Shoot Angel!

by Frederick H. Christian

  Louella sighed.

  ‘I think you and me are going to be good friends. How about buying me a drink on it?’

  ‘Wasn’t drinking I had on my mind,’ Angel said. ‘Can’t we find somewhere a little more private?’

  ‘Why sure, honey.’ Louella pouted. She grabbed Angel’s hand and began to lead him towards the stairs on the far side of the saloon. ‘One thing I do admire is a man who knows what he wants and just goes out to get it!’ She prattled on as they climbed the stairs, moving along the landing. Reaching the far end of the passage, Louella paused at a door. ‘Well, here we are, honey.’

  Angel pushed open the door and gestured for Louella to precede him. She waltzed ahead of him, swinging her rounded hips. Angel followed, closing the door quietly behind him. He watched Louella cross the small room and absently stroke her hand across the faded cover on the bed. She turned, a frown on her pale young face when she realized he hadn’t moved from the door.

  ‘Something wrong, honey?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ Angel glanced quickly around the room. A thin smile touched his lips as he spotted the heads of the nails that had been driven through the lower frame of the window, securing it firmly to the sill. A simple, but effective, precaution against a dissatisfied client skipping without paying for his pleasure.

  Louella, with all the instincts of an alley cat, sensed there was more to this situation than just a young cowboy seeking a quick roll under the sheets. She lost her smile very suddenly and the young face turned hard and cold.

  ‘Hey, what’s going on? Who the hell are you?’

  Angel eased away from the door.

  ‘Just someone who wants to ask you a couple of questions—honey!’

  ‘Ain’t no questions gettin’ asked,’ Louella snapped. ‘Now you just get out of my way, ’cause I’m leavin’!’

  ‘Just tell me where Harry Culp is, Louella,’ Angel said, and watched her expression change. Before she spoke he knew Louella had met Culp—but she was about to deny it.

  ‘Who the hell is Harry Culp? I never heard of him!’

  ‘Harry’s an old friend of mine,’ Angel lied. ‘I know you met him when he came to Liberty. All I want to know is where he got to.’

  Louella’s eyes flickered around the room. She wore a trapped, frightened expression. Watching her Angel realized that there was even more to this situation than he’d first thought. Just what had happened between Louella and Harry Culp?

  ‘Louella, just tell me where Harry is and I’ll be out of here before you know it.’

  ‘Go to hell, you bastard!’ Louella yelled. ‘I don’t know anybody called Harry Culp! Now, just let me alone! I got a job to do and you’re wastin’ my time!’

  Angel took a step towards her. Louella took one look at him, then started to scream. She had a powerful pair of lungs to match her more than ample exterior dimensions. Her high, seemingly endless screaming filled the room. Angel shook his head sadly. There was little a man could do against a female in full voice. He knew too that anyone hearing the sound was going to assume the worst. If anyone came into the room he wasn’t going to be given any chance at all to state his side of the argument. He placed himself in front of her, still shaking his head. His right fist came up in a swift, restrained arc. He clipped Louella across the rounded tip of her chin. Her eyes glazed and she fell back across the bed. Silence descended.

  Only for a few seconds. Angel heard a sudden pounding of footsteps in the passage. Matters were getting very rapidly out of hand, he decided.

  He moved to the window and peered through the dusty glass. A few feet below the window he could see the sloping roof of an extension to the main building. Beyond that lay a dusty alley. Recalling what Jess had said about the men hired to keep the peace at Jinty’s Palace, Angel figured it was going to be wiser to take the quick way out. He stepped back a couple of feet, hunched his shoulders, and went through the window headfirst. Above the shattering glass he heard the door crash open behind him, voices raised in anger. Then he was outside, dropping in a controlled roll on to the sloping roof. He let his momentum carry him forward: towards, then over the edge. As he fell clear he heard the solid crack of a shot. The bullet clipped the edge of the roof, splitting the weathered wood. The alley rushed up to meet him. Twisting his body Angel hit on his feet, absorbing the impact in another roll forward.

