Find Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #1) (15 page)

They
had it all neatly set up and James took Monsher as he came down
into the lobby.

‘
Step
right this way, Monsher,’ he said quietly. ‘And don’t make any
fuss.’ He emphasized the suggestion with a nudge of the barrel of
his pocket pistol in Monsher’s ribs. It was smoothly done and no
one in the crowded lobby even looked up. Monsher’s head came up at
James’ words and his eyes swiftly moved left and then right, his
weight shifting on the balls of his feet.

‘
Before you try it,’ James said dryly, ‘look over by the
desk.’

He
let Monsher see Wells and Frank Angel. They were no more than ten
feet away. Their hands were in the pockets of their
coats.

‘
Now
the door,’ James nodded. Monsher looked there, and the deputy
leaning against the doorpost nodded. He had a mackinaw folded over
his arm. His hand was concealed beneath it.

‘
There’s another man outside,’ James said. ‘So don’t bother
thinking about running for it. just relax and come along
quietly.’

Monsher’s shoulders fell about two inches, and then he turned
and smiled at James, spreading his arms wide and saying ‘Mister,
you sure you got the right man? Mah name’s Lee, Robert
Lee.’

‘
Yeah, and this is Appomattox,’ James said. He gave Monsher a
shove with the barrel of the gun. ‘Move!’

Monsher protested again, a little louder this time.

Heads
turned in the lobby and Monsher laughed, no sound coming from his
mouth.

‘
You’re in trouble, lawman,’ he hissed. ‘You cain’t shoot me
in heah, now can you?’

‘
Don’t bet on it,’ Wells said, limping across to hear the last
words. ‘I wouldn’t mind having the chance.’

‘
Well, well, well,’ Monsher said quietly. ‘Done said we
shoulda kilt you.’

‘
You
sure as hell tried,’ Wells said coldly. ‘Let’s go,
Monsher.’

Again
Monsher laughed without sound and then suddenly he whirled around
and shouted ‘Help! These men are trying to rob me!’

He
short-armed Wells away from him, and the big man reeled
off-balance, his cane slithering away from him on the parquet
floor. Monsher ran a few steps towards a group of men, still
shouting that they were trying to rob him, and someone laid a
restraining arm on James’ hand as he went to pursue the man. He
tried to shake off the men crowding around him now asking
questions, and Monsher darted across the lobby as he saw the deputy
by the doorway push forward, losing his indolent air, the mackinaw
falling discarded on the floor. A woman screamed as she saw the
heavy revolver in the deputy’s hand and then people were scattering
away from Monsher and James fought clear of the men around him, his
pistol out and ready but unable to fire because of the milling,
shouting crowd of people. Monsher went straight across the lobby at
a dead run and hit the window frame with his head tucked down
against his right shoulder, going through the whole thing in a
smashing crash of flying woodwork and glass, the sheer shocking
noise of the impact stopping people as if they had frozen for a
second, and in that second those standing close to Frank Angel saw
his hand start to move and then lost it because the gun that was in
his hand blared a shot and Monsher seemed to falter in mid-air as
he went through the window and hit the sidewalk outside, rolling
off it into the muddy street. Men shouted hoarsely outside and a
horse whinnied, shying away from the mud coated thing that came up
in front of it in the street.

Monsher was trying to stand but his right leg wouldn’t support
him and he clawed inside his jacket, swearing at the mud slick
hands that hampered him, the heavy gun coming out of the shoulder
holster as Angel came through the shattered window and then threw
himself face down on the soaking sidewalk as Monsher’s bullet
whacked a chunk of wood out of the wall of the hotel.

