Sathow's Sinners (14 page)

L
ate the following afternoon, Nate found an answer to his telegram waiting for him in Joplin's wire office. It read:

LEAVING NEBRASKA NOW STOP

WILL SEND WORD BEFORE TRAIN ARRIVES STOP

AC

He told Pete about it when the tracker returned from his most recent scouting run.

“More people on the job?” Pete grumbled. “That gonna take a bite out of our pay?”

“If things go right, there'll be plenty of pay to go around. Now tell me what you've been doing to earn your share.”

The first thing Pete mentioned was a small train depot just south of town. It was fed by a rail line switching off of the main one that stretched all the way to St. Louis. Almost immediately, Nate climbed into his saddle and followed the tracker out for a closer look.

The depot Pete showed him consisted of two buildings: one small shed and a longer structure about twice the size of a modest ticketing office nestled at the bottom of a wide gulch with hills on one side and woods on the other. At the moment, the only movement to be seen came from a few horses drinking water outside the shed and a trio of men sitting on the porch of the larger building with their feet propped up on the front rail.

Nate and Pete had left their horses about a quarter mile back on the slope of the hills facing away from the depot. After a roundabout walk, they eventually picked a spot where they could lay on their bellies and look down at the depot through a set of field glasses which they passed back and forth.

“Doesn't look like much,” Nate said as he examined the larger building. “But it sure isn't a depot used by any railroad line. At least, not anymore. There's a bigger one about three miles from here and another on the western outskirts of Joplin. Both of those would be much easier to supply than this one here.”

“That's why I brought you here instead of any of them other depots. I doubt anyone with illegal intentions would choose to run their business out of a train station or depot that's still bein' used by the railroads.”

“Looks like this place was used by one of the companies at some point,” Nate said while studying the old signs that were now warped by rain and gathering dust from the damp Missouri winds.

Pete's eyes were so sharp that he rarely needed anything like field glasses. He squinted and stared at roughly the same spot as Nate while probably seeing close to the same amount of detail. “Most likely, that was a supply station used during the construction of these tracks. Could have also been used for some large venture related to the town itself. Joplin was built on all the jack that was pulled up from these hills.”

“Jack?” Nate asked.

“Zinc.”

“Doesn't look very busy.”

“It sure was when I first found it,” Pete said. “There were twice as many horses tied out front and at least three more armed men standing guard near that smaller building.”

“Looks close to deserted now,” Nate said while lowering the field glasses so he could shoot a sideways glance toward Pete.

The tracker nodded once. “Sure does.”

“Maybe now'd be a good time to take a closer look?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Pete replied.

The two of them worked their way slowly and steadily toward the depot. Since the slope of the hill facing the two structures was mostly bare and fairly steep, they circled around and into the woods on the opposite side. Once they had the thick cover of trees for protection, they could move a bit faster. Their progress was slowed, however, by the constant need to stop and wait to see if anyone had spotted them or heard their movements. As near as they could tell, nobody had.

Fortune smiled on them when two of the men who'd been guarding the place walked over to their horses, climbed into their saddles and rode toward Joplin. Although that was encouraging, Nate and Pete knew better than to take that as a signal to hurry up and march straight toward the depot.

After several more minutes of cautious progress, they arrived at the edge of the woods and gazed out at the back end of the depot's largest building.

“I doubt we'll get a better chance than this if we're gonna get a close look at that place,” Nate whispered.

“There could still be guards lurking about.”

“That's why I'm the only one that'll break from cover. If anyone comes after me, I'll lead them off in another direction and you can take a look.”

“And if there are even more guards who see me?” Pete asked.

“Then this just wasn't our lucky day, now was it? We didn't come all this way to turn back now, so stay put, keep your head down and keep those eagle eyes open for anything that might pose a threat.” Without another word, Nate drew his Remington and moved into the clearing that marked the outer perimeter of the lot where the depot had been built.

Setting his sights on a door atop a set of three stairs next to a wide window, Nate hurried across the stretch of open ground without once looking back. He didn't need to check to make certain Pete was covering him. Whether the tracker liked the plan or not, Pete wouldn't leave a partner high and dry. He made it to within five or six paces of the building when Nate heard the crunch of boots against gravel and dirt. Someone was walking along the closest side of the building directly in front of him and would round the corner within seconds.

Nate shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and lowered his stance while holding the Remington so he could easily fire a shot at anyone who stepped into view. A half second later, something rustled in the trees. It was either a mighty big animal or a tracker of Nate's acquaintance making as much noise as possible. Either way, the sound caught the attention of whoever was approaching the corner.

