Slocum and the Yellowback Trail

by Jake Logan

  “I don’t . . . don’t know how you do it,” she gasped. “But I’m sure as hell glad you did.”

  When Slocum’s eyesight cleared, he looked around at the room he’d rented. Clothes were strewn across the floor and the sparse furnishings. Both chairs were set at strange angles from where they’d started. The curtains had been nearly pulled from their rod in Eve’s haste to draw them, and then there was the bed. Not only were the linens a rumpled mess, but the frame had shifted to another spot somewhere during all the vigorous activity in the last few minutes.

  “Damn,” he huffed as he rolled onto his back. “Maybe I should have picked a hotel a little farther away from the Stamper.”

  “You afraid my father might hear me scream and come to my rescue?”

  “Wouldn’t want him too sore at me,” Slocum said. “He went through a lot of trouble to bring me in as a hired gun.”

  “The John Slocum I know isn’t a hired gun.” As she shifted onto her other side, Eve pulled the blanket up along with her. While the material covered her somewhat, she obviously wasn’t too concerned about the rest. “So you came back to take care of Bo?”

  “That was the idea.”

  “I thought you just came for me.”

  “Well you didn’t really give me a chance to explain myself,” Slocum replied. “One minute I was standing at your father’s bar and the next you were dragging me outside.”

  “You told me you’d been standing around for a few hours,” she reminded him.

  “It all just ran together,” he groaned. “Bo packed up his game and left not long after I introduced myself to him and after that, there wasn’t much else besides the stage show to hold my attention.”

  Eve allowed the blanket to fall away from her breasts as she tossed her hair over one shoulder and said, “And then I came along. Aren’t you the lucky boy?”

  “So what do you know about Bo and those men at the roulette wheel?”

  At first, Eve seemed confused. Then, she seemed mildly irritated as she scooted even closer to him and asked, “You really want to ask me about that now?”

  “I wanted to ask you about it when I first saw you, but didn’t get a chance.”

  “You could’ve said anything you wanted,” she griped. “You’re a grown man. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to distract you from whatever else you’d rather be doing.”

  Slocum rubbed her shoulder and then allowed his hand to graze her chest. “What can I say? No man can resist some temptations.”

  While she may have known he was sweetening her up a bit, Eve appreciated the effort. “You’d best watch yourself, John Slocum.”

  “I’d rather watch you.”

  No matter the motive behind those words, they did the trick just fine. “Bo’s been in Chicago for a year. He thinks he’s a bad man, but couldn’t harm a fly without help from James. All he cares about is making easy money and he’s more than happy to push around the fools that take a chance on that spinning wheel of his. Cam joined up with them a few months ago. His heart’s in the right place, but he was led astray.”

  “Aww,” Slocum said with plenty of sarcasm in his tone. “Ain’t that just tragic.”

  “Do you want to hear this or not?”

  “Go ahead.”

  After a few more seconds of glaring at him, Eve went on. “Cam was a sheriff’s deputy in some smaller town north of here. He got drummed out for some reason or another and lost his way.”

  “Where’d you hear about this?”

  “He’s sweet on one of the dancers at the Stamper. She’s a friend of mine and goes on about him whenever she gets the opportunity. Come to think of it,” she added thoughtfully, “that may be a little biased in his direction. What I know for certain is that Cam brought some money along with him and Bo talked him into staking his operation.”

  “You mean with the roulette table?”

  “That and a few other games in town. The percentages those three haven’t bought have been taken at the end of a gun. James’s gun.”

  “He’s a killer?” Slocum asked.

  She scoffed. “According to some. But that’s only what I’ve heard from the folks around the theater. They’re either afraid of him or they’re one of his ladies, so you decide how much of it to believe. One thing I know for certain is that James is a bloodthirsty pimp who’d just as soon hit a woman as he would scratch an itch. Hits men just as well, but doesn’t enjoy it as much. Daddy says he’s shot three in the street outside the theater, but I only witnessed two.”

  Ticking his points off on his fingers, Slocum said, “So Cam brought the seed money, James brought his own business and a gun, while Bo had the brains to expand their interests into other avenues. Interesting.”

  “You think so? I think those three bastards mean to take away my family’s livelihood!”

  Slocum leaned back to get a better look at her. “And just a few moments ago, you were talking about them like they were just another couple of rough men you’ve been watching.”

  “That’s when I assumed you were just getting ready to take them down a few notches. And besides,” Eve added, “I was only watching them so I might be able to help when the time came to do something about Daddy’s problem.”

  Curling an arm around her, Slocum said, “Well you did the right thing. Now is the time to do something, and all that watching you did will be a big help.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. If there’s anything else you can tell me, go right ahead. Every little bit will be an advantage since they know next to nothing about me.”

  Although she curled against him, Eve was tensing up again. “They might know something about you. Your name will have spread around the theater by now, and it won’t take much asking around to hear some other things.”

  “Rumors and tall tales mostly,” Slocum replied. “Trust me. I’ve heard plenty of them myself, and less than half of them even dipped a toe in the truth. If Bo and those others believe what they hear, it’ll still work in my favor. Now, what about the rest of the spying you’ve done? Got any more stories?”