  He came to his feet quickly, hugging the wall below the sloping roof as he cut off towards the street. He didn’t hesitate but stepped on to the street and walked straight to where his horse stood at the hitching rail. Calmly he loosened the reins and led the horse away from the front of Jinty’s Palace. He was working on the assumption that it was going to take a couple of minutes for the men up in Louella’s room to got themselves organized and to follow him. They would probably decide against following him through the window and across the roof in case he happened to be waiting for them in the alley. So they would have to retrace their steps back through the saloon, making their way through the crowd of customers. And by that time …

  ~*~

  Angel walked his horse on by the restaurant. He would have liked to stop off for another talk with Jess but he didn’t think the time was right. He needed to find a place where he could sit and think things out. He hadn’t forgotten about the two deputies either. From what he’d seen of them and the way Jess had spoken of the local sheriff, Angel ruled out enlisting any kind of help from Liberty’s law.

  He found a dingy, run-down hotel up at the north end of town. It was close to the complex of cattle-pens that had been built during the early years of Liberty’s existence. A toothless old Mexican waited with inborn patience while Angel unstrapped his gear and took his rifle. As Angel kicked dust from his boots on his way inside the old man led the horse away to the stable at the rear of the building. Wrinkling his nose at the stale air inside the stuffy lobby Angel banged his rifle butt against the scarred top of the desk. A listless figure levered itself from the shadows in back and shuffled into the dim light.

  ‘You want a room?’

  ‘They do tell me that’s what these places are for,’ Angel said.

  The desk clerk sneered, the closest he could get to a smile, and fished a key off the board behind him.

  ‘You stayin’ long?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Two dollars a day.’

  Angel paid for a couple of days.

  ‘You let me know when that runs out,’ he said.

  The clerk nodded. ‘Up the stairs. First door on the left.’

  Inside the shabby room Angel dumped his belongings on the bed. He turned and locked the door. He crossed the room and spent a couple of minutes fighting the warped window, eventually getting it to open.

  There was a washstand leaning against one dirt-streaked wall, with a chipped mirror hanging above it. The water in the big jug had a film of dust on its surface. Angel poured some into the basin and rinsed his face. He peered at himself through the mirror, stroking his face. He turned to his saddlebags and pulled out a rolled towel. Inside the towel was his razor and a cake of soap. He spent long minutes working up a lather with the cold water, then carefully shaved. When he’d finished he took off his dirty shirt and pulled on the remaining clean one from his saddlebag. He unbuckled his gun belt and draped it from the corner of the tarnished brass bed head. Then he stretched his long frame out on the worn blankets. Somewhere in this town was the answer to his question: what had happened to Harry Culp? Angel had established beyond doubt that Culp had stopped off in Liberty. He wasn’t so certain now that the man had ridden on. If that was true then where was Harry Culp? And where was the $75,000 the man had been carrying with him? Had somebody found out about Culp’s money? It could be a reason for his apparent disappearance. Men had vanished for a lot less than $75,000. Even killed for less. Angel didn’t rule out the possibility. He decided to wait until it was dark and then make another try at getting Louella Brill to talk. He was sure she knew more than she was prepared to admit. He
wanted to know what she’d done to earn the fifty dollars Jess had overheard her mention. Angel wanted another chance to talk to Jess too. There were things he wanted to find out about Liberty and its law.

  He let himself relax. He had a few hours before nightfall. A chance to catch up on some of the sleep he’d missed over the past few nights. He couldn’t go on forever without some rest and now was as good a time as any. He didn’t realize how tired he was. How much in need of sound sleep.

  He didn’t see the afternoon shadows lengthen. Nor was he aware of the softening light, the setting sun bathing the town in muted orange tones. He slept through the dusk as lamps were lit against the approaching darkness, and only stirred restlessly at some near-at-hand noise. At first it didn’t register … and when it did he fought against the drug of sleep, clawing his way to consciousness … but he was too late.

