Rio Matanza (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 2)

by Wayne D. Dundee

  Turpin blinked away some of the blood dripping down off his left brow and said, "Not a damn thing holy about us, old man…we’re just doing a job."

  Chapter Two

  "I've never cottoned much to bounty hunters, I gotta be honest with you," admitted Willard Brimson, the corpulent sheriff of New Gleanus. "But what you two have done here … Runnin' down those murderous bastards. Bringin' 'em back, both the live ones and the dead. Bringin' back all the bank money, too … That's an admirable thing. And, for whatever it's worth, you have not only my personal respect and gratitude but that of the whole doggone town to boot."

  "The whole town indeed," echoed Mayor Thadeus Hopewell. He was a florid-faced man with a snow white, neatly trimmed handlebar mustache that swept back and up at the tips to merge into cottony mutton chop sideburns. The suit he wore was beginning to show signs of fraying about the collar and cuffs, but it was freshly and vigorously brushed and he wore it with the same puffed-chest pride as if it were brand new from a personal tailor.

  "In fact," the mayor continued, "as of this moment, you gentlemen might very well consider this your town. A pair of our finest hotel rooms have been set aside for your stay. And the Flannery Hotel dining room, or any of our other fine restaurants, if you prefer, are awaiting the pleasure of serving you meals—all at no cost to you. Both the hotel and the restaurants have well-stocked bars for your drinking pleasure. Or, if you'd rather, there are saloons with drink and … er, other pleasures that perhaps are of interest to you." Then, with a bawdy wink, Hopewell added, "For the latter, unfortunately, the town coffers do not have a category from which to draw compensatory funds."

  "But you certainly have no worry for money of your own to spend," spoke up John Keithington, head of the New Gleanus bank that the Klegg-Harrup bunch had hit so viciously. "The reward my bank immediately posted after those cutthroat bastards struck has been set aside and is instantly available at your request. I assume you'll want to split it evenly but, inasmuch as I did not know the details of your partnership arrangement, it currently resides as a lump sum."

  "What's more," said Sheriff Brimson, "as soon as I recognized who it was you were bringin' in, I took the liberty of sendin' out telegrams to all the other places I knew of—and there's plenty of 'em, let me tell you—where rewards have been posted on these scum. I gave 'em the name of Keithington's bank to start sendin' their pay-offs. When that money starts rollin' in, you two will be sittin' right tidy."

  This conversation was taking place in the waiting area of Dr. Myron Cooper's medical office. It was Cooper whom Turpin had assisted out in the town's bloodied streets immediately following the bank robbery and ensuing carnage. Once relieved of the prisoners and corpses—not to mention the stolen money—they'd returned to town with, both Turpin and Kendrick had been urged to the medical office for treatment of the wounds they'd received in their shoot-out with the outlaws. Each man had tried to resist, dismissing their injuries as "mere scratches", but in the end they'd given in to the insistence of the town fathers and now had received the necessary amount of stitching and bandaging.

  Still wiping his hands on a blood-smeared towel, Dr. Cooper announced with a broad smile, "In addition to confidently reporting that these wounds I've just treated will heal fine, let me also say how good it is to hear about all this money so readily available. I'm assuming that means the bill I will be submitting for my services may actually be responded to with genuine currency, rather than bartered chickens or hogs or canned vegetables such as I too often have to settle for in payment … The only question being, to whom shall I direct said bill?"

  "I believe I can safely say," responded the mayor, "that is another expense our city coffers will be able to cover, and do so gladly."

  Bodie Kendrick absently brushed his fingertips over the spot where a thick bandage under his shirt now covered the deep bullet burn he'd taken. "Speakin' strictly for myself, gents, I'm real obliged for the kind words and friendly treatment. But, I gotta tell you, all this attention is makin' me sort of uneasy."

  "Uneasy?" repeated the mayor, obviously finding the thought of being unnerved by too much attention something difficult to imagine. "Surely, son, we've done nothing to intentionally cause you discomfort."

