Imposter (6 page)

“People are going to talk about this, Lara,” Frank cautioned her.

“Let them. I'm used to people talking about me.”

“Oh?”

“We'll discuss that some other time.”

“As you wish.”

“What the hell is that?” a man shouted, pointing down the main street.

Frank and Lara turned to look. Frank sighed.

“Is that a woman riding that mule astride?” Lara asked.

“Yes,” Frank replied. “And she's carrying a shotgun.”

“She looks like a . . . well . . . a witch.”

“Close enough,” Frank said. “That's Alberta Davis. From a little town called Deweyville.”

“What in the world is she doing here?”

Alberta was drawing closer.

“Looking for Val Dooley, I imagine.”

“Why?”

“She's sweet on him.”

“Val Dooley is sweet on that . . . pathetic-looking person?” Lara asked. “You can't be serious!”

“No, Lara.
She
is sweet on
him.”

“How do you know all that?”

“It's a long story, believe me.”

Lara stepped closer to him. “You simply must tell me all about it sometime.”

Before Frank could reply, Alberta yelled. “I see you, Val Dooley!”

“She thinks I'm Val Dooley,” Frank said.

“Oh?”

“Val Dooley, you whoor-chasing no-good!”

“Did that woman just call me a whore?” Lara asked. “The nerve of her! How dare she!”

“I don't believe she was specifically referring to you, Lara.”

“I'll give that skinny trollop a piece of my mind!”

Alberta leveled the old repeat shotgun and yelled, “You'll pay for toying with my affections, Val Dooley!”

“I'm not Val Dooley, damnit!” Frank hollered.

“How dare you curse me!” Alberta yelled.

“I believe that woman is going to fire that weapon,” Lara said.

“I hope not,” Frank replied.

“I waited for you, Val!” Alberta yelled. “I waited and waited and you left me in the lurch, you sorry piece of white trash!”

“Now you hold on, Alberta,” Frank yelled. “I tell you I am not Val Dooley. I just look a lot like him.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” Alberta hollered. She put her heels to the mule and the mule started running.

“Oh, hell!” Frank said.

Just an instant before the shotgun boomed, Frank grabbed Lara and jumped into the door of the barbershop.

Lara screamed, Alberta cussed, the shotgun boomed, and the barber hollered and hit the floor as the shop window was shattered by buckshot.

Alberta whooped and hollered and put the mule into a run. She galloped past the barbershop and the shotgun boomed again. The buckshot hit the striped barber pole and started it spinning and squeaking.

“What the hell is going on?” the barber yelled from his position on the floor. “Who is that crazy woman?”

“Alberta Davis,” Frank told him, speaking from his position on the floor. “Her brother is the sheriff over in Deweyville.”

“Woman called me a whore,” Lara said, pressing against Frank.

Frank was having a difficult time concentrating with Lara close against him and the scent of her perfume in his head.

“Well, her brother damn sure better come get her before somebody puts some lead in her!” the barber said.

The shotgun boomed again just as Frank was getting to his knees to look out the window. The buckshot tore off the hanging sign in front of the Boots and Saddle Shop and sent the owner scrambling for cover.

“Good Jesus Christ!” the saddle maker hollered. “What's the matter with that woman?”

Marshal Tom Wright came running out of O'Malley's General Store, and Alberta spotted him and swung the shotgun to bear.

“Now you see here, lady!” Tom called from the edge of the boardwalk. “We'll have none of that in this town. I won't tolerate such nonsense. Now, you put down that shotgun and dismount that animal.”

Alberta pulled the trigger. The shot whistled past Tom and blew out one of O'Malley's storefront windows.

“Whooo! Whoooo!” Tom did a pretty fair imitation of a train whistle and took off. For a fat man, he could move along very well. Smartly, as the British would say. Tom hauled his butt back into O'Malley's. “You're a menace, woman!” Tom shouted from the doorway.

Alberta said a few very profane words to Tom, about where he could shove his remarks . . . sideways, and then turned her mule toward the barbershop.

