And Gilberto and Raquel Diaz were trailing Decker.
After Decker had left the home of his friend, Tomàs de la Vega, the Mexican had continued to drink. He drank until he ran out of whiskey, and when he sobered up he thought of some of the things Decker had said to him.
He didn’t like them.
He packed a few of his things into his saddlebags, went outside and saddled his horse, then left the horse a safe distance fron the house. That done, he very methodically set fire to the house where he had lived with his beautiful wife, walking around it with a torch, making sure that it would burn evenly and completely.
That done he put out the torch and stood back to examine his handiwork. He watched it burn for a while, then turned and mounted his horse. He rode away and did not look back once. As he was riding away he wondered just how far ahead of him Decker was.
In his past, most men would have died on the spot for the things Decker had said to him, but Decker was his friend, and had said those things out of friendship. Of this Tomàs was very sure.
When he found him, however, he still owed him at least a punch in the nose.
Tomàs de la Vega was moving back among the living.
Chapter Nineteen
“You want to do what?” Red Moran asked Crystal.
“I want to open a real high-class cathouse, right here in San Louisa.”
“That’s crazy,” he said, laughing.
They were together in his bed at the hotel, she lying on her back and he sitting up.
“Why?”
“This is a little, sleepy town. I wouldn’t want to see it change.”
“Maybe the people who live here all the time would feel different. Maybe they’d want it not only to change, but to grow. Did you ever think about that?”
“No,” he admitted. “I don’t usually think beyond what I want.”
“Look, Red,” she said, sitting up and putting her hand on his left arm, “we’ve only known each other less than a week, now, but I think we’re two of a kind.”
“Both from Texas?”
“More that that. I think that maybe whatever money you’ve got you didn’t get…playing fair.”
“That’s a good way of putting it.”
“But look at the position we’re in? You’re the law here, and you’re probably also the richest man in the town.”
“That ain’t sayin’ much,” he said, “not in this town, anyway.”
“Hear me out. I would already have two pretty good girls working for me—Carmen and Rosa.”
“If you could keep them from fighting.”
“They only fight over you, and they don’t even do that anymore.”
“Not since you came along.”
“We could get us a few more girls and build us a nice little business. Whaddya say, Red? Your money and my…talent?”
Red rubbed his jaw and while he did Crystal’s hand slid down and began to rub something else of his.
“Cut that out,” he said, slapping her hand away. “I can’t think if you do that.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t think you’re gonna sweet talk me into this, Crystal. If I go for this it will be because it’s a good deal—and because we meet my conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“Well,” he said, thoughtfully, “for one thing, I don’t think the town has to necessarily benefit from this operation of yours.”
“What do you mean? We’d benefit and the town wouldn’t?”
“I’d like to keep the town just the way it is, and to tell you the truth, I don’t think they’d much mind.”
“So we’d take in all the profits, and the town would stay out of the action?”
“We wouldn’t have to let everybody know about the place,” Red Moran said, “just certain people.”
“People with money to spend.”
“Right.”
“On women.”
“Right.”
“Then…we’re partners?”
“That depends,” Moran said.
“On what?”
“On how much you need to set this thing up.”
“Well, I could buy that old rooming house I’m staying in real cheap, get some of the locals to come in and fix it up for me real cheap…I guess I don’t really need all that much.”
“How much is not all that much?”
She told him.
“By golly,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief, “I think I can swing that.”
I’ll bet you can, Crystal thought, pushing him down on the bed, and I’ll just bet there’s a lot more where that came from.
“Now wait a minute, wait a minute,” Moran said, pushing her away.
“What?”
“Before we get all tangled up here there’s just one more thing we need to talk about.”
“Crystal’s.”
“What?”
“You were gonna say that we need to talk about the name of the place.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve already got a name,” she said. “Crystal’s.”
“Why Crystal’s?”
“Because even though we’ll be using your money honey we’re gonna have to use my name.”
“Why?”
“Would you want to go to a whorehouse called ‘Red’s’ or ‘Moran’s’?”
“I guess not.”
“Besides, if you didn’t get that money by fair means, you don’t really want to advertise the fact that you’re down here in Mexico, do you?”
“Why not? The law can’t touch me.”
“But a bounty hunter might.”
He frowned. A bounty hunter! He hadn’t really considered that possibility.
“They wouldn’t put a big enough price on me for a bounty hunter to want to come all the way down here.”
“I wouldn’t know, sweetie. I don’t know what you did, but it still seems to me we’re better off calling it Crystal’s. Has sort of a ring to it, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, I suppose it does.”
“Then we have a deal?”
“We have a deal.”
He put his hand out for her to shake and she said, “You gotta be kidding,” and pushed him back down on the bed.
Chapter Twenty
“What do you mean ‘we lost him’?” Raquel demanded. “We have been following his trail for better than four days, how could we lose him?”