  “Plenty. For one, did you know that when Cam was a deputy for . . . what are you doing?”

  As Slocum lay with his body pressed against hers, he could feel Eve’s generous curves brushing against him. When she shifted her hips, the motion sparked something in him that brought his erection back to life. “You can keep talking,” he said. “I’m listening.”

  “I don’t think you are.”

  “All right,” he said as he rolled her onto her back and climbed on top of her. “You caught me.”

  Eve smiled widely and spread her legs. “Well then,” she purred as his stiff member slid into her, “since you’re caught I better put you to work.”

  4

  Eve did have plenty of good information about Bo and his two partners. They’d gotten into the theater through some of the dancing girls who worked for James. A gentleman to a fault, Terrance had trusted one of those girls when she’d batted her eyelashes at him and asked for Bo to be given a chance to run a roulette game at the Stamper. After that, the other two had set up shop and refused to leave. Eve had had more to report, but Slocum missed a good portion of it due to some very interesting distractions.

  When he returned to the theater, it was early evening. The show was in full swing and loud enough for him to hear the music from the street. Before wading into all of that commotion, Slocum stood outside and pulled in a few breaths of fresh air. At least, it was fresh by Chicago standards. He choked down as much of it as he could and was about to head inside when he noticed a single steady face in the stream of people passing in front of the theater.

  The man stood a few inches above most of the crowd, his height accentuated even more by the domed bowler hat he wore. Although obscured by the crowd, the man’s light brown suit appeared to be about two sizes too big for the frame upon which it hung. His face might have been friendly under normal circumstances. When it was pointed at Slocum, however, a subt
le scowl crept in to twist his mouth into a tight line.

  A warning sounded in the back of Slocum’s head. Knowing better than to ignore such things, he turned on his heels and began walking down the street. After he’d passed the theater, Slocum looked over his shoulder as if casually examining one of the other buildings. Sure enough, the young man in the brown suit was following him. Slocum hardly broke his stride as he faced forward and continued walking.

  There was just over half a moon glowing in the sky and plenty of stars to give the overhead blackness a glow. It was a cool night with just enough moisture in the air to stick to Slocum’s face as he rounded the corner and headed for an even busier part of town. He’d been to Chicago a few times, but wasn’t so familiar with the city to know all of its nooks and crannies. He could see enough to know he wasn’t headed for the fancy district, since most of the people surrounding him eyed him as if he was the freshest hunk of meat to be set upon the table. They kept their distance for the most part, which actually disappointed Slocum.

  Instead of waiting for folks to come to him, Slocum approached one of the larger groups gathered around the front of a saloon. The closer he got to the place, the more odors he could pick out of the air. Burned tobacco and perfume were chief among those smells, but the distinct scent of opium caught his attention. A quick survey of the crowd showed him that most of the men gathered around that saloon weren’t wearing hats, so Slocum removed his and stooped slightly so he could blend in with the others. The crowd parted without a fuss and a few shoved Slocum back, but it was only a matter of seconds before he was completely surrounded. As soon as he’d waded most of the way through, Slocum circled back toward the outer edge again.

  He waited there for a few seconds. It wasn’t difficult since most of the men were trying to get a look inside the saloon at some exotic woman servicing paying customers and doing her best to attract more business from the street. Just as he started to worry that he’d lost the man in the brown suit for good, the fellow rounded a corner and nervously glanced up and down the street.

  Pushing back against an anxious drunk, Slocum hid himself just long enough for the other man to pass him by. As soon as the fellow in the suit moved away from the crowd, Slocum stepped out of it, slapped his hat back onto his head, and dropped a heavy hand onto the man’s shoulder.

  “Looking for someone?” he asked.

  The man in the brown suit wheeled around and reflexively grabbed for the holster strapped around his waist.

  Slocum defused that little problem with a simple slap that knocked the man’s hand away from the .32 hanging at his side. He scolded the man. “No need for that. We haven’t even met.”

  “I know who you are,” the man said with a poor attempt to keep his voice from wavering.

  “And I think I know you as well,” Slocum replied. “At least, I’ve got a good idea who sent you.”

  “Nobody sent me.”

  Draping an arm around the man’s shoulders so he could guide him down the street, Slocum said, “You’ll have to come up with something better than that.”

  The man tried to get to his gun, but Slocum was too close for him to make an easy reach for his holster. Since he wasn’t quite ready to fight for the pistol just yet, he continued walking alongside Slocum. “I tell you, nobody sent me.”

  “Does Bo count as nobody?”

  “I don’t know who that is.”

  Slocum stopped and pushed the man so his back knocked against the front of a darkened storefront. It could have been an office of some kind, but he wasn’t concerned about that. Rather than look at the building, Slocum studied the other man’s face and mannerisms. “You don’t know Bo or James? What about Cam?”

  “I don’t care who those men are. I know who you are, though.”

  “Do you, now?”

