Killer's Draw: The Circuit Rider (19 page)

EPISODE SIX

Tower closed his eyes.

There were just too many thoughts, too many angles, to what
may or may not have happened to keep organized.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Bird looking at him.

“That’s some serious thinking you’re doing,” she said. She
hefted a bottle of whiskey, and he watched with morbid fascination as her
throat pulsated with the effort of imbibing.

The woman could drink; no doubt about that.

His mind went back to the papers that Roger Jeffire had
given him. He wished he still had them, and that he could remember the name of
the prostitute mentioned in the article. There was something about that name that
wouldn’t leave him alone. It was tormenting him.

“What are you thinking about, specifically?” Bird asked. “And
how much longer are we going to stay in this place?”

She gestured vaguely around the room, but he knew she meant
Harlan’s Crossing. Bird was anxious to get back to Big River and finish things
once and for all.

“I’m thinking Roger Jeffire had a good idea what happened,
and I wish we had gotten more of the story. But it’s too late now.”

“Too late for him, too,” Bird said. “Well, I’m packed and
loaded, ready to go.”

“I’m not,” Tower said. He was still in pain from the damage
to his ribs, and even simple tasks like gathering his meager belongings took
three times longer than normal. The good thing was, the pain had lessened
somewhat and when he had looked in the mirror this morning, the bruising was
much less noticeable. Not that he cared too much about how he looked. But he
had a feeling things were going to happen fast, and he wanted his body to be
able to respond.

“Maybe it’s not too late for Jeffire,” he said.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Bird asked. “He’s
dead.”

“I mean that if we can take what he had started, we might be
able to finish the story for him, by finding out, finally, what really
happened.”

“Tell me again what you read in that newspaper story,” Bird
said. She drank more whiskey and cocked her head at Tower.

“The article was about a prostitute in Baltimore who had
been arrested for running a brothel and that she had been put in jail. And then
there was a second article that said she disappeared. I can’t remember if she
escaped, or was released. In any event, it made it sound like she was long gone.
As in, good riddance.”

Bird considered for a moment. “So, obviously, Jeffire
figured she came to Big River,” she said. “Maybe set up a new brothel out here.
The town has been booming with cattle and cowboys for years. Perfect place to
peddle some flesh. I wonder if she changed her name. Those ladies have as many
names as they do tricks in the bedroom.”

Tower nodded.

“I wasn’t sure if the article had anything to do,
necessarily, with Bertram Egans’ murder. After all, the papers were separate,
and Jeffire didn’t tell me anything. But when our friend here, Mr. Putti,
mentioned a woman, well, it just made me think.”

Bird leaned back in the chair and rested her head against
the wall.

“Let me put this all together,” she said. “So our prostitute
gets into trouble with the law in Baltimore and heads west. She lands in Big
River, sets up a brothel, and promptly runs afoul of this vigilante group, the
Rectifiers, that our friend just told us about.”

“No way to prove it,” Tower said. “But as far as theories
go, it makes a certain kind of sense.”

“The woman,” Bird said. “Putti said one of the last people
executed by these vigilantes was a woman. Supposedly, they said she was a
cattle thief. But maybe she wasn’t a cattle thief at all. Maybe she was a
prostitute they were running out of town.”

Tower began putting his things into his bag, the bible going
in last. “Maybe. But we’re assuming this woman continued being a madam. But I
know a lot of women who plied their trade back East, come out here to do the
same thing and quickly find a lonely cowboy who wants to make an honest woman
out of her. They get married and start a ranch. Not as likely, but I could see
it happening.”

“That doesn’t make sense, though,” Bird said. “The
Rectifiers killed her because she started a ranch?”

“I don’t know. It sounds like the Rectifiers didn’t always need
a good reason to take the law into their own hands.”

“Which brings us back to Bertram Egans.” Bird leaned
forward, uncorked the bottle, and drank.

“I can’t prove Jeffire thought the two were linked. I’m just
guessing.”

“I’d like to catch one of these Rectifiers,” Bird said. “Most
vigilantes I’ve known are cowards. The men who stand up in church and sing the
loudest.”

