Crow Bait (14 page)

Lancaster could feel the deputy behind him. It was the older one, Bodeen.

He knew the young man was watching him to see what kind of trouble he might get into, but that suited him. If he ran into Sweet or the other two or—even better—Gerry Beck, he knew this deputy would take a hand. He was the ambitious one.

Lancaster needed to find somebody in Amarillo who knew Beck or Sweet. Or he needed to find those two strangers.

And then it hit him. Probably the one man who could tell him where to find those two.

He turned a corner, then stepped into a doorway and waited. Moments later Deputy Bodeen came walking around the corner, and he stepped out. Bodeen stopped short, eyes wide.

“Hey!” Bodeen said.

“Buy you a drink, Deputy?” Lancaster asked.

Bodeen agreed to the drink out of curiosity and took Lancaster to the Red Ribbon Saloon.

They stopped in front and Lancaster looked up at the sign over the door, which had a red ribbon painted on it.

They went inside. It was the middle of the afternoon and the place was full.

“I’ll get a table,” Bodeen said, “unless you wanna talk someplace quieter?”

“No, this’ll do,” Lancaster said. In a place this noisy, there was probably less chance of them being overheard.

Lancaster waited by the door until Bodeen returned with two beers and said, “Come on.”

He had actually gotten them a table in a small back room that was used for poker. He pulled the curtained doorway closed behind them.

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Lancaster?” he asked as they sat.

“The sheriff told me one of his deputies was getting ready to run against him for his office in the next election,” Lancaster said. “I figure that’s you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You seem the ambitious type to me.”

“Why not Lyle?”

“He didn’t know who I am,” Lancaster said. “You did.”

“Well, I pay attention.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Lancaster said. “And I’ll bet you pay attention to what’s going on in town.”

“I try to.”

“Then you know when strangers ride in.”

Bodeen smiled. He had good looks, which wouldn’t hurt him in an election. “I saw you ride in.”

“So you’re making my point even stronger for me,” Lancaster said. “You know when strangers come to town, so you’ve seen the ones I’m looking for.”

“I can’t get to them all,” Bodeen said. “That’s the sheriff’s job.”

“So when Gerry Beck came through here, you either did or didn’t see him.”

“I may have seen him and not known his name.”

Lancaster took the time to describe Beck. According to Andy Black’s description, Beck hadn’t changed very much since he’d last seen him.

“Guess that could be a lot of people,” Bodeen said. He seemed annoyed to have to admit that Beck might have been in town without him knowing it.

“What about a man named Sweet? My description of him isn’t so good.”

“Sweet was here.”

Lancaster sat forward. “You sure?”

“It ain’t a common name.”

“When?”

“A week, maybe ten days ago.”

“With anybody?”

“No, he was alone.”

“How do you know?”

“I braced him when he rode in,” Bodeen said. “I could see he was trouble.”

“How did he react to being braced?”

“Took it in stride,” Bodeen said. “Seemed real calm. We talked in one of the other saloons. He didn’t break a sweat.”

“Did he say anything about waiting to meet anybody else?”

“No. I asked him what he was up to, but he said he was just passing through.”

“And how long did he stay?”

“About six days, maybe a full week.”

“And what did he do?”

“Sat in front of his hotel, walked around town, drank, gambled…”

“He was killing time.”

“That’s what I thought,” Bodeen said. “Like he was waitin’ for somebody, but they never showed up.”

“And he finally left?”

“Just up and rode out,” Bodeen said. “Never made any trouble.”

“Could he have left a message for anyone?”

“Might’ve, but I don’t know who.”

“Where’d he stay?”

“Fifth Street Hotel, down the block.”

“Do you know where he left his horse?”

“Livery over on South Street.”

“Any place else?”

“Like where?”

“Whorehouse?”

Bodeen scratched his head, drank some beer. “I never saw him go to a whorehouse.”

“Okay,” Lancaster said. “When I got here I was trailing two riders. I figure they got here about three days ahead of me.”

“What’d they look like?”

“Not sure,” Lancaster said. “Just a couple of cowpokes who’d been in a fight recently—although any cuts or bruises might have healed by bow.”

“Like the one over your eye?”

“This was compliments of a kick to the head by Sweet,” Lancaster said. “I owe him.”

“So you’re huntin’ Beck for Wells Fargo, but Sweet’s personal?”

“You’ve got it.”

“And these other two?”

“They seem to know Sweet,” Lancaster said. “I thought they might lead me to him.”

“And they led you here.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I might be able to help you with those two,” Bodeen said.

“Yeah?”

“Drink up,” Bodeen said. “I’ll show you.”

Lancaster pushed away his half-finished beer and said, “I’m ready now.”

Bodeen led Lancaster to a rooming house down the street from the South Street Livery.

“They left their horses there,” he said when they passed the livery.

“Same place as Sweet,” Lancaster observed.

