Boom Town (A Searcher Western

by Len Levinson

  She held out her dovelike hand. He took it and touched his lips to the tips of her fingers, then raised his head and took a step back, slurping up her magnificent figure with his eyes.

  “I was a-thinkin’,” Belle said, “that the railroad should put up some money for a posse, since Kincaid and his boys’ve robbed so many trains. The rest of us business people should kick in too. We let Kincaid run loose, no tellin’ what he might do.”

  Moffitt’s eyes were affixed to her breasts. They were round, firm, upstanding, perfectly shaped, he imagined the pert nipple in his mouth. His eyes touched hers, he felt a mad vibration deep at the base of his spine.

  Stone watched Belle work her feminine wiles on the railroad tycoon’s mind. Spots of emotion appeared on Moffitt’s cheeks as he cleared his throat and said, “I pledge one thousand dollars to the men who bring in Bill Kincaid, dead or alive.”

  ~*~

  Amanda woke late that morning. She reached beside her for Randy, but he was gone. Opening her eyes, she remembered his assignment. But he always came back.

  She performed her morning toilet, thinking of the odd turns a life can take. How could anyone guess she’d marry a gunfighter? Occasionally she read a story in an out-of-town newspaper about the notorious Randy LaFollette shooting someone. Difficult to connect the gunfighter with her loving and considerate husband.

  She was spoiled, he always deferred to her, did anything she asked, loved her with complete devotion. He was all she ever wanted. She couldn’t imagine her gentleman killing anybody.

  She descended the stairs to the lobby. “Mrs. LaFollette?”

  She turned to the front desk. “Yes?”

  “Telegram for you.”

  He always wired to say he loved her, advised of his return. Eagerly she swept toward the desk, plucked the telegram from the clerk’s hands. Long fingernails impatiently tore a paper seam, she pulled out the document and unfolded it.

  RANDY LAFOLLETTE SHOT LAST NIGHT IN LODESTONE

  PLEASE ADVISE.

  MARSHAL JOHN STONE

  Kincaid looked at cracks in the walls of his log cabin. The ceiling leaked, floor crooked, two windows wouldn’t open. He pounded his fist on the table. “Goddamned John Stone!”

  His wife threw a length of wood into the cook stove. Born and raised in a shack like this, she could handle it. She jabbed the antelope steak with a fork, dropped it onto a plate, laid it before her husband.

  “I hope you’re not plannin’ to send the wimmin’ away, Bill. We won’t stand for it, if’n you try.”

  “Then you’ll sit fer it or lay fer it, but you’re all leavin’, and don’t gimme no guff. The army’ll find us any day. We cain’t fight with wimmin here.”

  “We’ll take care of ourselves. Just give us rifles.”

  He grabbed her forearm. “You don’t git it, so I’ll tell you again. I don’t want you to git shot before my eyes. I might be strong, but not that strong. If you don’t leave on yer own steam, I’ll cold-conk you, tie you to the back of a horse, boot his ass on out of here.”

  ~*~

  Edgar Faraday entered Bart Madden’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

  “What’re you writing about the Western Sovereign?”

  “Most promising strike since the Comstock.”

  Madden smiled. “I can see you know your business. You’re getting out a special edition?”

  “Special editions are expensive ...”

  “Send me the bill. Mail copies to every major newspaper in America. Let’s pump this up as much as we can.”

  “Postage is expensive these days.”

  “I’ll pay for everything. And you don’t have to mention the shooting last night, or the house that burned down. We all know what happened. A waste of valuable space that could be devoted to our school system, fire department, scenic beauties, ideal climate, you know what I mean, but the main story is the hills’re full of gold, just like the last time we did this, remember?”

  “I never fully appreciated the power of the press before I met you, Mr. Madden.”

  ~*~

  Belle gazed at her reflection in the mirror, light from windows illuminating her features. Still beautiful as ever, she thought happily, applying soft pats of rouge to her cheeks. Maybe I can convince John Stone to stay forever. She took another drink of whiskey. I’ll love him so much he won’t have time to think of anybody else. He needs somebody to take care of him.

  Something moved behind her. The preacher lady, in her high-necked black dress, undulated in the afternoon sunlight. “Murderess, spawn of the Devil, do you think you’ve escaped the judgment of God?” She pointed her long accusing finger at Belle. “The Lord God sees everything! You’ll burn in the fires of hell!”