The footsteps halted. Someone grumbled to himself in a rough voice. When the footsteps started up again, they moved slightly faster.

Even though there wasn't much of anywhere to hide, Nate hunkered down to lean against the railing of the short set of stairs leading up to the door. The man who came around the corner would have spotted him easily if he hadn't already been looking at the trees several yards away. He carried a rifle, which was also pointed at the woods. Nate took advantage of the opportunity he'd been given by holstering his pistol and rushing over to the rifleman.

His distraction bought Nate enough time to get to the rifleman, but just barely. Nate was about to take the rifle away from him when the man pivoted and drove the rifle's stock into Nate's midsection. Nate twisted to the side, allowing the rifle to glance off of him rather than land flush. From there, he grabbed the rifle with both hands and used his momentum as well as his muscle to try and pull it away from its owner. While the rifleman was surprised, he wasn't about to be disarmed so easily.

“Anstel's got some set of balls sending just one of you bastards,” the rifleman snarled.

“One's all it takes,” Nate replied.

That put an angry sneer on the rifleman's face as he tried even harder to reclaim his weapon from Nate's grasp. Nate resisted for a second or two and then shifted his efforts into the opposite direction. When he snapped the rifle around toward its owner, Nate met no resistance whatsoever. In fact, the rifleman was taken off his guard to such a degree that he pulled the contested weapon straight into a blow ending with the rifle's barrel cracking him in the jaw. Nate followed up by twisting the rifle around to thump its stock solidly against the other man's stomach. When the rifleman doubled over, Nate slammed the side of the rifle against the other man's temple to drop him into a heap on the ground.

Turning toward the source of the distraction that had made his attack possible in the first place, Nate found Pete waving at him. Once he had his attention, Pete pointed toward the smaller building. Nate didn't see anyone over there, but trusted that Pete had and concentrated on getting into the larger building.

His first stop was the large window, which turned out to be mostly painted over. The only spot that wasn't blacked out was a wide strip along the top which was too high for Nate to reach. Next, he tried the door. To his surprise, it was unlocked. Unfortunately, the iron-reinforced door just past the first one wasn't.

Nate still hadn't seen the other guard that Pete had spotted, but every instinct he had was screaming at him that his time had run out. There was just enough space between the two doors for the outer one to swing about halfway inward. Stepping inside and pulling the outer door shut, Nate sidestepped along the interior wall while bringing the rifle he'd taken up to his shoulder.

“Eddie?” someone outside hollered.

Apparently, Eddie was the man that was lying on the ground because there was no response to the call.

Nate's mind raced with all the different possibilities for what might come next. Given the current set of circumstances, his hopes started low and only sank with each passing moment.

“Eddie? Goddamn! You all right?”

Nate's grip tightened on the rifle, certain that the new arrival was now close enough to check on Eddie's well-being.

“Come on out, asshole!” the man outside said.

It wouldn't be long before that man came to the door, opened it and found Nate standing there in the dusty shadows.

“I see you, you bastard!”

Steeling himself, Nate sighted along the top of the rifle and aimed at the window. Just because he hadn't found a spot to look in didn't mean there wasn't one to be found.

“Come out or I'll shoot!” the man outside shouted.

Nate wasn't about to show himself so he prepared for the shooting to start. He only hoped he could pin down where the other man was before getting picked off like a stupid fish in a large barrel.

“Bastard!” the man outside shouted as he took his first shot.

Unlike the last time he'd been shot at, Nate didn't see any holes get blown through the wall in front of him. No glass shattered. So far, he still couldn't even see any movement. The shots kept coming, though. Fortunately, whoever was pulling the trigger was also moving away from the building.

Nate was all too anxious to open the exterior door and take a look outside. He saw another man with a rifle firing round after round into the woods. Standing among the trees, Pete returned fire without sending a bullet anywhere close to its mark. That way, the rifleman had no qualms about standing his ground. Keeping his steps quick and quiet, Nate hurried away from the building at an angle that took him into the woods without catching the rifleman's eye.

The shooting went on for a short while, ending when Nate was about three strides away from getting himself behind solid cover. He made it into the woods safely since the rifleman hadn't yet lost interest in shooting at Pete.

“Go on, you coward!” the rifleman shouted. “And tell Anstel that it'll take a hell of a lot more than the likes of you to gain any favor with us!”

