Ralph Compton Straight to the Noose

by Marcus Galloway

  “We’ll get to that when you’re done with Simons.”

  “Then we should straighten one matter right now. I’m no killer.”

  Greeley’s fist slammed down on top of his desk so hard that the impact was probably heard throughout all three of the Delta Jack’s decks. “You’re in no position to dictate anything to me! You wanna know what a killer is? Look behind you, Mr. Mason. That there is one of my killers and he may not be able to get to Simons, but he can damn sure get to you.”

  Mason didn’t need to look behind him to know the overman was there. He could feel the gunman’s stare boring holes through the back of his head.

  “You still owe me more than ten thousand dollars,” Greeley continued, “and I’ve killed men for a lot less than that. You wanna know why I don’t send more men after Simons or why I don’t go after him myself or why I don’t pay one of them crooked lawmen to do the job for me? I don’t owe you answers to any of them questions. I own your hide, Mason, and if I decide I want you to dance across the Atlantic Ocean to pay off that debt, then by God that’s what you’ll do. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Mason said evenly.

  “Good. Now you can stop looking at the other names on that list. We’re docked here and staying put because this ain’t too far away from the town where Simons is holed up. You’ll get off here, go into town, find a quick way to bury Simons, and then come back onto this boat in no less than two days.” Greeley jabbed a bony finger at Mason and added, “I better not have to tell you what a bad idea it would be to try and ride away without doing your part here. Simons may be dug in, but you’re not. My boys will find you no matter where you go.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that, Mr. Greeley,” Mason said. “They already found me when even I didn’t know where I was going.”

  “Good. Then we understand each other.”

  “We most certainly do.”

  “Then collect your guns and get the hell out of my office.”

  Chapter 20

  When Mason got back to his cabin, he was so light-headed that he thought he might have dreamed his entire conversation with Greeley. He put the odds of that happening at less than twenty percent, which was being generous. The notion that so much bad news hadn’t been dropped onto him at once was simply too appealing to turn away. But a man in his line of work didn’t get anywhere but the poorhouse by betting everything on a long shot simply because he wanted it to win. There had to be other factors to swing a bet in that direction, and there were none to swing this one.

  He was in the muck up to his eyes and there wasn’t any good way to get out of it. Not yet anyway.

  “Damn it,” he sighed when he saw the small box sitting next to his washbasin.

  Reluctantly Mason went over to the box. It was about a quarter the size of the washbasin itself and wasn’t sealed. Using one finger to move one of the top flaps aside, he looked in to see several rounds of.44-caliber ammunition and approximately twenty dollars in cash. The money was wrapped in a piece of paper that read: For the job and expenses—G.

  As was the case most of the time, the long shot proved to be a loser. The conversation had happened. The muck was just as deep as it had ever been.

  His cabin’s door creaked slightly as it was opened by someone from the hallway. Mason pivoted toward it while making a grab for his Remington.

  “It’s just me,” Maggie said as she stopped half in and half out of the cabin. “Can I come in?”

  Mason took his hand away from the sawed-off pistol tucked under his belt. “Sure. Why not?”

  She stepped into the room, shut the door behind her, and stood with her back pressed against it. Reluctant to take another step toward him, she said, “I take it this conversation with Greeley went as well as the last one.”

  Looking down, Mason saw that his jacket had snagged on the shoulder holster. Both Remingtons were exposed, so he straightened his jacket to cover them once again. “You should leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve got to go somewhere and you shouldn’t . . . you can’t go with me.”

  Maggie approached him and reached out to place one hand on his chest. She already knew where to touch him, so it didn’t hurt as she asked, “What did Greeley tell you?”

  “We set up an arrangement,” he said. “To settle that debt of mine.”

  “This can’t just be about a debt.”

  “Why not?”

  Her brow furrowed with concern. “Because this isn’t the first big debt that someone’s owed Greeley. Lord knows he wouldn’t make this big a fuss every time it happened.”

  “Well, he’s making a fuss now and I’m in the middle of it,” Mason snapped. “If it’s the first time or last time really doesn’t matter, now, does it?”

  “It does,” she replied. “It matters a lot.” Maggie’s features softened, but only for a moment before they regained the subtle edge that was as much a part of her as the nose on her face. “Any other time and Greeley would have dumped you over the side, dragged you alongside this boat, or tossed you into the paddlewheel.”

  “You know about all that, do you?”

  “Of course I do. There’s a lot of talk around here about those sorts of things. How have you not heard it?”

  Mason chuckled. It was more of a way to let off some steam instead of expressing anything he found even slightly humorous. “I guess I have heard it. When I’m at the table, I’m usually thinking of other matters.”

  “Well, instead of trying to figure every angle before it happens, you should take more time to soak up the world around you.” When she saw the surprise on his face, Maggie added, “I’ve figured out a lot about you while we were sitting at that card game. I could see the wheels turning behind those pretty eyes of yours then, just like I can see them now.”

  Grinning, Mason said, “If I’m that easy to read, it’s no wonder I’m in so much debt.”