  Belle threw a bottle of perfume at the apparition, screamed hysterically, lunged for her throat, but the preacher lady dissolved, Belle crashed into the wall.

  She cowered beside a chair and searched the bedroom. Maybe I should knock off the booze.

  ~*~

  John Stone wore a tin badge on his fringed buckskin jacket, stood with Slipchuck before a map of the territory that showed caves and out-of-the-way canyons where an outlaw gang could hide.

  “Won’t be easy to pick up their trail,” Slipchuck said. “Too many horses comin’ in and out of town from all directions. The onliest thing to do is work in circles and hope we cut their tracks.” Slipchuck spat a gob of brown tobacco juice into the cuspidor. “Them outlaws won’t hang around long. Split up and meet someplace else a month or two down the line.”

  Little Annie Mae, the dancer from the Grand Palace, slipped into the marshal’s office. She wore no makeup and looked like an eight-year-old street urchin, eyes red from crying. “Can I talk to you alone?” she asked John Stone.

  He led her to his office. She dropped to a chair in front of his desk, unbuttoning her voluminous brown wool coat.

  “You done me a favor onc’t,” she said. “I figger I owes you one.” She fidgeted in her chair. He waited for her to speak. She was like a child afraid of being scolded. “I had me a boyfriend a while back,” she said in a little voice, “one of Kincaid’s deputies. I went out to see’ ’im a few times at the hideout. I can tell you whar it is.”

  ~*~

  Madden made his way to the living room of his house. His wife and sister-in-law sat crocheting, rifles leaning against their chairs. “Look who’s home,” Patricia said sarcastically. “My lord and protector. If we had to rely on you, we’d be in trouble.”

  “You’re in no danger. We’ve got a new marshal, our erstwhile supper guest John Stone. May I speak with you alone, Patricia?”

  “If you have anything to say to me, say it in front of my sister. She knows everything anyway. Do you think she doesn’t have ears?”

  “She can have feathers for all I care.” A bad marriage burst out his throat. “I’m leaving you. Hereafter, we’ll communicate through our lawyers. The only reason I’m not throwing you out of this house is I don’t want a scandal. I’m sick of you, and hope I never see you again.”

  Patricia burst into tears. Bart strolled proudly to the stairs. Free of the bitch at last.

  ~*~

  The posse gathered in front of the marshal’s office, waiting for John Stone to lead them to the outlaw hideout. Nearby, a wagon was loaded with extra ammunition, supplies, and tents. Men checked and rechecked their equipment. “When the hell we leavin’?” one grumbled. “Din’t jine the posse to stand in the middle of the street all damn day.”

  “I knows why you joined, Tab.” The miner rubbed his thumb and fingers together. “Fer the dinero like the rest of us.”

  Madden, carrying his valise on his shoulder, advanced down the middle of the street. “When’re you boys going after Kincaid?”

  “Soon as John Stone gets up off his ass and takes charge.”

  “It’s a wild goose chase, you ask me. There’s a lot of country out there. Be like finding a needle in a haystack.”

  “Not anymore,” a
man in a brown derby said. “We know where Kincaid’s holed up. Somebody blabbered.”

  Madden’s good humor turned sour and rancid. Instead of continuing to the Sheffield Hotel, he raced toward the building where Brodbent maintained his office. He climbed the stairs and entered the assayer’s office without knocking. Brodbent looked up from a lump of ore from the salted Western Sovereign Mine. “A trainload of prospectors is on their way from Kansas City. Better buy a bigger safe for your bank, Madden. You’ll need it.”

  “We’ve got to warn Kincaid about the posse.”

  Brodbent pshawed. “Don’t worry about the posse. They’ll never find Kincaid.”

  “They know where the hideout is, you fool. Somebody talked. You’d better send a rider to warn Kincaid.”

  The full implications struck Brodbent. He ran out the office, down the stairs, across the street, sped through an alley, jumped over a pile of drunks, crossed a backyard.

  Twimby lived in a tiny room furnished with bed, small table, and chair on the second floor of a dilapidated old building at the edge of Niggertown. The corner of a magazine poked out from underneath the pillow. Brodbent pulled it free and looked at the cover, a drawing of two naked women lying in bed. Flipping through the pages, he saw more nude women performing a variety of lewd acts.

