Between Hell and Texas (21 page)

“Yes, sir,
Sheriff
,” said Nolly, with a trace of sarcasm in his voice. He stared after Lematte and Ash as the two turned and left the saloon.

“What is this all about, Nolly?” Hogo Metacino asked, stepping over beside him and looking at the bat-wing doors still swinging back and forth from Lematte’s departure. “We knew he had a gunman coming, but we never thought it was somebody who was going to replace you!”

Nolly flared, turning to him. “Get busy Hogo! Nobody is replacing me! Lematte is just edgy…worried about Dawson, the town council, the Double D boys. You think it’s easy running a town?”

“All right, Nolly,” said Hogo, backing off. “I meant nothing by it. It’s just that we’re used to you being the
segundo
in charge here. We weren’t expecting this.”

“I’m still the second in charge here!” Nolly said, raising his voice as he looked from one deputy to the next. “Don’t none of you forget it!”

“All right,” said Hogo Metacino, agreeing with him. “But just to get this straight, you tell us, if the situation comes down to it, who do we listen to,
you
or Mad Albert Ash?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Nolly, “I’m still Lematte’s right-hand man. Now get busy.”

With no further discussion on the matter, Hogo shrugged at the others and walked toward the naked body of Miami Jones lying spread-eagled on the broken gaming table. “Somebody give me a hand here, get rid of this dead whore before she starts to stiffen up on us.”

Upstairs, Angel Andrews sat on the side of Suzzette’s bed, comforting her, gently pressing a cold, wet towel to the cut on her swollen cheek. Suzzette lay curled up in a ball, her arms wrapped around her waist. She moaned deeply as Angel tried to take a look at her battered ribs and stomach. “No, please, don’t touch me,” Suzzette sobbed. “It hurts too bad.”

“Oh God, Suzzette!” Angel sobbed, “I don’t know what to do! I heard what they said, that you’re pregnant. How can that poor baby live through something like this?”

“Don’t talk,” Suzzette moaned. “Go out the back way, get the doctor.”

“But Lematte went to the doctor to get the glass out of his shoulder!” said Angel. “Won’t he try to stop me?”

“Wait until you see him leave the doctor’s office,” said Suzzette. “I’ll lay here and rest awhile.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Angel asked, already standing up ready to go.

“Just hurry, Angel, bring him back as soon as he can get here,” said Suzzette.

Angel Andrews had also taken a beating, but she ignored her pain and hurriedly grabbed a coat from a coatrack and threw it around herself. “I’ll hurry, Suzzette!”

She managed to slip out the door and along the
hallway without being seen. It was only a few feet from Suzzette’s room to an upper rear door at the end of the hall. Angel eased the door open and rushed down a long set of steep wooden stairs to an alley that ran from the main street to the backs of its long row of clapboard buildings. Looking back over her shoulder, she ran along the rutted alley until suddenly she stopped abruptly as two powerful hands caught her by her shoulders. Startled, she stared into two bloodshot eyes and smelled the bittersweet scent of burnt opium.

“Hey, little gal,” said Jimmie Turner, one of Bouchard’s Double D cowhands. “Where you off to this hour of morning?”

“Please, turn me loose!” Angel pleaded with him. “Something terrible has happened to Miami and Suzzette!”

“Aw, now,” said Turner, his voice slurred, his eyes red and shiny from a night of smoking opium. “How terrible can it be?” He held her firmly as she struggled against him.

“Turn me loose,” she shouted. “Miami is shot dead and Suzzette has been pistol-whipped! I’m gone for the doctor.”

Even in his opium stupor he began to realize the gravity of Angel’s words. “Dead? Pistol-whipped?” He tried shaking his head to clear it a bit. “—I heard some shots awhile ago,” he said, still holding Angel by her shoulders. “Who did it?”

Seeing his condition, Angel pleaded, “Please, let me go! I need to get help!”

“Who did it? Turner demanded, his temper flaring, fueled by the opium.

“The sheriff did it!” Angel said. “He went crazy,
killed Miami and tried to kill Suzzette! Please let me go!”

“The sheriff, huh?” said Turner, turning her loose, staggering a step forward. “What kind of sheriff would do something like that!”

But Angel Andrews didn’t answer. She had already hurried along the alley away from him, in the direction of the doctor’s office.

On their way back from the doctor’s office where Lematte had the shard of glass removed from his shoulder, Mad Albert took note of the glaring eyes of the townsfolk. “How bad has it gotten between you and the town leaders?” Ash asked, the two having already talked some while the doctor gathered and sterilized his surgical tools.

