Slocum and the Comely Corpse

by Jake Logan

  “I’ll pass the word.” Wessel pushed the hat back on his head. “Funny thing, though. From what I’ve heard about the man, woman-killing just isn’t Slocum’s style.”

  “He’s a killer, an outlaw,” Maud said.

  “He’s not wanted in these parts, or anywhere else, that I know of. Maybe he was in the past, but not now. Or at least, he wasn’t. He is now, of course.

  “And I never heard of him killing anyone that didn’t need killing. Story is, he’s even helped out folks when nobody else could or would. They even say he’s done a lot of good, in his own way.”

  “Tell it to Dolores, Deputy.”

  “Yeah. Like I said, life sure is funny.” Wessel pulled his hat back down in front. “Time for me to get back to work.”

  “Are you going back to town?” Maud said.

  “Yes, once the last of these citizens has found their way home.”

  “Can my girls go back with you?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Good. They’ll be glad for the protection, with that killer Slocum still on the loose,” Maud said.

  “What’s in town?” Wessel said.

  “They think they’ll be safer there.” Maud’s sneer showed what she thought of the idea. “With the district being closed for business—I assume that includes me, Deputy?”

  “The marshal said no exceptions.”

  “Then if they can’t make any money, I’d just as soon have them out of my hair for a night. How long’s this shutdown supposed to last?”

  “I don’t know. Not long, a day or two at most.”

  “It better not last longer than that. If I’m not making any money, it’s going to cut into your boss’s payoff money.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Wessel said hastily.

  “Like you don’t come in for a piece of the graft,” Maud said sarcastically.

  “Not hardly. Not so’s you’d notice.” Wessel frowned, as if it were a sore point with him. Maybe it was.

  He said, “Maybe it’s not such a good idea, your girls coming to town, what with feelings running so high on both sides of the deadline.”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll walk soft. They know the rules,” Maud said. “They’ll take Dolores to the undertaker and sit up all night with the body.”

  “Huh! That’ll be a switch, them spending the night with a cold body rather than a warm one,” the deputy cracked.

  Maud gave him a dirty look, but before she could say anything, she was distracted by the others coming out of the house. Some of the whores wore shawls, to counter the evening’s chill. They all had small overnight bags.

  Nedda wore no shawl, seemingly immune to the cold. She needed no bags for, unlike the others, she didn’t live at the house. A Bender native, she lived in town, just on the outskirts.

  Nedda climbed up on the wagon and took the reins. Vangie and Pauline argued about who was going to ride on the passenger side of the driver’s seat.

  “Sue’s the smallest. She’ll sit there,” Maud said, settling the argument. Vangie and Pauline sat at opposite ends of the wagon bed, as far away from each other as possible. Berga sat there too, the three of them grouped around the body of Dolores.

  Most of the townsfolk were well along the road west into Bender, with the last few stragglers footing it down the slope. The sky was blue-black and star-speckled. The moon had yet to rise.

  Wessel said, “Aren’t you coming along, Maud?”

  “I’m staying here. I’m not going to leave an empty house at the mercy of thieves and buzzards,” she said.

  Wessel turned in his saddle, looking back east at the rest of Whoretown. Most of the locals had retired inside to their dens, leaving only a handful of strays scattered along the roadsides. The strays were losing interest and had started to peel away.

  “They’re not going to make any more trouble tonight. They’re whupped,” Wessel said.

  “Yeah, well, maybe somebody’s figuring on breaking in and stealing themselves a little getaway stake. In which case, I’ll have to disabuse them of that notion,” Maud said.

  “Aren’t you afraid to spend the night by yourself in a house where a murder was committed?”

  “Be your age, Deputy. I’m not afraid of ghosts, and I can protect myself from the living. I’m all grown up, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  She turned to the whores. “As for you bitches, stay out of trouble while you’re in town. Mind your manners and be ladylike, or by God I’ll tear the hide off you.

  “And if you get any ideas about running off—go ahead. See how far you get in this stinking patch of desert, with a killer running around loose.”