People were scattering off the street, men shouting warnings
to each other as Monsher managed to gain his footing, throwing
shots towards the window from which he had exited and keeping
everyone down on the sidewalk as he lurched across the street and
into the dark shadows of Sutter Street. James came out of the
doorway of the hotel, his men with him, and then they ran straight
across the open street towards where Monsher had disappeared and
even as Angel got to his feet, his mouth framing a warning shout,
there was a lance of flame from the darkness and one of the two
deputies ploughed sideways, face down dead in the mud of Montgomery
Street. James leaped to the sheltering sidewalk outside the Lick
House where astonished faces peered through the windows fronting
the street and the other deputy as if on signal diverged to the
opposite side of Sutter. Then the two of them eased around the
corner, using the shadows. There was no shot. Angel was across the
street by now and he went straight past James, out in the middle of
the street.

He
had counted Monsher’s shots and knew the man’s gun was empty.
Monsher would not take time to reload.

He
would be running for safety and if they lost him now, then he could
go to ground again, one face among two hundred thousand. James
shouted something behind him but Frank Angel ran straight on past
the lighted windows in Sutter, then stopped in the middle of the
street. Monsher was gone.

James
came panting up behind him, then the other deputy.

‘
He
can’t have gone far,’ Angel said. ‘I hit him in the right
leg.’

The
deputy looked at Angel. ‘You what?’ he said.

‘
I
hit him in the right leg. just above the knee.’

‘
How
the hell do you know that?’ the deputy said.

‘
That
was where I aimed,’ Angel told him, as if the explanation was
unnecessary. The deputy looked at Larry James, who
shrugged.

‘
Take
the right hand side, Tom,’ he told the man.

‘
Check every saloon, everywhere that’s open. If Angel here
wounded him, he can’t have gone far. I’ll take the left side.’ He
turned around to face the small crowd which was assembling about
twenty feet behind them.

‘
You
people get off the street!’ he shouted. ‘The shooting isn’t over
yet!’ There was some muttering and the crowd melted back slightly,
but their curiosity was stronger than their fear. As James went
into the first saloon on Sutter, they clustered around near the
doors and windows, trying to see inside. Angel did not follow
James. He went directly for the first corner along the street, a
brightly—lit and bustling thoroughfare. A sign told him it was
Kearny Street. There were fashionably-dressed people everywhere.
There was a crippled man selling newspapers on the
corner.

‘
You
see a man come running — well, limping, maybe — past here a few
minutes back? Tow-haired guy, about my height?’

‘
Lissen, Mac, you wanna paper? What I do is sell papers, see,
not hand out information, right?’

Angel
said: ‘Here’s a dollar. Now — ’

‘
Blood all over his leg, face all cut, covered in mud?’
chirped the newsvendor. ‘Sure, he went into Kennedy’s over the
street there.’

Angel
sloshed through the muddy puddles to the far side of the street and
pushed in through the swinging doors. The place was done out in
high style. Mahogany bar, polished glass shelves, ornate mirrors,
curtained booths — some with the curtains drawn — and a pianist at
the far end of the room playing rinky-tink music. Above the room
was a gallery with tables and chairs that ran on both sides and
across the far end above the pianist’s head. Angel saw the dark
spots on the floor but he did not react. He walked to the bar and
leaned on it, feeling the pulse in the air, the knowledge that
Monsher was there. About twenty people in the place, Angel guessed.
Scattered around, not bunched.

‘
Give
me a beer,’ he told the bartender. The man nodded and pulled the
beer, scooping the foam off the top with a wooden spatula. His eyes
skittered around, never meeting Angel’s. Once they flickered up
towards the balcony above the pianist’s head. Angel could see the
fear in them. He leaned on the bar. The skin on his neck and back
crawled. He was a sitting duck if Monsher decided to take him. He
moved along the bar a little until he was about six or seven feet
from the pianist, then turned casually and leaned with his back to
the bar, watching the man play. The piano was old and well worn,
the keys yellowed and scarred by what looked like many cigar and
cigarette burns. They looked like brown thumbprints. Angel saw
another one appear as he watched and the pianist jerked nervously,
missing the beat. He felt, rather than saw, the pistol barrel
poking through the rails of the balcony and went headlong for the
spot he had picked out a few minutes before. There were tables and
chairs at this end of the room, most of them unoccupied. He moved
in a long low running dive as the gun spoke and then hastily spoke
again, tearing a great chunk out of the top of the mahogany bar
with the first shot and then smashing into the filthy boards of the
floor behind Angel as he got beneath the marble topped table and
slid his own gun out from the shoulder holster.

