Hard Ride to Wichita

by Ralph Compton

  Mrs. Havermeyer screamed and ran away from the display of broaches, waving her hands in the air. She looked even more birdlike as her hat flopped on top of her head and she scurried in one direction after another.

  Squeezing his trigger, Carlo sent a round through a stack of dishes next to the closer shotgunner. When they exploded, the burly man hunkered down and fired his other barrel into the rugs piled beneath the one that had already been blown apart.

  “Watch where you’re shooting!” Bickle hollered.

  Even as another shotgun blast tore through the shop to chew apart the inventory a few feet to his left, Carlo couldn’t help smiling. Bickle would not stop shouting about the damage being done to his store. Carlo’s only regret at that moment was that he couldn’t see the other man’s face when he stood up to fire his pistol from the hip.

  Both shotgunners were in the middle of reloading their weapons as Carlo stuck his head up like a prairie dog from its hole. Aiming roughly in one shotgunner’s direction, Carlo made certain to hit the most valuable merchandise he could find. He sent a pair of rounds through some drinking glasses, which popped better than fireworks on the Fourth of July. He then pivoted to fire another two shots at a long glass display case in the general vicinity of the other shotgunner.

  “What are you doing?” Bickle screamed. “I just got that case!”

  One of the shotgunners stopped reloading and looked over to the man who was paying him to be there. Apparently he didn’t take kindly to being considered less valuable than some pieces of wood and a pane of glass.

  “I’m just here to talk with the owner of this place,” Carlo announced. “If he’s the one that wants to be difficult, then he’s the one that should get hurt. Anyone wants to clear a path for me, I’ll give them this one chance.”

  Mrs. Havermeyer was the first to go. Hot on her heels was the offended shotgunner. As those two headed for the door, Carlo removed the cylinder from his pistol, replaced it with a loaded one, stood up to his full height, and cocked the hammer back before taking aim at the shotgunner who’d held his ground.

  “Just so you know,” Carlo said, “I’ve been missing you on purpose.”

  That was enough to make up the second man’s mind. He placed his shotgun on the pile of rugs on his way out.

  “All right, Jordan. Guess that leaves you and me.”

  “I don’t have your money!” Bickle shouted from where he now hid behind a row of barrels filled with nails and other building materials.

  “You’ve got to have some money in here. Just give me something to start making up for what you stole. Emptying Captain Granger’s pockets wasn’t a good idea. Dealing with me now will be a lot less painful than dealing with him later.”

  When he spoke again, Bickle had crawled into the corner of his store that was filled with blankets and linens. “I already told you, Procci. Granger is convinced you took his money and ran with it. What else would anyone expect from a traitor?”

  That last word bit into Carlo like a hungry mosquito. He fought back the impulse to answer back right away so he could narrow down the direction that the shop owner was headed. Following the sounds of hands and knees scraping against the floor, he circled around to catch Bickle just as he was about to make it to a locked back room.

  Towering over the other man, Carlo held his pistol in an easy grip and said, “The only reason you’re alive right now after what you just said is that I need that money. Now . . . tell me one more time how you don’t have it.”

  Bickle’s mouth was open, but his brain was fast enough to keep anything from coming out of it. He got to his feet, slowly, and held his hands out where they could be seen. Pointing toward the unmarked door, he said, “What I’ve got is in there.”

  “Good. Open it.”

  With trembling hands, Bickle fished a key from his pocket, fit it into the door, and opened it. He walked inside and Carlo followed him. Since Bickle had been so liberal with his boasts and threats earlier, Carlo wasn’t surprised to find another pair of burly men waiting in there for him. The first was the biggest one so far and he swung at Carlo’s head as if he meant to knock it from his shoulders, through a wall, and out into the street. Carlo ducked while stepping to one side, allowing the thick fist to slam into the door’s frame. Since the big fellow was leaning forward that way, Carlo pounded the side of his pistol into the man’s stomach before grabbing his collar and pulling him face-first into the wall. The big man’s chin thumped against solid wood and he slid down into a heap.

  Carlo turned his attention to the second hired hand to find the man brandishing a hunting knife with a thick blade. Acting as though he’d been caught at a disadvantage, Carlo holstered his gun and raised his hands. The man with the knife was nervous and became even more so as Carlo moved toward him. Those first few steps were taken nice and easy, lulling the man with the knife into matching the slow pace. Then, without warning, Carlo lunged forward.

  The other man swung his blade, but was obviously more accustomed to using it to skin deer. Carlo had no trouble jumping away from the attack and grabbing the man’s hand at the wrist before he got a chance to take another wild swing. Twisting the knife against the man’s thumb, Carlo pulled it away from him and brought the sharpened edge directly beneath the man’s chin.

  “Leave,” Carlo said.

  As soon as he had the room to move without cutting his own throat, the man left. He stepped over his unconscious partner and walked straight past Bickle.

  “You,” Carlo said to Bickle. “Get that money.”

