Killers Never Sleep, page 7
Carson stepped outside, quietly closed the cell door and locked it.
Washington laughed out at the doctor from the cot. “Where are you going, doc? Ain’t you gonna give me something to soothe my throat? A little whiskey, maybe?”
Carson might have taken pity on the outlaw had he been someone else. But Ben Washington was far beyond any emotion the doctor might be able to spare for him. “Your throat will be fine. Wouldn’t hurt for you to pray a little, though.”
“No thanks. I’d prefer the whiskey.”
“I’m sure you would.” Carson removed the key from the lock. “But if Trammel sees fit to come back down here, only God will be able to save you then, not me.”
“He can’t do that.” Washington laughed. “That would be against the law.”
Carson heard the guard close the iron door that led up to City Hall. “Against the law, maybe, but not Trammel’s law.”
CHAPTER 8
Deputy Blake ignored Dib Bishop’s babbling while he waited for Sheriff Trammel to return to his office.
“He can’t do this to me,” Bishop kept repeating. “I rode in here under a flag of truce.”
“Quiet,” Blake told him. “Save it for when the sheriff gets up here.”
Blake did not know when Trammel would get there and that was what troubled him. He often did not understand what the sheriff did or why these days. It was not so much that Blake thought he should be included in his decisions, but it would help if he could follow his reasoning.
He remembered how he and Trammel had gotten off to a rocky start when Rob Moran had picked Buck Trammel to replace him as sheriff of Laramie County. Blake had worked with Moran for more than five years. He knew the county better than anyone and the people in it. He had never thought the job was his for the taking but thought he had earned consideration for the office. The other deputies had thought so, too. But Rob Moran had made up his mind and any lingering resentment Blake had about the decision was cast aside the moment Moran had been shot dead on the front steps of City Hall.
Trammel had been a difficult man to like at first. He did not have a welcoming nature, but Blake and the others had grown to respect him. It was difficult not to have regard for a man willing to put his life at risk for others.
Over time, Blake had grown to feel a certain loyalty for him. When the town elders turned against Trammel for pursuing Lucien Clay after the jailbreak instead of staying in Laramie to restore order, Blake had spoken up for Trammel. He and the other deputies had even gone as far as threatening to quit if they fired Trammel.
But Trammel had not been making sense lately, and Blake was beginning to wonder why. Ben Washington was one of the most wanted men in the territory, and Blake could have ridden out and taken him in alone. A man trapped with a family in a cabin was not difficult to bring down.
But Trammel had not only insisted on going with Blake, but he had also decided to leave young Hawkeye in charge while they were gone. The other deputies had resented the decision, and Blake could not blame them.
Had Trammel been another man, he might have thought it had something to do with the upcoming election for sheriff. But Trammel had never been much of a politician, which Blake saw as a problem. For all of his strength and bravery, it took more than guns and fists to keep a town in line. A place had law and order because the people respected the law and remained orderly. They only did that if they respected the men who had the power to enforce the law.
More than a few people in town had told Blake that they no longer thought Trammel was the right man for the job. They wanted someone they understood and who understood them. The sheriff’s closeness with Adam Hagen was an ongoing concern, though the town elders knew men like Hagen were a necessary evil.
Blake hoped this business with Washington and his gang was cleared up soon. He would hate to see Trammel lose his job because he was too busy doing it.
Blake heard Trammel’s heavy footfalls on the stairs. He could tell by the pattern that the sheriff was coming with a full head of steam. Whatever he had gotten Ben Washington to tell him was not good news.
Trammel did not stop when he pushed open his office door and headed straight for Dib Bishop’s chair.
The young man raised his shackled wrists as if they might be enough to keep Trammel away. “I came here under a flag of truce to deliver a message from the Washington Gang.”
“Your flag doesn’t mean anything.” Trammel leaned on the arms of Bishop’s chair, causing the boy to cringe away from him. “We’re not soldiers, and this isn’t war. George Mahaffey sent you, didn’t he?”
