you won’t be able to run far enough. I won’t care if they hang me. You’re going to die if you’ve hurt him!”

  26

  “There you are, you flea-bitten, cock-sucking son of a bitch!” Marianne Lomax launched herself from the door leading into the Lonely Cuss Saloon all the way to the bar and across it, her fingers grabbing for the rolls of fat on Justin Gallifrey’s neck.

  She crashed onto the bar and knocked glasses in all directions. The customers separated and stared. Marianne didn’t explode like this, not that they’d seen.

  “Wait, stop, you’re chokin’ me!”

  “I mean to do more than that if you’ve hurt him. I’ll rip your balls off and stuff them in your gaping eye sockets!”

  Slocum looked at the sheriff, who shrugged. When Whitehill made no move to stop the one-sided fight, Slocum heaved to his feet, went to the bar, and grabbed Marianne around her trim waist. It took two heaves to pry her loose from Gallifrey.

  “He’s got Randolph. His brother kidnapped Randolph and this one’s hiding him out somewhere. I swear by all that’s holy, I’ll kill you if you’ve harmed one hair on his head.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout,” Justin Gallifrey said, rubbing his raw and bleeding throat. Marianne’s fingernails had raked along both sides of his fleshy neck. If Slocum hadn’t pulled her away when he had, she would have ripped out the man’s throat.

  Slocum considered letting her go to watch it happen, but he kept a firm grip until she settled down. Then he had to grab for her again as she surged forward, going for Gallifrey’s eyes.

  “Settle down,” Slocum said. “Randolph is fine. Billy’s watching over him.”

  “Where? I want to see him. Where is he?”

  “At the hotel, in the lobby, more ’n likely,” Whitehill said, sauntering up. “That’s where me and Slocum left ’em hours back.”

  “He wasn’t kidnapped?” Marianne’s eyes turned into cold pools of death. She started for Justin Gallifrey again, but the barkeep shied away, slamming into the back bar and knocking down a few bottles.

  A couple patrons made comment on how that was such a waste of liquor, but nobody crossed to the other side to sop up any of the spilled whiskey. To have done so would put them between Marianne and Gallifrey. Better to try to lasso a Texas tornado.

  “I don’t know what the bitch’s talkin’ about! Honest. She’s gone plumb crazy from havin’ so many men that it’s rotted her brain.”

  Slocum swung Marianne behind him and stepped to the bar. His arms were longer, and he grabbed a handful of canvas apron. He pulled hard, slamming Gallifrey into the far side of the bar and drawing his face so it was within inches of his own.

  “You apologize.”

  “Else?”

  “I could beat your face into raw beefsteak for such disrespect, but I’m more inclined to let her do with you what she wants. That’s not going to be pretty.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I saw that redheaded guy with the boy, like I told you days and days ago. I ain’t see either of them, man or boy, since. What’s my brother upped and done now?”

  The beer hung heavy on Gallifrey’s breath. Slocum relaxed his grip and let the barkeep back off a few inches, but he still held his apron. The man was telling the truth, as far as Slocum could tell. He twisted hard, slammed Gallifrey’s head into the bar, then released him. The man let out a moan of pain and fell to the floor amid the broken glass and spilled booze.

  “Tom’s been real busy,” Whitehill said. “That one down there, Justin, he don’t have the sense God gave a goose.”

  “He doesn’t know anything about this,” Slocum agreed.

  “He lied? He lied about taking Randolph?” Marianne cried
.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time a man’s fibbed to a lady,” Whitehill said.

  “Oh, no,” she said, finding a chair and sinking into it.

  “Randolph is fine,” Slocum assured her.

  “But Gallifrey has the deed to Jack’s claim. I gave it to him thinking I was ransoming Randolph.”

  “Ma? What’s goin’ on?”

  Slocum saw the expression of despair vanish from Marianne’s face as her son hobbled into the saloon, followed by Billy. The older boy grinned ear to ear.

  “Randolph!” Marianne grabbed up her son and whirled him about, to his sharp cry of pain.

  “Ma, stop. My leg’s hurtin’ somethin’ fierce.”

  “You’re safe, you’re safe. He never kidnapped you?”

  “Frank? He’s dead. Mr. Slocum got me away just fine. What are you goin’ on about?”

  “Mr. Slocum’s kept you safe. You and Billy go on back to the hotel.”

  “Do I have to? Miz Gruhlkey is on the warpath. She’s orderin’ us around like we was hired help. Well, Billy is, but she don’t pay him ’til the end of the month and that’s—”

  “Back,” Marianne said firmly, gently pushing her son toward the door.

  As soon as the two boys left, Marianne whirled about and pressed close to Slocum, looking up at him.

  “You saved him this time, too. You kept him safe as you said you would. But Gallifrey has Jack’s deed.” She sighed. Slocum liked the sight of her breasts rising and falling. Her lips thinned as she saw his attention. “Don’t look so smug. Gallifrey stole the deed!”

  “Swindled you is more like it, though I likely could make a case for him stealin’ it,” the sheriff said.

  “It’s lost for all time,” she said. “Jack’s legacy is gone since I have no idea where the claim is. Gallifrey can register it as his own, and there’s no way I can dispute it.”

  “You got some spare time now, Sheriff, or should I take Dangerous Dan with me?” Slocum asked.