Bannerman the Enforcer 5

by Kirk Hamilton

  Cato looked momentarily guilty and then shrugged. “Hell, a man’s entitled to a last fling before tyin’ the knot, ain’t he? Any damn woman don’t agree with that ain’t worth tyin’ the knot with!”

  Yancey studied him silently. “I’m beginning to think you’re looking for an excuse to get out of the wedding, Johnny.”

  “Think what you like,” Cato said, then abruptly changed the subject. “Hey, listen, Yance. Maybe you’re right about the I.O.U. It is kind of stupid, but I wouldn’t have to worry none about it if you’d lend me fifty bucks.”

  Yancey was shaking his head even before Cato had finished speaking, knowing his train of thought. “No dice, Johnny. You don’t want to gamble with these hombres. None of ’em deal from the top of the deck unless it suits ’em.”

  That remark caused a furor and Vella and his pards leapt to their feet, shouting at Yancey, shaking fists, starting to crowd around. Yancey let his hand drop to his gun butt but they only paused briefly and then moved in slowly, demanding that he apologize. Cato sat in his chair, amused, drinking another whisky.

  “Better take it back, Yance!” he yelled above the din.

  “Like hell!” Yancey snapped. “They’re all four-flushers and you damn well know it!”

  Yancey strained to see past the pressing gamblers as he spoke and at his words, the men moved in fast. Vella struck at Yancey’s gun hand as the Colt began to lift out of leather, clamping the Enforcer’s arm against his side and holding it there. The others pressed in and someone slugged Yancey in the midriff and he gagged for breath. The press of men carried him back against the wall and one of the bouncers on the door, attracted by the commotion, burst in and threw himself into the melee as Vella yelled for assistance. Cato still sat at the table, pouring a fresh drink, amused, as Yancey slammed out with his fists and boots and tried to fight his way off the wall.

  He didn’t have enough room to swing his elbows behind his blows and they lacked force: The gamblers grunted as the fists took them in the face or head but pressed in, their own arms, swinging and hammering.

  Yancey swore and grunted, catching a glimpse of the drinking Cato still at the table, nursing the bottle now in case it got broken. Then knuckles slammed into his mouth and he tasted blood and he swore aloud this time. He brought up his knee and someone groaned and sagged. He snapped it up again and felt it grind into soft flesh. He shoved off the wall with a mighty effort, swinging wildly, hooking with elbows, butting with his head, charging through the men, scattering them. Two went down. He caught the bouncer low down with an up driving fist and, as the man doubled up, planted a boot in the middle of his face. The man hurtled back and crashed onto the table, spilling cards and glasses and chips. Cato swung his legs aside but stayed seated, clutching the whisky bottle against his chest.

  Yancey slugged right and left but another bouncer came in and Yancey bawled for Cato to lend a hand but the smaller Enforcer remained where he was. Then Yancey went down hard and a man knelt beside him, fists clubbed and raised to drive down into his face. Cato sighed, looked longingly at the third-full whisky bottle and then reluctantly slammed it across the back of the man’s head as he commenced his blow. The bottle shattered and the man fell sideways. Yancey started to get up, took a knee in the face and went down again.

  Cato stood up almost languidly, picked up his chair and broke it over the head and shoulders of one of the bouncers. It gave Yancey a chance to get on his feet and wade into two of the gamblers, one of whom was Vella. The man fell against the wall and Yancey grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the boards several times before turning him loose and allowing him to slip to the floor, moaning. The others stood back, bleeding, panting, hesitating as Yancey palmed up his Colt and menaced him.

  Gasping for breath, the big Enforcer nodded at Cato. “Thanks, Johnny! Took you long enough, though!”

  Cato shrugged, straightening the card table.

  “Okay,” Yancey panted, backing towards the door. “Let’s go.”

  Cato snapped his head up in surprise. “You talkin’ to me?”

  “Of course I’m talking to you!” Yancey growled. “Come on!”

  Cato shook his head. “I ain’t finished playin’ cards yet. You’re the one called ’em four-flushers. I’m quite happy to play another hand with ’em.”

  “Hell almighty, I just don’t believe this!” Yancey growled. “You’re drunk! Now, come on Johnny. Get out of here. Pronto!”

