This Gun for Hire (5 page)

Joe darted a look at the wig. “And you could be all of those things to him.”

“After a fashion. Mrs. Fry let it be known she had a new whore and waited for word to reach him.”

“So you reeled him in. How long have you been hiding out here waiting for him?”

“A week. No, eight days. You have no idea how glad I was to hear he had arrived and to finally catch sight of him from my window. You also cannot imagine the boredom.
They do not even have any books here. And I displaced Marisa Shreve so she had to share a room with Onisha Gilbert, and that did not endear me to either of them, no matter that I was here to help.”

“All right,” said Joe, striving for patience. “So he came, you brought him up here, and then . . .”

She pointed to the bedside table. “The whiskey’s fine if you want a drink. Use the glass on the left. There might be a little chloral hydrate in the other.”

“Ah. You drugged him.”

“I might have hit him on the head a couple of times.”

“A couple of times?”

“Um, let me think. Twice with the butt end of the whiskey bottle to put him out when the drops only knocked him to his knees, and two more times later with the butt of his Remington when he started to thrash around on the bed. See? A couple of times. Twice.”

“Interesting ’rithmetic.”

She laughed softly, shrugged helplessly.

“And Chick and Amos?” asked Joe.

“Mrs. Fry never told me about them.”

“They weren’t with Whit the last time he was here, but I knew they ran with him, which I would have shared with you if you had stopped by my office and told me what you were up to.”

Calico went on as if he had not spoken, which she found was a better strategy in dealing with Joe Pepper than entertaining an argument. “They showed up after they heard someone at Sweeney’s talking out of turn. That’s what I got from what they said. There were a fair number of men here when Whitfield arrived. They did not all stay afterward.”

Quill said, “I heard it was a stampede to get out.” He shrugged when they both stared at him. “At least that’s what one of the girls told me.”

Calico gave her attention back to Joe. “I imagine one of the girls said something about what was going on, maybe to calm some nerves, and it was repeated at Sweeney’s. Amos and Chick overheard, decided to see for themselves,
and bumped into Mrs. Fry when they left the saloon. They obviously have been here before because they knew who she was, and that got her taken off the street and beaten in the alley.”

“Where was she going?”

“She didn’t tell you? She was looking for you.”

Joe scratched his head. “To take Whitfield off to jail?”

“We-l-l,” Calico said, drawing out the word. “Eventually.”

“Eventually?”

“She went for you before she was certain I had Whit in hand.”

Quill raised his hand a fraction, drawing the sheriff’s attention. “I believe Mrs. Fry wanted you to take me away,” he said. “I admit I am still in the dark about that. I followed Miss Nash, er,
Calico
, to her room after she took Whitfield upstairs.”

“You know him?” asked Joe. “His reputation?”

“No. Never heard of him.”

“But you were concerned?”

Quill nodded, pleased that he was understood at last. “Exactly.”

Joe cocked an eyebrow at Calico. “I guess he really didn’t know who you were.”

“Exactly,” she said, echoing Quill. “He was interfering. That’s why Mrs. Fry went to get you. When he followed me upstairs and carried on outside my room, I can assure you
that
is
when the menfolk scattered. They did not want to be seen in the house if Whit got out.”

“Understandable.” He looked down at Whit. “He has been known to rampage. Kind of sorry looking now, what with Chick pinning him down like an unnatural lover.” Joe knuckled his chin, thoughtful as he regarded Quill. “Good intentions don’t precisely excuse your interference, although they do explain it. Maybe if Mrs. Fry had reached me before we arrived at this juncture, I might have been moved to take you in for a spell, just to keep the peace with her, you understand. I believe I mentioned she’s a harridan.”

Quill was sympathetic. “You did.”

Joe’s chest swelled as he filled his lungs with a deep breath. He released it slowly, heavily, as if it had weight and consequence. “Well, we are at this juncture, and I am inclined to let your interference pass. That all right with you, Calico?”

“It will have to be. You are the sheriff.”

“So you do remember. I am never sure.” He pointed to Chick. “What did you do to him?”

“Beat him about the head with my peashooter.”

Joe laughed. “Well, he’s twitching now. Quill, how about you pull him off Whit? Did I see a rope on the floor somewhere?”

