Find Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #1) (5 page)

‘
You
shut up an’ sit down here,’ the cowboy said. ‘An’ you do like I
told you, boy!’

He
pushed the girl into her chair, and she gasped, the breath jarred
out of her by his roughness.

‘
That’s awful rude of you,’ Angel said mildly. He took two
smooth steps around the table and hit the cowboy solidly in the
middle. The man looked at him with bulging eyes, the breath
whooshing out of his lungs as he folded forward on the table. The
chair went over backwards away from him and the girl screamed. Men
pushed back away from the area as fast as they could, getting to
their feet and yelling as the big cowboy got his breath and then
with a roar of rage came over the table at the slim youngster in
front of him. Angel let him come and then hit him, a short lifting
hook made with the hand tipped backwards. The heel of his hand
caught the cowboy right under the jaw and snapped his head back,
mashing the snarling lips into a blood-sprayed mask. He went
sideways across the table, tipping it over to the filthy,
packed-dirt floor. A roar of animal rage escaped his broken mouth,
and he started to come up from the floor.

Angel
let him get up off his knees before he moved again and then he
linked both his hands together and swung them from right to left,
just as if he was holding an axe in them. It was an awful blow and
it hit the cowboy on the side of his face where the jawbone hinges
in front of the ear. Everyone in the place heard the bone go, and
the cowboy screamed in agony, the side of his face suddenly slack
and old. He went down squirming in the wreckage of the table and
Angel stood watching him. Every trace of boyishness was gone from
his stance and the eyes were empty and cold. No one moved for a
moment, then Angel turned and spoke.

‘
It’s
over,’ he said. His chest was splattered with the cowboy’s
blood.

‘
No
it ain’t, sonny!’ someone snarled.

Angel
whirled around.

There
was a Texas cowboy near the bar, his hand curled above the butt of
a six-shooter nestling low on his right hip in a cutaway
holster.

‘
You
got five seconds to say a prayer, pilgrim,’ the cowboy said, ‘And
then I’m gonna shoot your balls off!’

‘
Don’t touch that gun, cowboy!’

Every
head in the place turned towards the voice.

Many
of them knew its nasal tone already, and those who did not
certainly knew its owner. Hickok stood in the doorway, his hands
hooked in the red sash, his forearms holding back the opened frock
coat. The ivory-handled Colts were ready, jutting
forward.

‘
Hickok, this ain’t none o’ your say-so!’ the cowboy said.
‘This is atween me an’ the kid here!’

‘
I’d
normally say you were right,’ Hickok said, his voice level and
unruffled. ‘However, I happen to know the boy isn’t heeled. Which
would make shootin’ him murder, which in turn would make it some o’
my say-so. Now: you still anxious to pull that iron?’

His
eyes narrowed slightly, and he braced his feet slightly apart. For
a long, long moment the cowboy glared at him, his hand poised near
the cutaway holster.

Then,
with an oath, he turned away and put both hands palm down on the
bar. Hickok nodded, and came into the saloon, easing neatly along
the bar with his back to it until he came level with the cowboy. He
lifted the man’s gun from the holster and tossed it to a shorter,
thickset man near the door who wore a badge.

‘
Take
him along, Mike,’ he said.

The
deputy nodded and gestured with the man’s gun, which he cocked
ostentatiously. Hickok heeled back towards the door using that
curious motion which precluded anyone’s getting around in back of
him. He pushed the cowboy in front of him.

‘
Don’t shove me, dammit!’ snarled the cowboy. ‘I ain’t no
whore you can hustle!’

There
was a quick sound of indrawn breath as the man uttered the words.
It was one thing to call a man like Hickok a pimp behind his back,
quite another to do it to his face. Hickok’s face went
white.

‘
You
want to back that up, outside?’ he hissed.

‘
I
ain’t goin’ up against you, Hickok!’ the cowboy shouted. ‘One o’
these days us Texicans’ll get together an’ wipe you
out!’

‘
But
not today,’ Hickok said quietly. Nobody saw his hands move yet
suddenly there was a flash of light as he drew one of the
ivory-handled six-guns and whipped it alongside the cowboy’s head.
The man fell as if pole-axed; and Hickok whirled in one fluid
movement to face the crowded room.