  They were silent. After a pause, Nedda asked if Maud wanted her to return after she had finished her business in town.

  “I won’t need you again tonight,” Maud said. She told the maid to come back tomorrow “at the usual time,” which was before sunup.

  “Bring the wagon,” Maud said. “I’ll need a ride into town for the funeral.”

  “There’ll be a lot of them,” Wessel said.

  7

  Wessel looked around for his sidemen and didn’t see them. He said, “Where’d Lonnie and Sutton go?”

  Neither the gunmen nor their mounts were around. From somewhere to the east came the sounds of a disturbance: angry voices, a scuffle, a cry of pain suddenly choked off.

  “What the hell,” Wessel said. He turned his horse, so it was pointing east. He told the women in the wagon, “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

  He rode east along the road, his horse stepping lively but not fast. Beyond Maud’s house, he had the road all to himself. About midway to the far end of the strip, on the north side of the road, he found his men.

  On his left was an alley running between two buildings. It was about eight feet wide. The ground was bare hard-packed dirt. At the opposite end was a weedy lot. In the lights at the back of the building, he could see Lonnie and Sutton on horseback.

  Sour-faced, cursing under his breath, Wessel nosed his horse into the alley. One of his men was holding a drawn gun, face hidden by shadows so Wessel couldn’t see who it was. Both riders turned toward him, prompting the deputy to identify himself hastily, calling out, “It’s me, Wessel.”

  He emerged from the alley, into the yard. Both buildings were narrow unpainted single-story wooden-frame structures. The more eastward of the two had its back door open. Light from inside shone out into the yard, illuminating it.

  The yellow wedge of lamplight fell across a fat, shabby, gray-whiskered man. He sat on the ground, holding a hand to the side of his head. A trickle of blood ran from his forehead down the side of his face. He looked hurt and scared.

  Looming over him were the two mounted men, Lonnie and Sutton. Lonnie was the one holding the gun. Sutton’s hands rested on the saddlehorn. Both horses’ hooves pawed the earth near the fallen man. The horses danced, skittish.

  Inside, a couple of people peeked out the back door, not wanting to show themselves. Their heads got in the way of the light, casting uneasy black bobbing shadows into the yard.

  Lonnie and Sutton had to rein their horses to one side to make room for Wessel. They didn’t like to give ground, but had to because Wessel kept coming. The fallen man had to scramble backward on his hands and feet to keep from going under their horses’ hooves.

  Wessel said, “What’s the trouble here?” He eyed the man on the ground, saying, “Who’s that, Caskey?”

  “That’s right, Mr. Wessel, it’s me, Caskey!” Caskey seemed mighty glad to see the deputy.

  Wessel looked at Lonnie and Sutton. “What happened?”

  Lonnie said, “We saw somebody sneaking around back here and came to take a look.”

  “I was just dumping some slops is all, Mr. Wessel,”

  Caskey said. He indicated a pail lying a few feet away. “There’s the bucket, see?”

  “I can smell it,” Wessel said. “Who hit him, Lonnie? You?”

  “He wouldn’t
stop when I told him to, so I laid my gun barrel ’cross the side of his head.”

  Caskey said, “I didn’t know who they were, Mr. Wessel! They came riding in out of nowhere—I got scared!”

  Wessel said, “You can put the gun away now, Lonnie.”

  Lonnie holstered his gun with bad grace. Wessel said, “I’ll finish up here. You two go watch the street.”

  “I got a couple of friends shot dead today by some Whoretown scum,” Lonnie said. “Anybody gets out of line, I come down on ’em hard. You got a problem with that?”

  “You’ll crack down when I tell you to, and not before,” Wessel said.

  “I take my orders from Mr. Pierce, not you, lawman.”

  “Yeah, and he put you under my charge. So you’ll take orders from me, or you can take off. Ride out now, the both of you. I’m sure Pierce would like that.”

  “That’s Mr. Pierce to you—”

  “Never mind, Lonnie,” Sutton said quickly, interrupting his partner. “Let it go. We got a job to do. You can sort it out later.”

  Lonnie didn’t want to let it go. He shook his head stubbornly, opening his mouth to say something.

