The Wicked Die Twice

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Was he, as in her dream, capable of killing her?

  “Let go of me, Cisco,” she ordered him, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

  Still smiling, he pulled his hand away from hers. “Here.” He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope about one-half inch thick. He reached into another pocket and pulled out a small, gilt-trimmed, red-velvet box. He set the box atop the envelope.

  Jay arched a questioning brow at the man.

  “Take a look,” he said with feigned casualness, taking another sip of his brandy.

  Jay picked up the box. She knew it housed a ring, but she was still flabbergasted to see the ring inside, nestled on a bed of cream taffeta sprinkled with gold dust. The ring, a diamond surrounded by four small rubies, was almost an exact copy of the ring she now wore on her right hand. Slash’s ring. Only,the diamond was three times larger and obviously, even to her untrained eyes, of much better quality than the one Slash had given her.

  Chuckling and shaking her head, Jay closed the box, set it aside, and peeked into the envelope. Again, she knew what she would find but was still shocked at the crisp fifty-dollar bills peeking out at her and sending their crisp, leathery aroma pushing up around her.

  “My God,” she said, brushing two fingers across her temple. “You’re actually trying to buy me.”

  “Take it, Jay.” Cisco wrapped his hand around her wrist again, but this time the squeeze he gave it was more beseeching than threatening. “Marry me. We’ll go to Mexico. I have a half interest in a gold mine down there. A very lucrative endeavor, I assure you. You wouldn’t believe how much gold those bean-eaters are pulling out of the ground every day for me. We can forget about all this.” He glanced around as though at some squalid, back-alley crib. “Down there, we’ll start over. We’ll start over together—two brand-new people . . . married and very much in love.”

  Jay stared at him, having to remind herself over and over again that, unlike a few mornings ago, she was not dreaming. Or was she? She kept half expecting to blink her eyes and wake up in her bed upstairs with the morning light shining into the room.

  Walsh continued. “We’ll never have to worry about money again. We’ll take care of each other in our old age. We’ll be together, Jay. You have no idea how badly I want that. It’s all I’ve ever wanted—since Hayes. I’ve been in love with you for years. You ruined me for every other woman. Have you never wondered why I’ve never asked for one of your girls?”

  “I . . . I guess . . . I always thought you went elsewhere,” she said uncertainly.

  “Well, you were wrong. I can’t imagine being with any other woman except you, Jay. You really and truly have my heart. I am pulling this job . . . this one last job . . . for you. I already have a sizable stake, but when this opportunity came up, I couldn’t refuse it. It will give us the extra cushion we’ll need for the trip. Extra security.”

  “Cisco, I know very well why you’re taking advantage of that opportunity, as you call it.” She paused, stared up at him, blinked. “I heard that part of the conversation, too. Hall knows something about your past. Some dark secret. He’s using it against you.”

  His hand came off her wrist. His face slackened, no trace of the former smile remaining. It was almost as though she’d slapped him across his face. He drew a breath, released it, sipped his brandy. He appeared suddenly so crestfallen that Jay almost found herself feeling sorry for him.

  “Cisco, you can tell—”

  He turned to her again quickly. “Just know that I love you, Jay. There’ll never be another woman for me.” He set the ring box atop the money again and slid it closer to her. “Take that. As a token of my love. Please, take it.”

  “I already have a ring, Cisco.” She held up her hand. “Remember?”

  He winced as though she’d struck him again. “He can’t love you as much as I do, Jay.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I know who he is.”

  “Yes, well, I thought I knew who you were.”

  “I’m still the same person, Jay. This doesn’t change anything.”

  “Of course, it does!” she said with a caustic laugh. “It changes everything. If I ever had feelings for you, which I think I did, I don’t anymore.”

  “I’m no worse than him.”

  “We’ve been through that. At least Slash doesn’t pretend to be anything than what he is, what he’s always been!” On the other hand, she thought with frustration, he’s never declared his love for me, opened his heart to me, with anything close to the fervor that Cisco just did. Jay shook her head as she gazed up into the lawman’s eyes. “Call it off, Cisco. If I really do mean something to you, call it off. Cancel the robbery.”