  Cato leaned on the righted table and looked Yancey squarely in the eyes. “Stay the hell out of my business, Yance! All the way out, savvy?”

  Yancey stared back at him, frowning, his eyes cold and puzzled. “I hear what you’re sayin’, Johnny, but I dunno why the hell you’re saying it.”

  “I’m sayin’ it because I mean it,” Cato growled. “Now, vamoose and leave me be, Yance. It’s my life. If I want to change it, it’s no skin off anyone’s nose.”

  “What about Marnie?”

  “Hers either,” Cato growled, his bleak eyes steady on Yancey’s face.

  Yancey figured that was it. He wouldn’t get any sense out of Cato in this mood. There was nothing else he could do but go. So he nodded jerkily and, keeping the gamblers and dazed bouncers covered, backed to the door and went out of the room.

  Chapter Two – The Morning After

  Yancey had seen Cato with worse hangovers, but he hadn’t seen him look so down as he did when he came to the hotel room the next morning. He had a face on him as long as a horse’s and he walked easy and careful, removed his hat gingerly and sat down in a chair by slow degrees. When he was finally seated Cato released a long, slow sigh and squinted up at Yancey.

  The big man returned his gaze, then turned back to the shaving mirror and dabbed some more iodine on a cut on his jaw and another above his right eye.

  “How are you feelin’?” Cato asked in a gravelly voice.

  “Okay. How about you?”

  “If you’ve got a spare headstone, you can have my name carved on it. I don’t think I’ll last the day.”

  Yancey grinned and walked across, pulling on his shirt, standing near Cato’s chair. “I reckon you’ll make it, Johnny, but you really tied one on last night. In fact, the last two or three nights from what I hear.”

  Cato snapped his head up and winced, slapping a hand to his forehead swiftly. “Well, mebbe. Listen, Yance, I’m sorry I kind of got out of line last night with you. I’d been hittin’ the booze and I’d had a bad run with the cards.” He shrugged awkwardly.

  Yancey stared down at him soberly. “Well, you were kind of sour, and maybe I poked my nose in where I shouldn’t have, but that I.O.U. business shook me some.”

  Cato’s mouth tightened as he nodded jerkily. “Yeah, but it’s only temporary, I hope. My luck’s gotta change soon.” Yancey stiffened. “You’re going to keep on playing with those four-flushers?”

  “Aw, they’re not that bad, Yance. I know what to look for. They won’t steal me blind.”

  “You’re the one owes ’em. I don’t see any of their money in your pocket.”

  “All right, all right!” Cato snapped irritably. “Like I said, my luck’ll change. Okay?”

  Yancey merely stared at him for a while, then asked, quietly, “What is it, Johnny? What suddenly started you on this binge? Boozin’, gamblin’, chasin’ women. Yeah, yeah, I know you’ve always done those things, but just once in a while, except maybe the women bit: you always liked the ladies. But you got a wedding coming up. You got to think about Marnie.”

  “Damn it, why do you think I ...?” Cato broke off abruptly and stood up, his hands crushing his hat brim, jaw muscles knotting. “Hell, Yance, I’m not the marryin’ kind.”

  “Bit late now pard!”

  “I know. Look, I dunno how it came about. Honest Injun. I—I like Marnie a lot, maybe more than any other gal I’ve known, but I ain’t sure I want to be hogtied by marryin’ her. I know it sounds kind of lousy, and I don’t want to hurt her, but ...” He sh
rugged. “Well, hell, Yance, I—I guess I’m just plain scared.”

  Yancey smiled faintly. “I figured it might be something like that, Johnny. Marnie’s a fine gal, and I reckon she’ll make you a fine wife and I’d like to see that happen. But it’s up to you and if you want to change your mind, then you’ve got to tell her. And pronto. You can’t let it go on and leave it any longer before you tell her you want out. Wouldn’t be fair to her.”

  Cato’s jaw muscles bulged again. “I know, damn it!” He looked as if he was going to start pacing but stopped abruptly and muttered a curse. “Goddamn it! I don’t want to hurt Marnie. But I sure as hell don’t want to be married either. I feel that everyone’s kind of pushed me into a corner, Yance. Things have just developed, folks have taken a hell of a lot for granted, and now I want out.”

