Showdown (17 page)

Prine watched all the men but one go up the staircase. The lone man detached himself at the last moment and hurried down a long, narrow hall to the back. He'd cover the door opening on the alley.

"Looks like your friend Valdez beat you to it," the woman said.

"He's arresting them?" Prine said.

"In a way." A smile old and weary. "He obviously thinks they have money. He never arrest anybody who doesn't. He'll put them in a jail and then the local judge will set bail for some exorbitant price—which means any amount they can find on the men and in their room—and then the men will agree to pay this 'bail.' Then Valdez will give them half an hour to get out of town. If they try and come back, his men are told to kill them on sight."

"Bastard."

"You're right about that. Look what he did to his wife and daughter."

"There's never been a state official to look into all this?"

"What would they look into? The judge has a good standing with the state court and he's free to set any bail he wants. If the men go to court in his jurisdiction, they'll be found guilty because Valdez and the judge will have planted evidence that proves their guilt. So they won't take the chance of going to court. They just ride off and never come back here."

Prine explained about the kidnapping. "Valdez is going to be disappointed. He seems to think they have the ransom money. But they didn't get any. Those two probably don't have the price of a meal between them."

Shouts. A single gunshot. Thuds. And then the shouts were much louder, the men out of the room and into the hallway now.

Tolan made a dramatic entrance. Somebody threw him down the stairs. He landed, badly bleeding head and all, on the floor directly across from Prine.

Rooney came down in handcuffs. There wasn't any blood, just looks of confusion and fear as Gomez kept jamming the barrel of his rifle into Rooney's back.

Tolan was grabbed and put on his feet and shoved across the open expanse in front of the door. Then he was pushed outside. Rooney, saying nothing, was shoved out right behind him.

By now, the hotel lobby was filled with drummers. There was an air of a convention about it, most of them holding brews from the hotel saloon and commenting with jokes and smirks about the two loudmouths who'd disrupted the air of camaraderie that normally existed in the hotel saloon. Last night apparently, Tolan had taken the liberty of moving several noses over a few inches.

Prine pushed his way through the crowd and left the hotel.

H
e found Neville on the sidewalk across from the sheriff's office. The time was pushing on toward noon. Vehicle traffic was steady. In the distance between the hotel and the jail you could see small groups of people who'd stood watching Tolan and Rooney being dragged off to imprisonment. It wasn't quite as good as a Fourth of July parade, but what the hell. It was better than watching wagons passing by and various horses and mules dropping road apples for the gourmet tastes of the local fly population.

"They just went inside," Nevill said.

"Took them from the Empire Hotel."

"I wish I'd had a rifle. I could've taken care of them right now. Well, maybe on the trip back. I hate to see a man in handcuffs, but I'll make an exception in their case."

"I'm not sure it's going to be that easy to get them away from Valdez."

Neville sounded surprised. "Why the hell not? They killed my sister. You're a sworn deputy. Why the hell not? They killed my sister. You're a sworn deputy. Why the hell shouldn't we take them back? I'll tell you, Prine, I don't plan to take any shit from Valdez."

"We may have to."

"And why's that exactly?"

"Because," Prine said, "he's the local law and he's got the prisoners. We'll just have to go see him and see how this plays out."

"What the hell ever happened to law and order?"

Prine smiled. "A lot of people've been asking that question lately." He shrugged. "May as well get some lunch."

"Lunch? Let's go talk to Valdez."

"He'll want to talk to Tolan and Rooney first. Figure out what he wants to do with them."

"This doesn't make any sense. They're killers."

"C'mon. We could both use some grub."

Neville ate more than Prine would have imagined. A steak, two baked potatoes, two helpings of peas, and a large slice of pumpkin pie. Prine had the steak and a piece of bread and no pie. Despite his youth, he was getting a little puffy in the belly. He wanted to be ready when he got rich and famous. No reason a millionaire shouldn't look strong and slim. Of course, he wasn't exactly sure when that millionaire day would roll around. It seemed to be on a calendar that wouldn't be printed for a long, long time.

"So we go in and just take them," Neville said.

"He's the law, as I said. And he's got us outgunned."

"Then we threaten him."

"With what?"

"With my money and my status. I'm an important man. I know that sounds like hell, but it's true. I want my sister's killers, and I'll use everything at hand to get them."

Prine had been going to say this. Now seemed an appropriate time. "If and when we get them, I'm in charge. And there won't be any killing. We take them back alive."

"A lot of things can happen n the trail."

"A lot of things," Prine said, "better not happen on the trail."

"I thought we were on the same side."

"We are. As long as you remember that I'm the law. And I don't mean the Valdez kind of law, either. I mean the Wyn Daly kind of law."

Neville smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. "I guess you aren't aware of all the favors Daly does for my crowd."

"I'm aware."

"And you still think he's such a great lawman."

"I didn't say he was great. I said he followed the law. Ninety-five percent of the time, anyway."

That smile again. Neville had reverted to the man Prine had met at the recital the other night. Arrogant, superior. "He follows the law unless you're rich. And then he follows the money and the gifts and the invitations to all the gentry parties."

"'What's that?"

"He'll do you people favors. But he stops at murder. He's never covered for a murder."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I am. Because I know him. He does you favors, but that would never include murder. And if I let you have at Tolan and Rooney on the trail, he'd see both of us hang. Now let's head for the jail."