  Now that the two bruisers were no longer trying to take his head off, Carlo had a chance to look at the rest of the room. There wasn’t much to see apart from a square table covered in papers and ledgers, a chair, and a coatrack. A single lantern hung above the table but wasn’t lit because a little window set in one wall provided enough light to fill the space. After being in there for less than a minute, Carlo felt as if he’d been sealed in a coffin.

  Bickle went to the table and sat in the chair. “I already told you I don’t have all of it.”

  “Then get what you do have and be quick about it.”

  “The law’s probably gonna be coming,” Bickle warned.

  “And when they get here, I’ll be sure and tell them what you were up to when you met with known killers to broker a deal with me and then hired four men to try to kill me when I came back for what’s mine. After the beating they took for whatever pittance you were paying them, I’m sure those gunmen of yours will be more than willing to stand by you.”

  Reaching under the table for a lockbox, Bickle set it on his lap and opened it. There was barely enough cash inside to fill his grubby fist. “This is it,” he said while handing it over.

  Carlo snatched it away and examined it. “This barely looks like a hundred dollars.”

  “It’s eighty-seven dollars. Give or take.”

  “You’ve got to do better than this!”

  “You saw all the merchandise I bought,” Bickle whined. “I have expenses, plus those men I hired weren’t free.”

  “You’re a real piece of work, Jordan.”

  There was a lot more that he wanted to say, but Carlo couldn’t get any of it out before men stormed into the store through the main entrance.

  “What’s going on in here?” someone yelled.

  Carlo stuffed the money into his pocket and walked out. Two men stood at the front of the store, surveying the damage that had been done in the fight. Both men wore tin stars on their chest.

  “Who are you?” asked the man with the larger star pinned to his shirt. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “I was just caught in this mess,” Carlo said. “I can see my own way out.”

  “You’ll need to stay and answer some questions, mister,” the lawman said.

  Hooking a thumb back toward the small room, Carlo said, “The owner of the
place is in there. He can answer your questions.”

  The younger one, a deputy, stepped forward with one hand outstretched and the other resting on the grip of his holstered gun. Carlo could tell by the unbroken leather of the holster and the hesitance in the deputy’s eyes that he was much more familiar with displaying the pistol than pulling its trigger. Even so, Carlo halted as if he were intimidated by either man’s presence.

  “Hello there, Sheriff!” Bickle said as he emerged from the back room. “We did seem to have had a bit of a scuffle here.”

  “A bit of a scuffle?” the sheriff asked. “Is that what you call all of this?”

  Bickle laughed and swiped at his brow. “There’s an explanation, I assure you.”

  “Mind if I leave?” Carlo asked.

  Both lawmen looked to the store owner.

  Twitching nervously, Bickle eventually nodded. “He’s just a customer I found hiding in the back. He didn’t see much of anything.”

  “Is that right?” the sheriff asked.

  Carlo nodded. “I heard a commotion and found a place to hole up.”

  “Go ahead and go, but let me know where to find you if I have need to.”

  “Of course. I’m staying at the Briar,” Carlo said, rattling off the name of a hotel he’d passed when entering town.

  “Go on, then.”

  Carlo left with eighty-seven dollars in his pocket, give or take, and a knot in his stomach. Bickle was spouting off about some fabricated explanation for the shots that were fired and the mess that was made, but Carlo didn’t stay in the Eastern Trading Company long enough to hear it.

  Chapter 17

  “Three of a kind,” Red said as he placed his cards on the table to show a king and the three of clubs along with his trio of eights. Grinning from ear to ear, he reached out to scoop in the pot that had accumulated in the middle of the table. Although there was less than ten dollars there, the man who grabbed hold of Red’s wrist did so as if he were protecting a fortune in gold.

  “No so fast, boy,” the protective fellow said. He had a long face and an even longer mustache that hung over his mouth and drooped almost an inch below his chin. Although his clothes were more expensive than what could be found on the other players at the table, they were just as rumpled as everyone else’s. Anyone who’d been inside Stormy’s for any time at all tended to get more than a little rumpled.

  “Think you can beat my hand, Collin?” Red asked. “You’ll have to prove it.”

  Keeping Red’s hand pinned to the table, Collin fanned his cards to show them all. “Straight to the nine.”

  “You took my other eight!”

  Before Red could get too riled up, the woman in his lap rubbed his chest until she could slip her hand beneath his shirt. “Simmer down, sweetie,” Rose purred. “Straight beats three of a kind.”

  “I guess,” Red groaned as if he was conceding the point just to be polite. “Go on and take your money. I’ll just win it back anyway.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Carlo said as he wound his way through the parlor that took up a good portion of Stormy’s lower floor. “There’s always more where that came from, right?”

  Carlo might have just arrived, but he already had two young women hanging on him to compete for his attention. “That’s more than I can say,” he added with a grin to both girls. “I’m flat broke.”

  Hearing that, the women bade their farewells to him and cast their lines into another pond.

  “What’re you doing here?” Red asked. “If you want to be dealt in, you’ll have to come up with something to use for an ante.”

  “You just learn about that?” Carlo said.

  “I know plenty about poker!”

  “Guess you just don’t know much about the men you’re playing against. This one here,” Carlo said while pointing at the man who’d just won with a straight, “will fleece you faster than a sheep.”