‘
Any
more o’ you Texicans want in on this?’ he said.

He
used the word Texicans like some foul insult.

Nobody moved.

Hickok nodded, and then said to Angel, who was still standing
by the wrecked table, ‘You better get out o’ here,
sonny.’

‘
When
I’m through,’ Angel said doggedly.

Hickok smiled. ‘Come see me,’ he said, and then gestured
brusquely at some of the bystanders. They lifted the two fallen
Texans roughly and carted them out through the doors. When they had
gone a clamor of shouts for drinks, some ribald shouts and jeers
broke loose. No one came near Angel, who sat down in the chair next
to the saloon girl and pulled it close to her.

She
looked at him with wide eyes.

‘
You’re a right one, aren’t you?’ she said, coyly.

‘
Ma’am?’

‘
You
don’t look much more than a baby,’ she cooed. ‘Yet you’re … ’ she
leaned over and squeezed his biceps. ‘Oooh,’ she said.

‘
Listen,’ Angel said. ‘I want to ask you about a man called
Milt.’

‘
Oooh, ducky,’ she giggled. ‘You don’t look the
type.’

A
bottle and glass was plonked on the table by a passing
waiter.

‘
I
don’t — ’ Angel began.

‘ —
you got to buy me a drink, dearie,’ the girl said. ‘House
rules.’

He
shrugged and she poured him a sizable slug of whiskey. He felt her
hand go to his groin and in spite of himself he was aroused. He
pushed her away.

‘
Go
on,’ she said. ‘You know you like it.’

‘
Business first,’ he said, forcing a leer. ‘Fun
later.’

‘
Oooh,’ she said again, ‘you’re a right one, you
are.’

‘
Your
name Rosie Russell?’ Angel asked.

‘
That’s right, dearie. Me professional name,’ she said,
flirting her curls. Her face looked pathetically young beneath the
heavy mask of powder and paint.

‘
You
know a man called Milt?’ he asked. ‘Rode through here maybe five,
six weeks back, with six other guys?’

The
girl put her head back and laughed aloud, a caterwauling gurgle
that had no mirth in it whatsoever.

‘
We
see a thousand cowboys a month in Abilene, dearie,’ she laughed.
‘Who can remember every one that buys a girl a drink?’

‘
He
bought more than a drink, Rosie,’ Angel said. ‘He bought you a hell
of a good time. I’d have thought you remembered anyone who did
that.’

‘
Depends,’ she said, pouting. ‘You surely ain’t doin’
much.’

‘
I
only got ten dollars,’ he lied. ‘If you come up with what I want to
know, it’s yours.’

The
girl’s eyes went instantly calculating. Ten dollars was not a lot
of money but it was better than doing five tricks.

‘
You’re a queer duck an’ no mistake,’ she sighed, nestling her
head against him. Her hand moved urgently beneath the table. ‘Why
don’t we go into one of the side booths an’ … talk?’

Angel
reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pouch. He emptied it
on the table: ten silver dollars.

‘
Take
it,’ he said. ‘Then you’ll quit trying to get me into a deadfall.
Rosie, you’re a pretty girl and I like you, but I got to find this
Milt fellow.’

‘
I
can keep the money?’ she asked. ‘No kidding? The way she said it
touched him: nobody could have ever given her a truthful answer to
that question.

‘
Keep
it,’ he said, pushing the money towards her.

‘
Tell
me about Milt.’

‘
Nothin’ much to tell, really,’ she said, deftly sweeping the
money into the pouch and stuffing it down between her breasts. ‘Him
and his friend Howard.’

‘
Howard? Did he have red hair?’

‘
That’s right, how did you know?’ When Angel didn’t answer,
she went on, ‘Anyways, they came in one night and this Milt made a
big fuss of me, buyin’ champagne, orderin’ the best room in the
place. We had quite a night of it all.’

‘
You
and Milt and Howard?’

‘
Plus
another friend of mine, an older lady who acted as our chaperone,’
Rosie said, demurely.