  “Lonnie,” Sutton said.

  “You taking his side against me, Sutton?”

  “You know better than that. But he’s right about Mr. Pierce. You go against the deputy, the boss ain’t gonna like it.”

  Lonnie chewed it over, frowning furiously. “All right,” he said at last.

  Sutton let out his breath. He turned his horse, riding into the alley. He looked back, to see if Lonnie was following. Lonnie gave Wessel one last hard look.

  Wessel was calm, his gaze mild, the same way it had been throughout the exchange. Lonnie spat, then rode after his partner, down the alley and into the street.

  “Whew!” Caskey said. “Watch out for him, Mr. Wessel! He’s a bad one!”

  “He thinks he is.”

  “He didn’t have no call to hit me. He did it for the fun of it.”

  “Yeah, well, tempers are running high today. You okay?”

  Caskey took his hand away from his head. There was a three-inch gash along his scalp, and blood on his palm. “I’m okay.”

  “You’re bleeding pretty bad.”

  “It looks worse than it is.” Caskey tried to stand up, then sat down hard.

  Wessel called to those inside, “You in there, come out and give him a hand.”

  Two grumpy-looking drunkards walked through the doorway with the cook at their heels.

  The uglier of the two customers sneered at Wessel. “Those hired men of yours are just lookin’ for enemies,” he said. “If you don’t keep them under hand, they’re going to have a whole town after ‘em. And then it won’t matter how quick they are on the draw, ’cause we’ll be comin’ at them from all directions.”

  Wessel turned away from the foul-breathed whiner and bent over Caskey. “Just shut up and help me get him inside.”

  The two drunks didn’t budge.

  “You heard what the man said—bring him inside!” the cook said from behind them.

  After some moaning and groaning, the oafs shoved the lawman aside and grabbed onto Caskey. When they had dragged the heavy load back into the establishment, the cook gave Wessel a barely discernible nod and followed them inside. Shortly after, the lock slid shut and the shades were drawn.

  The street was quiet, deserted. With Lonnie and Sutton on patrol, it would stay that way. The drunkard was just blowing hot air, because he was scared. No one wanted to venture out to tangle with those two. That was how Wessel saw it.

  When he’d caught up to Lonnie and Sutton, he said, “I’m going to go into town, to check on a few things. I’ll send some men to relieve you, as soon as I can find some.”

  Lonnie didn’t bother to reply. Sutton rubbed his hands, blowing on them. “Make it fast,” he said. “My hands are starting to stiffen up with the cold, and that’s bad for business.”

  “Wear gloves,” Wessel said.

  “Can’t draw as fast, wearing gloves.”

  “Make sure you don’t duck into a saloon to keep warm.”

  Lonnie spoke, belligerent. “And if we do?”

  “Mr. Pierce won’t like it,” Wessel said, putting the stress on the first word.

  “I suppose you’d tell him too.”

  “You wouldn’t want me to hold out on him, would you, Lonnie?” Wessel said in tones of injured innocence.

  Sutton said, “Send a couple of those whores over to warm us up.”

  “No whoring tonight. Marshal’s orders,” Wessel said.

  “You sure you ain’t taking those gals in for your own private party?”

  “The marshal’s orders apply to me too.”

  “You’re sure a stickler for following orders.”

  “That’s my job,” Wessel said cheerily.

  Lonnie spat. Wessel said, “Gotta go. One last word of advice. Whatever you do, don’t shoot any taxpayers.”

  Wessel turned, riding away. Lonnie spat, saying, “So much for your advice.” If Wessel heard it, he didn’t react. He kept right on going, not looking back.

  Sutton said, “You’re pushing him kind of hard, Lonnie.”

  “So what?”

  Sutton shrugged. “So, nothing. I just want to know if you’re going to make a play so I can back you up, that’s all.”

  “I don’t need you to back my plays, you or anyone else.”

  “I know. I’m just watching your back. We’re partners, ain’t we?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Lonnie said, easing. “But there ain’t gonna be no play with Wessel. I push him and he don’t push back. He’s yellow.”