  “You’re not easy to read,” she assured him. “I suppose I was just paying closer attention to you than most.”

  “Should I be flattered by that?”

  Maggie leaned even closer to him and placed a gentle kiss on his lower lip. “Yes,” she whispered.

  Mason couldn’t have stopped his hands from encircling her waist if he’d wanted to. Fortunately he didn’t want to. “You’ve been a surprise, Maggie. A good one. What happened at that game was a surprise as well.”

  “Which, I’m guessing, wasn’t a very good one.”

  “Not even close.”

  “It happens to all of us,” she said. “You get a read on someone, you think you have a hand completely figured out, and then the hammer drops. Sometimes it’s because something was fixed in the game, and sometimes you’re just . . . wrong.”

  Mason shook his head. “I’ve thought about that hand plenty. Part of me hasn’t stopped thinking about it.”

  “Yet another thing that makes you similar to every other gambler in the world. Most of the hands we win get chalked up to a day’s work and forgotten. The couple we lose stick with us. We remember every little thing.” Straightening his tie, she added, “Isn’t that why we all drink so much whiskey?”

  “Greeley wasn’t cheating,” he said. “If he was cheating, he’s better and smoother at it than me or anyone else I’ve ever known. No. He played that hand straight.”

  “You mean he outplayed you.” When Mason looked at her with a pained wince, she rubbed his cheek and said, “You were wrong. That’s the possibility that hurts the most. Believe me. I know. It’s so much easier to know you were cheated. You might feel stupid for being tricked or falling for a lie, but at least there’s someone else to blame. When you’re wrong . . . it’s just you.”

  “How long have you been on the circuit?” Mason asked.

  Without needing to think about it, she replied, “Six years.”

  “Ever
been cheated?”

  “The only players who don’t cheat a little bit at some point or another are the ones who line the pockets of people like us. To answer your question, though, yes. I’ve been cheated. It stung like hell, but I got over it.”

  Mason took more comfort from just standing there holding Maggie in his arms than from all the whiskey that had ever been distilled. “Ever been wrong?” he asked.

  She didn’t bat an eye before saying, “Of course not. Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?”

  Mason was stunned for a second, but quickly started to laugh. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. Eventually he wound up on the bed with her. He and Maggie didn’t lie down or even embrace. He simply had to get off his feet and she sat beside him with one hand resting on his knee.

  “Any chance you know a quick way to get to Europe without anyone knowing about it?” he asked.

  “I’ve got a few good routes to Mexico or Canada.”

  Mason shook his head. “I’ll need to get farther than that.”

  “To avoid Greeley? He barely ever leaves this boat. Just put a few days’ ride between you and the Mississippi River and you should be fine.”

  “He’s committed himself to this even more than I have. If he lets me get away, it makes him look bad. A man like him can’t afford to look bad.”

  “Who gives a damn what he wants or likes?” she asked.

  “He’s got deep pockets,” Mason said. “And there’s always plenty of men out there who’ll do dirty work for someone like that. Besides, I’ve never been the sort of man who runs. Even if it’s good for him.”

  Maggie rubbed his leg and placed her other hand on his cheek. Drawing him in with the slightest of movements, she kissed him gently and said, “I’m liking you more and more.”

  “Too bad. I may not be around for much longer.” Mason gave her a kiss and stood up. He picked up the box that had been left for him and set it in his carpetbag.

  “What is it that Greeley wants from you anyway?”

  “He wants me to kill a man.”

  “But you’re no killer.”

  Gathering up the few personal things he had lying about, Mason put them in the bag and said, “That’s what I told him. He wants me to do it to work off what I owe.”

  “So you’re to become one of those men doing dirty work for a man with deep pockets?”

  Mason stopped what he was doing so he could think for a moment and then let out a tired laugh. “I suppose so. Irony is a cruel, twisted thing.”

  “There’s no need to go along with it, you know.”

  “How would you suggest I avoid it?”

  “Simple,” she said. “Don’t go along with it.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  When Mason started to turn away so he could finish packing his bag, Maggie stopped him. She placed her lips so close to his ear that he could feel the heat from her breath as she said, “People like us know that the best plans are often pretty simple. Getting away with them is the tricky part.”

  “Yeah, especially when my life’s on the line.”

  She shrugged. “Killing this man won’t be easy, I take it.”

  “Not hardly.”

  “Could you get shot while doing this job?”

  “If the man I’m after is overly fond of breathing, he may fight to keep doing it,” Mason said.

  “Then your life is on the line whether you go along with this or not, right?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “What’s the worst Greeley can do to you? Get you killed twice instead of just once? Seems to me a man of your talents should be able to read this angle if you’d just take a moment to think it over. And for a man who bogs himself down with so much thinking,” she added, “I’d say that’s fairly ironic.”

  Chapter 21

  Mason wished he could take more time with Maggie, but there simply wasn’t any to spare. If he was going to figure a way out of the pickle he was in, he couldn’t afford to waste a single moment. The gears in his head were turning to try to put himself as many steps ahead of the game as possible.