Bishop remained coiled against the back of his chair. “How’d you know that?”
“You’d be surprised by what I know,” Trammel told him. “Your leader is real chatty. Tell me what you came here to say and if you lie, I’m going to be angry.”
Trammel pushed back a bit to give the kid some room. “George wants you to know that he has Deputy Brandt. He grabbed him on the road between here and Cheyenne, but I can’t tell you where he’s holding him because I don’t know. He wants to trade Brandt for Ben. If you let Ben go, he’ll let the deputy go.”
“And if I don’t?”
Bishop swallowed. “He didn’t tell me that much. He just wants you to give me your answer. By tomorrow morning. He wants me to ride back at first light.”
Trammel closed in again. “Return where?”
“A creek about an hour from here,” Bishop told him. “But he won’t be keeping Brandt there for long. They rode off after he sent me here, and they’re long gone by now. You can beat me all night and I won’t tell you where because I don’t know, and that’s the truth.”
Trammel looked over at Blake. “Any idea where this creek might be?”
Blake wished he did. “Could be anywhere, boss, but I think he’s telling the truth.”
Trammel returned his attention to Bishop. “What makes you think you’re riding out of here in the morning? Since Mahaffey likes taking captives, maybe I’ll take one of my own.”
“He already thought of that.” Bishop chanced a look at him. “That’s why he sent Marcum to watch over my back trail. He figured you’d understand what that meant.”
Trammel looked back at Blake again. “That name mean anything to you?”
Blake was beginning to admire how Mahaffey thought. “Marcum’s a sharpshooter said to ride with Washington. He’s supposed to be pretty good, and I’ve never heard anyone say anything to the contrary.”
Bishop added, “He’s supposed to start shooting people from the edge of town if you don’t turn me loose in the morning. Alone. He said you might not be afraid to die, but you won’t want anyone else getting themselves shot on account of your stubbornness. If I don’t ride out of here all by my lonesome, Marcum is gonna start dropping folks and you won’t be able to stop him before he does.”
Blake thought the sheriff might hit him but was glad when Trammel pushed himself off the chair and backed away from the boy.
“Mahaffey told you to say all that, did he?”
Dib Bishop sat upright in his chair again. His confidence had returned. “He not only said it, but he also meant it. I’d sure hate to be in your shoes, Sheriff.”
“You’ll be hating the ones you’re in soon enough.” Trammel came over to Blake. “What do you make of him?”
Blake was glad to tell him. “I think this little rat is telling the truth as he knows it. Marcum’s a known killer and won’t mind shooting a few civilians if he has to. As for whether or not I think Mahaffey will let Brandt go if you give him Washington, that’s not for me to say.”
“No. That decision is all up to me.” He looked down at Bishop. “I’m not so sure he’s really with Washington’s bunch. You’ve seen how close I’ve gotten to Ben the past couple of days. I can’t see his men trusting a flea-bitten mutt like this with a job this big.”
Dib Bishop almost came out of his chair. “I’m man enough to ride with Ben and hold my own, too. He’d never say otherwise.”
Trammel ignored him. “I bet this little trail rat doesn’t even know how many men ride with Washington.”
Bishop jutted his chin up at the sheriff. “Ten men and each one of them alone is tough enough to put your big carcass in the ground.”
Trammel smiled. “Thanks. Ben wouldn’t tell me how many were out there with you, but you just did.”
Bishop leapt from his chair, but Blake cut him off and grabbed him. “Where do you want me to keep him, boss?”
“Don’t put him downstairs,” Trammel said. “He’ll just yelp all night for Washington. You’d better talk to Old Bob and stick him in one of the stalls. Make sure you pair him up with a horse that doesn’t like noise. That ought to keep him quiet enough until I figure out what to do with him.”
Bishop tried to break free from Blake, but the deputy easily pulled him from the office as Bishop yelled to Trammel, “You do that, Sheriff. You think long and hard about what you’re gonna do next because a lot of lives depend on it. Yours least of all.”