  “I don’t know,” Sutton said. “He can take care of himself pretty good.”

  “With drunks and drifters, sure. But when it comes to somebody who ain’t afraid of that little tin badge of his, he ain’t squat.”

  8

  Slocum was waiting for Maud.

  He said, “Miss me?”

  He caught her just when she’d finished locking the front door. She’d sensed an intruder in the instant before he’d struck. He’d come up behind her, before she’d even begun turning away from the door. Maybe his shadow had crossed her, maybe she’d heard the scuff of his footfall, maybe she’d smelled him. Whatever, she’d known he was there. But it all happened so fast that there was nothing she could do about it.

  He grabbed her from behind. His left arm circled her head, yoking it. His hand covered her mouth. His other hand grabbed her right wrist as she was reaching for something at her side, immobilizing her.

  He smelled of sweat and dirt. The smell filled her nostrils, choking her. She had to breathe through her nose because her mouth was covered. His arms were like wood, with a viselike grip.

  His mouth was close to her face, his warm breath tickling her ear. “I can wring your neck like a chicken and they won’t hear anything outside but you’ll be dead,” he said in a husky, obscene whisper. “And I will, if you give me any trouble.

  “You’ve already given me enough trouble for one day,” he added.

  Slocum spun Maud around and hustled her into the parlor. It was filled with overstuffed furniture, armchairs and divans. Drum tables were topped with globe lamps set on crocheted doilies. Purple drapes with thick heavy folds covered the windows. Nobody was going to steal a free look without paying for it. That was good. Nobody could see inside.

  That was good for Slocum, not so good for Maud.

  The room was shadowed like a dusky forest glade. The whores had wanted to turn the lamps up full, setting the house ablaze with light, but Maud would have none of that. Lamp oil cost money, her money. Besides, when light was too strong, it was unflattering to her face, picking out the spider-fine network of lines on her face.

  So the lights were few and kept low.

  There were lots of intimate nooks and corners where private conversations could flourish between gals and “gentlemen callers.” The purple drapes had thick velvet cords
with oversized tassels. A piano stood against a wall, between two windows.

  Slocum halted in the middle of the room, still holding Maud. She stood on her toes to relieve the pressure of his arm around her neck. Not letting go of her wrist, Slocum patted her side, feeling a flat bulky hardness below her hip.

  “Where’s the gun, Maud? I know it’s here, I can feel it,” he said, feeling around the pleated folds of her skirt. At the curve of her hip, his fingers found a hidden pocket.

  It was a cunning piece of dressmaking. The narrow slit-like opening was hidden beneath overlapping pleats. He reached inside, letting go of her wrist. Extra pressure on her already straining neck served as a silent warning.

  “There’s always a gun, all you madams have them. That’s how you get to be madams,” he said.

  The hidden pocket was sewn inside her dress, wide and deep enough to hold a gun and the hand that was reaching for it.

  Slocum fished it out, holding it away from him so he could see it. It was a small-bore, short-barreled revolver, a fancy little silver gun with ivory handles.

  A good piece, a lady’s gun with man-stopping power.

  “I’ve got the feeling that you think you’re way ahead of me,” he said, “but I plan to do some catching up fast.”

  His eyes moved from her to the bar. Unconsciously he licked his lips. He moved away from her toward it, saying, “I need a drink.”

  She crossed in front of him, a step ahead. “I’ll get it.”

  He caught her by the wrist. “You’re too eager.”

  “It’s called hospitality, mister.”

  “Is that what it’s called?”

  “You’re hurting my wrist.”

  “Sit down. And quit acting up,” he said. He indicated a nearby chair. “Sit there, where I can see you.”

  She sat, rubbing her wrist. He went behind the bar, keeping an eye on her. Under the counter, on the right-hand side, was a built-in cabinet. There was a ten-inch space between the counter and the cabinet top.

  On top of the cabinet lay a double-barreled sawed-off shotgun. It was loaded. Slocum placed it on the counter, pointed at Maud.

  “Now, that’s what I call hospitality,” he said.