Bad Day for a Killing (Book Three of the Western Serial Killer Series)

by Hestand, Rita

  "Frankie…eat your candy before I decide to take it back." Rusty frowned again and slammed the desk drawer shut. Making Frankie jump.

  Frankie's eyes widened.

  "I gotta go. Ma needs my help. See ya…" he managed as though escaping Rusty's ire.

  "See ya…" Rusty murmured.

  He glanced at the trash once more and then got up and walked out into the light of morning.

  Chapter Two

  Elmer stood at the end of the bar, drinking his milk. He kept twisting the glass this way and that. He knew most of the people were watching him, because he was a stranger. Townsfolk always watched strangers. He'd noted the few people around him, an old whore, a young deputy who looked like he was so ready for trouble, a couple of old men in a corner sipping their whiskey, minding their business and talking low. Elmer barely gave them a glance but he was quickly able to size people. He learned that back home when customers would come into his sister's cafe. He had assessed the customers here and decided to ignore most of them. However for some reason he noted the cocky young deputy that presented himself down the bar from him. Elmer sighed heavily. He knew what the young scamp was up to. The young fool stared at him. He didn't want to be stared at. He hated gawkers.

  The man on the piano seemed to enjoy playing the light ditty and Elmer rarely had the chance to enjoy music. Music was hard to come by and every chance he got he'd pause to pay attention. He had a habit of keeping time to it with his foot.

  Ignoring the young deputy seemed simplest to Elmer. He wanted no trouble, even though he was sure this young deputy was itching for a fight. He'd met plenty of those along his travels. Patience often cured curiosity.

  Briefly, he thought about his sister, and the aching loneliness it caused him. Still, he'd gotten religion, and he knew what he really wanted was a sin. He had to stay away from sin. He'd done enough bad things, and he wanted to go to heaven when he died. He glanced around the bar and he almost smiled, no one would ever guess what he was thinking. No one would guess that he wanted no trouble either.

  He'd put sin and bad times behind him. Determined not to go back to his mean ways, he steadied himself and squinted down the bar once more.

  The milk coated his belly with a calm, he could feel it. He had what one doctor called a bleeding ulcer, and milk was a balm to that. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. The milk soothed him. Just what he needed. He turned once to look at everyone, then turned back to his drink.

  The old whore came to stand beside him. Her perfume tickled his nose it was so strong. It made him sneeze.

  He took out his kerchief from his back pocket and wiped his face.

  He stared down at the woman in front of him with interest. Her makeup was thick like the dust off the prairie, her hair was done up fancy, her dress sagged where it shouldn't. Elmer's eyes drifted to where it shouldn't. Something stirred within him. He silently cautioned himself.

  She could never be his sister, but she could quench the thirst inside him. Still, he held himself away from her, despising what he'd been, and longing for what he could not have. He squelched that stirring, as a firm frown lined his weathered face.

  He wouldn't think on his desires. Instead he ignored them.

  "Want to buy me a drink?" She asked batting her eyes at him, and smiling. Despite her interrupting his quiet calm, he quickly forgave her ignorance and smiled back at her. In an odd way she was quite appealing, and she didn't seem to mind him getting an eye full. She was like a long sugar candy, sweet and tempting.

  But he silently scolded himself for the wanting.

  "Sure," Elmer mumbled to the barkeep.

  "You are a right handsome old devil." She smiled, purposely brushing him with the fringe of her dress.

  His eyes narrowed on her.

  "Best to spit the truth out." He whispered so the others wouldn't hear. "Ain't got time nor the inclination." Elmer shot her a glassy eyed stare.

  "Sorry, I must have misread the signals." She cooed. "Another time then?"

  Her voice was friendly, and cool, but Elmer sensed a sadness inside her he couldn't begin to understand. It almost matched his own. He gave her a second glance. That was it, she wanted companionship as much as he did. In that moment he knew without a doubt that what she craved wasn't a romp upstairs but merely the companionship of someone who could understand that loneliness. He wished he read her sooner, maybe they could talk somewhere.