‘
Did
they say anything at all about themselves, Rosie? Think,’ he urged
her, ‘it’s very important.’

‘
No,’
she said. ‘No, I’d remember if they had. They were heading south,’
she giggled. ‘But they wasn’t in no hurry.’ A wary look crossed her
face. ‘What you asking all these questions for?’

‘
I
have to find Milt,’ he lied. ‘His folks an’ mine are neighbors back
in Missouri. His old man is awful sick and he asked me to see if I
could track him down and get him to head back for
Kearney.’

‘
Oh,
that poor man,’ she said. ‘His daddy must be pretty old, I reckon.’
Angel said nothing, and she went on, ‘Milt bein’ thirty five, I
mean.’

‘
He’s
seventy two,’ Angel said, doing some quick arithmetic.

‘
Poor
Mr. Sharp,’ the girl said. She was silent for a moment, and Angel
started to rise. ‘No, wait,’ the girl said. ‘I’ll tell you. I just
remembered something, about where Milt said they were
heading.’

‘
Tell
me,’ Angel said.

‘
You’re hurting my arm,’ she pointed out mildly. He loosened
his grip. ‘Milt said something about not seeing another woman this
side of the Raton Pass.’

‘
He
said that — Raton Pass?’

She
nodded. ‘They was heading for New Mexico. But I don’t know where —
hey!’ She slapped her leg and turned to a man sitting next to her
at the next table.

‘
How
do you like that — he never even said goodbye!’

‘
Never mind, sis,’ the man grinned. He was a bushy-haired
fellow of perhaps thirty, with the weather-beaten face of an
outdoorsman. ‘You’ll do better talkin’ to me, anyways.’ He put an
arm round her waist and lifted her up, plonking her down on his
lap. She wriggled a little and her cheeks flushed
slightly.

‘
Oooh,’ she said, ‘you’re a right one, aren’t you. What’s your
name, dearie?’

‘
Dick,’ he said.

The
girl’s high-pitched giggle cut through the hubbub of the room and
one or two heads turned. Otherwise nobody took any notice at all.
No more notice was taken of Frank Angel as he pushed through the
batwings and headed up Texas Street towards the marshal’s office on
the corner. It was a makeshift affair of log, the gaps between the
pine horizontals slapped carelessly with white gypsum cement, the
dried bark peeling everywhere. The door was sturdy and heavy, with
no windows.

Inside there was a long room with a desk in the corner —
again, a blind corner with no windows, Angel noticed.

Behind it and across the room floor-to-ceiling bars separated
another area that was the jail. It was austere to the point of
bareness. The desk, a chair, a rifle rack and a small wall cabinet
were the sum total of the furnishing.

Several cowboys were snoring in the cells. Hickok sat at the
desk, smoking a long thin cigar.

‘
Find
out anything, boy?’ Hickok asked.

Angel
nodded. ‘I’d like to get my gun,’ he said.

Hickok got up and unlocked the cabinet, lifting Angel’s Army
Colt and belt out.

‘
l
loaded it up for you,’ he said. Angel looked his
question.

‘
Had
to let that cowboy go on bail, son,’ the Marshal said. ‘He never
did nothing. His friend you beat up on went too. I guess they’re
around town somewhere. Wouldn’t be surprised they were looking for
you. So take my advice — get on your horse and sift some dust. I
don’t want to make a career out of pulling your chestnuts out o’
the fire.’

‘
I
never got the chance to thank you — ’ Angel began.

‘
No
thanks needed, son. Despite what they say about me, I’d as soon
avoid shootin’ a man if it’s possible.’

‘
I’m
obliged,’ Angel said.

‘
Wish
you luck,’ Hickok said. He did not offer his hand, so Angel turned
and went to the door. He went out into the darkening street and
closed it behind him and as he did a voice across the street
shouted ‘OK, pilgrim!’

and
he saw the yellow lance of flame from the muzzle of a six-gun.
Something touched his shoulder and then he was sitting on the
sidewalk, his back hurting where he had smashed against the
roughened bark of the jailhouse wall. He fumbled for the gun at his
hip as he heard footsteps running towards him.