Journey into Violence

by William W. Johnstone

  “You don’t need a gun to talk.”

  “In this case I do,” Odell said. “Now light the lamp. Slowly.” He stepped back.

  Raven crossed the floor, thumbed a match into flame and lit the oil lamp, bathing the hotel room in a mustard yellow light.

  “Sit on the chair over there by the corner, Ezra,” Odell said.

  “Damn you, Odell, is this a robbery?”

  “Sit.” Odell’s eyes looked like chipped flints.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Raven said.

  “Shut up and let me handle this. Where’s your pistol?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  Odell waved his gun around. “Where’s your pistol?”

  Raven said, “In the carpetbag in the corner.”

  Odell found a long-barreled Colt in the bag and tossed it onto the bed. He smiled. “Ezra, have you ever done any acting, you know, on stage like Edwin Booth and Billy Chatterley and them?”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Odell? Damn you, you’re giving me chest pains. I want my money back and then to get the hell out of here.”

  “No to both, Ezra. But I will give you an acting lesson. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Odell backed to the door and pulled it open a few inches. And then he took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his lungs. “No! I will not kill a woman for you! That’s a terrible thing to ask of a friend!” He smiled and asked in a whisper, “You like that? Good acting, huh?”

  Raven was too thunderstruck to speak, mouth open, eyes popping out of his head.

  “You’ve already murdered two women in cold blood, Raven. I won’t let you murder another. Get back! Get back or I’ll shoot!!” A whisper again. “So long, Ezra.” Odell pumped three shots into Raven’s chest. The big man didn’t even have time to cry out before death took him and he slumped back in the chair.

  “No, Ezra, not that.” Odell quickly crossed the room, dragged the dead man out of the chair, and left him sprawled on the floor. He got the revolver from the bed and dropped it beside the body.

  The door slammed open and a small, skinny man in a white gown and tasseled nightcap barged inside, half a dozen other residents, their faces concerned, crowding after him.

  “Here, this won’t do,” the small man said. “Christian people are sleeping.” His eyes went to the body on the floor. “My God, what happened?”

  Odell managed to make himself look shaken. “He already murdered two women and he planned on murdering me if I didn’t do what he wanted.”

  “We heard every word, didn’t we, Mabel?” The woman was well past middle age with wispy gray hair, her breasts slack and flat under her nightgown.

  Mabel, her spitting image, said, “Yes we did. My sister and I heard him threaten you if you didn’t kill a woman.”

  “You heard him say that?” Odell said, surprised. “Oh, you poor ladies.”

  “I heard him, too,” the nightcap man said. “I heard you tell him to get back, but it did no good.”

  “He told me he’d murdered two unfortunate women of loose morals,” Odell said.

  “Yes, we heard him say that as well. Isn’t that so. Lily?” Mabel said. “What a beast. Those poor girls.”

  Drugo Odell almost laughed out loud. This was going even better than he’d hoped. The two crazy old ladies and the man in the nightcap with the bare feet and long toenails would back his story all the way.

  When Sheriff George Hinkle arrived, bleary-eyed and irritated at being wakened from sleep, that proved to be the case.

  Mabel, Lily, and Nightcap Man maneuvered Hinkle into a corner and cut loose with a hand-waving torrent of talk. They said they were asleep in the adjoining rooms and were wakened by a man yelling at dear Mr. Odell, ordering him to kill a woman. Mr. Odell yelled back that he would do no such thing and then the horrible man said he’d already killed two women and, with a terrible curse, he said he would kill Mr. Odell. And then Mr. Odell said he would not let the man murder another woman, and then he told the killer to step back.

  “Step back! Step back! He must have called out three or four times and then came the shots. At first we thought Mr. Odell had been killed and we were so relieved to see that it was the murderer,” Lily said.

  Nightcap Man, warming to the idea of presenting evidence, went further, stating that the dead man, always in a considerable state of drunkenness, often cursed at him when they met on the stairs and would brandish a “murderous revolver” in his face, leaving him afraid and trembling and him under the care of a doctor.

  Several more people testified that they heard Mr. Odell yelling at the man to get away from him before they heard the shots and they advised Hinkle that the killing was a clear-cut case of self-defense.