  She’d been right about some very important things, especially when she’d told him that Greeley couldn’t do much worse to him than what he was already facing. Putting a man in a corner with his life hanging by a thread no matter what his options were was a tactical mistake. Once Mason followed her advice and calmed himself enough to see that particular angle above all else, a weight lifted from his shoulders. It was a classic case of not seeing the forest through the trees.

  The weight on his shoulders, the anxiousness, the lack of appetite, the exhaustion were all more than products of a rough couple of days. Once he’d accepted the fact that each choice presented by Greeley was potentially just as dangerous as the others, they essentially canceled themselves out. For a man who lived by figuring odds, having two sets of facts and figures wipe each other away like that was a blessing as well as a chance to take a breath and regroup.

  Now only two choices remained. He could either do what Greeley wanted or not. Since the first choice guaranteed certain disaster, he was left with no choice at all. The only thing left was to figure out the best way to defy a greedy outlaw with a gang of loyal killers at his disposal. Rather than spin his wheels any longer, he finished up his preparations and made his way off the Delta Jack.

  Two overmen were waiting on the dock, and when Mason stepped off the boat, one of them approached to keep him from going any farther.

  “Wait here,” the overman said. “Mr. Greeley wants another word with you.”

  “I thought he might.” Turning toward the second overman, who was already boarding the Jack, Mason added, “Tell him in advance that I could use another drink.”

  When the second overman returned with Greeley, there were no drinks to be found. A third overman approached the dock on a horse, which he dismounted and led by the reins to the point where the dock met the shore.

  “That horse is for you,” Greeley said. “At least, for as long as you need it to put Simons in the ground.”

  “Any thoughts on how I’ll find him or am I on my own for that as well?” Mason asked.

  “When you get there,” the overman with the horse said, “look for a saloon called the Bistro.”

  “Sounds fancy,” Mason said.

  “It wants to be. Apart from a group of French ladies doing the cancan every other night, there ain’t nothing different there than in any other saloon. Simons usually sits at a table in the middle of the place.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Like a little man trying to be king. You won’t miss him.”

  Since he doubted he’d get much more than that from the gunman, Mason took the reins from him and let the matter rest.

  “You get that package that was left in your room?” Greeley asked.

  “I did,” Mason replied. He peeled back his jacket to show his holster as he said, “I’m loaded and ready to hunt.”

  Not only did his display fail to impress any of the men around him, but it caused all three overmen to slap their hands against their own holstered pistols in preparation for a draw. The trio tensed like bowstrings, making it plenty clear to Mason that if he wanted to take a shot at any of them, he’d be dead before his nose picked up the scent of burned gunpowder.

  Calmly covering his holster again with his jacket, Mason eased his hand away and laughed nervously. There were a few passengers watching from the upper decks, and most of them lost interest when they saw there wasn’t going to be any bloodshed.

  “I take it the town I need to ride to is that way,” Mason said while pointing in the direction from which the overman had come with the horse.

  “That’s right,” the overman standing near the animal replied. “It’s called Sedrich. Just take this road for a couple miles and there it is.”

&n
bsp; “Sounds simple enough.”

  Greeley wore one of his expensive suits but had left his jacket on the boat. Hooking his thumbs beneath his suspenders, he squinted into the afternoon sun. “You’re really gonna do this?”

  “What choice do I have?” Mason asked.

  “None that end well for you.”

  “There you go, then. So I find Simons and kill him. Anything else? Anyone need something while I’m in town? Some flour? Maybe a few bags of sugar?”

  “Keep makin’ jokes and you’ll catch a bullet,” Greeley warned. “Simons may be a weasel, but he’ll shoot a man without blinking. And if he don’t pull the trigger, one of his kin will.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me. This is my first time as a hired gun. I’m not familiar with the etiquette.”

  The gnarled expression on Greeley’s face made it clear that he hadn’t understood at least one of the words Mason had just spoken. Quickly becoming annoyed by that, he went back to what he knew and jabbed a bony finger at Mason. “You just do what we discussed.”

  “I will,” Mason assured him.

  “I’ll need proof when the job’s done.”

  “Won’t one of your men be following me?”

  Instead of confirming or denying that, Greeley said, “He wears a ring on his little finger. It’s gold but ain’t worth a fortune or anything. By the looks of it, I’d say he can’t pull it off his fat hand, so it remains there. To get it off, it’ll need to be cut off.”

  “You want the ring?” Mason asked.

  Greeley nodded. “And the finger it’s on.”

  “And . . . the finger?”

  “Yeah. That should be enough proof.”

  “Isn’t that a bit . . . gruesome?”

  “So’s killing a man,” Greeley pointed out, “but you’re willing to do that much.”

  Mason couldn’t help squirming at the prospect in front of him. “Yes, but . . . how does one . . . remove a finger?”

  “It’s not as hard as you might think,” one of the overmen on the dock said. “Just put his hand on a table and cut it like you’re cutting an old sausage. Lean your weight down into it. The quicker the better.”