  Twimby shifted his feet nervously. “Feller give me that. Din’t buy it meself.”

  Brodbent threw the magazine on the bed. “Get a fast horse, tell Kincaid that Stone knows where the hideout is, and he’d better move out fast!”

  Twimby ran down the stairs. Brodbent heard the front door of the building slam. He waited a few moments, then picked up the girlie magazine, tucked it into his shirt, headed back to his office, where he could examine the artwork in solitude.

  ~*~

  Posse members smoked cigarettes, drank whiskey, fussed with guns. The street filled with people, excitement ran high, incredible events in their little town.

  “Let’s git started!” somebody shouted.

  Another posse member, too many tokes from his flask, yanked out his gun and fired at the sky. Children jumped with glee and clapped their hands. Women watched apprehensively; posses often left widows with hungry mouths to feed.

  Stone stepped onto the planked sidewalk, a ray of sun caught his bright new badge, his old Confederate cavalry hat low over his eyes. He was followed by Slipchuck, the mayor, several politicians, and Tobias Moffitt, thumbs hooked in his suspenders. Stone stood before the posse like an ex-cavalry officer addressing his troopers. “If there’s anybody with doubts, this is the time to step back! We can expect Kincaid and his men to put up a tough fight! You think this is a turkey roast, stay home!”

  Not a man budged, not even those with doubts. Others hoped there’d be fighting, booty, high adventure, something to brag about next time they went to a saloon.

  “A fighting force can’t be effective,” Stone continued, “unless there’s one leader! When I tell you to do something, I expect you to get it done.”

  They remembered Stone’s gun duel with Randy LaFollette. No one wanted to challenge him. Stone and Slipchuck untied their horses’ reins from the hitching post, climbed into saddles, Stone pulled the reins of his chestnut roan gelding to the left. He’d never ridden the animal before, but Slipchuck, first-class judge of horseflesh, picked it out for him.

  The chestnut roan broke into a gallop. From the top floor of the Grand Palace, Belle McGuinness watched John Stone lead the posse in a thunder of hooves down the middle of the street.

  Slipchuck trotted beside him, wiry and agile in his saddle, and then came the twenty-odd posse members. One leaned his head back and skillfully dripped whiskey from his flask into his mouth.

  Belle watched the posse turn the corner. Stone passed from her sight, followed by his men. She slammed the window closed. On the dresser sat a bottle half full of whiskey. She pulled the plug and took a swig.

  Opposite her, on the wall, hung a gaudy oil painting of Saint Sebastian, his naked body pierced with countless arrows. She worried about John Stone. I instigated him to go after Kincaid. If Johnny gets hit by a stray bullet, be my fault.

  She bit her thumbnail anxiously. He’ll leave me anyway, don’t care about me at all. She took another swallow of whiskey. I was just another good hot whore to pass the time until he can marry his lady love.

  Something caught her eye. A pale indistinct figure in a black dress stood against the drapes. “You’d sacrifice the man you love to satiate your disgusting passions! You’re capable of any foul deed! Nothing is sacred to you! When will you open your eyes to the truth of Christ!” The preacher lady pointed her long bony finger at her. “You’ll never escape me! No matter where you are, I’ll be there! I won’t let you sleep until you bow your head and repent to the Lord God!”

  “Repent for what?” Belle screamed. She picked up a small statuette of a Greek Olympic athlete and hurled it. The granite figure crashed against heavy drapes and fell to the floor. The preacher lady vanished.

  ~*~

  Madden paced back and forth in his office. He couldn’t sit down. His mouth tasted like a dead clam from smoking cheroot after cheroot. Turbulent thoughts flooded his mind like a river overflowing its banks. His wife dismissed from his mind, he concentrated his obsessive nature on Belle.

  She threw me out like I was an old shoe. Cut off my balls and I let her get away with it. He pounded his fist on a file cabinet. She’s just a blowsy whiskey-smelling slut from the cribs, how dare she treat me that way after all I did for her? Outraged indignation surged through him. He pinched his lips together. What can I do?