“Is that crazy female coming over here?” the barber asked.

“Looks like it,” Frank told him.

“Well, do something, Deputy!”

“You want me to shoot her?”

“Well . . . no, not really. But can't you talk to her?”

“I'll try.” Frank stood up. “Alberta. It's me, Frank Morgan.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” Alberta shrieked. “You're my Val, that's who you are.”

“I am not Val Dooley, Alberta,” Frank called. “And I can prove it.”

“Never! Never! You're my Val, and if I can't have you, no one will.” Alberta put her heels to the mule's side and loped away. She was out of sight a moment later.

The people on Main Street who had taken cover when Alberta opened fire slowly made their way out of stores and alleys onto the boardwalk, shaken but unhurt.

Marshal Wright stepped out of O'Malley's and cautiously looked all around him, just as Frank and Lara came out of the barbershop. “Frank, do you know that woman?” Tom called.

“Her brother is the sheriff over at Deweyville,” Frank called across the street. “Davis is his name.”

Tom nodded his head. “That's Val Dooley's hometown.”

Frank turned to Lara. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” she replied, brushing at her fashionable dress. Then she smiled. “That was quite an experience, Frank.”

“Do you want me to see you home?”

She shook her head. “I've changed my mind. I believe I'll do some shopping. But thank you for saving my life. I'll think of some way to repay you.”

“No need for that.”

She touched his arm. “Oh, but I insist. I'll give it some thought.”

Frank walked her slowly sashay away. Quite a woman, he thought. He pulled his eyes from Lara's retreating figure as Tom stepped up onto the boardwalk.

“I'm going to get a posse together and try to catch that crazy woman, Frank. Take care of things here in town.”

“All right, Tom. Be careful. Alberta is . . . unbalanced.”

“That ain't exactly the word I'd use, but I reckon it'll do.” The marshal walked away, heading for the livery.

Frank walked to the Blue Bird Café for a cup of coffee. The place was filled with locals and there was no place to sit. He strolled over to the jail, stoked up the stove, and made a pot. While the water was boiling, he checked on Little Ed.

“What the hell was all that shooting?” Little Ed asked.

“A crazy woman. You want a cup of coffee?”

“I want to get out of here!”

“I'll cut you loose as soon as your father shows up and posts bail for both of you.”

Little Ed cussed him. “You're a dead man, Morgan. I'm gonna spit on your grave. My pa will kill you for this.”

“I'll ask again. Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“Hell with you!”

“Suit yourself.”

Frank walked out and closed the door. He had a cup of coffee and a smoke, and then stood by the window and watched as Marshal Wright rode out with the hastily formed posse. He doubted they would find Alberta, for the area around the town was hilly and thickly wooded. Her behavior notwithstanding, Alberta was no fool . . . except when it came to Val Dooley, that is. And Frank didn't know what in the world he was going to do about that mix-up.

Frank loafed around the office for an hour, looking at old wanted dodgers, studying the town's list of fines for various offenses, straightening up the place, and drinking coffee.

Then Frank walked over to Doc Evans to check on Big Ed. Doc Evans waved him in and said, “I've got Ed up and walking. He's all yours, if you want him.”

“I'll walk him over to the jail and he can pay his fine and get out of this town.”

“You've made a really bad enemy, Frank. I hope you know that.”

“I've got more enemies than I have friends, Doc. Don't worry about it.”

“I watched that shotgun-toting crazy woman on the mule.” He smiled. “Friend of yours, Frank?”

Frank returned the smile. “Not hardly. She thinks I'm Val Dooley and she's in love with him.”

The doctor frowned. “I can't imagine why. If there ever was a man who needed hanging, it's Val.”

“So I'm told. He's done some despicable things, the way I hear it.”

“Well . . . raping, looting, killing. Genghis Khan didn't have a thing on Val.”

“I've read about that Khan fellow. He was a bad one for a fact.”