“That could be a coincidence,” Bodeen said. “Most people use that one, or—where’d you leave your horse?”

Lancaster told him.

“Yeah, or that one.”

When they got to the rooming house, Bodeen stopped across the street.

“Two men rode in three days ago, got a room there,” he said.

“If we go to the livery and I look at their horses, I’ll know,” Lancaster said. “The liveryman in Flagstaff told me their horses need new shoes.”

“Oh, they’re the ones, all right.”

“What makes you think they’re the ones I followed?” Lancaster asked.

“Because when they got here, the first thing they did was start askin’ around for Sweet.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

Bodeen shrugged. “I wanted to talk for a while.”

“They in there now?”

Bodeen shrugged again. “I doubt it,” he said. “They’re usually out during the day.”

“They go to one saloon over another?”

“They hit them all,” Bodeen said.

“They must still be looking for Sweet,” Lancaster said. “That means if Sweet did leave a message for them, they haven’t gotten it yet.”

“We could go lookin’ for them.”

“Or wait here for them to come back.”

“That sounds boring,” Bodeen said. “’Sides, I got rounds to make.”

“Okay,” Lancaster said, “you have a point. It might be better for me to come back at night, when they’re in their rooms. Who owns this place?”

“Feller named Winston.”

Lancaster looked at him.

“I know, these places are usually run by women, widows.”

“Older man?”

“Yeah, in his sixties. In fact…”

“What?”

“He’s friends with the sheriff.”

The two men who had tried to beat up Ray the bartender were in the Whiskey River Saloon, sulking over a couple of beers.

“The man tells us to meet him here, and then when we get here he ain’t nowhere,” Rafe Fielding complained.

“He probably had to leave,” Lou Williams said. “I’m sure he woulda left us a message.”

“Like where? With who?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Williams asked. “He didn’t know where we was gonna
stay. Hell, we didn’t know that till we got here. We just gotta keep lookin’, otherwise we came all this way for nothin’, didn’t we?”

Fielding made a noise with his mouth.

“Get us two fresh beers,” Williams said. “Then we’ll check some of the other saloons.”

“What about the whorehouses?” Fielding asked.

“Yeah,” Williams said, “let’s do that.”

Sheriff Jacobs knocked on the door of the rooming house.

“I appreciate this, Sheriff,” Lancaster said.

“Don’t mention it,” Jacobs said. “I’m just glad you and Bodeen talked about it.”

“He doesn’t check in with you about strangers?” Lancaster asked.

“I told you,” Jacobs said, “he’s ambitious. Keeps things to himself, hoping they’ll do him some good.”

“What’s the story on this fella?” Lancaster asked.

“Frank Witt,” Jacobs said. “Lost his wife, Ella, a few years ago, and she always wanted to run a rooming house. So he bought this one and runs it in her name.”

When the door opened, a man Lancaster assumed was Witt looked out at them.

“Jimmy, what the hell? I didn’t know you was droppin’ by.”

“Got some time, Frank?” Jacobs asked. “We’d like to talk about somethin’.”

Witt looked at Lancaster, then back at Sheriff Jacobs.

“This fella is Lancaster,” Jacobs said. “He needs some help.”

“From me?”

“You and me,” Jacobs said.

“Well, hell, sure, come on in,” Witt said. “I got some good whiskey around here somewhere.”

They followed Witt into a sitting room, where he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and three glasses.

“Not for me, thanks,” Lancaster said.

“It’s good stuff,” Witt assured him.

“Probably too good,” Lancaster said. “I used to be a drunk.”

“Oh well…Jimmy?”

“Naw, I guess not, Frank,” Jacobs said.

Witt reluctantly put the bottle away.

“Well,” he said, “then just what is it I can do for you fellas?”

“You’ve got two boarders…” Jacobs started.

Fielding and Williams left the whorehouse, feeling satisfied in more ways than one.

“Why didn’t we check these places before?” Williams asked.

“Just seemed to me Sweet would spend more time in a saloon.”

“And maybe he did,” Williams said, “but he left us a message with a whore.”

“Probably figured that’s where we’d spend most of our time,” Fielding said.

Both men laughed.

“He probably woulda been right, if we hadn’t been lookin’ for his sorry ass all over creation,” Fielding said.

“Wanna get a drink?” Williams asked.

“Naw,” Fielding said. “Let’s turn in and get an early start. Maybe we can catch up to him in a day or two.”

“Yeah,” Williams said, “okay.”

They headed back to the rooming house.

The two men entered the rooming house, both wanting nothing more than to get to their beds. They’d been drinking all day, and being with those whores had worn them out.

When they got to the main sitting room, though, they stopped. There were three men there. The only man they recognized was the old-timer who ran the place, but one of the other two was wearing a badge.

“What the hell—” Fielding said.

“Just stand easy, men,” the sheriff said. “I’ll need you to toss your guns on that sofa over there, and do it slow and easy.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Williams asked.