“I had to bullwhip a councilman,” said Lematte, “if that tells you anything.” He wore a sling around his shoulder supporting his right forearm, but the doctor had to run the sling across his chest to his left shoulder to keep it off of the wound.

“Mad Albert chuckled darkly. “I always seem to miss the fun times.” They walked on toward a restaurant across from the sheriff’s office.

Lematte gave a wicked grin. “You might have missed the
get-acquainted
part of the show, but I’m counting on you being here for the main attraction.”

They stopped out front of the restaurant for a moment before stepping inside. Lematte gestured with his free hand, taking in the whole town from end to end. “When I get this town whipped into shape, I expect to have at least three more saloons running night and day. Gambling, whores, liquor, dope, entertainment! You name it, Somos Santos will have it!”

“Sort of a Sodom and Gomorrah right here in
Tejas
, eh?” said Mad Ash.

“Yeah,” said Lematte. “Something like that.”

“At any rate,” he continued, “I’ve already had some resistance from the town council, and I expect more at any time.” He pointed toward a drover hotel a half block away, where a line of Double D horses stood at the hitch rail. “I’ve also got trouble coming from this bunch of cowhands and a friend of theirs.”

“Cowhands,
opposed
to gambling, whoring, and drinking?” Mad Albert shook his head. “What is happening to this great nation of ours?”

“It’s not that they’re opposed to drinking, gambling, and whatnot,” said Lematte. “I think it’s a matter of just because I’m a lawman I’m not supposed to make any money.”

“Shame on them,” said Ash, looking back and forth along the street.

“Yeah,” said Lematte, looking perplexed. “I’ve never understood that way of thinking. I always say the best way to control human vice is to
own
it.” He shrugged. “You know how cowhands get these stupid notions about what’s right and wrong.”

“What’s the story on you and those three whores?” Mad Albert asked.

“That was mostly personal,” said Lematte. “I brought all three of them here, paid their fares, their expenses. Then the one I had to pistol-whip betrayed me. I put her in charge, gave her some respect. Damned if she’s not carrying a baby by the man who’s been causing most of the trouble here.”

“Trouble?” Ash asked, “What kind of trouble?”

“He’s a local cowhand who went off and got himself a reputation as a gunman,” said Lematte. “I
wanted to get him on my side…but it hasn’t worked out. Everything just seems to go wrong between us. I don’t know why.”

“A reputation, huh?” said Ash, already getting an idea who Lematte was talking about, but not wanting to be the one to bring it up. “What’s his name?”

“His name is Crayton Dawson,” said Lematte. He watched Ash’s eyes for a response. “I suppose you’ve heard of him?

“Yes, I have,” said Ash, his expression unchanging. “He took a bullet in the gut that was meant for me.”

“He did?” Lematte was taken aback. “Then—Then you two are friends?”

“Not that I know of,” said Ash.

Lematte stammered, “But you said—”

“I know what I said.” Ash stared away, along the other side of the street, seeing two more of Lematte’s deputies walking along the boardwalk. “He
might
have saved my life…but I can’t say he did for certain.” He seemed to consider it. “And if he
did
, I didn’t ask him to.” He chuckled under his breath. “And if he
did
, it weren’t all that big of a deal. I always figure if a man doesn’t die in one place, he’ll just die in another.”

Lematte tried to look into his eyes and gauge his sincerity, but Ash looked away, avoiding his stare. “Then it’s not going to be a problem for you to kill him, when the time comes?” Lematte asked.

“Is it going to be a problem you
paying
me for doing it, when the time comes?” Ash asked in reply.

“None at all,” said Lematte, feeling better.

“Then we’re both walking on the same side of the line,” said Ash, turning back to face him with a level
gaze. “Dawson is a gunman himself…he better realize by now that this ain’t the kind of business to be in owing favors.”

“We’re going to get along fine, Ash,” said Lematte, allowing himself a grin.

“I knew we would, once you got to know me,” said Ash.

Lematte nodded toward the Silver Seven Saloon, where two councilmen hurried along the boardwalk away from the bat-wing doors. “Look at those two,” he said sidelong to Ash. “They can’t wait to start spreading it all over town about more ‘
trouble at the Silver Seven
.’ Before it’s over I bet I have to bullwhip both of them.”

“Relax, Sheriff,” said Ash, “I’m on the job now.” They both turned and walked into the restaurant as the two councilmen hurried on to the drover’s hotel.