Trammel shut the office door in his face as Blake dragged him toward the stairs.
Once the door was closed, Bishop began to move under his own power. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about him. He ain’t much.”
“Sure he is, kid.” Blake led him down the stairs. “I hope you don’t find out he’s everything they say he is and more.”
CHAPTER 9
Adam Hagen had lived through sieges before, but never one like this. Instead of firing bullets or arrows, frantic gamblers waved betting slips and money at him. They may not have been singing death songs or cutting loose with rebel yells but shouting the bets they wanted to place was almost as rattling.
Hagen was glad that his guards were there to keep his customers from storming the small platform they had hastily built at the side of the casino floor. He had been caught up in the commotion while walking through the lobby and did not know what had caused this sudden rush in betting.
“Has another war broken out?” Hagen asked Rube over the shouts of the gambling hall.
“It’s the Washington Gang, boss. They’ve grabbed Leo Brandt on the trail.”
Hagen considered himself an informed man, but he had no idea who Miller was talking about. “Who the devil is Leo Brandt?”
Miller leaned closer and spoke louder. “A deputy U.S. Marshal out of Cheyenne. Lefty Rollins sent him here to pick up Washington and bring him back for trial. We just heard that Ben’s men sent a messenger to talk to Trammel. They want to trade Washington for Brandt. They said they’ll kill the deputy if Trammel doesn’t make the trade.” He pointed down at the throng of men clamoring for their attention. “They must’ve heard about it and want to bet accordingly.”
Hagen was thrilled they wanted to give him their money but knew how quickly excitement could devolve into anger. A bump perceived as a shove could start a brawl. One misunderstanding would return The Laramie Grand back to its former name. The Tinder Box. The only thing worse than the destruction would be the knowledge that Buck Trammel had been right to warn against accepting wagers on the Washington matter.
Amid the growing chaos, Hagen spotted Wayne Carter standing just beside the platform. He had not seen the man since the gathering in his suite the night before. He appeared to be as unaffected by the pushing and shoving as a man standing beneath an awning in a rainstorm.
Hagen noted Carter was not as well-dressed as the other cattlemen. He sported a brown derby and coat to match. He had his thumbs tucked in his gun belt and Hagen spotted a pistol on his right hip, though he did not appear to be eager to use it.
Hagen held up his hands and shouted for his customers to be quiet. When they refused to cooperate, he drew his pistol from his hip and aimed it at the ceiling. He had no intention of shooting, of course. The plaster work had cost him a small fortune, but the sight of the gun had the desired quieting effect on the crowd.
“Gentlemen,” Hagen shouted, “I need you all to remain calm for a moment. I understand there has been a development in the Washington matter that might affect the odds. As I’ve only just learned of this, I must ask you to be patient with us while we find out exactly what has happened. I ask you to give us two hours to investigate so we can offer revised, correct odds for all concerned. The Laramie Grand has a reputation for offering the best and fairest odds in the territory. I assure you that Mr. Miller and his men will be glad to take your bets as soon as we know more. Until then, the gaming tables will remain open and there’s still plenty of whiskey to help you pass the time. In fact, the next drink is on the house.”
The prospect of free liquor was enough to cause even the most ardent gambler among them to rush across the gaming floor to the bar.
Everyone except for Wayne Carter, who remained behind.
Hagen pulled Miller closer to him. “You hold the fort while I go talk to Trammel. He’ll know what’s happened. I’ll be back with news as soon as I can.”
Rube Miller looked relieved. “Sounds good to me. I thought they were going to stampede us there for a moment.”
Hagen had another concern beside a horde of rowdy gamblers. “Did you hear back from New Orleans about the Carter boys yet.”
“Nope. I sent the wire, but no answer. I’ve been too busy with all these Washington bets to send another wire. But I’ve had some of our boys watching him and his brothers. They said at least one of them has been around the floor all day and night, but no one’s seen them so much as take a drink or place a bet or even talk to any of Janine’s girls. They just watch. I think you’re right about them, boss. I don’t like the attention they’re paying to how we do things.”
