Imposter (12 page)

“Sounds good to me.”

“Let me out of this damn stinkin' crap hole of a jail!” Elsie Simpson squalled.

“Somebody do somethin' with her,” Lonesome hollered. “I'm 'bout to bust I got to go so bad.”

Frank was standing on the boardwalk in front of the jail when Marshal Wright and his posse returned. They were a tired and dejected-looking bunch.

“No good, huh?” Frank asked.

“That woman is as wily as a fox,” Tom said, sitting down at his desk with a sigh of relief. “You seen her brother?”

“No. They provisioned up for several days before they left.”

Back in the cell block, Elsie started cussing.

“My God, that woman has a foul mouth on her,” Tom remarked. “I honestly don't know what's kept Big Ed from shootin' her.”

“Or her from shooting him,” Frank said with a smile.

“There is that to consider,” Tom agreed.

“I rigged up some blankets to give everyone some privacy,” Frank told the marshal.

“I'm sure the men appreciated that more than Elsie did,” Tom said, the sarcasm thick in his tone. “But you know we're not going to be able to hold her. The charges aren't strong enough for that.”

“I know. I don't know if there is anything that would embarrass or shock that woman. How about their other kids? No one ever says anything about them.”

“They were sent back East to school. I think the kids were really glad to leave.”

“Younger or older than Little Ed?”

“Younger. Boy and a girl.”

“Do they ever come home for a visit?”

Tom shook his head “Not to my knowledge.”

Both men looked up as the front door opened and John Whitter stepped into the office. The lawyer got right to the point. “Let's dispense with the greetings and salutations, men, and get right to it. I've been retained to represent Mrs. Simpson and her son.”

“All right,” Tom said. “Duly noted.”

“Has their bond been set?”

“Oh ... you can have Elsie Simpson now, if you want her,” Tom added dryly. “Little Ed's bond is going to have to be set by a judge.”

“Very well,” the lawyer said. “Will you release her now?”

“Sure,” Tom said, glancing at Frank. “You want to do the honors, Frank?”

“Gladly.”

Elsie was jumping up and down angry and cussing when Frank unlocked her cell door and motioned her out into the runaround.

“It's about damn time, you crap head.” She glared at Frank. “I'm going to get you for this. Believe it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank said. “Go on, get out of here.”

“Bastard!” In the main office, she faced John Whitter and said, “I want to sue these two and this damn town, Whitter.”

“We'll talk about that later, Mrs. Simpson. Right now it's important for you to join your husband. He's waiting for you at the hotel.”

“What's he doing over there. Slobbering over your wife?”

John shook his head and sighed. “He's waiting for you, Elsie.”

“Yeah. Right. I'm sure he can't live without me.”

“Elsie!” John said, exasperation in his tone.

“All right, all right, John. I'm leaving.” She looked at Frank. “You and me, gunslinger, we'll meet again.”

“I can hardly wait.”

Elsie stomped out, slamming the door behind her.

“What a delightful woman,” Tom remarked.

“She has her finer points,” John said.

“Name one,” Tom challenged.

John turned away without replying and walked out of the office.

“Nice fellow,” Frank said.

“Salt of the earth, for a fact.”

“Hey!” Little Ed called from his cell, his voice carrying clearly through the open door of the runaround. “What about me?”

“Relax, boy,” Tom yelled. “You're in here for a spell.”

“I want to go home, fatso!”

Tom wearily got up and closed the door, muffling the voice. He glanced at Frank. “You'll see to their supper?”

“I'll take care of it. After I feed Dog.”

Tom smiled at that, nodded his agreement, and walked out the door.

“I'm hungry!” Little Ed yelled. “When do we get something to eat around here?”

Frank fed Dog and then walked back to the hotel. Lara was waiting for him in the lobby. She took his arm and together they went strolling.

“I'm so excited about that opera company coming to town, Frank. I saw the poster on it a few minutes ago. Do you know the arias they'll be performing?”

“Ah, no, I don't.”