  “I can’t. It’s out of my hands.”

  “It can’t be!”

  “It is.” Walsh paused, studied her closely, his focus shuttling between her eyes, as though desperately trying to plumb her depths. “Stay out of it, Jay. Forget what you heard outside the billiard room. Forget it for me, but most of all forget it for yourself.”

  “I can’t.”

  Again, his hand closed around hers. He squeezed again and the threat was back in his voice. Anger blazed in his eyes. “I love you, Jay. I would hate like hell for anything to happen to you!”

  “How dare you threaten me here in my own establishment!” Jay jerked her hand from his and stepped back, returning his cold-blooded glare. “Get out. Now. Before I have the bouncers throw you out!”

  She’d said that loudly enough for several men and the bartender to have overheard. Faces turned toward her and Walsh. The marshal flushed.

  The barman said with concern, “Everything all right, Miss Breck—”

  “Yes, it’s fine, Burt,” Jay said, keeping her gaze on Walsh. “The marshal was just leaving.”

  “Keep it under your hat, Jay,” Walsh said warningly. He stuffed the ring and envelope into his pocket. He threw back the last of his brandy, set his hat on his head, wheeled, and strode out through the batwings. The doors clattered angrily into place behind him.

  Jay flushed with embarrassment as several customers continued regarding her curiously. She turned to the bar, her gaze averted, and plucked her cheroot from the ashtray. The bartender set a goblet on the bar in front of her and splashed Spanish brandy into it. “You look like you could use a drink.”

  Again, she flushed, smiled. “I do, indeed. Thank you.”

  Burt returned the smile, shoved the cork back into the bottle, and returned the bottle to the backbar shelf. Jay took a deep drink of the brandy, then opened her left hand in which she’d been squeezing the note Myra had sent her. By now it was wrinkled and damp from the sweat of Jay’s palm. She opened it quickly, read it again, then refolded it, slipped it into her corset, and threw back the rest of her brandy.

  She asked Burt to close up the saloon for her. They closed at two on Saturday, which was an hour away. Jay couldn’t wait that long. She had to get over to the freight yard and see Myra about the note.

  Her visit with Cisco Walsh had made Myra’s note sound all the more urgent.

  CHAPTER 24

  Slash galloped over a rise and down the north side.

  Ahead, the jail wagon remained where they’d left it on the shaggy two-track trail. His heart lightened. Since he’d left the canyon and young Larsen, he’d imagined any number of horrific events, all involving the young schoolteacher and the gang that had come to spring their partners.

  Thankfully, that hadn’t happened.

  Pecos was there now, standing with the teacher a hundred feet west of the wagon.

  Wait. Something was wrong.

  Slash reined his Appy to a halt, scrutinized Pecos and the young teacher. They were standing close together, and Pecos had his hand around Jenny’s waist, lending comfort. The three killers sat slouched in the jail wagon, staring at the pair. Jenny stood with her head down. She appeared to be sobbing.

  What the hell . . . ?

  Slash booted the Appaloosa
into a hard gallop.

  “What’s wrong,” he said, checking the mount down near the girl and Pecos. “What the hell happened?”

  Pecos looked sheepish as he patted the girl’s back. Jenny turned sharply to Slash and said, “Nothing. I just let them get to me, that’s all.”

  “What do you mean?” Slash asked from the saddle.

  “It’s my fault,” Pecos said, looking up at Slash. “I never should have ridden off like that. I’m the reason the whole thing happened. Why the kid left and then you had to leave her alone.”

  “What whole thing, dammit?”

  Jenny looked at Slash. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Her face was drawn and pale behind the bruises they’d given to her when they so violently ravaged her. A cold stone dropped in Slash’s belly.

  “What’d they say to you?” he asked through a growl. “When you were alone with them, they said something. What was it?”

  Pecos looked sharply at his partner. “Don’t cheat the hangman, Slash!”

  Slash kept his eyes on Jenny. “What’d they say?”

