Sathow's Sinners (3 page)

Kansas
Two days later

T
he clatter of shod hooves against dusty rock sang out behind Nate in an uneven staccato entwined with heavy, grunting breaths. By the time Deaugrey's mule caught up to his horse, Nate swore the sorry thing was going to flop over and die on the spot. At first, it overshot him. Then, after several frantic tugs on a set of old reins that had been coiled at the bottom of Frank's saddlebag for the better part of a year, Deaugrey fell behind once again.

“Jesus H.— Sorry, Reverend,” Deaugrey said.

“I'm not a reverend,” Frank said.

“Whatever. Will you let me catch up, Nate?”

“I'm not trying to stop you, Grey.”

Finally pulling alongside Nate and then matching his speed through concerted effort and sheer force of will, the mule plodded next to the gelding like a duck trying to keep pace with a bobcat. “How much farther to that town you mentioned?” Deaugrey asked. “I think this animal you provided is about to drop.”

“Shouldn't be far now.”

“I hate to sound contrary, but didn't we pass a town just before we made camp last night?”

“That's not being contrary,” Nate said. “That's just asking a question.”

Flustered, Deaugrey twisted around to get a look at Frank. The man in the black coat and shirt nodded. “He's right. Being contrary means you go against most everything that's being said.”

When Deaugrey looked back to him, Nate said, “You can look it up if you like.”

“If you ever wonder why I sometimes lose my mind, all you'll have to do is think about moments like these.”

“Speaking of that, how'd you wind up tossed into the bin this time, Grey?” Nate asked. “I heard about Jefferson City, but that would have landed you in a jail cell. What'd you do to convince folks you were too crazy to roam free? Burn down another restaurant?”

“I'm not talking about that. And in case you've lost your memory, my name isn't Grey. It's Deaugrey. Dooooh-graaaay.”

Nate shifted back and forth in his saddle, expertly acclimating to every movement of the horse beneath him. His head swayed ever so slightly and when it swung back toward Deaugrey, he raised an eyebrow and said, “Talking to me like that, like I'm an idiot child, it's a real good way to get yourself hurt.”

“So's taunting a man who was, until very recently, considered dangerously unstable.”

“Fair enough.”

“So what's the job that was so important you came all this way to break one Virginian out of incarceration?”

Nate Sathow had seen many different brands of incarceration. Not one of them included renovated mansions, clean dressing gowns and rocking chairs. Rather than debate the finer points of misery with Deaugrey, Nate said, “I'd rather not get into it until we're all in one place.”

“Can you at least tell me who ‘we' are?”

“Sure. You, me, Frank and Pete.”

After thinking for a few seconds, Deaugrey asked, “Pete who?” Suddenly, his eyes widened. “Not Pete Meyer.”

“The same.”

“That oaf knocked me unconscious the last time we were forced to work on the same job!”

“Which is something damn near anyone who knows you has wanted to do at some time or another,” Nate said.

When he glanced back at Frank, Deaugrey got an affirming nod from the preacher. Since he was getting no help there, Deaugrey said, “Well, I can't guarantee I won't lose my normally cheery disposition once we're in too close of a proximity.”

“I'll roll those dice.”

“What's the pay?”

“You'll like it just fine,” Nate said.

When Deaugrey pulled back on his reins, he nearly slid out of the saddle they'd purchased the previous day. They hadn't been able to find anything priced within the pittance Nate had been willing to spend, so Deaugrey wound up sitting on a collection of leather scraps stitched together with twine. He didn't know the materials for certain, but the sore spots on his rump told Deaugrey that they surely hadn't been chosen by a true craftsman. “We've known each other a long time, Nate,” he said. “And yes. I do owe you for getting me out of McKeag's but I'm not an indentured servant! I insist on knowing what I'm in for.”

Since it was clear that the mule's rider was even more stubborn than the animal itself, Nate brought his horse to a stop and turned it around. He approached Deaugrey, glaring down at him with enough fire in his eyes to make the mule shift nervously on its tired hooves. Finally, he said, “You're right.”

“Yes,” Deaugrey said in a valiant effort to keep from looking as if he'd dodged a bullet. “Of course I am.”

“The pay is guaranteed to be at least two thousand each.”

“Two thousand? I would think it would take a bit more than that for you to go through all the trouble of collecting me.”

“Plus bonuses,” Nate added.

Deaugrey's smile would have been just as fitting for a starving wolf. “Now you're talking! What kind of bonuses?”

“The man we're after has been on the run for a time and has plenty of men who want him brought back. If we can make a list of the names of anyone willing to help this son of a bitch, we'll be paid extra. If we bring in the sons of bitches themselves, that's even more.”

For the first time in quite a while, Deaugrey didn't have a response cocked and loaded. Far from stunned, he merely nodded slowly as the wheels inside his arguably derailed mind began to turn.

“And then there are the acquaintances,” Frank said from the rear of the small procession.

“Acquaintances?” Deaugrey asked.

“Oh yes,” Nate replied with a similarly wolfish smile. “Between the man we're after and the bastards lending him a hand in remaining free while killing anyone he pleases, there will be plenty of assholes trying to join up with them. The sorts of assholes who commit their own list of sins.”