He
could wait: Monsher was losing blood, James would have heard the
shots. He wanted to get up and kill Monsher. At the same time he
knew that if he did, they would never learn where Cravetts had
gone. All this went through his head in the seconds that followed
his dive beneath the table. He eased to where he could see the
upstairs balcony and at the same moment a woman screamed and he saw
Monsher stand up at the rail of the balcony with his gun leveled
aiming at the door. Angel saw Larry James and the deputy behind him
come to a halt in the middle of the empty gangway as Monsher
grinned and eared the hammer of the gun back and then Angel came
out from beneath his table and fired in one continuing movement,
his bullet taking Monsher high on the left side of his chest and
hurling him shouting with pain backwards out of sight. Angel kept
on moving and bounded up the stairway to the balcony, hearing James
come pounding up behind him. Monsher was lying between two tables
and some overturned chairs, cursing weakly and trying to lift the
gun to fire again. Angel kicked it out of his hand.

‘
Damn
you!’ Monsher spat. The top of his pants leg was wet with blood and
another stain was mushrooming at his left side. Monsher’s forehead
was wet with sweat, but his eyes were alive and full of hate. There
were cuts on his face and hands.

‘
Damn
you!’ he said again. ‘Done said we shoulda — ’

‘
Killed me, you said that before,’ Angel said
coldly.

‘
Can
you walk?’

Monsher shook his head.

‘
Then
we’ll carry you,’ Angel said. ‘Just a minute, James.’

Gun
still canted ready he bent over the fallen man and without haste
went over the possible hiding places for weapons that Wells had
taught him. From a pocket stitched on the inside of the man’s
jacket where a pocket would normally have been he produced a neat
and deadly little snub-nosed Derringer, and on a loop of rawhide
around Monsher’s neck there was a thin-bladed knife in a soft
leather sheath.

‘
Quite an arsenal,’ James remarked.

‘
It
figured,’ Angel said. ‘Where is Cravetts, Monsher?’

‘
Go
straight to hell,’ Monsher told him.

Angel
knelt down and laid hold of Monsher’s right ankle. Without warning
he turned the man’s leg sharply.

Monsher’s head went back and he screamed like a horse going
over a cliff.

‘
Jesus!’ he sobbed, the color gone from his face, his eyes
burning and full of agony in the dark hollows of his head. ‘Holy
Jesus!’

‘
I
asked you a question.’

There
was no sympathy in Frank Angel’s voice, no reaction to the sharp
scream of pain Monsher had uttered. Larry James started to say
something but Angel silenced him with a look. James turned
uncomfortably and nodded a signal to his deputy. The man eased down
the stairway and towards the door. Angel did not notice him go, or
if he did he made no effort to stop him.

‘
I —
said — rot in hell, you shit-faced—’

Again
Angel twisted the wounded leg sharply, and again Monsher’s words
ended in a scream of pain. He looked whey-faced now. Sweat was
pouring down his drawn visage, and matting his tow hair. His
fingers scrabbled on the dirty boards of the floor. His eyes told
the story of what he would do to Angel if he could get
up.

But
his left arm was now hanging limp and flaccid, and the oozing blood
was slowly draining Monsher of his strength. His eyelids
drooped.

‘
Where is Cravetts?’ Angel repeated inexorably.

Monsher shook his head and without expression Angel laid hold
of the wounded leg again. This time however Monsher gasped and
tried to sit up, his right hand extended and a pleading expression
on his face.

‘
No,’
he said. ‘Not again.’

‘
Talk
then.’

‘
Dick
— headed for Virginia City,’ Monsher said.

‘
You’re lying!’ Angel snapped. He gripped Monsher’s ankle hard
and Monsher shouted out in panic.