  She sobbed, brushed tears from her cheeks, and said, “They . . . they told me what they were going to do to me once you and Pecos and Marshal Larsen were dead,” she said, wiping a fresh batch of tears from her cheeks. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it. I will not repeat what they said they were going to do.”

  “Who? Which one? Or all three?”

  “Chaney, mostly,” Pecos said, drawing the horrified girl close against him.

  Slash turned the Appy and slapped the rein ends against its right hip. “Hi-yahh, beast—go!”

  “Slash, dammit!” Pecos yelled behind him. “Let it go. It’s my fault! What did you think was gonna happen when you left her alone, you damned idiot!”

  Slash only distantly heard his partner’s castigating words. Rage overwhelmed him. He reined the Appy to a skidding halt beside the wagon and swung down from the saddle. He released the keeper thong over his right-hand Colt and turned to the wagon.

  Resting back against the bars on the opposite side of the wagon, the three prisoners stared back at him with their customary silent mockery, faint sneers on their mouths.

  “What’s the matter?” Hell-Raisin’ Frank Beecher asked with feigned concern. “You lose the young marshal? If so, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s always sad to lose one so young.”

  “Shut up, Beecher.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  Slash glared through the iron bands at Chaney. “I warned you, you devil.”

  Chaney snapped his eyes wide in astonishment. “Now what I do?”

  Slash fumbled the keys out of his pants pocket. He walked over to the rear of the wagon.

  “Don’t do it, Slash!” Pecos said as he walked toward the wagon from the west, Jenny right behind him.

  Slash leaned his shotgun against the wagon, then poked his key in the door’s lock and turned the key until he heard the bolt slide back into the door. Leaving the key in the lock, he shucked the right-hand Colt from its holster, cocked it, and aimed it into the wagon as he drew the door open with his left hand.

  “Out, Chaney.”

  “What’s this all about?” the outlaw said innocently.

  “Out, Chaney. Out now!”

  “I don’t know,” he said, glancing wide-eyed at his two partners. There was still mockery in his eyes, though he was feeling the bite of apprehension, as well. Slash could tell, though the man desperately tried to cover it. “I think I’d best stay right here. You’re runnin’ off your leash, Slash!”

  “Slash, dammit!” Pecos yelled, stopping by Slash’s horse and resting his fists on his hips.

  Slash raised the Colt shoulder-high, narrowed one eye as he aimed down the barrel at Chaney’s right leg. “Let’s see if I can get both legs to match.”

  “No, no, no, no, no!” Genuine fear flashed in the man’s eyes now. “No call for that! I’m comin’! I’m comin’! Just movin’ a little slow now, as I’m sure you can under—wait, now . . . ah-ohhahhhh-geeeeshhhhh!”

  He’d been half out of the wagon, dragging his tender leg, when Slash grabbed the back of his shirt collar and pulled him through the door.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Pecos said, appearing resigned to just stand by the Appaloosa and watch.

  Chaney hit the ground and rolled, cursing, dust rising around him. Both Beecher and Black Pot lunged toward the door. Slash grinned and slammed the door in their faces. He locked it, pulled the key out, and tossed it to Pecos, who caught it against his chest. He turned to Chaney, who was howling like a stuck pig, half sitting up and clutching his wounded leg.

  “What’d I tell you?” Slash barked at him.

  “I misremember,” Chaney said, sucking a sharp breath through clenched teeth. “What’d you tell me?”

  “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll remember!” Slash said, burying the toe of his right boot in the killer’s stomach.

  Chaney grunted and flew back against the ground.

  “Owww! Oh, stop!” bellowed Black Pot in amused exasperation from the jail wagon. Both he and Beecher watched in bright-eyed fascination through the door.

  Chaney sat up again, gasping for breath, holding his hands out in surrender.

  Slash walked up to him and thrust his right boot through both hands, burying the toe once again in Chaney’s belly.

  Chaney fell back, wailing. Slash stayed with him, kicking him in his belly, in his side. When the man was on his belly, Slash kicked him over onto his back again and continued to work on the man’s gut and ribs.

  “Slash!”

  The former cutthroat ignored the girl’s pleading cry behind him.

  He kicked Chaney over a prickly pear, rammed his boot into his side . . .