“Just get rid of the iron and then we’ll talk,” Jacobs said. Lancaster stood ready, just in case the men tried to shoot it out. The rooming house owner stood off to one side, out of the way.

Williams and Fielding tossed their guns onto the sofa.

“Good,” Jacobs said. “Frank here says your names are Fielding and Williams. That true?”

Fielding nodded.

“Which is which?”

“I’m Fielding,” the man said.

“Okay, now we need to talk to you about a man called Sweet.”

Both men stared at him.

Lancaster said, “The two of you jumped a bartender in Flagstaff, tried to give him a beating, but he fought back.”

“We don’t know what you’re—”

“Don’t even try it,” Lancaster said. “We know it was you, and we know you were warning him about a man named Sweet.”

“And we also know you came here to meet Sweet,” Jacobs said. “He was here about a week ago, but now he’s gone.”

“Figure he left you a message, which you may or may not have already picked up.”

Then two men looked at each other.

“I need to know where he is,” Lancaster said. “I don’t care about you two.”

“You’ll let us go?” Williams asked.

“That’s right.”

“I want him to say it,” Fielding said, indicating the lawman.

“You ain’t done nothin’ here,” Jacobs said. “At least, nothing that I know of. You give this feller what he wants and you can go. But you gotta get out of town.”

“Tonight,” Lancaster said.

“Tonight?” Williams whined. “Man, I’m beat—”

“We’ll go,” Fielding said. “We picked up Sweet’s message tonight. He left it at the whorehouse with one of the whores.”

“That’s good,” Lancaster said. “Now all you’ve got to do is tell me where he is.”

“You gonna kill ’im?” Fielding asked.

“I just may do that,” Lancaster said.

“Naw, you gotta kill ’im,” Williams said. “If he finds out we gave him up he’ll kill us.”

“Don’t worry,” Lancaster said. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Sheriff Jacobs said. “You hear that, Frank?”

“I didn’t hear a thing,” Frank said.

“That good enough for you?” Lancaster asked the two men.

“That’ll do,” Fielding said.

Jacobs put the two men in a jail cell.

“You said we had to leave town!” Fielding complained from inside his cell.

“You do.”

“But you said tonight.”

“Well, maybe I misspoke there,” Jacobs said. “I’m just gonna keep ya here for a while, so you can’t get to Sweet and warn him.”

“We don’t wanna warn Sweet,” Fielding said. “We want you to kill ’im.”

“I’m just makin’ sure,” the sheriff said. “Relax, I’ll feed ya good and let ya out in a couple of days. Just consider yourselves my guests.”

“Guests?” Williams asked, rattling the door of his cell. “With locked doors?”

“Don’t want you to get out and hurt yerselves,” Jacobs said.

He left the cell block, went out into the office where Lancaster was standing with Deputy Bodeen.

“That was a good idea, Sheriff,” Lancaster said. “I appreciate it.”

“I just figured they might leave town and suddenly remember they’re more afraid of Sweet than
you,” Jacobs said. “This’ll give you time to catch up to Sweet yourself.”

“Where did they say he is?” Bodeen asked.

Lancaster looked at the deputy and said, “The less people who know that, the better.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“It ain’t that,” Lancaster said. “I just want to keep it to myself for now. If I get there and Sweet’s been warned, I don’t want to have to wonder who told him.”

“Nobody’s gonna tell him,” Bodeen said, “because these two are in jail and you ain’t tellin’ me. If he gets warned…” He trailed off.

“It would have to be by me, is that what you were gonna say?” Jacobs asked.

“Or Frank at the rooming house,” Lancaster pointed out. “He was there to hear it, too. See? Already two people who know. I’m gonna keep it to myself, Deputy. Get insulted if you want, but there it is.”

“Ah,” the deputy said, waving his hand. “Do what you want, Lancaster. It’s your business.”

“That’s right,” Lancaster said. “It is.”

“What about Beck?” Jacobs asked.

“I’ll have to take care of Sweet first,” Lancaster said, “and then find Beck.”

“No word on him?” Bodeen asked.

“No.”

“Think he knows Sweet?”

“We talked about that already,” Lancaster said. “Too much of a coincidence.”

“What about the man who hired Sweet and those other two?” Jacobs asked.

“I’m gonna have to find that out from Sweet.”

“What if he won’t tell you?” Bodeen asked.

“He’ll tell me,” Lancaster said.

“How can you be so sure?” the deputy asked.

“Because I’m gonna make it impossible for him not to tell me,” Lancaster said.

Bodeen laughed and asked, “What are you gonna do, torture it out of him?”

Lancaster just stared at Bodeen, who looked at the sheriff.

“He is, isn’t he?” he asked. “He’s gonna torture him, and then kill him.”

Sheriff Jacobs shrugged and said, “I didn’t hear that.”