  Hinkle listened to what everybody had to say. One timid lady declared the possibility that the dead man was in fact the notorious Jack the Ripper come from London to terrorize Dodge City. Mabel and Lily and the others went back to bed in a considerable state of nervous fear over that.

  * * *

  Sheriff Hinkle waited until the undertaker and his assistants had removed Raven’s body before he sat at the end of Odell’s bed and accepted the whiskey the man handed him.

  “Well, Sheriff, you heard what the folks said. Ezra Raven murdered Sarah Hollis and Alva Cranley and he conspired to have Kate Kerrigan murdered.” Odell waited until he lit a cigar then said, “I guess now I’m on nobody’s list of suspects.”

  Hinkle stared at Odell for a long time and then said, “You planned it well, Drugo, and carried it off with style. It took a lot of sand.”

  “You don’t believe Raven wanted to kill me?”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  “It could have happened that way. Who says it didn’t happen that way?”

  “But it didn’t.” With the whiskey taste sweet and smoky in his mouth, Hinkle added, “Drugo, you murdered Sarah Hollis and Alva Cranley, and tonight you murdered Ezra Raven, a Texas rancher. You had some kind of a relationship with Raven. Maybe he paid you to kill Kate Kerrigan. How am I doing?”

  “Fine. But you couldn’t prove all that before, and you sure as hell can’t prove it now.”

  “But look on the good side, Drugo. I don’t have to hang an innocent man for your crimes.”

  “Whoopee, Sheriff. What is he? A drover? Who cares if a drover lives or dies?”

  “I do . . . and I guess he does. Maybe I can prove that you tried to kill Mrs. Kerrigan. In Dodge City, that’s a hanging offense.”

  “Good luck with that, Hinkle. You’ll never prove that, either, especially after my heroics of tonight. And now, if you’ll excuse me. The events of this busy evening have quite tired me out.”

  The bed creaked as Hinkle rose to his feet. “Know what I think of you, Drugo?”

  The little gunman smiled. “No. But do tell.”

  “You’re a piece of human filth. You should live in an outhouse with the rats.”

  “I’ve killed men for saying less.”

  “You won’t kill me, not tonight. Another murder, especially of a lawman, would be hard to explain.”

  “Just don’t push me any further, Hinkle.” Odell smiled. “But here’s more good news. I’m blowing this burg on the noon train tomorrow, going where my gun talent will be appreciated. Up Montana way maybe. I hear they’re looking for range detectives to rid the range of nesters.”

  Hinkle stepped to the door. “This world will be a better place when your shadow no longer falls on the ground, Drugo. I hope I’m still around to hear where you’re buried so I can piss on your grave.”

  “Trust me, Hinkle, you won’t live that long.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “So that’s it?” Kate said, her anger on the simmer.

  “Yes, Mrs. Kerrigan, that’s it,” Sheriff George Hinkle said.

  Kate said, “Suppose I shoot him myself ?”

  “Then I’d arrest you for murder.”

  “For killing a sewer rat?”

&nbs
p; “The current penalty for killing a sewer rat is fifteen to twenty in a male penitentiary, Mrs. Kerrigan. The federal government makes no provision for the fairer sex,” Hinkle said. “You got your puncher back alive, so let it be. Odell is leaving Dodge tomorrow on the noon train and he’ll be out of your life forever.”

  “Isn’t it about time you released Mr. Lowery?” Kate said, trembling as she tried to control her redheaded Irish temper.

  Hinkle jangled his keys. “Of course.”

  Kate looked out the window. “When they planned to lynch Hank there was a big crowd. Now there’s nobody.”

  Hinkle shrugged. “What do you want, Mrs. Kerrigan? A brass band? It ain’t going to happen. Dodge doesn’t want to be reminded that it tried to hang an innocent man.” The sheriff stepped away and returned with Hank Lowery.

  The man looked pale and he’d lost weight, but his blue eyes shone when he saw Kate and he smiled for the first time in days. “Thank you. Thank you for having faith in me, Mrs. Kerrigan.”

  He extended his hand, but Kate ignored that and hugged him. “Welcome back to the land of the living. Now we can all head home.”

  “Home. It has a fine ring to it,” Lowery said.