  “Slash!”

  Slash stepped toward Chaney again, drew his foot back, but before he could hammer it forward again, the girl leaped onto his back. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Slash’s knees buckled, and grunting fiercely, she drove him to the ground.

  Slash cursed and looked at her where she’d fallen ahead of him, just then lifting her head and tossing her dusty hair back from her face. He scowled at her, angry.

  He’d fully intended to kick the man to death. The executioner would still have two more to hang. He’d get his pay.

  “Slash!” she cried again, hardening her jaws. Her eyes were bright with trepidation.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “To the west, partner,” Pecos said behind him, his voice mild but fateful.

  Slash held his gaze on Jenny for another count. She jerked her head to indicate west. Slash turned to see four men sitting four horses atop a knoll maybe a quarter mile away. He rose slowly, wincing against the creak in his knees. Both ex-cutthroats turned to gaze toward the western knoll.

  The four horseback riders were silhouetted against the bright western sky.

  They sat there for maybe twenty more seconds. Just sitting there. Not moving. One of the horses lowered its head to graze, but the rider pulled its head back up by its reins.

  All at once, they neck-reined their horses around and slowly, casually rode down the opposite side of the rise, the horses dropping out of sight first followed by the men, the crowns of their hats disappearing last. A tendril of dust rose above the knoll and quickly faded.

  Then the riders were gone and an eerie silence hung over the sun-washed desert.

  Slash turned to Pecos. “Where’s Larsen?”

  “I don’t . . .”

  Jenny gasped and pushed to her feet, looking around.

  Slash strode quickly toward his Appaloosa, preparing to mount again and ride off to look once more for the young marshal, fearing the four gang members—who else could they have been?—had captured him while he’d been kicking the stuffing out of both ends of Talon Chaney.

  “No, no,” Pecos said, holding up a waylaying hand to Slash. He stared toward the southwest. “Here he comes.”

  Slash saw the h
orse and rider then, too, moving slowly toward the jail wagon. The young marshal likely felt worse after the spill he’d taken.

  “Thank God,” Jenny said, standing beside Slash. Slash sighed in relief. He and Jenny shared a look. “Sorry, darlin’,” he said.

  She shook her head, offered a wan smile. “I came willingly. I knew what I was likely in for.”

  Slash kissed her cheek, said, “We’ll try to do better next time.”

  He and Pecos got Chaney back in the wagon. The man was only half-conscious and blubbering, cursing, calling Slash, “Crazy . . . crazy . . . crazy as two coots in a lightnin’ storm . . .”

  They closed the door and locked it. The other two prisoners merely stared at their jailers in sullen silence.

  Slash turned to Pecos with a sheepish sigh, brushing his hands off on his pants. “All right, that was stupid. We both did somethin’ stupid. So we’re even.”

  “What you did was dumber than what I did,” Pecos said.

  By now, Larsen had made it back to the wagon. From his saddle, he said, “I’m the stupid one. Pecos expected me to stay with the wagon. If I had . . .”

  “Pecos would’ve still ridden into their ambush,” Slash said.

  Pecos whipped an angry look at Slash and opened his mouth for a harsh retort, but Jenny stepped up and held the back of her hand up over his mouth.

  “Gentlemen,” she said firmly, “what’s done is done. Perhaps we’d best get moving before we waste any more time out here . . . ?”

  “The teacher’s right, you big idiot,” Slash snapped, walking around Pecos toward his horse.

  Pecos slapped him with his hat.

  * * *

  Late in the afternoon, Slash watched Pecos gallop toward him from the east.

  The wagon rocked and rattled, and the geldings’ shoes kicked up dust—so much of it that Jenny, sitting beside Slash on the driver’s seat—had tied a bandanna over her mouth and nose. Slash held the harness ribbons loosely in his gloved hands. The horses didn’t need steering. They knew to follow the trail, and there weren’t so many trails out here that they got confused. In fact, this single, two-track trail was the only trail Slash had seen since they’d left Dry Fork that morning. No others except a couple of old Indian hunting trails and buffalo trails had so far intersected it.