  They came at him out of the shadows, harsh whisperings reaching his ears. Angel lunged up off the bed, snatching for the Colt, but he didn’t have a chance to reach it. Hard, brutal blows smashed at his body, caught his face. He was thrown back across the bed, stunned, wild with anger. He lashed out with booted feet, satisfaction surging hotly as he felt flesh connect with the hard leather. A man yelled obscenely. Hands caught hold of Angel, dragging him from the bed, He grunted in agony as a crippling blow took him in the stomach. He stumbled to the floor. Someone kicked him, pain flaring across his ribs. Now he could taste blood in his mouth. Christ, he thought, they’re going to kill me! The thought flashed a warning across his mind, and he made to reach for one of the slim-bladed throwing knives concealed in the tops of his boots. There was no chance. A great weight smashed down across his skull, driving him face down on the dirty floor, and he knew no more.

  Chapter Four

  He woke to throbbing pain, his body reacting to the savage beating. He lay on the hard, cold floor of the shadowed cell, staring through the iron bars. At the far end of a short passage he could see lamplight showing beneath a closed door. At last Angel sat up, groaning against the brutal swell of pain. There was a dull ache over his ribs and the left side of his face felt swollen and pulpy. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom Angel found he could make out the shape of a low cot. He struggled to his feet and staggered across the cell. He lowered himself on to the cot, pulling the thin blanket around his body. He lay there and waited for something to happen. There was little else he could do. He’d taken a sound beating and it was going to be a few hours before he was recovered enough to handle any coming situation.

  One way and another he seemed to have upset a few people in Liberty. He was curious to see what they might do next. Whoever they were. He was pretty certain that Liberty’s law was involved. The why of it would explain itself in time.

  Angel reached beneath the blanket, fingers searching the tops of his boots. A thin smile touched his bruised lips. At least they hadn’t found his pair of knives. The slim, deadly Solingen steel blades, concealed in sheaths that had been incorporated in the linings of his boots, had pulled him out of trouble on more than one occasion. And there was always the thin wire garrotte secreted in a shallow groove in his leather belt. They were the tools of Angel’s trade. If the need to use them ever arose he wouldn’t hesitate. It was a lesson Angel had learned early: in a life or death situation there was no room for hesitation.

  He slept lightly through the long night, waiting and watching, but no one came until the morning. Angel had seen the darkness evaporate, graying as pale fingers of sunlight trickled in through the barred window of the cell, edging slowly across the stone floor. In the cold, lonely pre-dawn hours Angel had slipped off the cot, moving silently back and forth across the floor, flexing and testing the bruised, stiffened sinews of his body. His muscles ached and it felt as if each joint was about to lock solid. But for fifteen long minutes he endured the discomfort, knowing that the difference between life or death could easily hang on how swiftly he could respond in a threatening situation.

  Angel was back on the cot, motionless, when the door at the end of the passage crashed open, and the two deputies—Duggan and Koch—swaggered towards the cell. They peered in at Angel’s still figure for a minute. Koch produced a key which he placed in the lock of the door. He released the door and swung it open. By this time Duggan had his gun in his hand. He stepped inside the cell.

  ‘Seems a shame to wake him,’ Koch said. ‘He looks kind of cozy.’

  Duggan apparently didn’t share his partner’s humor. He stepped to the end of the cot, caught hold of the end and tipped it sideways, spilling Angel to the floor.

  ‘Cozy ain’t what this son of a bitch is about to get,’ Duggan snapped. ‘If I had my way I’d stomp the bastard right through the cracks in this floor!’

  Shrugging off the blanket Angel climbed to his feet. He stood waiting for Duggan’s next move. The deputy’s face reflected his inner hostility towards his prisoner, and Angel knew enough not to do any provoking.

  ‘Forget it,’ Koch said. ‘The judge’s waiting, and you know he don’t like being delayed.’

  Duggan growled something under his breath. He jerked his gun in Angel’s direction.

  ‘Out!’ he said. ‘And make it fast!’

  They took Angel along the passage to the office. The sheriff was there and so was the man they called the judge. The judge was fiddling with some legal-looking papers. He glanced up as Angel was shoved through the door. Angel took one look at the judge’s hard, lined face, the flinty eyes, and decided there and then that he didn’t like the man.

  ‘This the prisoner?’ The judge’s voice was as cold as the expression on his face. Sheriff Sherman nodded and the judge asked: ‘He said anything?’

  ‘No, your Honor,’ Sherman replied. ‘The prisoner has declined to give any kind of statement.’