  Turpin smiled thinly. "I think what my partner is trying to say," he explained, "is that we're unaccustomed to the welcome you're giving us. Men like us, we show up with our fugitives in most places and all we usually get are hard looks, a quick pay-off, and a not-so-subtle hint to move along just as soon as possible."

  Sheriff Brimson nodded. "And, like I already admitted, there've been times when I ain't proud to say I've done it just that way."

  "Only this time," Banker Keithington pointed out, "you've returned with fugitives while the bloodstains from their atrocities are still fresh in the streets, the victims they left alive are still recuperat-ing, and the widows and orphans of those they killed remain in mourning … I highly doubt, gentlemen, that you will be greeted in New Gleanus with very many hard, unappreciative looks."

  The two bounty hunters exchanged glances.

  "All right then," drawled Kendrick, "I guess that leaves us the ones who'd be unappreciative if we didn't hold still for all this hospitality you're tossin' around … So point us toward those hotel rooms you spoke of. I reckon we'll start with a couple hot baths followed by a good meal and then we can go from there."

  "And the reward money already waiting in your safe, and any more that comes in?" said Turpin to the banker. "You can go ahead and divvy that into equal accounts, one in each of our names."

  "Ah, yes. The money … By all means, let us not forget to tend to the money matters," encouraged Dr. Cooper.

  * * * * *

  Dusk found Kendrick and Turpin sitting on a wooden bench on the boardwalk out front of the Flannery Hotel on New Gleanus's main street. Long shadows cast by the tall, false-fronted buildings lining the street were squeezing in on the few remaining streaks of orange-gold color sprayed by a final sliver of sunlight shimmering just above the rim of the western horizon. A few buildings down, a bandy-legged, elderly man was making his way unhurriedly along, lighting coal oil street lamps.

  The two bounty hunters were puffing on long, quality cigars furnished by the hotel management following the supper of roast pork with all the trimmings they'd enjoyed in the hotel dining room. Their clothes were freshly brushed and their boots were polished to a dazzling gleam—all courtesy of hotel staff members who'd seen to these chores while the two men were soaking in tubs of steaming, sudsy water.

  In the time they'd been sitting on the bench, a number of citizens had walked by and each had acknowledged them with a smile and greeted them by name.

  "Think a fella could get used to this kind of royal treatment, Doc?" Kendrick drawled, exhaling a plume of blue smoke.

  "Expect it would be real pleasing for a while," allowed Turpin. "But eventually it would get kind of boring, don't you think?"

  "Yeah, I guess you're right."

  They smoked until the old man lighting the street lamps worked his way past them. He, too, paused long enough to favor them with a smile and a greeting.

  "Speakin' of not gettin' bored," Kendrick said at length, "what are you figurin' to do after you get your cigar smoked down?"

  "Been pondering that. Since I pure got a weakness for dark-skinned senoritas and Mexican beer, I'm leaning toward paying a visit to that Mexican cantina down the street and seeing what kind of reception I get there. With any luck, they might even have some scorpion tequila … How about you?"

  "Well, I sure got no quarrel with dark-skinned senoritas. But I gotta tell you, Mexican beer has never done much for me and that blamed cucaracha music they play in any cantina I've ever been in rubs me raw in a hurry. As far as scorpion tequila—I don't even know what that is."

  "Why, it's tequila with a dead scorpion in the bottom of the bottle."

  "I thought it was a worm in the bottom of the bottle."

  "That's the more
common variety. But the scorpion stuff, when you can find it, is what gives the real kick."

  "I imagine it does. And I'm gonna keep right on imaginin', because you ain't added nothing to convince me I oughta join you at that cantina. So I reckon I'll go find me a faro game in one of those saloons across the way and kill some time there."

  "You any good at faro?"

  "Nope. Plumb terrible. But it beats tippin' up a shot of tequila and havin' some dead damn scorpion bump against my teeth."

  Turpin threw back his head and emitted a hearty laugh that went rolling down the quiet street and seemed to hang in the air for a long time.

  Chapter Three

  As usual, Bodie Kendrick had poor luck at the faro table.