Lara rattled off a whole bunch of foreign words that sounded to Frank as if she'd just cleared a frog out of her throat.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“You're funny, Frank,” she said with a laugh, touching his arm.

“I don't know about that. I've been called lots of things in my life, but never funny. I've been told I don't even have a sense of humor.”

“Oh, but you do, Frank. You just hide it very well, that's all.”

Mrs. Hockstedler lumbered past them, rattling the boardwalk with each footfall, refusing to speak to the couple. She instead averted her eyes, turned up her nose.

“I tell you what, if anyone ever told that woman to haul her butt, she'd have to make two trips,” Frank said.

That broke Lara up. She started giggling, and continued laughing until they reached the end of the block. Wiping her eyes with a dainty handkerchief, she said, “You see what I mean about your sense of humor, Frank?”

“I was just stating a fact, Lara. Let's go over to O'Malley's. He has a suit I want to get.”

At O'Malley's, Lara fingered the material for a moment. “Yes. This is quality, Frank. I bet you'll look nice in it.”

Several woman shoppers in the general store were eyeing Frank and Lara, but not doing so in an unfriendly or malicious manner.

“I'll need a couple of shirts,” Frank told Jack O'Malley. “One white and one black. And a couple of bandannas.”

“Make one of them red,” Lara told the store owner. “And you'll be dressed to the nines, Frank.”

“Of course, Miss Lara.” Jack said. “No problem at all.” He moved away with Frank's purchases.

“The fashionable gunfighter,” Frank said with a smile. “That's me.”

Lara's smile faded. “If I have anything to say about it, Frank, ”your gunfighter days will soon be a thing of the past.“

“That would truly be a wonderful thing, Lara. But don't count on it.”

“Why not? Wouldn't you like that?”

“Of course I'd like it. I've thought about it many times. But a man can't run away from his past. Not ever. Not really. It will almost always rear up and slap him in the face at the most unexpected of times.”

“You've seen that happen before?”

“Several times. To friends of mine who tried to quit the business. Two of them were killed because they refused to wear a gun anymore. That won't ever happen to me, Lara. I won't let it happen.”

She studied his face for a few seconds, then smiled. “Don't ever say never, Frank. Besides, I have time to work on you.”

Frank returned the smile, then together they walked to the store counter, where Frank paid for his purchases.

Outside on the boardwalk, Frank said, “Did I forget to tell you that your husband is representing Elsie Simpson? He got her out of jail about an hour ago.”

“That doesn't surprise me one little bit. They've been, ah, seeing each other for several years.
Seeing
each other is, of course, the nice way of putting it.” She said it all as unemotionally as if asking someone to pass the salt.

“John and Elsie?”

“Oh, yes. And any other female he could lure into bed. Elsie, so I'm told, likes to be roughed up. And I can assure you, she gives about as well as she gets. I've seen the bruises on John. John and Elsie are a perfect match. Both of them are twisted.”

“Good Lord!”

She touched his arm. “Poor Frank. As worldly as you are, things can still shock you, can't they?”

“I reckon so. I'm a simple man, Lara. I don't like complicated things. I guess I see most things in black and white.”

“But most matters aren't in black and white.”

“Unfortunately, that's true.” He smiled. “I guess that's why I keep getting into trouble.”

* * *

Frank was eating supper at the Blue Bird Café when the single shot echoed up and down Main Street. He stepped out onto the boardwalk and stood for a moment, listening. No more shots came and no one came running up the street. Frank had no idea where the single shot had originated. He went back inside and finished his slab of apple pie and coffee.

Just as he was rolling a cigarette, someone shouted, “It's Marshal Tom. Come quick, somebody. He's been shot.”

Frank ran to the office and shoved his way through the crowd into the office. Doc Evans was kneeling down, bent over Tom, who was sprawled on the floor, the side of his head covered in blood. The doctor looked up at Frank. “He'll be all right, Frank. The bullet just grazed his head and took off a tiny bit of one ear. But he'll have a whopping big headache when he wakes up.”

Frank looked into the runaround. Little Ed and the other ES hands were gone. Frank muttered a few very profane words.