Inside the hotel, Councilman Deavers hurried to a window and looked out nervously toward the spot where Lematte and Mad Albert Ash had been standing. “Do you think they saw us?” he said to Councilman Tinsdale.

“I’m certain they saw us,” Tinsdale replied, “but I don’t think it matters to Lematte right now. He thinks we can’t do anything to stop him.”

“You’re right,” said Deavers, letting go of a tense breath, turning from the window in time to see Gains Bouchard and his men walking down the stairs to the lobby.

“Morning, Councilmen,” said Bouchard, seeming to be in a hurry. “What was all the shooting about?”

“Mister Bouchard! We’re certainly glad to see you,” said Deavers. “All hell has broken loose at the
Silver Seven! One girl is dead and another beaten senseless! It was all Lematte’s doings!”

Bouchard slowed to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. “He didn’t kill Dawson’s gal, Suzzette, did he?”

“Suzzette is Dawson’s gal?” Deavers asked, looking astounded.

“No,” Tinsdale cut in, “he killed that dark gal, Miami. But Suzzette took a beating, trying to stop him is my guess.”

“Then Lematte has more trouble coming than he’ll be able to handle is
my guess
,” said Bouchard. “But right now, gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse us. I’ve got a man missing. He took off last night, drunk and on his own. He didn’t show up come daybreak…so something is wrong.”

“Mister Bouchard, you’re going to have to help us!” Deavers pleaded. “We have no other way to turn!”

From the middle of the street came the sound of a pistol shot, followed by Jimmie Turner’s blurry voice yelling in rage toward the restaurant. “Lematte! You dirty whore-whipping son of a bitch! I seen you go in there! Come out here and face a
man
for a change!”

“That’s Turner!” said Sandy Edelman.

Gains Bouchard stepped quickly out the door of the hotel and into the muddy street, Edelman, Stanley Grubs, and Mike Cassidy right behind him. In the lobby of the hotel Tinsdale and Deavers stood peeping out through the curtains.

“There he is,” Bouchard said in a lowered voice, nodding toward Turner. Jimmie Turner stood in the middle of the muddy street facing the restaurant as Sheriff Lematte and Mad Albert Ash stepped out
onto the boardwalk. Lematte calmly stuck a fresh cigar into his mouth and took out a match to light it.

“You don’t have time for a smoke!” Turner raged, shoving his smoking pistol into his holster. “I’m sending you to
hell
where you belong!”

“Take it easy, cowboy,” said Lematte, striking the match with his thumbnail. “Who do you think you are, coming here firing your gun at this time of morning? Decent folks are still having breakfast.” He offered a short, tight laugh. “
We
were having breakfast!”

“Come on down in the street, Lematte! I’m going to shoot you to pieces!” Turner said to Mad Albert Ash, not knowing who he was speaking to, “You step away, Mister. I ain’t here to kill you!”

“
Gracias
,” said Ash with a thin flat smile. “But my breakfast is getting cold. You best hurry this up. I hate cold eggs.”

Lematte puffed the cigar to life while Ash took a step sideways, putting some space between them. Ash’s attention went from Turner, to Gains Bouchard and the other three men spreading out as they walked across the street.

Blowing a stream of smoke, Lematte said to Turner, “You’ve already earned a couple of days in jail for disturbing the peace if I want to push it.” He also lifted a glance toward the drovers crossing the street. From the doors of the Silver Saloon he saw his deputies stepping down into the muddy street and spreading out as well. “But you and the Double D boys have been good customers and model citizens up to now. So I’m going to overlook this. You turn yourself around right now, go sleep it off somewhere.”

“Step down here, Lematte!” said Turner. “Else I’ll have to kill you where you stand!” He staggered forward a step. Gains Bouchard and the drovers quickened their pace.

“Be ready for anything, men,” Bouchard whispered, seeing the deputies coming from the other direction.

“You’re covered, Boss,” said Sandy Edelman.

“Turner!” Bouchard called out. “Go get your horse and let’s get going, right now!” As Turner turned, half facing him, Bouchard called out to Lematte, “Sheriff, you see the shape he’s in. Pay him no mind. I’ll get him out of town.”

“You do that, Bouchard,” said Lematte, “and don’t forget that I did this favor for you the next time you hear somebody bellyaching about me behind my back.” He cut a glance to the hotel window where the two councilmen stood peeping out like frightened children. Then he looked back at Bouchard.