“I am not a trailsman,” Gilberto said, testily “I have sent Juan, Martinez and Orlando on ahead to try and pick up the trail again.”
“Ha!” she laughed, derisively. “We will be lucky if they can find their way back to us.”
“Raquel, there are times—”
“Just remember the times that I have gotten you out of jail, my brother, and forget about all the other times. If it wasn’t for me, you would be sitting in a jail cell right this minute.”
That was hard to argue with, so Gilberto simply sat and sulked.
When they were alone there was an amazing switch in personalities. In the company of their bandido band there would never have been any question that Gilberto was the dominant sibling, but if anyone had ever seen them alone there would have been no doubt that Raquel dominated him. Although Gilberto was the older by almost five years, it had been Raquel who had brought her older brother up after their parents died.
It was Raquel who was taking charge now.
“We will stop studying the ground in vain and simply travel south. We should be able to find out whether he has passed through the next town or not.”
“And then?”
“And then the town after that!” she snapped, testily. “We will find him, ’berto, and then you can play big tough bandido leader again—unless some chubby puta pushes herself in your face again.”
“Raquel…” Gilberto said, feebly.
Sometimes Raquel thought that her brother should have perished in the same fire that claimed their parents. They might both have been better off.
Chapter Twenty-one
The uncomfortable feeling of being followed was gone, for the first time in four days.
Decker’s hunter’s instinct had been telling him that while hunting he might have also somehow become the hunted. It could have been another band of bandits, or it could have been Gilberto and his sister, somehow escaped from jail. Now, however, after four days, the feeling was gone, and he didn’t miss it at all.
There was a signpost up ahead announcing a town called Rio del Gato, or River of the Cat. There was also the scent of water strong in the air, and when Decker finally came within sight of the town he stared in surprise.
Rio del Gato was a fairly large town as adobe towns went, and it seemed to have been built right along the shores of a large lake. Decker frowned, for it seemed an odd location for a lake, but then he had never really been this way before.
He rode down to the town and along the main street, and the smell of the lake was strong, fresh and clean. He sure couldn’t argue with that. He’d been in enough foul-smelling towns to appreciate the scent of this one.
He’d passed through three small towns in the past four days where Red Moran had been recognized, so he knew he was on the right track. This town was the most appealing by far, as far as he was concerned. He wondered how appealing it would be to a man whose saddlebags were bulging with money.
The entire town seemed to be made up of adobe buildings, including the livery stable, which looked as if it might have once been a church.
A woman with a face so weathered and leathery that her age couldn’t be guessed came out of the livery to meet him.
Decker dismounted and handed her the reins.
“How long will you be staying, señor?”
Decker looked at the sky and saw that it was late afternoon.
“Perhaps the night. Rub him down good and feed him.”
“Si, señor, but if I may say so…”
“Yeah?”
“This caballo, he looks like he could use several days’ rest.”
Decker cast a critical eye over the animal and saw that he did indeed look worn.
“Do you have any horses for sale?”
“Si, señor, in the corral on the back.”
“Then perhaps I’ll be back to talk to you about one.”
“At your leisure, señor.”
Decker took his saddlebags and rifle from his saddle. The lateness of the day and the probability of having to haggle over a horse made him decide that he would indeed be spending the night.
He asked for and received directions to the hotel, which was a two-story adobe structure to which a wooded porch had been added. As he approached it a man stood up from a straight-backed wooden chair and greeted him.
“Buenos tardes, señor.”
“Afternoon. Are you in charge here?”
“Si, señor. I am Emilio. You are looking for a room?”
“I am.”
“We have several.”
“Do you have one from where I’d be able to see the lake?” Decker asked.
“But of course, señor. This way, please.”
Decker followed the man inside, where the clerk presented him with the hotel register. Decker put his saddlebags and rifle down and signed in, then checked the names for the past two weeks. He had to go back half a week further than that before he found Red Moran’s name. He’d lost several days on Moran, then, and would surely need a fresh horse in order to pick up the pace.
Moran was apparently so confident that no one would follow him into Mexico that he had no qualms about signing his real name in the book.
Idly, Decker wondered if Moran even knew that the bank manager had died?
“Gracias, señor,” the clerk said, accepting the book back. He was a tall, elegant-looking man in sweaty, faded clothes that had probably once been elegant, as well. A fallen aristocrat, perhaps.
“Here is your key, señor.”
“Gracias.”
“You would perhaps like a bath?”
“I would love a bath.”
“We take the water directly from the lake. It has amazing soothing properties.”
Although the man spoke English slowly and precisely, he did not speak with a very heavy accent. He had probably spent a lot of time in the United States at one point in his life.
“I will have the bath ready within the halfhour?” the man asked.
“Fifteen minutes would be better.”
