Ransom (6 page)

He glared at Hahn, who almost certainly had no idea what the set meant to Jessie. Or to Taylor.

“We have to get them back,” Hahn said as he poured a stiff drink and handed the glass to Taylor.

It took John a moment to remember what the man was talking about. His concentration had been on the silver tray and drink set. “I dunno what you think you and me can do. The note says you're being watched. Likely I am by now too. We can't go to the law. Maybe nothing would happen if we did, but maybe the bastards would see that an' do . . . what they said they'd do.” The very thought of it made him cringe. Jessie. Louise. They were both so sweet, so very dear. Now . . .

“It takes a low son of a bitch to threaten harm to a woman and a child.” There was venom in Hahn's voice.

Taylor sent a sharp look toward the man. He hadn't been sure the prissy son of a bitch knew that sort of language. Probably hadn't used words like that since he was a pimple-faced kid reading penny dreadfuls in the outhouse. Thinking of which . . .

Taylor set his glass aside and stood.

“You aren't leaving, are you?” Hahn sounded close to panic. As much as he despised John Taylor, he was clearly leaning on the man now.

“I got t' take a leak.”

“Oh. Sorry. Uh, the crapper is—”

“I know where it is well enough. I put the stovepipe through your kitchen roof.” He hesitated, then reminded himself that he did not owe Richard Asshole Hahn a damn thing. Not one damn thing. “Of course that was when Paul Hicken lived here. Back before you went an' stole my wife.”

“Jessica is . . . ,” Hahn began to protest, but there was no point. His voice died away to nothing as Taylor was not listening to him.

Taylor was already on his way through the passageway into the kitchen where he could still smell the lingering scents of Jessica's cooking. His stomach rumbled sourly,
but that was not from anything having to do with food; he was filled with fear for both Jessica and Loozy. He could not lose them again. Not this way.

There had to be something that could be done to get them safely back, even if that something took every penny of every man, woman, and child in Thom's Valley.

 

Jessica Taylor

Jessica moaned softly through clenched teeth. She did not want the ugly old bastard to hear. And yes, she did know those words. She had never in her life used them, but she knew them all right. And this right here was a time to be thinking them at the very least.

They had been riding for . . . she did not know how long but it seemed a very long time. Hours, she guessed. She despised having to ride anyway and to do it like this—blindfolded and with her hands bound tight to the saddle horn—was worse yet. Her thighs ached to the point of real pain and she had to pee something awful. Every time the stupid horse took a step, her bladder felt like it would burst.

“Whoa.”

The horse stopped. She could feel the animal behind hers, the one Loozy was riding, move up close and nudge the back of her right thigh. Her dress had hiked up so that she could straddle the animal, and now its nose, soft and velvety, touched bare flesh. That was not so bad, but its whiskers were prickly.

“Set there just a minute,” the old man said in a perfectly ordinary tone. “I'll come untie you pretty soon.”

Jess heard movement and crackling sounds in some dry brush and then there was a glimmer of light around the edges of her blindfold. The old bastard must have lighted a lamp or started a fire.

“You first, little girl.” His voice came from behind but not far. Beside Loozy's horse, she supposed.

“My name is Louise!” Loozy snapped. She sounded more annoyed than frightened. “And I am not a little girl.”

Jessica heard more movement and then a heartfelt sigh. Loozy was down off her horse, Jess surmised. A few moments later she felt the man fumbling at the cords that bound her to the saddle. The bonds fell away and the man said, “You can get down now.”

“I can't see.”

“You want to be waited on or something? Your hands ain't tied now. Take you own damn blind off.”

“I'm allowed to do that?” She did not want to make him any angrier than he already seemed to be. He really was a horrid thing.

“Sure. Ain't nothing here to see but rocks an' dirt.”

Jessica tugged away the rag that was serving as a blindfold—a rather smelly rag at that—to discover they were at the bottom of some sort of gully or small canyon. Certainly they were nowhere that she recognized, but then she almost never left town and then only in a coach.

She crawled painfully down from the horse and braced herself on legs that were shaky to the point that she was afraid she might fall down. She took hold of the stirrup leather beside her for stability and gave herself a moment to recover.