  ‘I don’t like uncooperative prisoners,’ remarked the judge. ‘Seems to be a sign of non repentance.’

  ‘Seems to me a man might be willing to repent if he knew what he’d done in the first place,’ Angel observed.

  The judge glanced up at the prisoner. His brow furrowed as he studied the face of the young man standing before him.

  ‘I could almost believe you didn’t know what it is you’ve done. You’ll be telling the court you’ve lost your memory next.’

  ‘Way the law treats a body in this town that’s quite likely to happen,’ Angel said.

  Sherman smiled. ‘Wish I had a dollar for every prisoner who’s come in here with that old tale.’

  ‘You figure I got these bruises playing the piano?’ Angel turned to face the judge. ‘Humor me, Judge. And tell me what I did.’

  ‘First you savagely attacked two of this town’s duly appointed law officers. You then made a nuisance of yourself over at the saloon known as Jinty’s Palace, terrifying one of the employees before causing damage to the premises themselves.’

  ‘I do all that?’ Angel asked.

  ‘Why did you come to Liberty?’ The judge leaned forward to ensure he heard Angel’s reply.

  ‘Just looking for a friend. I heard he was here.’

  The judge stroked his cheek.

  ‘This friend—what’s your business with him?’

  ‘That’s my affair, Judge.’

  The judge slammed his hand down on the desktop.

  ‘Smart-mouth me, my boy, and I won’t let you forget it in a hurry! Now who is this so-called friend you say you came looking for?’

  ‘I figure you already know that. And I don’t think I’d be far wrong guessing it’s why you’re taking such an interest in me. Am I right or am I wrong, Judge?’

  ‘I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about,’ the judge snapped. He shuffled the papers on the desk before him. ‘Sheriff, there isn’t a name on these documents. Who is this man?’

  Sherman’s face reddened visibly. ‘I ... er sorry, your Honor! You, what’s your name?’

  ‘Angel—Frank Angel!’

  The judge hastily filled in the empty spaces.

&nbs
p; ‘The prisoner is guilty on all charges. Sentence is six months’ hard labor. Deputies, take him away!’

  Sherman could hardly wait to round on the judge. He contained himself until Angel had been removed from the office.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Amos, this is getting crazy! Why in hell pull such a fool stunt with him? Damn it, Amos, he’ll ask his questions at the camp!’

  Judge Amos Cranford drew a black leather case from the inside of his coat. With careful deliberation he slid out a fine Havana cigar, which he had imported from Cuba, cut it and lit it. He gazed at Phil Sherman through a cloud of blue smoke and let a smile curl up the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Of course this man, Angel, will ask his questions. It won’t get him anywhere. When Duggan and Koch take him up to the camp they can have a word with Trench. He can pass the word to the prisoners that no one must talk to this man. You know how Trench runs the camp. Angel won’t get so much as a hello.’

  ‘I’m not so sure this is wise, Amos. Working the set-up on Culp was all right until we come across that money in his saddlebags. Hell, there’s a difference between screwing money out of the county for prisoners’ upkeep and pocketing it and downright murder for seventy-five thousand dollars.’

  ‘Phil, only you and I know about that money. Harry Culp is dead, so he won’t be doing any talking. Your two deputies, Trench and his boys, they’re involved in our other little scheme, so I don’t figure any of them to go shouting their mouths off. I dare say that Trench will be willing to undertake staging another accident for us.’

  Sherman’s eyes widened with the alarm festered by Cranford’s casual remark.

  ‘You going to have Angel killed too?’

  ‘The neatest way out, Phil.’

  ‘Sure. Will we do the same with the next one who comes looking for Culp? And the next? How many do we have to get rid of?’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate the problem, Phil.’ Cranford stood up and crossed over to stare out of the window. ‘This man—Angel—is obviously a partner of the late Harry Culp. When Culp offered me a share of that seventy-five thousand to let him go, he hinted that it was money from some unlawful venture he’d been involved in. He was a fool! He was so ready to make a deal to get out of the camp and away from Trench that he forgot I already had the money and that he wasn’t in any position to make bargains!’