Nate worked his way straight back into the woods, slowly circling around toward the path that he and Pete had taken to get to the depot. Once he'd put a fair amount of trees between himself and the rifleman who was still screaming at thin air, Nate began heading for the hill. By the time he'd gotten to the other side of the hill and spotted his horse calmly grazing, he was damn near out of breath.

“What's the matter, Sathow?” Pete said as he stepped forward. “Getting old?” He must have been crouched somewhere preparing to put a bullet into any person who found the horses because he eased his pistol into its holster even as he made his joke.

“Too old to put up with the likes of you, that's for certain,” Nate said while doing his best to keep from panting like a mangy dog. “Did you take care of that other guard?”

Pete let out half a chuckle. “All I needed to do was toss a few rocks over near that shed to get him headed in that direction. He'll probably be cussing and yelling at them rocks for at least an hour. What about you? I saw you got inside that depot.”

“Partway inside,” Nate corrected. “And just barely, at that. There's a whole other wall and door behind the one you can see. The first is barely a shell. The second felt like a damned fortress. Iron-reinforced door was locked so tight it wouldn't have budged if you took a run at it using that thick head of yours as a battering ram.”

“Did you at least get a look inside through a window or something?”

Nate untied his reins and climbed into his saddle. “Nope.”

“Well that's just great. All this way for nothin'.”

“I wouldn't say that. We found out that we can't just storm the place.”

“Was that option really on the table?” Pete asked.

“Not anymore. We also got a feel for the sort of men being used to watch over this place and how many we might expect.”

“I'd add a few more to that expectation after you left one lying in the dirt.”

“Even so, we know this is the depot we need to watch. At least that's something.”

“Sure it is,” Pete said as he mounted his horse and flicked his reins. “Fat lot of good it'll do us. You pulled together the three of us to track one man. That man may be Dog Ear Pescaterro, but he ain't no gang holed up with a batch of heavy weaponry.”

“Don't be so grim,” Nate said. “If these jobs always went smoothly and according to plan, nobody would need the likes of us to do 'em. Besides, when I sit down to any game, there's always an ace up my sleeve. We just gotta find it.”

“Y
ou've got an ace?” Deaugrey asked. “Well that's a coincidence. I've got two of 'em myself.” He placed his cards on the table in front of him and spread them out for all to see. “And three sixes to go along for the ride.”

The place was the House of Lords, and it was one of the rowdiest saloons in Joplin. Plenty of money flowed through its doors thanks mostly to the gambling taking place within its walls at any time day or night. Food was served, liquor flowed like water and there was a cathouse on the third floor, all of which were for the benefit of the miners, who stopped in before tunneling underground, and the cardsharps, who came along to fleece them. Even though Deaugrey had been playing there for the better part of two days straight, the other men at his table were having a tough time figuring him out. The man directly across the table from him, however, thought he had a firm grasp on the situation.

“You're a goddamned cheat!” the man said.

“You'll need to prove an accusation like that,” Deaugrey said. “Otherwise, you're just one of many sore losers in this world.”

“Son of a bitch!” the man roared. He shoved away from the table, got to his feet and slapped his hand against the gun on his hip.

“It's your deal, sir,” Deaugrey said.

“You don't think I'll shoot you?”

“Quite frankly, I don't care if you do or don't.”

The man drew his pistol while glaring into Deaugrey's eyes. He even went so far as to start thumbing the hammer back, but stopped short when he realized he wasn't getting any reaction at all from the other man. In fact, Deaugrey had picked up his cup and taken a drink as if he were sitting on a breezy porch all by his lonesome.

“Just sit down, Ed,” one of the other players said. “You weren't cheated.”

Ed jammed the pistol back into its holster and sat down so heavily, it was a wonder the chair didn't collapse beneath him. “Gimme that deck,” he grunted as he took the cards and started to shuffle them.

“Actually,” Deaugrey said, “I believe I'll sit this one out.”

“Sit your ass down and ante,” Ed said.

Deaugrey let out a dramatic sigh while picking up his cup. “I wish you'd make up your mind. Last time I checked, you wanted to shoot me.”

“I'll just have to settle for taking my money back the hard way.”

“That's the spirit! Oh, and just so you all know, I do know how to count. Very well, in fact. If any of these are missing when I return,” Deaugrey said while waving a hand over his stacks of chips, “the man responsible will be gutted and emptied onto the floor. Next round of drinks is on me.”

It took a few moments for the other players to collect themselves after Deaugrey delivered his icy threat. Eventually, Ed dealt the next hand and conversation sparked up again.