“It’s over here,” said Quill. “Enough length to bind them both, separately or together.”

“Oh, together. Yes, I like that. I surely do.”

*   *   *

It took some prodding to bring them around, but eventually Nick Whitfield and Chick Tatters were on their feet, and after a humiliating shuffle down the main street of Falls Hollow, they were untethered so they could stumble into their individual cells.

Quill accepted a whiskey from the sheriff when it was offered. He was concerned that Joe Pepper’s mood was too self-congratulatory, but when the man raised his glass and spoke, what he said was, “To Calico Nash. She does not disappoint.” Quill tapped his glass to Joe’s and they both drank.

“Another?” asked Joe.

Quill shook his head. “I’ve had enough.”

“You staying in town tonight? It’s getting late for you to be moving on.”

“I hadn’t planned on it, but now . . .” He nudged his hat back with a fingertip and regarded Joe thoughtfully. “Recommendation?”

“Hartford House. Nothing fancy, but the rooms are clean and they serve good food if you’re inclined to eat breakfast there.”

“All right.”

Joe gave him directions. “You are leaving in the morning, right?”

“That is my intention.”

“Yes, well, we’ve seen where intentions get you. Passing through, remember?” He leaned back in his chair and absently rubbed his knee. “What made you stop here in the first place?”

“I wanted a drink.”

“That’s what Sweeney’s saloon is for.”

“And the company of women.”

“Ah, yes. The company of women. I reckon you did not expect to find the likes of Calico Nash.”

“You reckon right.” Quill folded his arms and stretched his legs. His dusty leather boots disappeared under the sheriff’s desk. “How well do you know her?”

“About as well as anyone can, I suspect. We go back a ways. She was ten years old when I made her acquaintance. Funny little thing she was, all eyes and hair, hangin’ on her pa’s every word. I met her because of him. Bagger Nash and I served in the war together. The twenty-first out of Ohio. Came this way separately. I mustered out after Grant and Lee made peace, but Bagger stayed and took up with the cavalry. He was a scout during the war and liked it, so that’s what he did.”

“Army scout,” Quill said softly, thoughtfully. It explained some things. “And you say she was hanging on his every word?”

“Every word. Every deed. She learned from him. Of course, Bagger was confronting a different situation out here. What he learned about tracking in the Western territories, he learned from the Indian scouts the Army employed. Calico absorbed it like a sponge.”

“You know, she asked me if
I
was a bounty hunter.”

Joe chuckled. “That sounds like her. If she was competing for a reward, she would want to know it.”

“Makes sense, I suppose, but she was hired by Mrs. Fry. There is no bounty on Nick Whitfield.”

Joe stopped rubbing his knee. He reached across the
scarred oaken desk for a stack of papers, wet his thumb, and began sifting through them. “Huh,” he said, studying one for a moment. He pulled it out and passed it to Quill. “Here’s the leader of that rustling outfit I was telling you about.”

Quill looked the reward poster over. The face staring back at him was quite ordinary, someone people would pass by without a second glance. The rustler’s only distinguishing feature was his glasses. You did not see that often in a wanted poster, and Quill thought it was a reasonably good disguise. Once the man removed them, he would be all but invisible in a crowd. “Shelton area, right?”

“Good memory.” He jerked his thumb at the wastebasket beside his desk. “You can throw it in there. We got him.”

“With or without his glasses?”

“With. Turns out he can’t see his hand in front of his face if he doesn’t have them on.”

“I thought they were a disguise. He looks like a mail clerk or an accountant.” He crumpled the paper, tossed it in the basket, and accepted another notice from the sheriff. This time it was Nick Whitfield who stared back at him. The artist had drawn eyes that were dark, narrowed, and flat. The proportions of the man’s broad features were correct, but they were set without expression. The effect was to make Whitfield seem dull, not threatening. It was not a particularly good likeness, but probably good enough for people who had met the man to identify him.

Quill whistled softly as he read the particulars. He looked up from the sketch and met Joe’s eyes. “He robbed a bank? He’s worth five hundred dollars because he robbed a bank?”

Joe nodded.

“And nothing at all because he beat a whore.”

