by Ed Gorman
“Hell, no. I went up there to shake him down. I was desperate, Lane. I’d been gambling-”
“Yeah, I heard. That was one smart move, Tom. You didn’t have enough money worries, you had to start gambling, too?”
“It was my last chance to keep the ranch.”
“I really do want to start cryin’, Tom. You and that ranch. Everybody told you years ago to get rid of it and move into town and have a nice sensible life for yourself.”
He poured us drinks. Shoved mine across to me.
It was the kind of cheap stuff that made you wince, but right then I needed it.
He said, “He was blackmailing Webley, so I thought I’d blackmail him. I’d get enough to keep the bank off my back for a while. He was pretty drunk. He came at me with the knife and-”
And that was when the door was flung open inwardly. And there stood everybody’s friend Paul Webley. “Don’t say another word, Tom.”
“What the hell’re you doing here?” I said.
“I tiptoed back down the hall. I’ve heard every word.”
“So?” I said.
“So my lawyers will have this dismissed without a trial. Clear self-defense.”
Ryan said, “I appreciate the offer, Paul. And it was self-defense. But I just don’t want to be beholden to you like that. And anyway, I’m afraid I couldn’t do you much good since Lane’s going to be marshal again.”
“What the hell’re you talking about, Tom?” Webley said.
“Grice and the town council-they were talking this morning about asking Lane back. I was out in the hall waiting for the meeting to start. I guess they didn’t think I heard.” He smiled. “Sort of like you overhearing the two of us, I guess, Paul.”
“Well, Morgan sure as hell won’t be marshal in this town again. That’s something I guarantee you. Guarantee you on the Webley name. A town marshal with wife who used to be-”
I never did find out what he was going to call her. And actually, I didn’t much care. I’d been waiting a long, long time to do what I was about to do.
I started it going by clamping my hand over his mouth. And then I said to Ryan, “The judge’ll fine me a hundred dollars for this. But I hope you won’t put me in a cell until we can go see him.”
Ryan grinned. “I guess I can release you on your own recognizance, Lane.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
And then I did what virtually every man, woman, and child in this valley has wanted to do for years. I hit Paul Webley in the mouth. It was a pretty good punch. Not a great one-I’m not as fast or as muscular as I used to be-but I loosened a couple of teeth and I drew some blood when his lip split. And that was good enough for me.
He started shrieking. It was unmanly as hell, his shrieking, but his rage had made him crazy. Not crazy enough to try and swing on me. But pretty damned crazy nonetheless. “You know,” Ryan said, “you could’ve hit him harder.”
“I know,” I said. “Maybe I should’ve turned that over to a younger fella like you.”
He managed to laugh, even given all that was ahead of him. “I sure wish you would’ve thought of that sooner.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
AS IT TURNED out, the judge only fined me $25, and the town council picked up the bill for that as a bonus for my becoming town marshal again. A lawyer came in from Denver and said he felt good about a self-defense argument as long as Tom agreed to plead on his attempted extortion charge. That might be some jail time, but not much. He couldn’t never be my deputy again, but a couple of factory owners in town gave him standing offers for working as a dock foreman. The ranch is up for sale.
Callie got her teaching job back. There was an angry meeting at which a small band of women argued that she was “unfit” to be around children. But the majority of people at the meeting shouted them down. Decency and common sense-she was a damned good teacher-prevailed. And as you may have figured out by now from your own life, that isn’t always the case.
Paul Webley? Nothing happened to him. He could afford the right lawyers and with two of his bought-and-sold flunky judges on the state supreme court, every single charge-including kidnapping-was dropped.
The only satisfaction I get is seeing him on the street occasionally. He scowls and I grin. I grin like hell, as a matter of fact. I consider that a high and true distinction, the only man who ever hit a Webley and lived to tell about it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ed Gorman has been called "one of suspense fiction's best storytellers" by Ellery Queen, and "one of the most original voices in today's crime fiction" by the San Diego Union.
Gorman has been published in magazines as various as Redbook, Ellery Queen, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, and Poetry Today.
He has won numerous prizes, including the Shamus, the Spur, and the International Fiction Writer's award. He's been nominated for the Edgar, the Anthony, the Golden Dagger, and the Bram Stoker awards. Former Los Angeles Times critic Charles Champlin noted that "Ed Gorman is a powerful storyteller."
Gorman's work has been taken by the Literary Guild, the Mystery Guild, Doubleday Book Club, and the Science Fiction Book Club.