Deaugrey wound between the tables, patting complete strangers on the back and nodding to anyone who met his gaze. His destination was a small table in the corner where a solitary figure sat hunched over a cheap cut of beef. “There's more fat on that steak than there was on Hildy Bevins back in Reno,” Deaugrey said. “Remember Hildy?”

“She was a fine woman,” Nate replied while gnawing on his supper.

“She punched me in the jaw. Twice!”

“Probably on account of you calling her fat. I'm surprised she didn't knock you around any more than that. Have you been cheating at cards again?”

“Everybody cheats,” Deaugrey said. “But this time, no. I've been ingratiating myself to the locals and being a perfect gentleman.”

“You hungry?” Nate asked.

Looking down at what Nate had ordered, Deaugrey sneered and said, “Not for steak. I'll just have some soup.”

“I thought you hated soup.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because when I found you at McKeag's Sanitarium you were screaming to high heaven about being forced to eat soup.” Nate finally managed to saw off a portion of his steak and popped it into his mouth. “You were trying to stab the orderlies with a fork, if I recall.”

“Funny. You'd think I'd remember something like that.”

Knowing when it was time to switch to a different tack, Nate asked, “Did you do anything in here apart from piss off the locals?”

“Actually, yes.” When a slender redhead in a low-cut dress walked by, Deaugrey reached out to snake an arm around her waist and reel her in. She smiled warmly and brushed a hand along the side of his face.

“You ready for seconds, honey?” she asked.

“Not quite,” Deaugrey replied. “I'd like some soup instead.”

The woman was obviously an expert in disentangling herself from men's arms because she got away from Deaugrey with minimum effort. Her smile was still intact when she told him, “I'll be right back with that,” and walked away.

“Found the depot,” Nate said.

Deaugrey had yet to take his eyes off of the redhead's backside. “How exciting.”

“Frank's stumbled upon some interesting bits of information as well. Seems Pescaterro has signed on with the Western Cartage Company. You hear mention of that from anyone around here?” When he didn't get a response, Nate took his dirty fork and tapped it against Deaugrey's forehead.

“
Now
I remember what I did with the cutlery at McKeag's,” he said. “What you saw then was child's play. Hit me again like that, and you'll see what I can really do with a fork.”

“You've got me quaking,” Nate said flatly. “Answer the fucking question.”

Deaugrey picked up a napkin and dabbed at the mess left on his head from Nate's fork. “The Western Cartage Company has been hiring on plenty of men around here. They're paying well, too.”

“Is that so?”

“Well enough for a good number of their workers to find themselves in here with money burning holes in their pockets. The only ones pulling in as much money as them, excluding the miners who get lucky of course, are the men working for Anstel and Joyner.”

Nate looked up from his steak. “I've heard mention of that company as well. What have you heard about them?”

“Anstel and Joyner?”

“Yeah. What have you heard?”

“From what I've been able to gather, they're just another big company looking to cash in on business brought in by the railroads.”

“The railroad already runs through Joplin,” Nate pointed out.

“But it's set to grow and grow big. I've only been here for a short time, and I'm already tired of hearing about it.”

Now, more than ever, Nate had to focus on maintaining his poker face. He felt a smirk bubbling to the surface, simply because he was watching Deaugrey perform like a racehorse that had just found its stride. If he showed any of that admiration, however, he would have to spend the next several minutes listening to Deaugrey sing his own praises.

“What are these companies involved in?” Nate asked.

“I've sat across from miners, merchants and a few men who drive spikes into the ground.”

“You've been here two days.”

“And I haven't left this room,” Deaugrey replied. “In that time, I've sat across from—”

“Point taken,” Nate cut in. “Get on with it.”

“What I was trying to say is that damn near all of those different folks I mentioned have had some ties to one or both of those companies.”

As a bowl of soup was placed in front of Deaugrey, Nate asked, “You're sure about that?”

“Isn't that why you brought me along?” Deaugrey asked.

“Yes, now get on with it.”

Grinning as if he'd received the highest praise imaginable, Deaugrey took a few spoonfuls of his soup. When he was good and ready, he said, “Both Anstel and Joyner as well as the Western Cartage Company are vying for any rights they can get their hands on. Between the mining claims and interest shown by the railroads, Joplin stands to see some very nice profits in the years to come.”

“The railroads are always looking to expand,” Nate said. “Have you been able to get these men talking about anything that'll help us?”

“The workers I've been socializing with around here aren't exactly interested in talking about work. They do, however, have plenty of wind in their sails when it comes to grousing about their employers.”