  “You callin’ me a cheater?” that man asked.

  “Nope. Just giving my friend fair warning.”

  “I don’t got to be insulted like that,” the man said. “There’s plenty of friendlier games around here.”

  “Hey!” Red snapped. “You chased him away before I could get my money back.”

  “That money’s gone,” Carlo told him. “Make peace with it.”

  Rose’s arm had been draped around the back of Red’s neck and shoulders for most of the afternoon. It was early evening and she had yet to move from her spot. Not that Red was about to discourage her. “Don’t fret about it,” she cooed into his ear. “I can think of some friendlier games as well.”

  Red turned so his face was brushing against hers. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Before you two get preoccupied,” Carlo interrupted, “tell me where I can find Luke.”

  “What do you want him for?” Red asked without taking his eyes away from the woman in his lap.

  “It’s about that bit of business we were talking about. Do you recall or has all the blood rushed out of your head?”

  “I recall.”

  “Then tell me where to find him.” Since he wasn’t getting an answer and it looked as if he wasn’t going to get one anytime soon, Carlo snapped his fingers less than an inch from the younger man’s face.

  When Red turned away from Rose’s eyes, he found Carlo as well as the remaining players glaring back at him.

  “You wanna tell him what he needs to know?” asked a ranch hand who’d come into town to spend his pay at the table and on the busty brunette who stood behind him. “I wanna get back to the game!”

  Suddenly Red was interested only in grabbing the cards, shuffling them, and dealing them out. “He’s with Emma. I don’t know where.”

  “Upstairs,” Rose said. “Second room on the right. Be sure to knock first. They’re probably busy.”

  “Yeah,” Carlo said. “I gathered as much.” Before he took two steps away from the table, the cards were being dealt and bets were being made. The whole place was coming to life and it wasn’t even suppertime. Carlo figured if he had even a portion of what Stormy would rake in that night, he wouldn’t be in so much trouble.

  Carlo hadn’t been inside Stormy’s very often, but it struck him as similar to plenty of other similar places in plenty of other towns. He followed the directions he’d been given and knocked on the door he’d been told about. It was so quiet inside that room that Carlo thought he might have the wrong one. Just as he was about to knock again, however, the door was opened a crack.

  He couldn’t see much more than a sliver of blond hair and smooth skin of the young lady who answered. “I’m busy,” she said.

  “Not here to see you. Is there someone in there by the name of Luke?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need to speak to him.”

  “Wait here,” she said before closing the door and locking it.

  A few seconds later, the door opened again. This time, Carlo could see the sliver of a different face through the crack. The door opened wider and Luke stood there wearing only his pants with suspenders dangling from the waist. He carried a gun in one hand and made sure Carlo could see it. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I’d like to have a word with you . . . regarding what we talked about before.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Should I say everything out here in this hall or can I come in?”

  Luke looked over his shoulder before stepping aside. Emma was still pulling on a wool wrap as she padded from the room on small, bare feet. “You two have your talk,” she said. “I’ll fix something to eat.”

  “This place serves food?” Carlo asked.

  Holding the door open, Luke said, “Come in and speak your piece.”

  Carlo stepped inside and took a deep breath. The room smelled like a woman’s skin. Not the scent one might expect in a
cathouse, but the true scent of warmth, comfort, and peace. “She’s not like the others, is she?”

  “No,” Luke said as he walked over to the bed and sat upon its edge. The old Colt rested on his knee, pointing in Carlo’s direction.

  Nodding toward the pistol, Carlo asked, “What’s with the gun? You’re the one who wanted me to ride with you to Wichita. Now you want to shoot me? It’s not as if I have anything to steal.”

  “No, but I do. And since you know as much, maybe you came here to take what I’ve got so you can pay the debts you owe.”

  Laughing to himself, Carlo made his way over to a chair and sat down. “I actually hadn’t thought of that. Not a bad idea.”

  “Actually it’s a terrible idea,” Luke said while thumbing back the Colt’s hammer. “For you.”

  “Settle down, kid. I’m not here to steal anything. I don’t even know where your money is at or even if you truly have any money for that matter.”

  “Of course I do. I told you so, didn’t I?”

  “Sure,” Carlo replied, “but since we’re tossing suspicions back and forth, I could have a few of my own. Maybe you’re looking to fast-talk someone into coming with you to act as cannon fodder against Captain Granger. Or maybe you mean to hand me over to him for some sort of reward.”

  Luke’s eyebrows went up. “Reward? Now, there’s something I hadn’t thought about.”

  “Because you’re not stupid.”

  “So what brings you here?”

  “I still need that money.”

  “I heard there was some sort of commotion over at the Eastern Trading Company,” Luke said. “Was that you?”

  “Yeah. That sniveling shopkeeper didn’t have my money. I didn’t really expect all of it or even most of it, but there wasn’t even enough for me to get anything from Granger apart from a belly laugh and a bullet through the skull if I were to present it to him.”

  “So now you want to ride with us?”

  “I don’t have any choice. And don’t look so offended,” Carlo added. “This is a business arrangement. You not being my first choice is nothing to get bent out of shape about.”