“Muy bien. Fifteen minutes, then.”
“Tell me, Emilio.”
“Si?”
“Do you have a sheriff in this town?”
“Oh, si, señor. Doesn’t every town have a sheriff?”
“Not every town.”
“We have a very good sheriff, señor. He is Ernesto, my cousin.”
“I see.”
“But even though he is of my blood, I can still say with conviction, señor, that he is a very good sheriff.”
“I’m sure he is, Emilio. I’ll be down for that bath.”
“Si, señor. It will be ready.”
Decker picked up his saddlebags and rifle and walked upstairs. He dropped his gear on the bed and walked to the window which overlooked the main street and afforded a perfect view of the lake.
He wondered what the Spanish word was for lake, and why they hadn’t used that in the name of the town. Did rio mean lake as well as river?
He rubbed his hand over his face and thought about Red Moran. If the man had been covering his trail it probably wouldn’t have taken Decker this long to track him. The man was travelling openly without fear, and was staying well ahead of him.
His shoulder wound throbbed, and he realized that if it hadn’t been for the incident during which he’d received it, he might be further along than he was. He didn’t like to admit it, but the wound had slowed him down for a couple of days, until he had consciously picked up the pace.
He took a clean shirt from his saddlebags and went downstairs to get that bath.
Decker cried out when the clerk poured the water over his head.
When the clerk told Decker they took the water right from the lake, Decker had assumed that the water would be heated up.
“That’s cold!”
“Si, señor,” the clerk said, grinning. “It feels good, does it not?”
Decker was about to reply sharply when he realized that it did feel good. His pores were opening up and he felt refreshed. Why was he paying thirty-five cents for this when he could have jumped in the lake himself—and washed his clothes in the progress?
“You got any soap?”
“Si, señor.”
The clerk handed him the soap and Decker said, “I think I can handle it now.”
“Oh, yes, of course, señor. Please, enjoy your bath.”
“Thank you.”
Decker lit a cigar and did that for nearly fifteen minutes, getting up once to dump a second bucket of water that the clerk had left behind over his own head. It was not as cold as the first had been, but it did the job.
Decker was just about to rise and get out of the tub when the door to the room opened and a man walked in.
The man was tall and slender, and he wore a fancy sombrero with little cloth balls hanging from the brim. Around his lean hips he wore two pearl-handled Colts that looked ludicrous—as did the man himself. His gunbelt was festooned with fancy silverwork, and he stood with his thumbs hooked into the belt, staring at Decker.
He had one other piece of silver on his person.
A badge, which betrayed the fact that he was the sheriff.
“Señor,” the man said, “we must talk.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“Talk about what, Sheriff?”
The man walked towards the tub, and Decker saw that he moved with an exaggerated swagger.
“I am the sheriff of this town, señor.”
“Yes, I know,” Decker said, staring at the man over his cigar, still not sure he was seeing what he was seeing. “You�
��re Emilio’s cousin, Ernesto.”
“Sheriff Ernesto,” the man said, “that is, Sheriff Ernesto Garcia.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sheriff.”
“Señor,” the man said, trying his best to look important, “we must talk.”
“So you said,” Decker replied. He took the cigar out of his mouth and asked, “Do you mind if I get out of this tub? The water is getting tepid.”
“No, of course not,” the sheriff said.
“Could you hand me that towel?”
The sheriff glared at the towel, because to hand it to Decker he would have to unhook one of his thumbs from his belt, and he practiced that pose every day.
“Of course,” he muttered. He used his right hand, gave Decker the towel, and then jammed his thumb back into his gunbelt.
Decker got out of the tub and began to dry himself off.
“Well, Sheriff?”
“Señor?”
“You said we had to talk.”
“Si, señor. My cousin, Emilio, tells me that you were very interested in the hotel register when you checked in.”
“Your cousin, Emilio, is very observant.”
“Si, señor, like me.”
“I’m sure.”
“Señor,” Garcia said, scowling, “I must ask you what you business in Rio del Gato is.”
“That’s a fair question, Sheriff, and it deserves a fair answer.”
“I am glad you see it that way.”
“I’m just passing through.”
“Just…passing through?” the sheriff said, obviously expecting more. “On your way to where, señor?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You are not sure where you are going?”
“That’s right.”
Garcia had a well groomed, full mustache, and he unhooked one of his thumbs so that he could stroke it, then replaced the thumb.
“Excuse me, señor, but that sounds rather odd to me.”
“I’m sure it does, Sheriff.”
Decker pulled his pants on, then took Moran’s poster out of his pocket and handed it to the man.
“I’m looking for this man.”
Garcia had to unhook both thumbs to accept the poster and unfold it.
“Red Moran,” he read, and then his eyes widened as he continued, “bank robbery and…murder!”
The Lawman Page 7