“One of the true constants in this world,” Nate said. It was also one of the most welcome since it provided him with an endless supply of information. It didn't take much to get just about any man to insult his employer. Workers for more reputable men were less likely to talk, but Nate Sathow was rarely hired to go after reputable men.

Deaugrey leaned over his soup with both elbows resting on the table. “It seems there is no shortage of gossip surrounding both of these companies. The short of it is that they are in a nasty struggle to lock up all of the interests within Joplin.”

“How nasty?”

“Nasty enough for both sides to have killers on their payrolls. Word is that the hired guns have already earned their more-than-generous wages.”

“I take it that's where Pescaterro comes in,” Nate said.

“Oh yes. The Western Cartage Company approached Dog Ear to tip the scales back in their favor since they are the smaller of the two companies. None of the men at my games knew him by name, but they described a bloodthirsty maniac who cut a man open, bathed in his blood and howled at the moon. That same man had a nasty encounter with a poor fellow on a particularly bad streak of luck. He was left with one ear fewer than he'd had when he'd first crossed this man's path. I doubt these stories should be taken at face value, but . . .”

“Sounds like our man, all right,” Nate said. “And here I thought this bad streak of luck you mentioned was just this fellow being cleaned out at the card table.”

“Oh, I cleaned him out also.”

“Nobody's ever accused you of having a heart.”

“The only hearts that belong in a poker game are drawn onto the cards. Besides,” Deaugrey added, “this fellow was playing so badly that he would have suspected something if he didn't lose.”

Knowing better than to question logic that sprang from a mind that had more twists than a Gordian knot, Nate said, “I imagine this fellow who was attacked works for Anstel and Joyner.”

“That's right, but I also found out more than that,” Deaugrey replied proudly. “That fellow may not have known the name of the lunatic who cut his ear off, but he was fairly insistent that he was attacked because he refused to talk about what tactics would be taken to secure the next contracts that are about to be offered. There was also some mention of mining rights, but I couldn't learn anything more specific than that.”

“The business specifics don't matter,” Nate said. “Not to me, anyway. We're not here to make sense of contracts or politics. What does matter is that we put an end to whatever havoc Pescaterro is causing.” Squinting across the table at the other man, he asked, “What is it? You've got that smug grin on your face. A different one than usual, I should say.”

“A few of that poor, unlucky fellow's compatriots joined him at the game. I bought a round of drinks, which wound up being one of several that greased the wheels of conversation.”

“I'll add more to your cut of this job if you sift through everything you plan on saying and just tell me the important parts,” Nate snapped.

To that, Deaugrey quickly replied, “Several men from both companies share the opinion that Western Cartage somehow arranged for their most vicious new worker to be liberated from his former accommodations.”

Nate leaned in so he could talk without the possibility of being overheard by anyone but his partner. “The Western Cartage Company broke Dog Ear out of jail?”

“That's the rumor.”

“And they're putting him to work terrorizing their competitor's men?”

“Mostly,” Deaugrey said. “I've heard rumblings of some particularly ugly robberies and a few bodies that have surfaced that seemed to have Pescaterro's stamp on them.”

“How so?” Nate asked.

“Bodies were found recently that have been the topic of more than a few conversations. Mutilated bodies. One whore was cut apart and chopped to pieces. A few more men from Anstel and Joyner were found with their throats slit and various other pieces missing.”

“You think those were all done by Pescaterro?”

Deaugrey took a moment to think and didn't seem to like what he found. “I've been locked up with plenty of savages. Men who deserve to be tossed into the deepest pit that's ever been dug. There's a certain . . . special kind of brutality that's inflicted for no reason apart from the sheer joy some get from pain. While I can't tell you that every terrible crime of late was committed by our man or wasn't just the subject of some tall tale spouted by a drunk gambler, I guarantee some of them were very real. Also, I've discovered that rumors such as these come from somewhere. A few of these killings were real enough, and they weren't connected to the feuding companies. They were local news. Pescaterro is one of those brutal, savage sorts I've encountered in various institutions who likes what he does and would want to get back to it as quickly as possible. No matter who he's working for or what he's getting paid, Dog Ear will eventually be the cause of news stories like those.”

“Agreed. Have you heard anything in regard to Abraham Keyes?”

“Just that he's climbed the ranks of the Anstel and Joyner Company.”

“You have learned quite a lot by sitting here playing cards.”

“I'm a good listener and know how to keep people talking,” Deaugrey said. “Those simple talents have served me more good than an entire arsenal of firearms while I've been locked away. Granted, I've drawn some conclusions of my own, but I know for certain that both of these men we're after have been keeping very busy throughout their short stay in Joplin.”