Hagen patted his arm before he stepped down from the platform. He found Wayne Carter waiting for him with a broad smile beneath his drooping moustache. “That was a fine bit of speech-making on your part, Mr. Hagen. I didn’t think you’d be able to turn them so quick. I’d have lost good money betting exactly on the opposite result.”
“I wish you had,” Hagen said. “It would’ve been the first bet either you or your brothers would have placed since you arrived here days ago.”
Carter grinned. “I thought you had someone keeping an eye on us.”
“I make it my business to know everything that goes on in all of my places. You and your brothers seem to prefer to keep your own company. Kind of undermines your purpose for coming to a cattleman’s convention, doesn’t it?”
“That would depend on my purpose for being here,” Carter said. “My true purpose. And I think you’ve figured out by now that me and my brothers aren’t really ranchers.”
Hagen was glad Carter was finally being honest about it. “Consider me intrigued, but I’m afraid your reasons will have to remain a mystery to me for a bit longer. I’m running late for an appointment. I’m sure we can find time to talk later.”
Hagen moved away and Carter followed. “I know you’re quite a busy man, but I think you’ll find my reasons for being here are important. Would you mind if I walk with you?”
“By all means, but I’ll have to insist that you tell me your real name if you do. This Carter business was never too convincing.”
“Fair enough. My real name is Jean LeBlanc, but I always go by Wayne.”
The name Wayne Carter had meant nothing to Hagen, but LeBlanc was quite a different story. He remembered the brothers had started off as pool hall toughs who quickly graduated to working as hired guns for some of the more undesirable gambling dens in New Orleans. “You boys were just beginning to make a name for yourselves when my time in New Orleans came to an unfortunate end. Your reputation precedes you, sir. My compliments.”
“As has yours, Mr. Hagen,” LeBlanc said. “My brothers and I weren’t surprised to see you’d built yourself quite a business here in Laramie. We figured it was finally time for us to pay you a visit and introduce ourselves to you properly.”
“I never turn down an opportunity to make a new friend or two.” Hagen waved to one of his blackjack dealers as they walked by. “But we both know you’re not here to sample my whiskey or try your luck at my tables. Why are you really here?”
LeBlanc smiled. “The oldest reason there is.”
Hagen smiled, too. “Sorry to disappoint you, Wayne, but you’re hardly my type.”
“The second oldest reason, then. Money. Lots of it. You have it. My brothers and I can help you make more of it. Much more.”
Hagen had figured as much. “What can you offer me that I don’t already have? Muscle? I’ve got plenty of men on my payroll who can manage that side of the business. Bouncers? There’s no shortage of ruffians in Laramie. I suppose I could always use a few more dealers for my tables if you’re interested.”
“We kind of had our heart set on something better.”
“Didn’t we all?” Hagen sighed. “I was going to be a captain of industry.”
“And look at you now,” LeBlanc said. “Everyone has a run of bad luck now and then. Some runs longer than others. Some have it sooner rather than later.”
Hagen had been wondering when the conversation would take a nasty turn. “Let me guess. You and your brothers can assure me that my good fortune will continue in exchange for a cut of the house take. Nothing too greedy at first. Perhaps five percent or so split between the five of you with the promise of increasing it to ten percent within the first year.”
“I was thinking of something closer to twenty percent to start,” LeBlanc said. “Me and my brothers are worth it. You can ask Big Littlejohn down in New Orleans if you don’t believe me. He’ll be more than happy to vouch for what my brothers and I can do for a place.”
“Littlejohn?” Hagen laughed. “Is that old pimp still toddling around? I heard he was dead years ago.”
LeBlanc did not laugh. “He’s more than a pimp these days. He’s got most of New Orleans in his pocket. Me and my brothers helped put it there for him.”