  Recognizing her true feelings he eased up on his own lust inside him.

  He stared down at her with an equal sadness. "Maybe…"

  He drank his milk and started to leave as the old whore moved away from him somewhat satisfied by his answer.

  She hadn't taken offense in fact he thought he recognized relief on her face.

  ***

  "Leavin' so soon, stranger." The young deputy mused with a smirk, as his voice carried loud enough to stop Ben from playing the piano. The way the man turned to stare at him had Marty squirming just a bit. In that instant he was sure Rusty had been right, the man was dangerous, but not in the way he had expected.

  Elmer shot him a contemptuous glance and nodded.

  "Where's the hotel?" Elmer asked him, giving him another once over.

  "Two blocks down." The deputy smiled. "Staying with us a while?"

  "Maybe…" Elmer mumbled. "Much obliged."

  Elmer started to leave but the deputy stopped him with his questions.

  "Where you from?" The deputy asked as though it were his business. The way he figured it, he wouldn’t find out anything unless he asked.

  "Lots of places." Elmer muttered shooting him a frown that left no question of his displeasure.

  "Just passin' through?"

  Elmer walked straight up to the young pup of a deputy and gave him an evil eye. "Pup, you ask too many questions. Ain't healthy to ask too many questions."

  The two old men at the table glanced up at them. Interest lined their expressions.

  Marty's expression changed. He shut his mouth and swallowed hard, recognizing the cold hard killer in him, just like Rusty had said. This man was different somehow. He reeked of death, and guilt and sadness that Marty didn't care to know about. He wanted out of here. He wanted to forget he was sent here to observe.

  He nodded slowly and backed away. "Enjoy your stay."

  Elmer eyed him, then the whore. He moved toward the door slowly. "I aim to."

  Then he was gone.

  Marty went to the window, let out a breath and stared after him. He hadn't realized he was shaking until then. He wiped his mouth and glanced around. Everyone was staring at him.

  Even Ben stopped playing long enough to look at him.

  "He's a stranger…" Marty mumbled and went out the door, ignoring the amused faces that stared after him.

  The music echoed in Marty's ear. The wind was picking up and the sound of it sent a chill through him. The disappointment in himself dressed his expression.

  He crossed the street hurriedly.

  When he flew into the Sheriff's office he nodded. "You were right. He's a dangerous fella."

  "Who?" Rusty asked, not paying much attention to his young deputy.

  Marty deliberately evaded the question. He wasn't sure what had just happened.

  "That man…the stranger."

  "What happened?" Rusty's glance landed on him squarely. He had been slouched in his chair but the mention of the stranger brought his full attention and he stood up.

  "Nothing. I mean, he ordered milk, talked to Mary, spoke to me and left."

  "That doesn't sound too dangerous. What's got you so anxious?"

  "It was the way he done it, I guess." Marty tried to control his reactions. He nervously moved his bandana and shuffled his feet against the floor.

  "And how was that?"

  Marty shook his head. He walked about the room, his nerves obviously jangled. "Well, I don't rightly know. For one thing he wasn't drinkin', at least not hard liquor. He ordered milk. Mary asked him if he want
ed to buy her a drink, and he did. But he didn't want her. She offered, but he didn't take her up on it. In fact, he just stood there at the bar, drinkin' his milk as though it were a fine whiskey. Then I asked him where he was from and he came up to me, real close like and stared at me. I saw the look in his eyes. It gave me the willies. You were right. I don't guess he is a gunslinger, or he might have killed me right then. But the look in those eyes. It was like lookin' into some kind of hollow man. As though he had no real thoughts of his own. But he was there."

  "You asked a bunch of fool questions, didn't you?"

  Marty cleared his throat. "Only if he was staying and where he was from."

  Rusty shook his head with disgust. He went back to cleaning his gun as though the distraction kept him from slugging his deputy. "Boy when are you going to learn not to be so damn pushy? He's a stranger. It's a wonder he didn't blow your head off jest for general purposes. You go askin' a stranger questions like that? You watch him, see what he says and does. But you don't go askin' fool questions of a stranger. Don't you know you could have gotten your head blown off?"