She looked at Tower. “Don’t mean to insult the church.”

Tower smiled. “No, I know what you mean. No shortage of
folks who love to come and pray for forgiveness then run right out and do
whatever they damn well please.”

“Well, according to Putti, the Rectifiers operated mostly
out of Big River,” Tower continued. “And we both know that nothing happens in
Big River without the approval of one Joseph Parker.”

Bird nodded. “I’ll grant you that. But that just creates a
hell of a lot more questions. Like if the Rectifiers are somehow behind all of
this, and the bodies at Killer’s Draw seem to indicate that—”

“Or that’s what someone wants us to think,” Tower offered.

“Parker would have to be in cahoots with the Rectifiers,”
Bird continued. “So then, why was his wife killed? And if you think he is the P
in the note we found on Downwind Dave, ordering the killing of Verhooven, why
did he do that?”

Tower finished wrapping up his back and got up from the bed,
stifling a groan as his ribs screamed in protest.

“I don’t have the answers, Bird, but I suspect we’ll find
them in Big River.”

They rode into a ghost town.

Bird had never seen Big River with so few people out and
about. Even the cattle yards seemed quiet.

“I’m going to the hotel to see if any of my belongings
survived,” Tower said. “I don’t think there’s much of a chance, but it’s worth
a look. Once I take a look, we should head over to the club. That’s probably
where everyone is, anyway.”

“You do that, Mr. Tower,” Bird said. “I’m going to go over
to the saloon and see if there’s any whiskey left. If there is, I’m going to
restock my supply,” Bird said.

They parted ways, and Bird rode directly to the saloon in
the center of town. It was the first time she had ever seen the watering hole without
even a single horse tied at the hitching post. She had a brief moment of panic
where she wondered if there would even be a bartender on duty. That would be a
disaster. Then again, she thought, it might mean that everything behind the bar
was free.

She tied the Appaloosa to the hitching post while it drank
deeply from the water trough. “I’m about to do the same thing, girl,” Bird said.
She went into the saloon and saw two old cowboys at a far table and a bartender
behind the bar; other than those three patrons, the place was empty.

Bird went to the bar. “A glass of whiskey and two bottles. One
open. One for the trail. The good stuff. I don’t care how much it costs.”

“Isn’t it all good?” the bartender asked. He was a
middle-aged man with a head of thinning red hair and a bright-red bulbous nose.
Bird pegged him as a former drinker. Probably got too fond of his own inventory.

“That’s what I always thought,” she answered. “Come to find
out it isn’t exactly true.”

The barman reached under the bar and came out with two
bottles and a glass. He opened one, splashed the glass full of whiskey, and set
the other bottle in front of Bird. She counted out her money, laid it down,
then tossed back the whiskey with purpose.

It was smooth and smoky, and it warmed without burning. This
was definitely the good stuff, she thought as she poured herself another. Her
stomach wouldn’t be spitting out this stuff. She wouldn’t let it after paying
that much.

“So, where the hell is everyone?” Bird asked the bartender,
who had already turned his back on her to dry some glasses that couldn’t
possibly have been used recently.

He answered without turning to face her. “I heard tell there
was some big meeting with the men from the club.”

“Are they there?”

He set down the glass he was polishing and walked back to
Bird. He shot a glance over at the old cowboys who weren’t paying them any
attention, then looked at her directly.

“Bartenders love to give advice,” he said. “So, even though
you didn’t ask for any, I’m going to give you some.”

“I love advice—it helps me know what not to do,” Bird said.

“I know you’re Bird Hitchcock and you can handle those guns
of yours,” he admitted, glancing down at the pistols tied down to each of her
thighs. “But whatever business those men are engaged in, I would just leave
them be if I were you.”

“Well, you aren’t me, that’s for damn sure. Otherwise you’d
be drinking, not serving.”

“They don’t care to be trifled with. Especially now. You
ride out there and stick your nose in, it might be the last thing you ever do.”

Bird smiled.

“You might know who I am. But you clearly don’t know what I
can and will do.”