  Frank stuck out his hand and said a little stiffly, “Good to have you back.”

  Trace did the same, then said, “Hank, you look hungry. Did you have breakfast?”

  Lowery looked at Hinkle. “No. Not even coffee.”

  Kate finally let her anger boil over. “Sheriff, you didn’t even bring him coffee?”

  “Mrs. Kerrigan, Lowery is a free man. I don’t need to feed him at city expense any longer.”

  “He was still locked up in your darkest dungeon,” Kate said.

  “Yeah, but he was free to go and buy his own coffee.”

  “He was locked up, Sheriff,” Kate said, her green eyes snapping.

  “Please don’t bandy words with me, Mrs. Kerrigan.” Then, dropping his gaze to the floor, he added, “Truth is, I forgot all about him this morning. I had other things on my mind.”

  Kate opened her mouth to speak again, but Frank grinned and said, “Trace, we’d better get your mother out of here before she gets fifteen to twenty for assaulting an officer of the law.”

  “Forgot him indeed! Sheriff Hinkle, how could you?” She grabbed Lowery by the hand and stormed out the door, her high-heeled ankle boots thudding.

  Hinkle looked at Frank. “Real purty gal, but I’ll be glad to see the last of her.”

  Frank nodded. “A lot of men have said that very thing, Sheriff.” He smiled. “I can’t say as I blame you.”

  * * *

  Fate will always find a way to intrude, for better or worse, on human existence. It did that morning in the steamy warmth of the Chop House restaurant in Dodge City, Kansas.

  After leaving the sheriff’s office, Frank and Trace had gone to the livery to check on the horses before the long trip to Texas. Kate, eager to make sure that Hank Lowery was fed, had accompanied him to the restaurant. She waited until he finished his steak and eggs and was drinking his third cup of coffee before she said, “So the man is getting away with murder.”

  “Seems like,” Lowery said. “He would have stood by and let me hang. That’s hard to take.”

  “Sheriff Hinkle told me that Odell said the life of a drover doesn’t matter. It’s what a killer would say, isn’t it?” She sighed. “Odell is leaving Dodge on the noon train tomorrow, and we’ll be well rid of him.”

  As Lowery smoked his morning cigar, the door opened . . . and Drugo Odell stepped inside.

  The man hesitated and slowly looked around the restaurant, as is the way of the gunman. His gaze stopped at Kate Kerrigan, took in at a glance what she had to offer, and then slid briefly to Hank Lowery before dismissing him. Odell sat at an empty table where he could keep an eye on Kate and ordered coffee.

  Kate leaned across the table and whispered, “That’s—”

  “I know who he is.” Lowery answered the question on Kate’s face. “In a saloon up on the Red River I saw him take on two named pistoleros and kill them both. Draws from a shoulder holster and he’s fast, mighty fast.”

  Kate looked for fear in Lowery’s face but saw none. “Do you think he recognized you?”

  “I’m sitting with you, Mrs. Kerrigan, so I’m sure he’s got a pretty good notion of who I am. But he won’t remember me from back then. I was working as a waiter in that Fleetwood Saloon, and men like Drugo Odell don’t remember waiters.”

  Kate said, “I’ll pay our score and get out of here.”

  “You don’t have to leave on my account, Mrs. Kerrigan.”

  “I know that, Hank, but I still think we should leave.”

  On the way out of the saloon, Odell smirked and said something under his breath. Lowery heard it clearly, but Kate didn’t.

  When they were outside in the street, she laid her hand on Lowery’s arm. “What did that man say to me?”

  “Nothing you need to hear, Mrs. Kerrigan.” Lowery stared straight ahead. “Not now. Not ever.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” Sheriff George Hinkle said.

  “I’ve got my mind set on it,” Hank Lowery said.

  “He’ll kill you, and there’s nothing I’ll be able to do about it. You kill an armed man and it’s self-defense. Understand me? There’s no argument, no shades of gray. Drugo Odell blows the smoke off his gun and rides the train.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “You can’t shade him. He’s too fast. He killed Morgan Braddock.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Go get Frank Cobb. He’s good with a gun.”