  "He wouldn't have killed me in front of everybody!" Marty exclaimed. "Besides, just lookin' at him, I wouldn't say he was a regular gunfighter. A killer maybe, but not a gunfighter. You know, the kind that might pick you up and strangle you, not shoot you down."

  "I wouldn't bet on that. He's no ordinary man, Marty. Stay away from him. He's not a case for you to handle." Rusty declared. "You let me do the thinkin' on this one. He's not to be played with."

  "I thought you said he wasn't a gunslinger."

  "He's not." Rusty explained as he stared at his young deputy. "But a man like that has a mental trigger that can go off any time. And Marty…you don't want that to go off, believe me."

  "How come you know that?" Marty frowned. "You know this fella?"

  "No…I don't know him. But then again, I just do, Marty, I just do. Now, where did he go from there?" Rusty asked.

  "The hotel."

  Rusty nodded. "From now on, when I tell you to observe, that is exactly what I want you to do. Don't antagonize him. Just watch him. And don't be obvious about watching him. Act normal. Talk to the girls, or mingle with friends, but keep your eye out for what he is doing and where he's going. That is all. Now can you do that?"

  Marty frowned again. "Of course I can. I just figured I'd get a little information for you."

  "I'll get my own information, Marty. You'll stay alive a lot longer if you listen." Rusty implored him.

  "Doggone it, you sure act like you know him." Marty questioned.

  "Never seen him in my life. But there is something about him that I recognize." Rusty explained.

  "Why don't you just arrest him or something? Seems wrong to just stand around watching him all the time."

  "Don't have anything to arrest him on. Despite that we have a license to jail people, we still have to have a good reason to do so, Marty."

  "I never seen old Mary back away from a paying customer before." Marty admitted.

  "Even she sees it." Rusty nodded. "That's good. She'll live longer."

  Chapter Three

  Elmer stared at the blank walls in his room. The faded wallpaper had seen better days. He fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. But there was nothing there to even hold a bug's interest. He sat up on the bed. Like many other rooms he'd seen the past few months there was nothing remarkable about this one. The bed squeaked when he sat on it, the bureau stood tall but it seemed to lean to one side as though the floor weren't even or something. A cracked pitcher and bowl adorned the top of it. The curtain was full of dust and he sneezed when he came near it. The mattress smelled of sweat and other things he didn't want to dwell on. Without a second thought, he opened the window and heard the noise from below. A light breeze filtered inside. The noise from below was a welcome sound that told Elmer life went on, despite the troubles in the road.

  His mind flitted to the people he'd met here. The young inquisitive deputy, the old whore, the bartender that questioned him ordering milk.

  But his mind kept straying to Mary, the old whore at the saloon. She was almost pretty if she would take off all that make-up and take down her hair. He could imagine her being pretty. He could almost imagine her being Sadie. Sadie didn't wear anything on her face. She was clean and smelled fresh all the time. He remembered that smell. He wished he didn't. He'd never return to Cross Timbers until he could resist the temptation.

  He shrugged, and fell against the bed again, letting the light breeze filter through the curtain toward him.

  He missed Sadie more than he could say.

  Even though his sins were many, his sin with her was unforgivable and moving far away from her was the best thing he'd ever done. At least that's what he told himself every day for over four months. He'd wandered around the countryside trying to find some peace. He hadn't found it. His longing for Sadie was killing him. He suddenly sat up and frowned.

  This was a new life, a second chance to make good. He couldn't mar it with Sadie. He had to make a life here in Hard Tack. He'd vowed to make a good life. He would do it.

  For one thing he needed was a new name. So far no one knew him. He'd put an X on the register downstairs. Coming up with a new name might help. He'd give that some thought.