“The kind of sins that put a price on a man's head,” Frank said.

“Well now,” Deaugrey said as he turned in his saddle to get a look behind him. “That's something you'd know all about, Preacher.”

“Indeed it is.”

“Is that enough to get your ass moving again?” Nate asked.

Deaugrey reached out to pat his animal's neck. “Oh! You mean the mule?”

“Whatever floats your boat.”

When Deaugrey snapped his reins, he barely caught the mule's interest. After a few taps of his heels against its sides, the mule started walking again. “How long will we be out and about looking for these miscreants?”

“As long as it takes to find 'em.”

“And I don't suppose you know where to find Pete . . . exactly?”

“He should still be in a town called Marlonn no more than another half day's ride from here.”

Deaugrey's avarice lit him up from within like a candle inside a lantern. “What are we waiting for, then?” he said while snapping his reins. “Let's proceed!”

Although the proclamation would have been more dramatic if his mule clopped forward at more than a purposeful walk, Frank and Nate still followed his example.

Marlonn, Kansas

B
y the time they arrived in town, the sun was nowhere to be found. Its warmth had remained for a short amount of time before being dispersed by the shadows that had rolled in to claim the barren Kansas landscape. Marlonn was a simple cow town and not a very impressive one at that. As he rode from one street to another, Nate barely took time to look at the darkened windows or take notice of the faces staring out from behind them. Frank rode close to Deaugrey where he could occasionally tell him to remain calm and keep his mouth shut.

“Don't you tell me to stay calm,” Deaugrey snapped. “There's eyes watching us from everywhere and they're not the sort that them doctors tell me about. You should be able to see 'em too!”

“I do see them,” Frank assured him. “So long as they keep their distance, they offer no threat.”

“You may be accustomed to the presence of unseen spirits, but I assure you they don't all answer prayers and turn water into wine.”

Under most circumstances, Frank could let Deaugrey's words roll off his back. This wasn't one of them, and the preacher reared up to unleash all the fire and brimstone he could muster. Knowing all too well what was coming, Nate cut him off in a hurry. “Enough of that, the both of you,” he said.

Frank and Deaugrey bit their tongues.

“We're to meet Pete at that saloon right there,” Nate said while pointing to an establishment that had more activity flowing in and around it than the rest of the town combined. “If you're gonna insist on squabbling like children, then go rent a room and stay in it!”

“You'll let me go into the saloon?” Deaugrey asked.

So far, Nate had insisted that the crazy man stay away from any of the saloons they'd passed. There were plenty of good reasons for that, the least of which was Deaugrey's tendency to flap his gums.

“Yes,” Nate said. “You can go into this one. Just try not to get too drunk too fast.”

“I'll need a gun,” Deaugrey said. “In case things get rough.”

“Give him a gun, Frank.”

Drawing one of his .38s, Frank spun the pistol around to slap the grip into Deaugrey's hand.

That kept everyone satisfied for the time it took them to ride up to the Three Dog Saloon and tie their horses next to a water trough. As the animals slaked their thirst, Nate walked inside the saloon. When Deaugrey started to walk forward, he was stopped by one of Frank's outstretched arms.

“Hang back for a spell,” the preacher said.

Deaugrey nodded and stared at the front window as though he could see all the way through to the exact bottle he meant to bring to his lips.

The Three Dog was a large place with a bar taking up one wall and a small stage situated against the opposite wall. In between were at least two dozen tables, the largest of which were being used for card games of all sorts. Clusters of drunken cowboys bucked the tiger at one of three faro tables near the back and women of all shapes and sizes wandered through the crowd until they were summoned by a wandering hand or hungry stare.

Nate strode to the bar and was jostled along the way by a stumbling drunk. “Watch where you're walking, asshole!” the drunk snarled. When he got a good look at the gruesome promise etched into Nate's eyes, the drunk was all too happy to turn his attention elsewhere and stagger away.

Upon reaching the bar, Nate rapped his knuckles against the polished wooden surface to catch the ear of one of the two tenders on duty. The woman who responded to his summons was a stout lady in her late forties with long dark hair and a bosom that spilled up and slightly over the top edge of her corset. She smiled warmly at him and asked, “What's your pleasure, mister?”

“I'm looking at it,” Nate said.

Although she clearly wasn't new to being propositioned in any number of ways, the lingering smile on her face showed she didn't exactly mind it this time. “Why don't you start with a drink?”

“Gladly. Set me up with the house specialty and a cigar.”

She turned around amid the rustle of skirts so she could reach for a bottle on the shelf behind her. When she bypassed the expensive labels for something with a handwritten label, Nate suspected she might actually be filling his request instead of passing off a brand of liquor that would demand the highest price. Once she poured the drink, she reached beneath the bar to give him a lingering view down the front of her dress.

The whiskey was smooth and cut nicely through the trail dust that had gathered in the back of Nate's throat. He exhaled as it continued to burn all the way down to his stomach. Before he could lift the glass again, another scent caught his attention. It was the combination of a fine cigar and the perfumed hand holding it. “Thanks,” he said while taking the cigar from the bartender.