  “Hold up, Johnny! You can’t blame everyone and not yourself. You must’ve done something to make Marnie think you wanted to marry her. You sure as hell gave Kate and me that impression. So you got to face up to it: any problems you got are of your own making.”

  Cato glared. “Some pard you turned out to be!”

  “You want the truth, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Well, no matter how it happened, I want out and pronto.”

  “Then go tell Marnie,” Yancey said flatly. “And let her down easy.”

  Cato frowned. “I guess that’s what I should do. Yeah. By the way, Yance, can you lend me seventy-five?”

  Yancey stiffened at the forced casual tone. “Seventy-five what?”

  “Dollars!”

  “You’re kidding!”

  But Cato’s face told Yancey the smaller man was deadly serious. “I need it, Yance. You’ll get it back.”

  “I’m not worried about that part, but what does bother me to hell is why you need seventy-five bucks.”

  “Got a few debts I want to clear up, is all,” Cato told him shortly.

  “Like I.O.U.s to Vella and his cronies?”

  Cato looked up at him with hard eyes. “Mebbe. What I do with the money is my affair. Long as you get it back, you got no more worries.”

  “Like hell. How come a feller on your kind of pay has to come borrowin’? You spend plenty, sure, but you must have some in the bank, I see you go in there fairly regularly.”

  “Look, Yance, you gonna lend me the money or not?”

  Yancey was thinking aloud. “If you can’t rake up seventy-five bucks it means you’re broke and I’m damned if I can see that. You just don’t spend that much, Johnny. Not unless—unless, like Vella said, you’ve been writin’ I.O.U.s for quite some time! Long before you met Marnie and got entangled in this wedding thing!”

  Cato fidgeted and dropped his gaze.

  “By hell, that’s it! I can see it on your face!” Yancey went on. “All those nights you said you were with a gal at the Glass Slipper you were gambling, playing poker with Vella and his crowd! Hell almighty, Johnny, that’s plumb loco. You know what kind of thing you’re leaving yourself open for doing that, getting into the clutches of professional cardsharp with a job like you’ve got! They can blackmail you into doing just about anything and a man like Dukes makes enemies who’d be glad of the chance to get you in a corner.”

  “What the hell do you think I am?” snapped Cato. “You think I’d let someone pressure me into betraying the governor?”

  “I’m saying that you could be backed into a corner where you don’t have any choice.”

  “Hogwash! What I do in my own time is my business. Aaah, I’m tired of all this. Will you lend me the money or not, Yancey?”

  Yancey stared coldly at him, thinking, deciding. Finally, he nodded. “On the condition that you quit this damn stupid boozing and whoring and gambling. Take a hitch in your cinch strap, Johnny. There’s a damn fine gal waiting to marry you, and you’ve got a lot of good friends behind you, who’ll help you, but you got to show ’em you’re trying to help yourself, too.”

  “Okay, Yance, fair enough deal,” Cato said almost without hesitation. “I’ll square away this little debt and then that’s it. No more gamblin’. Funny how I got into it. I used to be hell with a deck of cards up in Laramie. Lost a complete ranch with seven hundred head of cattle in draw poker once. Had my gunshop mortgaged to the hilt, then I struck a winnin’ streak and never looked back. After that a hombre burned my shop down and took off. I gave chase and was on the trail for months. Kind of got the gamblin’ bug out of my system. I met you and we teamed-up and took on this Enforcing job for Dukes and I never even thought about a game of poker. Seemed to have it all out of my system. Then one night me and another feller started to argue over the same gal in the Glass Slipper. He wasn’t a fightin’ man, but he was a gambler, and we played a hand of cards for her. I won. And then I played the houseman, Vella, for a champagne supper on the house and won that, too. When I was leavin’ next mornin’, he said how about a friendly hand for a couple of rounds of drinks. I won again and I knew I had my winnin’ streak still ...” He shrugged. “I started havin’ the odd poker game of a night when I had time. I lost a few hands here and there and by the time I realized I was on a losin’ streak, it was too late. It had me again. All I wanted to do was square away and leave it at that. But there was always the chance that one more hand and I’d break even. Then one more, and I’d be off on another winnin’ streak.” He shook his head and sighed. “It’s worse than the booze, Yance. Sooner or later a man on the bottle gets so bad he’s got to stop or die. But gamblin’ just seems to go on and on and a man sinks lower and lower.”