Loozy came rushing up from behind and attached herself to Jessica's waist as firmly as a leech. The child buried herself against her mother's side and clung for all she was worth.

The man, old and bearded and frightening with those guns and knives and whatnot hanging on and around
him, was holding a collapsible miner's lantern with a candle burning behind the glass panes. That was all the light there was and it was none too bright. The glass looked like it had not been cleaned since the lantern left wherever it was made.

In his other hand the man held a nearly empty burlap sack. He held it out, offering it to Jess.

“What's this?” Her nose wrinkled with distaste at the thought of what such a filthy creature might carry on his person.

“Supper,” he said. “Biscuits that I brung from town.”

“I want something more than cold biscuits,” Jessica snapped with a toss of her chin. A very pretty chin. Everyone said so. Men always gave Jessica what she asked.

The man shrugged. “You don't wanta eat, it ain't no skin off my ass.” He opened the bag, took out a biscuit, and began to munch, crumbs dribbling down the front of his shirt.

Jessica drew herself up to her full height and said, “I will thank you to mind your language in front of my daughter.”

“Miz Hahn, you can want whatever the hell you want, but you might wanta keep in mind who's the boss here. An' it ain't you.” The ugly old thing shoved the remainder of that biscuit into his mouth. His cheeks bulged slightly from being so full. Chipmunk cheeks, Jessica thought.

Jess took Loozy by the hand and tugged her off toward a bush of some sort that she could see at the edge of the lamplight.

“Just where the hell d'you think you're goin'?” the man demanded.

Jessica snorted and tossed her head. “A gentleman does not inquire of a lady at a time like this.”

“Maybe not, but I'm no damn gen'leman and you ain't going nowhere 'less I say so.” He took hold of the haft of the huge knife that hung from his belt. “Try anything, lady, and I'll cut your tits off.”

“We have to pee-pee,” Loozy piped up quickly, rotating her face away from her mama's side just long enough to get the words out before she again buried herself against Jessica's side.

“Hell, why didn't you say so? All right. Go. But don't neither one o' you go no fu'ther than that bush yonder. Try that an' I'll hear an' it won't go easy on you after. You understand me?”

Jessica nodded. She could feel Loozy nod as well.

“All right, then. Go 'head.” He motioned impatiently for them to proceed.

Jess had never been so miserable in her life. She was tired, she was hurting, and she was frightened half to death. And she had to pee something awful.

All she could do was to hope the marshal or the sheriff or somebody would come soon to rescue them.

“Come on, baby,” she said, “but watch out for snakes and wild animals and things.” She peeled Loozy away from her side and held on to her hand, leading the way into the bushes.

Chapter 4

Taylor set his glass aside, the contents barely touched. He leaned his head back against the upholstery of Hahn's easy chair, closed his eyes, and stayed like that for several moments. Then he sat up, looked at Richard Hahn, and said, “We have to get them back.”

“Yes, of course, but the note says we don't dare go to the law. The kidnappers will see. They will kill Jessica and Loozy. The note says they are watching.”

“Watching you maybe. It didn't say anything about me. Whoever wrote that note thinks Jess is your wife. They must not know about me. Might be watching the town marshal maybe, but I can get around that. I can ride over to Cauley an' get the sheriff to look for them. Whoever the bastards are they oughta be hung.” He grunted. “An' I'd be glad to tie the noose.”

“You can't do that. You can't go see the sheriff any more than I can,” Hahn said. He looked like he was close to tears again. “Try to think, man. They don't have to actually see either one of us talking to the marshal or the sheriff. If they see a posse, they'll know the law has been tipped. That might be enough to put Jessica and Loozy in danger.”

“But we don't actually know—”

“I said ‘might.' Do you want to take a chance with their lives? Is that what you want, you fool?”

“You know I don't, but—”

“We are not going to call the law in on this,” Hahn said emphatically.

“All right. Fine. You don't wanta talk to the sheriff, then pay them their damn ransom money. Anything to get Jess and Loozy back safe and sound.”