  He pulled his saddle bags off the floor and flopped them on the bed. He opened one of them and glanced inside. He'd made cornbread at his last campsite. Sadie had taught him to make cornbread because he so loved it. It still looked good, he ate it, sipping water from his canteen that he'd filled downstairs at the pump.

  He wondered if Sadie was getting along okay. Then again, he put her away.

  He worried about her. She no longer had enough food to offer the people. What would the town of Cross Timbers do now? Did they realize how much Sadie had helped them? He doubted it. He wished he could send her some money, but he'd spent his last. It was time to settle and get a job. He was still a good butcher. Surely a town the size of Hard Tack had to have need of a butcher

  He was tired. He'd ridden forever, he felt. He needed a bath and some sleep then he'd look for a job.

  Thoughts of the killings stabbed at his heart. Tears ran down his face. He remembered them with such clarity. He remembered too much.

  It was one thing to kill, but in such a fashion as he'd chosen, he knew his confession didn't seem enough.

  He'd met the old priest on his travels, Father Dodson and he remembered how the whole world seemed to rest easily on his shoulders. The old priest had listened to his confession with horror on his lips and Elmer remembered how he'd cried as he confessed.

  When he asked the priest why he was crying he looked up at him and shook his head sadly. "You've done wrong my friend, and God heard your confessions and forgave, but…it is not as easy for another human to hear it and not speak of it to another soul. It is a heavy burden I will carry to my grave."

  Elmer stared at the old priest for a long time. "I'm sorry." He mumbled.

  "I know my son…I know…"

  He hadn't totally understood him, but he knew instinctively that this was a good man. He'd felt better for telling him, but he also felt sad that the priest could never speak of it again. To unburden himself of Elmer's sin. Still he hadn't confessed his sin with Sadie. He didn't think the old priest could handle any more. So he grew quiet, while he listened to the Hail Mary's and the whispered prayers on the old man's lips.

  Someday he'd do something for that old priest, he knew he owed him, somehow.

  Elmer shook himself visibly then looked down at his clothes. He went downstairs and asked the desk clerk if there was anywhere to get a bath.

  "Sure, there's a barber shop down the street on the other side. Fifty cents will get you a nice hot bath, and another will buy a shave, if you've a mind to."

  "Thank you, you've been very helpful."

  "Sure…"

  Elmer prided himself for picking up a heap of manners along his travels. He found t
hat good manners fared well with other people and so he was sure to use them at all times. After all, he was a changed man. He had confessed his sins. God had forgiven him, but would man?

  Elmer decided he'd better think of a name before someone asked. He'd signed with an X as though he couldn't write, there was no need of identifying himself in other places, however he'd already decided he was going to try Hard Tack as a new home for himself.

  Sadie had taught him how to write and read a little, today was one of those days he appreciated all he'd learned from his angelic sister.

  The barber shop was empty and he glanced around before the barber came out of the back room.

  "Need a bath and a shave…"

  "Sure, the bath's out back, hot water is ten cents extra, bath is fifty cents. Shave is twenty-five cents. Just holler when you are ready for one." The barber said not really looking at him.

  "Thanks. And I'll have the hot water." Elmer decided.

  "Okay friend. Be right with you." The barber nodded as he began setting several large kettles on the old stove.

  Elmer went out back, and after the barber had warmed the water, he took off his clothes and jumped in the big tub.

  He needed a good name. George, Harold, Sam, Hank? All names he'd heard at the café back in Cross Timbers. But none of those seemed to fit. He needed a good name.

  Then it hit him. John Conroy. He'd seen the name somewhere, but he couldn't remember where. That was settled from this day forward he'd be John Conroy.

  He settled back in the water, grabbed the lye soap and scrubbed himself with the brush on the side of the tub, beside the towel the barber provided.

  He scrubbed hard and then washed his hair.

  It felt so good to be clean once again. It had been months since he'd indulged.

  Knowing his funds were getting much shorter, he determined he might have a better chance if he looked presentable. After all, Sadie had set a lot of store in men who were clean.

  She'd made him take a bath at least once a week and wear his best on Sundays.