“I am not having that argument again,” Joe said, sighing. “You heard me before. It’s the way of the world. That notice came to my office a couple of days ago, while Calico was hiding out at Mrs. Fry’s.”

“Then she doesn’t know about this.”

“Nope.”

“But you are going to tell her.”

“Is that a question? Because I’m not sure I like it as a question. Of course I am going to tell her. It would be foolish, don’t you think, to tell you and keep it from her?”

Quill thought so, too, but he had to be sure. He apologized to the sheriff for the slight on his integrity. Joe Pepper acknowledged the apology with a guttural utterance that might have meant anything. Quill chose to take it as acceptance. He returned Whitfield’s likeness when the sheriff held out his hand for it.

“Shouldn’t Miss Nash be here by now?” asked Quill. They had left her to settle up with Mrs. Fry and speak to the doctor. She promised to escort Amos to the jail once Doc Maine examined him. Surgery, if required, would be performed in one of the cells. The only person who objected to that was Amos, and Joe reminded him that he did not get a vote.

Joe looked past Quill to the window. Full-on darkness was closing in fast and the stores across the street were shuttered. Lamplight shone from windows above the stores, but it was insufficient for him to see movement on the street. Mostly what he saw was his office reflected back at him. He shrugged and rocked back in his chair. “She will be here directly. I imagine it is not easy getting the money she’s owed out of Mrs. Fry. The old whore is not only a harridan. She is tightfisted to boot.”

“I think she would object to being called old.”

Joe snorted. “You’ve got that right.”

“How old is Miss Nash?” Quill posed the question casually, but it was a clumsy segue and he felt the full force of Sheriff Pepper’s shrewd gaze. There was a time he would have shifted uncomfortably under a look like that, but those days were long in the past, and the last six months spent in the employ of Ramsey Stonechurch had given him many opportunities to practice endurance. He suffered the look without any outward hint of embarrassment.

“Twenty-four, I believe. No, twenty-five. I seem to recall that she has an April birthday, not that it means anything to her. Bagger was one for making a fuss over it. That’s how I
remember she was ten when I met her for the first time. It was a few days after a party they had for her at the fort. She was still carrying around the present Bagger gave her. Wouldn’t put it down. I think she slept with it.”

“A doll,” Quill guessed.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” Joe shook his head. “No, it was a .44 caliber Henry repeating rifle. Had a twenty-four-inch barrel, but I swear, from stock to sight it was as tall as she was. Have you ever held a Henry?”

“I have. Not at ten years of age. My father would have judged it too heavy for me.”

“That is because your father had some sense. Bagger didn’t, not when it came to his little girl. Nine and a half pounds of lever action capable of firing thirty cartridges a minute if one took the time to get easy with it. You would be right to suspect Calico eventually got real easy with it.”

“She has a reputation as an Annie Oakley.”

Joe’s dark eyebrows kicked up. “Better you keep that to yourself. She is itchin’ to shoot you as it is. I would not give her cause. Follow?”

“I do. Thank you. You know, when she shot Amos, I thought she missed, but she didn’t, did she? She meant to injure, not kill.”

“That’s right. Same as you, I suspect.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a sense I get about you.”

“Huh.”

Joe’s mouth twisted wryly at the noncommittal reply. “Am I wrong?”

“Not entirely, but I was aiming for his other leg.”

The sheriff gave a bark of laughter. “Liar.”

Quill merely lifted one lightly colored eyebrow and said nothing.

Smiling to himself, Joe opened one of his desk drawers and brought out a round green tin with a slightly dented lid and multiple scrapes along the circumference. “My wife dropped off cookies back when she was allowing me to have them. Gingersnaps. I like them because you can’t tell if
they’re stale. She makes them hard enough to break a tooth if I’m not careful.” He wrestled the lid off the tin, sniffed. “Smell fine. You want some?”

Quill had not eaten since breakfast, which consisted of coffee and a couple of day-old biscuits. The gingersnaps were probably not as hard. His mouth began to water as soon as Joe opened the tin. He reached for a cookie when the sheriff tipped the tin toward him.

“Take two,” said Joe.

Quill was happy to oblige. He snapped one in half and plopped it in his mouth, turning it over with his tongue to soften it before he bit down. He noticed Joe Pepper did the same.