  But before the night was over he managed to find better luck in the shapely form of a green-eyed blonde named Bootsie, who led him upstairs to her room and showed him how to lay down his money on a sure bet. An hour before dawn, he took discreet leave of her quarters and returned to the Flannery where he slept until just short of noon.

  Upon waking, Kendrick pulled on boots and pants for a hurried trip to the privy then returned to his room long enough to make use of the wash basin and finish dressing before finding his way downstairs to the dining room. As he was led to a table, he looked around for Turpin but saw no sign of him. Same as when he'd passed through the lobby. With a wry smile, he wondered what kind of reception Doc had gotten at the cantina where he'd gone in search of Mexican beer and a dark-skinned senorita … not to mention (and here Bodie's smile faltered) the vile-sounding scorpion tequila.

  By the time he'd down his first cup of coffee and poured another from the carafe sat before him, the aromas wafting out of the hotel kitchen had Kendrick's appetite working double-time. He ordered ham and eggs, fried potatoes, beans, and a short stack of wheat cakes. When it came, everything was as delicious as the aromas had promised.

  While he ate, a number of citizens drifted by his table, greeting him by name and wishing him a good day. Bodie responded in kind. But somewhere around the seventh or eighth time he had to pause with his fork raised part way to his mouth and smile and say hi to somebody he'd never laid eyes on before in his life, it occurred to him this celebrity treatment might grow old in a hurry. He was a man of wide open spaces and hard trails, used to being alone or in the company of surly fugitives who offered precious damn little in the way of smiles or good tidings. And that had always suited him just fine … Finer, perhaps, than this steady parade of cheerful exchanges. There were plenty of occasions when—for no particular reason, or at least none he ever took the time to discern or worry about before—his own mood was capable of turning dark and surly. Anybody who "good day-ed" him at a time like that was liable to find themselves pinned against a wall and encouraged either to take it back or prove just what was so all-fired damn good about the day.

  Not exactly suitable behavior for someone recognized as the toast of a whole town

  Best keep that in mind, Kendrick told himself, before I overstay my welcome and turn some well-meaning fool's "good day" into a bad one.

  He wondered how Turpin was coping with so much friendliness. And, while he was at it, he wondered once again where Turpin was. Funny he wasn't up and about by now. Doc was hardly the kind of man who needed worrying over—he was more than capable of taking care of himself. Still, the thought of whether or not he might have run into some kind of trouble last night couldn't help but cross Kendrick's mind.

  When he was done eating, Kendrick headed out back through the lobby where he was promptly hailed by the desk clerk, a chubby, harried-seeming man with more chins than wisps of hair on his head. "Oh, Mr. Kendrick! Mr. Kendrick? I have a message for you, sir."

  Bodie went over to the desk.

  "I'm sorry, I was busy checking out some other guests when you passed through before," the clerk explained, "and I didn't notice you in time to call out until it was too late and you were already entering the dining room."

  "I'm here now," Kendrick said.

  "Indeed you are, sir." The clerk turned and, from a letter slot marked with Kendrick's room number, he pulled a sealed envelope. Turning back, he held this out to Bodie. "Your friend Mr. Turpin left this for you with our night clerk in the wee hours of the morning. He said it wasn't urgent, but to give it to you whenever you came down this morning … I dare say this is no longer morning. But it's the first I've seen of you and, since he did say it wasn't urgent, I felt it best not to disturb … "

  The clerk kept babbling but Kendrick tuned him out as he tore open the envelope and withdrew the folded sheet of paper from inside. He unfolded the paper and quickly read the message written there:

  Bodie – Something unexpected came up. Some business down south I need to take care of. Didn't know where to find you to explain in person. Make sure the bank takes good care of my money. I'll be in touch. —Turpin—

  Kendrick read the words a second time, surprised and vaguely troubled by the words, even though Turpin allegedly said there was nothing urgent about him seeing them. When he looked up from the paper, the desk clerk had finally stopped babbling.

  "You say he left this during the overnight hours?" Kendrick asked.