Gomez sat at the front desk inside the marshal's office, spurred boots hanging off the desktop. He was examining with great concentration something that he had just picked from his nose as they were entering.

"I am not an educated man," Gomez said. "I am, in fact, a simple man. So I do not know why taking things from the nose is considered improper. People pick inside their nose and someone sees them—and the picker gets all embarrassed and ashamed. It is a natural and normal function. I do not understand the shame of it."

"You looked like a man who pondered the great questions of mankind, Gomez," Prine said. "And I was right."

Gomez had a vicious-looking dagger sitting on his kneecap. He leaned forward, plucked it from its position, and then used its tip to flick away the material he'd just picked from his nose.

"We want to see Valdez," Neville said. "Now."

Gomez slowly raised his eyes to meet Neville's.

"I can tell you're an important man, se
ñ
or. You treat people the way important men treat people." He brought his feet down and sat forward in his chair. "With contempt." The blade of the dagger was pointed at Neville. "Like the shit that comes from the holes in animals. That is how you treat the likes of me."

"Most of Gomez's words were said sardonically. As if he were putting on an act meant to put them off or vaguely frighten them. But his speech about Neville being an important man seemed truly angry. Prine's hand hovered near his Colt. He was half expecting Gomez to fling himself on Neville.

But when he spoke next, he was in control of himself and the tone was again sardonic. "If you will be so kind as to wait here, Mr. Important Man, I will see if the marshal can see you now."

He turned and walked back into the depths of the office.

"Drunken bastard," Neville said. "He's dangerous."

"Yes, especially if you happen to be an important man."

"What Gomez—and most people, for that matter—need to learn is that there are good and bad rich people the same as there are good and bad poor people."

"I guess I'd have to agree with that," Prine said, "but bad rich people tend to stand out a little more."

Gomez came halfway back down the hall. He waved them to join him and then led them to the office where they'd been before, to Valdez's office.

Valdez had taken off his jacket and now stood in a fancy white shirt with heavy black stitches along the seams. Blood was spattered everywhere on the shirt. Valdez's knuckles were torn and bloody. He obviously had spent some time interrogating Tolan and Rooney.

"God must be making men stronger these days," Valdez said, "or else I am getting weaker. In the old days, my hands would not have been cut up by the likes of those two confidence men."

"They're not just confidence men any longer," Neville said. "They're murderers. They killed my sister."

"And so they did," Valdez said, once more affecting his pose of sorrow.

"They admitted it?" Prine said.

"Oh, yes. It took almost no persuasion at all and they admitted it. But they said it was an accident."

Prine said, "You don't cut somebody's throat by accident."

Valdez frowned. "Confidence men, murderers, and now bald-faced liars. They did not tell me that they'd cut her throat. I am most sorry, Se
ñ
or Neville."

Neville said, "I want them turned over to us. Now. And no more bullshit."

Valdez looked hurt. He was a good actor. "Please, inasmuch as I represent the town of Picaro, please do not go around telling people that Marshal Valdez was anything less than cooperative. For that is all I care to be."

"You knew where those two were all along," Prine said. "If we hadn't found them ourselves, you wouldn't even have mentioned them."

Valdez took to clucking. "Now you accuse me, too? A fellow man of law and order?"

"We want them now," Prine said.

"And of course you shall have them."

"Now?" said Neville.

"Once you pay their bail."

"We don't have to bail them out," Prine said. "We're acting on behalf of Sheriff Daly."

"That is true, yes. But they must be bailed out first. That is how we do things here. Even lawman must put up the bail if they want the prisoners released to their custody."

Prine had the feeling that Valdez made this up as he went along.

Neville said, "Your blood money. Prine told me all about you and this so-called judge."

"He is a man of utmost honor and integrity, this honorable jurist. Say what you want about Marshal Valdez. But leave your gringo tongue off the judge."

Prine said, "How much is the bail?"

"Ten thousand dollars," Valdez said.

"A fucking shakedown," Neville said. He'd told Prine that he'd brought plenty of money along in case bribes were in order. But bribes this big he hadn't counted on.

"Such language is not tolerated within these walls. I myself attend mass every day. As does the entire Valdez family."

Prine said, "We don't have much choice."

"It's a shakedown," Neville said.

"That's true. But we're not going to get them otherwise."

"He can do this?"

"He can inside the town limits of Picaro."

"Isn't that always the way with partners?" Valdez said, his voice showing he was pleased now. He knew he was going to get his money. "One man is reasonable." He nodded to Prine. "And the other is always unreasonable." He nodded to Neville.

Prine said, "You're offering a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward. This'll save you a lot of money. Plus which, we don't have a lot of choice in the matter."

"And we get them now?"

"Right now," Valdez said. "Five minutes at the most."

"You're as much of a crook as they are," Neville said.

"I just thank god you did not accuse me of being a murderer," Valdez said. "Now, if you will give me your bank draft, I will help you bring justice to these men."

"You're a thief," Neville said.

"This is simply the way we do business in Picaro. I do not make the laws here. I merely follow them. Now, why don't you take seats while I get the men for you?"

G
reenbacks. Thousand-dollar denominations. A fat fistful. Greenbacks flicking one after the other as Neville counted them in the absence of the good Marshal Valdez.