  When the man nodded, the brim of his rounded hat tapped against the wall behind him. “You’re John Slocum. You’ve killed innocent men in cold blood and left children without mothers.”

  “I’m no murderer,” Slocum growled, “and I’ll have words with whoever’s saying otherwise.”

  The man pulled himself up by the bootstraps and forced a defiant glare onto his face. “You’ll answer for what you’ve done, that’s for certain.”

  “And you’d be the one to see to that?”

  The man nodded again.

  “Do I get to know the name of the man judging me?” Slocum asked. When the other man froze in his spot, Slocum added, “Or are you ready to walk away after tracking me down this far?”

  The flinch that darted across the man’s face spoke of an uneasiness that passed as he scooted along the wall to put some distance between himself and Slocum. “There’s a price on your head and I aim to collect it. I’m giving you the chance to come along with me now before there’s any blood-shed.”

  “How generous of you.”

  “I’ve got men watching you from a couple different rooftops, just like in Fort Griffin.”

  “And what happened in Fort Griffin?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. Eight men died in Fort Griffin by your hand and you’ll answer for it. I saw the notices myself.”

  “You’re a bounty hunter?” Slocum asked without trying to hide his disbelief.

  The other man nodded, albeit reluctantly.

  Slocum glanced up and down the street, but couldn’t find any hint of someone backing the man’s play. “If you are a bounty hunter, there’s no need for you to make up some tall tale about Fort Griffin. I’ve done plenty more to earn those bounties.”

  “I know what you did and I’m not the only one.” When Slocum shifted his weight, the man in the brown suit twitched anxiously. “You can come with me or the others will hunt you down.”

  After rubbing his chin, Slocum asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Michael Harper.” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “I bet that name brings you right back to Fort Griffin, doesn’t it?”

  “Can’t say that it does.” Slocum placed his hand on the grip of his Colt Navy and stepped back. “I’ve got other business to tend to. If you want to try and use that gun of yours, do it quick.”

  For a moment, Slocum thought Harper had run out of steam. His bluff had been called, he’d lost the element of surprise, and he sure didn’t seem like much of a bounty hunter. All of those things didn’t give a whole lot for the fellow in the rumpled brown suit to hang onto. Even so, he eased into a sideways stance and nodded once as if quietly making a pact with himself.

  “Damn it,” Slocum grunted as he lunged forward to snap a fist into Harper’s face. The punch landed with a sharp cracking sound and was quickly followed by the dull thump of Harper’s back against the wall. Even as he blinked and tried to speak, it was plain to see that he was out on his feet. After a few more seconds, he didn’t even have his feet to support him.

  Harper slid down the wall to form a heap at its base. As Slocum collected the .32 from the supposed bounty hunter’s holster, he looked around to see if he’d drawn any interest from other nearby locals. The women inside the opium den must have been working awfully hard, because most of the men in the vicinity were still looking inside that place. Then again, the folks in Chicago could have just been accustomed to the sight of one man knocking the other into unconsciousness.

  Slocum was about to tuck the .32 under his belt, but thought differently of it. As he hurried toward the Stamper Theater, he checked to make sure the gun was loaded and ready to be fired. Instead of tucking it somewhere it could be so easily found, Slocum reached around to slip it under his belt at the small of his back. The pistol was smaller than his Colt Navy and settled into its spot fairly well.

  The more Slocum thought about what Michael had said, the less sense it made. Sure, he’d been to Fort Griffin, but he didn’t know what eight men the bounty hunter was talking about. It nagged at him so much that he slowed his pace so he could have a few more seconds in which to think back to nearly every visit to Texas. There simply wasn’t enoug
h time for Slocum to sift through all of that and still get to the Stamper for Bo’s next shift behind his wheel. According to Terrance, Bo’s habits were damn near set in stone. Unless Bo wanted to admit defeat already, he’d be sure to show up at his normal time as if nothing had happened.

  Just to be on the safe side, Slocum stretched his neck to look around him in every direction. He looked up and down the street, across to the other side of the street, down to the near and far corners, even up along the rooftops. The only thing that did for him was put a mighty painful kink in his neck. The rest of Chicago seemed content to go about its own business without disturbing him in the least.

  By the time he arrived at the Stamper, Slocum was glad to hear raucous music rolling out of the place like a wall of smoke. A group of women were singing loud enough to strain their voices just to be heard above the sorry excuse for an orchestra, and the audience was showing their appreciation with even louder cries. Slocum walked in through the front door and was immediately set upon.

  “Where have you been?” Terrance asked as he stepped up and placed himself between Slocum and the rest of the theater.

  “In my hotel room. You don’t pay me enough to stand here without kicking my feet up every now and then.”

  “I’m also not paying you to consort with my daughter!”

  “What was that?”

  Even though he could hear Terrance well enough over the noise, Slocum cupped a hand to his ear and grimaced when the other man repeated himself. “Sorry,” Slocum said, “but I think that whiskey is hitting me harder than usual.”

  Terrance eyed Slocum suspiciously, but didn’t press the issue. Slocum considered himself lucky that Eve had made herself scarce at that moment, so the subject could remain dropped for a while.