Hahn tossed back the rest of his brandy and replaced the empty glass onto the silver tray. He got up and began pacing around the room. “I can't give them the money.”

“Can't?” Taylor's voice hardened. “Or won't?”

“Mustn't,” Hahn said. “What would happen to the people of this town if suddenly they had no money? That is not the bank's money, you know. It belongs to all the depositors who entrusted the bank with it. And the bank has given me their trust. Why, it would ruin Thom's Valley if I gave all the money to a gang of kidnappers. The whole damn town would be bankrupt. We wouldn't exist any longer. Not as a community anyway.”

“Fine. We can all start over someplace else. I don't care. I just want my wife and daughter back.”

Hahn stopped pacing and glared at him. “Jessica is not yours any longer, Taylor. Get that through your thick head.”

“We can quarrel over Jess later on, you piece of shit,” he snapped. “Right now I just wanta get them safe.”

“So do I, but I will not ruin this community. I just . . . I just can't do such a thing.”

“Not even for Jess?”

“Don't put it like that. It is not an ‘either-or' proposition. Yes, we have to get the girls back. No, we cannot ruin Thom's Valley to do it. We have to find another way.”

“Good luck,” Taylor said sarcastically. “Give me another drink, damn it.” He still had a nearly full glass, but Hahn tipped the decanter over it and topped off the
contents. Taylor tossed that off, sat, and again tipped his head back with his eyes closed. “I dunno about you,” he mumbled, “but I've had better days than this'un.”

* * *

Taylor sat up and glared at Hahn. “Give them the damn money, you tightwad son of a bitch.”

Hahn glared right back but otherwise ignored him.

“Do something, damn you!” Taylor shouted. “It's Jessie's life we're talking about here. And little Loozy. You might not care so much about her, but—”

Taylor hardly had time for the words to leave his mouth before Hahn was out of his chair and charging forward, fists balled and eyes half crazed. He stopped short of the physical attack, however, and soon shrank back on the sofa. “Do not presume,” he hissed, “to tell me what I feel. I love that little girl like she was my very own.”

“Well, she ain't yours, you bastard. Not any more'n Jessie is. They're the both of them mine. My wife, my daughter. See that you understand that, mister.”

Hahn turned away rather than continue the dispute. For lack of any better idea he picked up the brandy decanter, poured himself another drink, and set the bottle down again without offering any to Taylor. He left the drink on the tray and began pacing about the room.

After a few moments Taylor stood and began pacing as well. He stopped short halfway around the parlor. He stood staring at an ornate polished silver frame holding a photograph of a threesome: Jessica Taylor, Richard Hahn, and, between the two of them, young Louise Taylor in her prettiest party dress. It was all too obviously a “family” view with a bucolic pasture scene on the canvas drop behind the three of them.

The photo took Taylor's breath away. He had given that frame to Jessie. A family photo had indeed been in it but showing Loozy—only five at the time if he remembered correctly—between Jessica and himself. The backdrop was even the same in that picture. The backdrop still hung in George Moorhaus's photographic studio over in Cauley or at least had been there the last time he passed by. The painting was there in plain view from the front windows where Moorhaus's latest photos were always displayed. There had been a time when the Taylor family portrait hung there for all to see. The Taylor family, not this monstrosity. John Taylor looked at the photo and remembered what had been and he ached. His gut churned and he remembered. Oh God, he remembered. His eyes burned and he felt like joining Hahn in tears. It was all he could do to maintain control.

Damn Hahn anyway. And damn those kidnappers. If Jessie hadn't run off with this prissy son of a bitch, she would be safe now. At home fixing his dinner. At home where she belonged. Safe.

* * *

“Give me a drink.”

“Get it yourself.” Hahn sounded as thoroughly miserable as Taylor felt. As thoroughly drunk too.

Taylor reached for the bottle, missed, tried again. He did not bother with a glass but drank straight from the bottle. Hahn took the bottle from him and he too drank from it.

The brandy decanter had long since been emptied and put aside. A whiskey bottle followed and now it was nearly empty. The two men were bleary-eyed and wobbly, their senses fuddled with drink.