  “I’ll do this on my own. I don’t want Cobb to know . . . or Mrs. Kerrigan, either. This is between us, Hinkle.”

  “Where’s your own revolver?”

  “In the chuck wagon. Halfway to Texas by now.”

  Hinkle drew his Colt. “At noon today I won’t be in town. Gonna find me a bucket of water out in the flat country somewhere and go fishing. I won’t be here to help you, Lowery.”

  “I don’t need your help. I can handle Drugo Odell. I saw him shoot one time.”

  After a few moments of silence, Hinkle said, “And?”

  “And I’m faster.” Lowery took the sheriff’s Colt and looked it over. “You ever clean and oil this thing?”

  “No.”

  “You got cleaning stuff and gun oil?”

  “Sure. In my desk, right-hand drawer. Got an unopened box of shells in there as well. Coffee’s on the bile.”

  Lowery smiled. “Coffee? Feeling guilty about yesterday, huh?”

  “You could say that.” Hinkle crossed to the stove and poured coffee into a couple tin cups. He laid one on the desk in front of Lowery. “Clean that pistol real good and after your business is done, return it here. I’ll be gone, but just lay it on the gun rack. And then—”

  “And then what?”

  “And then you and Mrs. Kerrigan get the hell out of my town.”

  Lowery smiled as he removed the rusty cylinder from the Colt. “Count on it.”

  “You want to tell me about the Longdale Massacre, Lowery? I never did hear the right of it.”

  “Some other time, Sheriff.”

  “There won’t be another time,” Hinkle said.

  “Then when you tell your grandchildren about the time you had the man who pulled off the Longdale massacre in your jail, make up whatever pleases you.”

  “Maybe you won’t like it.”

  Lowery smiled. “I never do.”

  * * *

  “That’s all Mr. Lowery said? That he was going to the bath house and then for a haircut and shave?” Kate said.

  Trace nodded. “That was all, Ma. It was really early and we didn’t speak much.”

  “Why were you up so early, Trace? You know I forbid you to not get enough sleep.”

  “I was headed for the outhouse, Ma. All that coffee I drank last—”


  Kate said, “We will forgo the details, but I do think Mr. Lowery could have joined us for breakfast on this our last day in Dodge City.”

  “Man needs to get rid of the jailhouse stink, Kate,” Frank said.

  “Again, that is too much detail.” She glanced around the crowded hotel dining room. “Not a cattleman in sight. It really is high time we were back in Texas.”

  “I’m all for that,” Frank said. “I wonder how your pirate and his scurvy crew are doing with your new house?”

  “Frank, I agree that Barrie Delaney is a pirate and a rogue, but I doubt his men have scurvy. As for my house, we’ll soon see for ourselves, won’t we? Please pass the butter. And the jam.” Kate said, “No, Frank, the strawberry. I don’t much care for blueberry.”

  Although she appeared calm, Kate’s instinct for danger was sending out alarms and she said a silent prayer that Hank Lowery would not run into Drugo Odell. The gunman might shoot him out of spite.

  * * *

  The clock on the sheriff’s office wall said eleven-thirty as Hank Lowery shoved George Hinkle’s Colt into his waistband and stepped into Front Street. The boardwalks were busy as matrons in cotton afternoon dresses with demure collars and cuffs did their grocery shopping. Of the sporting crowd there was no sign and the fashionable Dodge City belles in their bustled gowns were not yet taking the air. The day was already stifling hot and the recent rains had left puddles of mud everywhere.

  Lowery walked past the cattle pens, empty now that the season was over, his eyes fixed on the train depot ahead of him. The place seemed deserted, but he knew Drugo Odell was there. He could sense his presence. The man’s malevolent evil reached out for Lowery’s throat like a grasping hand and all at once the gambler found it hard to breathe. He stopped, wiped the palm of his sweaty gun hand on his pants, and continued walking.

  A single set of stairs led to the platform, ticket office, and the waiting rooms, one with a sign hanging above the door. LADIES ONLY. A tall, thin black man wearing a shabby black coat to his ankles and a collarless white shirt sat outside on a bench that looked like a church pew and stared listlessly at the rails. He seemed to be in his early fifties, but he could have been younger. Either way, he ignored whatever was happening around him and posed no threat.