  "Around three A.M. this morning, is what I was told."

  "Was he alone when he left it?"

  "I – I don't know. The night man didn't say. Would you like me to ask him when I see him again tomorrow morning?"

  "Never mind. If I need to know, I'll find out," Kendrick said.

  He folded the paper again, stuffed it in his vest pocket. Stood for a moment, considering. His original intent upon leaving the dining room had been to step outside for some fresh air; maybe sit on one of the benches again for a while, letting his eats settle while he smoked another cigar. But that, of course, was sure to mean an ongoing parade of cheerful citizens greeting him as they passed by. His patience for that had been worn pretty thin during his meal and now, contemplating what this turn of events with Turpin might mean, he knew that more of the same was bound to set him on edge.

  So he opted instead to go back up to his room. Before entering, he stepped to the opposite side of the hall and knocked on Turpin's door. Not surprisingly, there was no response. But it was something he'd nevertheless felt the urge to double-check.

  Inside his room, he pulled a chair over to the open window where a faint breeze drifted through and he could gaze down on the activity in the street. He took out a cigar and lit it. He wasn't a heavy smoker by any means, going for weeks and months out on the trail without burning any tobacco. But every once in a while he got the craving for a good cigar and the one he'd had last night—box mate to the one he was puffing on now—had tasted especially good and left him eager for another. As he continued to puff, getting the stogie burning good, he took out Turpin's note and read it again.

  Something unexpected came up … Something down south I need to take care of.

  What could have popped up so suddenly and unexpectedly that it caused Doc to ride out in the middle of the night? If there was danger involved, if Doc was responding to a challenge or threat of some kind, it didn't seem likely he'd take time to leave a note at all. Let alone add that there was no urgency in delivering it to Bodie. And yet there remained something about the whole thing that niggled at Kendrick, left him feeling uneasy.

  But why should it? Doc had long since proven he could handle himself, no matter how much of a tight he got into. And what skin off Kendrick's nose was it, anyway? If Turpin had wanted him involved badly enough, he would have figured out some way of finding him up in Bootsie's room. Outside of that, it really wasn't any of Bodie's business. Even though the people of New Gleanus had come to look on the two of them as partners, that really wasn't the case. Not in any lasting sense. Sure, they'd tackled the Klegg-Harrup bunch together, but that had merely risen out of happenstance. Once their reward payments had all been received and the town's welcome mat was sufficiently scuffed, there was little doubt they would be heading out on tra
ils that led in different directions. Likely never even see each other again.

  Hell, maybe Doc had already chosen his new trail.

  Still and all, though, something about the way he lit out refused to set right with Kendrick …

  * * * * *

  "Damn betcha I remember that partner of yourn," barked O'Toole, the white-whiskered, bandy-legged old coot who ran the livery stable where Kendrick and Turpin had put up their horses. "Way folks been carryin' on about how you and him brung back those murderin' bank robbers, who's likely to forget either of ya? And in case there ever was a chance your pal might slip my mind, he made sure that'd never happen with the stunt he pulled last night by roustin' me up at such an ungodly hour!"

  "What time was that?" Kendrick asked.

  "You mean clock time?" O'Toole scrunched up his face. "How in blazes do I know? With him a-poundin' on the door and my pack of dogs a-barkin' and howlin' and the horses out in the corral carryin' on due to all the commotion, who had time to look at a blamed clock? It was too damn late—or too damn early, dependin' on how you look at it—I can tell you that much. Way past when decent folks ought not be out prowlin' around and for sure past when they ought not be roustin' up other decent folk with the good sense to've already gone to bed. It was considerable past midnight and considerable before daybreak—how's that for what time it was?"

  The two men were talking outside the corral area of O'Toole's livery. The mid afternoon sun beat down hard on them and thin layers of dust from the horses milling in the corral hung motionless in the still air.

  "Did he say why it was so urgent for him to be botherin' you the way he did?" said Kendrick.

  "He used that same word—urgent. Said he had some urgent business and had to leave town right away. Needed me to unlock my barn so they could get their saddle gear and—"