  He collapsed on the chair behind his desk. Women, goddamn them. Not her insults that bother me most, he admitted ruefully. I love her, but she tossed me out. He lit another cheroot, remembered tumbling in bed with that magnificent body, soft and firm at the same time, milk a man dry. A few times he left her bedroom so weak he could barely walk.

  No one else ever did that for him. It was like a drug. He had to have her. She couldn’t deny his need. Horrible to think of her doing the same wonderful things to John Stone. He imagined them in bed together, something snapped in his mind.

  Got to try one last time. She won’t take me back, I’ll kill the bitch before I let her sleep with another man.

  ~*~

  Twimby, secret admirer of naked women, rode low in his saddle, wind whistling through his beard, eyes glittering with delight as he searched for the gorge straight ahead.

  He knew every shortcut, switchback, and runaround in the territory, couldn’t wait to see the expression on Kincaid’s face when he made his report. He whipped the reins on the horse’s flanks. A gob of saliva flew from the animal’s mouth into the air. Twimby saw something move behind the tree trunks on both sides of the trail. He dug his spurs into the horse’s flanks and lay his cheek against the animal’s massive curving neck. “Yoowieee!”

  The injuns pulled back their bowstrings and shot a hail of arrows. One whacked his leg. Twimby nearly jumped out of his saddle, blacked out momentarily from the pain, arrows flew like hornets, then he was out of range, horse speeding onward. Twimby reached down, broke off the end of the arrow before it snagged something. Tossing the feathers and shaft over his shoulder, his right leg a solid column of pain, he continued grimly on his mission to warn Kincaid.

  ~*~

  Jamie Boggs walked down the third-floor corridor, heading toward his office at the head of the stairs. The maid told him Belle was drinking heavily and talking to the walls. His brow furrowed with worry, he couldn’t hear the creak of a floorboard behind him. A Colt slammed against his head. His eyes rolled up and he crashed to the floor. Bart Madden stood over him, gun in hand. He smacked Boggs again, to make sure he wouldn’t get up soon. Then he dragged the slack body into the dark shadows off the main corridor. Blood oozed from a dent in Jamie’s skull and trickled down his cheek.

  Madden was hatless, hair mussed, a weird gleam in his eyes. Events of the past day knocked him loose
from conventional patterns of behavior. Belle’s abrupt dismissal of him rankled deeply. Maybe she’d listen to reason now that Stone was out of sight. Silently he opened the door to her apartment and slunk inside. The living room was empty. He continued to the bedroom and found her sleeping in a pale pink chemise.

  His movement stirred her. “What the hell’re you doing here?”

  He looked crazed, demonic, gun in hand. “You’re forgetting the good times we had,” he said excitedly. “You can’t just throw it all away. Now let’s have a talk, Belle. I told you I’d marry you. A man can’t give a woman more than that.”

  The gun in his hand didn’t intimidate her. “Now you listen to me. Marriage was what I wanted more’n anything else, but you wouldn’t have me because I wasn’t respectable enough. Then John Stone came along. What was I supposed to do, look the other way? By the Jesus, he’s gorgeous. Yes, I love him, I’m not ashamed to say it. You an’ me’re finished.”

  He grinned arrogantly. “Where’ll you go after Kincaid kills your great John Stone?”

  “They’ll never see each other. Johnny’ll be back in a few days. That posse ain’t nothin’ more’n a riding exhibition.”

  Madden narrowed his eyes triumphantly. “You’re misinformed, by dear. John Stone knows exactly where the hideout is, but Kincaid’s been warned. He’ll bushwhack that bunch of drunks, crazy old men, and saddle tramps. Then you’ll come crawling back to me, and maybe I’ll forgive you, who knows?”

  Belle stared at him in disbelief. I’ve got to warn Johnny. “Get out of my bedroom. I’m changin’ clothes.”

  “You’ve forgotten the things we said to each other in that bed over there. Didn’t they mean anything to you?”

  “I say ’em to all my customers, and that’s all you was after you said you wasn’t a-gonna marry me. I wasn’t good enough for you, eh? Well, now you’re not good enough for me. I’ll change clothes in front of you if you won’t git the hell out. I don’t give a goddamn either way!”

  She pulled her man’s pants and shirt out of the closet, then took off her chemise. He gazed at her beautiful naked body, lust overwhelmed him, he clasped her in his arms. “You can’t do this to me!”