“I figure someone slipped Ed a gun,” Doc Evans said. “From the blood trail, Tom was shot in the cell area, then managed to crawl out here before he collapsed.” He looked up at the crowd that had pushed into the office. “Some of you men get Tom over to my office. I've got to clean up this head wound.”

“I'm heading out after Little Ed,” Frank said. He looked at Jack O'Malley. “Jack, you pick a few good men and take care of things here in town while I'm gone. I'll be over at your store as soon as I get saddled up for a couple days' provisions.”

“I'll have them ready for you, Frank. Including a little coffeepot. Don't worry about the town.”

“Thanks.”

In the livery, as soon as Frank lifted his saddle, Dog began running in circles, barking. He was ready to hit the trail.

Frank reined up in front of the general store and Jack handed him a burlap bag. “Bacon and fresh-baked bread and some beans and a skillet and small pot, Frank. Good hunting.”

Frank headed out of town, toward the Simpson spread. Little Ed would head for home range, he was sure of that... if for no other reason than to pick up some money and supplies and a fresh horse. Frank did not bother to check for any sign behind the jail. He had no way of knowing where the horses used in the break had been tied, and even should he pick up any usable sign, he had no way of knowing what rider was on any given horse.

He headed straight for the Simpson range.

It was an easy hour's ride to the Simpsons' main house. Frank paid very little attention to the startled looks he received from the hands lounging about. He swung down from the saddle, walked onto the front porch, and knocked on the front door. The ES hands began gathering around behind him, in the front yard.

Big Ed himself jerked open the door, and for a few seconds the two men stood glaring at one another. Big Ed found his voice. “What do you want, Morgan?”

“Your son, Simpson, Little Ed. Where is he?”

“He's in your jail, you bastard! What are you talkin' about?”

Frank told him, sparing no detail. Elsie had walked up, to stand behind her husband.

“Shot Tom?” Big Ed finally said. “Little Ed shot Tom? No way, Morgan! He's dumb, but he's not that dumb!”

“Yes, he is,” Elsie declared. “He can be as dumb as a sack of rocks. He takes after you in that respect.”

“Shut up!” Ed told her.

Frank raised his voice. “Where is he?”

“We don't know, Morgan,” Big Ed said. “And that's the truth. He didn't come here.” He paused and looked out at his hands in the front yard. “At least I don't think he did. Come on, Morgan. Walk with me.”

The two men, Elsie trailing along, walked to the barn. There, the trio looked at three hard-ridden and put-up wet horses in stalls.

“Goddamnit!” Big Ed said. “Miller, Bradey! Get in here and rub these horses down. Come on, Morgan.”

Outside, Big Ed faced his hands. “When was my son and Vic and Jud here? Answer me, goddamnit!”

“Thirty, forty-five minutes ago, Big Ed,” an ES hand said. “They swapped horses and told us not to say nothin' to you about it. So we didn't.”

“Did they tell you what had happened in town?”

“Just that they broke jail and was on the run.”

“One of them shot Marshal Tom,” Big Ed said tersely.

“Oh, hell,” a hand muttered.

“Which way'd they head out?” Ed asked. “And I want the truth.”

“South,” the hand said. “Little Ed said they was gonna try to make the Wilderness and hold up there till you could get them out of this mess.”

“Dumb,” Big Ed muttered. “Just plain stupid.”

“Just like you,” Elsie said.

With a visible effort, Big Ed ignored his wife's comments. “They get in the Wilderness, Morgan, you won't get them out.”

“Oh, I'll bring them back, Ed,” Frank assured him. “Sitting a saddle or belly-down across it. But I'll bring them back.”

Elsie and Big Ed exchanged worried looks, Elsie saying, “We could have bought off that damn judge. But shooting Marshal Tom”—she shook her head—“that's bad news.” She looked at Frank. “I got a big mouth, Morgan, and a dirty one, I know. But I wouldn't have really put lead in you or Marshal Tom. I might have
wanted
to ... but I wouldn't have. On the other hand”—she jerked a thumb toward her husband—“stupid here, well, that's another story. He probably would have shot you.”