She was quick with a match and snapped her wrist to extinguish the little flame as soon as the tip of Nate's cigar began to glow. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“Sure. You wouldn't happen to know anyone named Pete, would ya?”

“Can you be a little more specific?”

“Pete Meyer.”

Her eyes widened a little and she nodded. “Oh yes. I know him all right. If you're a friend of his, you might want to loan him some money. He needs it.”

“He always needs it,” Nate sighed. “Where is he?”

She pointed toward a section of tables near the back of the room within spitting distance of the faro games. No more than that was needed since it would take a blind man to overlook Pete Meyer in just about any sort of crowd. The man's wide back, thick shoulders and shaggy hair made him stand out even more among the group of well-dressed gamblers sitting at his table.

“How much is he in for?” Nate asked.

The barkeep picked up some dirty glasses and started wiping them off. “Couldn't tell you about the gambling losses, but I hear they're considerable. He owes me for a whole lot of drinks though.”

Nate thought back to the last few times he'd drank with Pete and sorted through the cash that was in his pocket. Handing over his closest guess plus a bit more, he asked, “Will this cover it?”

Taking the money, flipping through the bills and depositing them in the bank between her large breasts, she said, “Almost.”

“Damn. How long has he been playing?”

“Better part of two days.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “That about sums up his run of luck.”

After downing the rest of his drink, Nate made his way through the saloon. He wasn't about to lollygag but also didn't stride right up to Pete's table and demand a moment of his time. He'd had plenty of hard nights at the card tables, and Nate knew the last thing he would want is someone coming out of nowhere to give him a lecture or try to pull him away when his luck might be ready to take a turn for the better.

Pete's face was covered in thick whiskers, which did next to nothing to hide the solemn frown he wore. That might have been somewhat telling if Pete weren't so known to rarely do anything but frown. All Nate had to look at for the rest of the story were the stacks of chips in front of each man. Pete's wasn't the shortest stack, but two of the other men had enough chips in front of them to buy a sizeable portion of Texas.

Standing behind one of the empty chairs, Nate asked, “Mind if I sit in for a hand or two?”

The man who answered him sat directly across from Nate. He was slender, somewhere in his early thirties and had the chiseled features of someone who'd never had to do much to win a woman's attention. He wore a suit cut from expensive dark-blue silk and spoke in a steely, subdued tone. “As long as you can cover your bets, you're welcome to stay.”

To Nate's right was a short man with thick, powder-white hair and a bulbous nose. Small, beady eyes gazed out at the world through thick spectacles. He wore a dark suit and matching top hat which gave him a stately air. Pete sat between him and the handsome younger fellow. To Nate's immediate left was a man with a wide face, earnest eyes and tousled blond hair. Nate was suspicious of him almost immediately after having been burned too many times by baby-faced poker players.

While the blond man shuffled the cards, the gentleman in the blue suit said, “What's your name, friend?”

“Nate Sathow.”

Pete had yet to respond to Nate with anything other than a half-interested glance.

The well-dressed man in blue said, “I'm Jim. The fellow beneath the top hat is Wilson. Sourpuss next to me is Pete and the dealer's Owen.”

“No last names?” Nate asked.

“This ain't a social gathering,” Pete growled. “We're here to play cards and that,” he added while pointing a warning glare in Nate's direction, “is all I care to do.”

“Seems like you're doing pretty well for yourself,” Nate said.

“He would be doing just fine,” Owen said, “if he hadn't borrowed all that money in front of him from me to cover his losses.”

Jim added, “And he'd be doing even better if he hadn't also borrowed from me to cover his losses from before Owen sat down.”

Nate raised his eyebrows and looked over at Pete with genuine surprise. “Damn. You really aren't doing too well.”

“What do you care, mister?” Owen asked. “You two know each other?”

“We've done some work together,” Pete said before Nate had a chance to say a word. “Ain't nothin' more than that.”

“Perhaps I could have a word with my friend here,” Nate said. “And then I can leave you gentlemen to your game.”

Jim slowly shook his head. “Afraid not, mister. You sat down, so you're going to play.”

As he stared into Jim's eyes, Nate saw a whole lot more than he'd seen a few moments ago. In fact, the longer he sat there, the more he felt like he was looking up at everyone else from within the jaws of a trap that had just been sprung. “What are you going to do if I get up and leave?” Nate asked.

“I'll have my boys at the next table gut you so fast you'll be staring down at your own innards before your ass leaves that chair.”

Nate's hand was close to his holstered Remington. His body remained coiled like a spring as his eyes slowly surveyed the nearby tables. Sure enough, there were two men sitting at the one to his left who glared right back at him. Three more that were seated behind Pete shifted to look at Nate while showing the pistols laying across their knees.

“You come along to help Pete here?” Jim asked.

Nate shook his head and laughed uncomfortably when he said, “I just got into town. If you have business with him, I can leave you to it.”

Owen smirked. “That's a real shitty way to treat a friend.”

“Yeah well, friend or not, you're staying put,” Jim said like he was already holding a winning hand. “When our business is through, I'll decide whether you walk out of here or get dropped into the same hole I've already dug out back for Pete.”