Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6 (3 page)
"That was just talk," Bob said.
"I wouldn't have let them take you and do this to you.
Never."
"I know, Bob.
That's why I'm coming to bust you out.
All I need you to do is be patient.
You think I'd forget my partner?"
Gentleman Jim smiled at Bob kindly enough to melt butter and then he was gone, vanishing into the grey stone walls of the dark cell.
Bob waited, keeping the flame of hope in his heart.
Relying on the words from his guardian angel.
Always faithful.
Always patient.
And then things got nasty.
***
There were no windows inside the facility.
No sun.
No sky.
The only indication of time passing was the bright fluorescent lights that went on and off intermittently.
Bob lost track of time.
He lost track of himself.
One day a guard opened his cell door and said, “Come on Ford, you got a visitor.”
“Who is it?” Bob said.
“Like I give a damn?”
Bob slid off his bunk and followed the guard, keeping his eyes down in the hallways.
He ignored the men who sprang forward against their celldoors.
“Got some visitors, piss pants?”
“You and the screw going on a date, Bob?”
“Time for some privacy with your boyfriend, pissy?”
“I bet his wife’s come see him.
Send her in here, boy.
She don’t want you.
I’ll take good care of her.”
The guard used one of the dozen heavy iron keys on his belt to unlock the block’s door.
He held it open and Bob said, “Thank you kindly, sir.”
The guard just shook his head and said, “They’re down here in the office.”
Bob saw a man sitting inside, tapping his fingers on the desk impatiently.
The guard closed the door behind him and Bob sat down without speaking.
“How you doing today, Mr. Ford?”
Bob said nothing.
“You want some food?
A smoke maybe?”
Bob did not speak.
The man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a short cigar.
He puffed it a few times before he could get it to light and he said, “My name is Johnny Saringo.
I spent a good deal of time looking for you up until you wound up here.”
“Why were you looking for me?”
“Because that’s what I do, Bob.
I look for outlaws like yourself and bring them to justice.
For a fee.”
“You’re a bounty hunter?”
Bob thought for a moment, “There was a reward for my arrest?”
“That’s right,” Saringo said.
He could see satisfaction and pride spreading across the boy’s face like a crop fire.
Of course, there was no reward.
Just tactics.
“Guard told us you been having it kind of rough in here.
Some kind of incident in the showers.”
Bob flinched but did not look up.
“Did you come here to press me for details about my troubles or is there something specific you need?”
“Well, since you asked.
I came to make you an offer.
It’s a one-time thing and if you decline, you’ll do the rest of your time here on this rock.
No parole.
No minimum time served.”
Bob looked up at him.
“I’m supposed to do nine years.”
“Is that right?
That’s a long time to be caged up with these animals, Bob.
A whole lot of showers.”
“So what do I have to do?”
Saringo smiled and said, “Something you won’t mind very much.
I want you to help me capture and kill your old friend Gentleman Jim.”
Whiskey Pete Phillips had a busted lip and a swollen eye, but he could see the woman come out of Sheriff Sam Clayton’s house just fine.
He sunk down into the tall wheat grass and watched her carry a little girl down the steps, heading for the road.
The child was bawling, loud enough to make the valley echo.
Betsy Clayton patted her young daughter on the back and told her everything was going to be okay.
The little girl’s body was unbearably hot, like she had stuffed her clothes with scalding coals and she responded by shrieking into Betsy’s ear.
The Halladay’s house was only a few hundred yards away and even if Royce wasn’t home, surely his wife would know what to do.
At the very least, Katey Halladay could stick Claire in a cold bath while Betsy ran into town to fetch her husband.
Betsy heard a branch snap in the distance and turned to see a ruggedly-built, ugly looking man coming toward her.
Claire kept screaming.
Betsy glanced back at the man and quickened her pace.
Phillips smiled cruelly at her.
Black gums and teeth caked with sweetweed.
“Where you goin’ in such a hurry?” he called out.
Claire grabbed handfuls of Betsy’s blonde hair and stuck wet fingers into her face, blocking her line of sight.
Betsy yanked her head away looking for something to help her, anything, but there was nothing except tall reeds and the looming mountains.
The Halladay house was a small speck on the horizon, lined by an unkempt white fence and dead grass.
It looked like no one was even home.
“Katey!” Betsy shouted.
“Katey Halladay!”
No answer.
The wind carried the man’s stench, something like sour whiskey mash and flop sweat.
“I come to talk to you about your husband,” Phillips said.
“Doc!” Betsy cried.
“Listen, I got a sick baby and don't have time to discuss anything right now.”
The baby cried loud enough to make Betsy’s eyes flutter and she could hear the man’s footsteps getting closer, his labored breathing was close enough that it was like he was hissing in her ear.
“Put that kid down so you and me can parlay a bit, woman.”
“Leave us alone!” Betsy hollered.
Her guts were torn inside, still not fully healed from delivering Claire so many months ago.
It killed her to run.
Phillips finally grabbed her by the back of the collar and said, “Put that little squaller down before I swat her.”
Betsy’s legs went rigid.
She could not breathe.
Could not blink.
Her mind barely registered what was happening.
She looked down at the grass around her and saw a flat, dry space.
That’s where Claire will have to lay, she thought.
And that’s where I will be raped and murdered.
She said the only thing that came to mind, only able to force the words out in a whisper.
“My husband,” was all she could say.
“Oh yeah.
We gon' talk all about him,” Phillips said.
"Put her down."
Betsy’s legs wobbled as she bent down to lay Claire in the grass.
She smoothed down the grass with her hand as the child screamed and tried to cling to her.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Betsy mumbled again and again.
No it isn’t, she thought.
She looked up again at the Halladay’s front porch.
Close enough to make out the details of the modest home.
Too far away to try running for.
Betsy swallowed and glared back at the man, “Don’t you even think about laying a finger on this baby.
I will claw out your eyes.”
“What I do and don’t do is up to me,” Phillips said.
“But you certainly can influence the situation.”
He smiled at her and reached for the belt around his waist, pausing at the sound of something moving through the reeds nearby.
A child's voice called out, “Mama?
Where you at? Is that Claire screaming?”
Betsy’s eyes widened and she shot to her feet, “Jem!”
The boy came through the grass, caked with mud, carrying a rusted chain with two fish dangling from it.
He looked at his mother in confusion and then back at Whiskey Pete Phillips.
“Hello, mister,” Jem said.
Phillips glared at him, then pointed at Betsy, “Give the baby to this one and send him home.”
Jem looked back at his mother, “What’s going on?”
Betsy’s hands were shaking uncontrollably as she picked Claire up from the ground.
“Take her to Miss Katey.
Run!”
His mother’s eyes were wide enough to show him the white edges surrounding them on all sides.
Jem stepped away from her and turned to the man, “Who are you, mister?”
Pete Phillips lurched forward and grabbed Betsy by the arm, “I’m getting tired of repeating myself, goddamn it.
Give the brat to this little son of a bitch, or I’m going to show him a few things he ain’t likely never to forget.”
Jem thrust his hand into his pants pocket and fumbled inside of it.
He found the wooden handle of his small folding knife and yanked it free, flicking the tiny blade open with his fingers and cried out, “You get the hell away from us or I’ll cut your guts out!”
Whiskey Pete looked down at the boy and snorted with laughter.
“You little piece of shit.”
He whirled around and clapped Jem across the side of the head with his open palm, sending the boy sprawling into the stalks of grass.
Jem’s knife flew into the dirt and Pete chased after him, kicking the boy so hard in the ribs he lifted six inches off the ground.