She grabbed the bottles.

“Now, I’ve got to go find that goddamned preacher.”

Tower wasn’t surprised to find his room empty and his few
belongings in a closet behind the hotel’s front desk.

“This is all that was in there when we cleaned it out,” the
clerk said. She was a dour woman wearing a dark-blue dress and a tired
expression. She handed Tower a bag that held some clothes.

“Policy is to clean out the room if it hasn’t been paid for.
Did it myself and that’s all there was.”

Tower could tell she wasn’t telling the whole truth, but it
was also clear that she looked somewhat guilty and ashamed, so he just took the
bag and looked inside. Just his clothes. Everything else, including the
paperwork from Martha Jeffire, was gone.

“We’ve all got to follow the rules, don’t we?” he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders.

He left the hotel, put his belongings in his saddlebags, and
rode to the saloon. Bird was just walking out with a bottle of whiskey in her
hand.

“How long have you been out here?” she asked, as she untied
the Appaloosa and climbed up.

“Long enough to appreciate the peace and quiet,” he answered.
“I don’t think it’s going to last very long.

They turned their horses and headed down the street toward
the Big River Club.

“Find anything at the hotel?” Bird asked.

Tower shook his head. “Everything was gone. I’m guessing
once those lawyer brothers surprised you and got word that you had actually
left town, they went right into my room and cleaned everything out.”

“I sure do hope we run into those boys,” Bird said. “It’s
been too long since I’ve shot a lawyer.”

“Did you find out anything at the saloon?” Tower asked. “Was
there even anyone in there?”

“Unfortunately, there was, otherwise I could have just
helped myself to their beverages and saved myself someone money.” She glanced
over at him. “You want to know what was free, though? Advice. The helpful
barkeep recommended I leave the men of Big River alone while they handled whatever
it is they’re apparently trying to resolve.”

“What did you say to that recommendation?”

“Let’s just say I let him live. I don’t kill a bartender
unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

They approached the club, and the streets were still
strangely absent of people. Across the way, all of the rocking chairs on the
boardinghouse’s porch were empty.

“This is so strange,” he said to Bird. “I get the feeling
everyone is hunkered down behind their doors, rifles at the ready, waiting for
the bullets to start crashing through the windows.”

“I tell you what, I like the town a lot more this way,” Bird
said. “The fewer people, the better this place is.”

“That sounds antisocial,” Tower said.

“As long as there are horses and whiskey, I’m fine,” Bird
said. “What I don’t need are a bunch of lying, sneaky, scared folks too
cowardly to do what needs to be done.”

They arrived at the Big River Club and again, no sign of
people, horses, or activity at all.

Tower climbed off his horse, climbed the stairs, and pulled
on the front door. It was locked.

“They’re closed?” Bird asked. “Why am I not surprised? Probably
the first time in the history of this wonderful community.”

Tower looked around.

“Let’s try the Cattlemen's Association.”

They walked their horses over to the WCA, found another
closed front door, and knocked.

Tower stepped back as the door swung inward and the face of
the same woman who’d greeted Tower previously now appeared. When she saw him,
and remembered his questioning of Joseph Parker, the half-smile on her face
faltered.

“I’m sorry, sir, we’re closed today,” she said, and began to
shut the door.

“Is this some kind of holiday no one told us about?” Bird,
still on her horse in the street, asked. “You know, The Big River Run Away and
Hide Festival?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” the woman said.

“Well, I have some information Mr. Parker would deem to be
very, very important,” Tower said. “Do you know where he is?”

The woman contemplated which avenue of action would bring
her the least recriminations.

“Mr. Parker would be very upset if he finds out you
prevented him from getting this information,” Tower added. “Very upset.”

The woman’s decision came quickly. “He’s most likely at his
ranch but I would strongly urge you not to bother him. He and some other men
are having a very important meeting. They don’t wish to be interrupted.”

Tower turned to Bird.

“We’re pretty important people, too, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are,” Bird said. “Hell, you talk to God all
the time. How much more important can a person be?”