Doc Evans looked surprised. “You've read about the Mongol conqueror? That's very interesting, Frank. You like to read?”

“Oh, yes. I always carry books with me.”

“Interesting,” the doctor replied, looking at Frank. “Certainly changes my perception of you, Frank.”

“Oh?”

The doctor waved a hand. “It isn't important.” He pushed back his swivel office chair. “You ready for Big Ed?”

“Let's do it.”

Big Ed was sitting on the side of the bed. He glared at Frank but kept his mouth shut . . . at least for the moment.

Frank waved him to his feet. “Let's go, Ed. You can pay your fine and the one for your boy and be on your way.”

“I ain't paying no damn fine, Morgan.”

“Then you can post a bond and still be on your way. When the judge gets here, you can settle up with him.”

“All right. I can do that.” Big Ed got slowly to his feet. “You banged me up pretty good, Morgan. I won't forget it.”

“That's up to you.”

“We'll even up matters, you can count on that.”

“Keep running that mouth, Ed. You're talking yourself right into a jail cell.”

Big Ed opened his mouth to speak, and Doc Evans shushed him. “You're only making matters worse, Ed. So shut up, will you?”

Ed gave the doctor a dirty look, but closed his mouth.

“Let's go, Ed,” Frank told him.

Ed nodded his head and opened the door, stepping out onto the boardwalk, Frank right behind him.

“How is my boy, Morgan?”

“Just like you, Ed.”

“Huh? What'd you mean by that?”

“He's got a big mouth and thinks he's tough.”

Ed cussed Frank

“Move!” Frank said.

Frank let Little Ed out of his cell and handed him a mop and a broom. “What the hell's that for?” Little Ed asked.

“For you to clean up the mess you made of your breakfast.”

“I ain't mopping no damn floor! Hell with you, Morgan!”

Frank pushed him back into his cell and slammed the barred cell door. “Then you'll stay in there until you decide to clean it up.”

“Pa!” Little Ed hollered.

“Clean it up, boy,” Big Ed said sourly.

“You mean that, Pa?”

“I said it, didn't I? Now damnit, clean the mess up and let's get out of here.”

Frank unlocked the cell door and pointed to a bucket of water in the runaround area. “Get busy, boy.”

“I'm gonna get you for this, Morgan!” Little Ed said.

“I keep hearing that. Over and over. Can't you two think of anything else to say?”

Big Ed and Little Ed glowered at him and remained silent.

Frank motioned Big Ed into the office and told him how much the bond would be. The rancher tossed some money on the desk and Frank wrote him out a receipt.

“Are we free to go,
Deputy?”
Big Ed sneered the words at him.

Frank smiled at him. “Any more grease on those words and you'd have to get a bucket for the overflow.”

“A lousy damn gunslick totin' a badge,” Big Ed said. “I never heard of such.”

“You
were a fast gun, Ed,” Frank said softly.

Big Ed clenched his teeth and balled his fists. “Prove it!” he growled.

Frank shrugged his shoulders. “It's nothing to me. As a matter of fact, I envy you for walking away from it. I'm not going to tell anyone.”

“You can't prove a damn thing, Morgan. It's dead and buried.”

“Good. I'm glad for you. And I mean that.”

Big Ed stared at him for a moment; then his expression softened and he sat down in a chair beside the desk. “I got out in time, Morgan.” He spoke the words quietly, so his son could not hear. “You never will. It's too late for you.”

“I know it.”

“Someday somebody will come along that's faster than you, and it'll be over.”

“I know that too.”

“That someone just might be me.”

“I doubt it, Ed.”

“Johnny Vargas might be the man.”

“He's fast, for a fact.”

“I'm ready, Pa,” Little Ed shouted from the runaround. “I done cleaned up this crap.”

Big Ed stood up. “Come on,” he called. Then he looked down at Frank. “You and me, Drifter. We'll meet again.”

“Probably. But the next time, only one of us will walk away from it.”

Big Ed snorted his contempt and he and his son stalked out the front door.