  “Which is why I’d like you to square away what you owe and forget it before it grabs you like that, Johnny. I know it’s not easy, but you’ve got to give it a try. For Marnie’s sake as well as your own.”

  Cato nodded, tight-lipped. “Yeah, well, I’ll do that. It was just—cold feet, weddin’ nerves, somethin’ like that. Put the pressure on me and I guess I bent under it.”

  Yancey felt sorry for Cato; the man was obviously miserable. But the big Enforcer marveled that after all this time, after all the things they had shared together, he was seeing a facet of Cato’s character that he hadn’t even known existed.

  Things seemed to go all right after that for the next three days, at least. Cato cleaned himself up and there was the old smile back on his face and he was attentive and affectionate to Marnie, eager to discuss the wedding plans, hiring a surrey and taking her outside of Austin to look at land where they might build a house. Kate was vastly relieved about it and Yancey felt better, too, but it still bothered him that Cato should have been acting so out-of-character at all. He still found it difficult to accept that Cato had a gambling weakness that he hadn’t known about.

  Anyway, it seemed to have been pushed well to the rear now and the wedding day rolled closer.

  Then, about a week later, Yancey was walking across the plaza when he heard his name called and he checked, turning to see who it was. He frowned. A tall, slab-shouldered, gun hung man was ambling across the plaza from the direction of the Mexican Market. He was eating the remains of a cantaloupe with his left hand but his right hand dangled down at his side, close to his gun butt. It did not swing when he walked: here was a man who aimed to keep his gun within easy reach. Behind him, Yancey noticed a surrey with a man lounging in the driving seat, watching both Yancey and the tall man with the melon.

  He was blond-haired and his eyebrows and longhorn moustache were sun bleached, pale against his mahogany-colored face. He dropped the melon rind and wiped the back of his left hand across his mouth. He smiled affably enough.

  “You are Bannerman?” he asked and, at Yancey’s cool nod, said, “Name’s Wyatt—Waco Wyatt.”

  Yancey’s eyes pinched down. He had heard of Wyatt. Paid gunfighter, a man with many kills against him; arrogant; supremely confident of his gun speed; afraid of no man living.

  “What can I do for you, Wyatt?” Yancey asked easily.

  “Not much, I guess,” Wyatt said with a sardonic curl of
his lip. “Just answer a couple of questions.”

  Yancey frowned slightly, but said nothing. He appeared relaxed, standing easy, but he was tensed inside, wondering if this gunman was going to call him out on some pretext. Wyatt, from what he had heard was one of those hombres who just had to test the gun speed of any fast gun that happened to be in the same neck of the woods.

  “You know someone named John Cato?” Wyatt asked. Surprised, Yancey nodded slowly.

  “How well do you know him?”

  “Pretty well. What’s it to you, Wyatt?”

  “Nothin’. But it is to my boss.” He half-turned and used his left hand to indicate the man in the surrey. “Man name of Steve Blayne. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

  Yancey had, but he didn’t know much about the man. He was a mystery man. He had a lot of money or seemed to have, but no one knew how he made it or where. He didn’t seem to have any fixed place to operate from; there had been rumors of the man appearing all over Texas, and in a half-dozen other states, even south of the Rio. Lately, he had been accompanied everywhere by Waco Wyatt so Yancey figured Wyatt must have hired out his gun to Blayne. Apart from knowing Blayne was in his late thirties, Yancey had no more information about the man.

  “He wants to see you,” Wyatt added, standing to one side and indicating that Yancey should go towards the surrey.

  Yancey hesitated only briefly then walked across, Wyatt at his heels. Blayne sat in the surrey seat, watching, unmoving. He flicked cold, pale blue eyes over Yancey’s tall frame when the Enforcer stopped beside the surrey. Then his lips moved in a smile but it was a mechanical motion and his eyes remained cold.

  “Won’t keep you long, Bannerman,” he said in a deep voice. “John Cato a pard of yours?”

  “What about it?” Yancey asked curtly and Blayne held up a placating hand.

  “No need for alarm. Just waited to know a few things about him.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, is it true he once saved your life?”