Keeper of the Books (Keeper of the Books, Book 1) (23 page)

Vincent picked at his teeth as they rode along, making a sucking noise every couple of seconds. The man liked to talk. Boy, did he like to talk. He told Levi every detail about every little robbery he’d ever done. All of it petty little things that would never catch the attention of a bounty hunter. Levi resisted the urge to tell him that he’d caught plenty of men who were thieves and murderers. He’d seen countless hangings of people just like Vincent. Some places would put a man like him behind bars for a little while. Other places had no use for men like him and were more than willing to put a permanent end to his endeavors by use of a rope.

But men like him tended to brag. Levi never could understand the thinking behind bragging outlaws. He couldn’t say how many men he’d put away on account of them having a big mouth. Bragging meant talking. Talking meant spreading information. The more people an outlaw bragged to, the higher chance Levi would have of coming across somebody willing to give him up.
 

Oftentimes they would want something in return for the information, and Levi would give it to them depending on what it was—usually money. If the target was high profile enough, Levi would pay. People who could be bought usually had no idea how much their information was worth, and so often pitched an amount so low that Levi would have to keep from smiling. But no matter the amount, whether a dollar or a hundred dollars, Levi would always shake his head and say it was too much. He would start to leave and the informant would come chasing after him, lowering the amount by half almost every time. Levi would stall, shrug, and maybe start to walk away again after the appearance of careful consideration. He could usually count on getting the information he needed for about seventy-five percent less than the informant priced at the start. But if that person refused to go down in price, Levi wasn’t willing to give in. He didn’t like the feeling of being had, and if he paid full price, the informant had him. Levi would always find a different way.

He’d been chasing after Nathaniel Cole for years now, the outlaw always eluding him. Levi would go after some other criminal in between tries to keep food on the table, but if he ever heard any news about the Cole brothers hitting some place, Levi was there as quickly as he could be, ready to pick up the search where he’d left off.
 

But Nathaniel Cole had gotten good at sneaking away. He had hideouts dotted all over the map, and Levi had discovered a few of them, but the ones he found were always abandoned and showed no sign of a return.
 

Levi had gotten real close this time. He’d picked up the trail again when he got word that Nathaniel had been spotted in El Paso. Then he learned that they were in Penrod. Levi had gotten there as quick as lightning, not having been this hot on the brothers’ trail in a long while. Then there was the bank robbery, and he had even seen Joe riding off. Amos had been caught and that good-for-nothing Sheriff Marston had barely questioned the man. Levi had taken over the investigation and finally thought that he had Nathaniel where he wanted him.
 

Then when he’d seen him from the ridge going into Montgomery’s cabin, Levi’s heart had been pounding in his chest. A trot through the canyon, a few cartridges, and a stick of dynamite later, Levi found himself in a different world as lost as he’d ever been.
 

He tried to not let this sour his mood. He asked for a match from Vincent who produced one from his jacket. Levi quickly lit a cigar he’d been carrying with him and inhaled the smoke deeply. Looking ahead at the city of Tel Haven, he knew there was still hope even if the trail had gone cold. He was confident in knowing that he had been a lot further off from the brothers than this before. He wasn’t about to give up now.

When they reached the city, Levi figured he’d have to go somewhere back East to capture the bustling energy that this place emitted. There were some places back home that captured the grand essence of a big city, but not like this.

The streets were filled with shops and people. The cacophony of sellers and peddlers yelling out their deals and offering free samples of delicious treats threatened to overwhelm Levi, but he tried to take it in stride. For a moment, he even smiled at the commotion of people. Men wore suits and tipped their hats to the ladies in long dresses. The ladies might curtsy or ignore the men altogether. On down a little ways there were the usual saloons with roughnecks taking to the drink too early in the morning, but even they seemed to be doing business with their compatriots.

The throng of people in the streets made no claim to happiness, however. It was hard for Levi to grasp the mood of them. In Penrod, for example, the moment he’d stepped into the small town, the people seemed downtrodden and sad. It was a town of little hope, where the forgotten found a home and the weary found no rest. Here in the market district of Tel Haven it seemed too busy and too big for there to be any general mood of the populace. It was as if these people were too busy to feel—that every moment counted only if it promised a heavier purse weighed down by coins. Levi was not comfortable dwelling on the scene, but it was interesting to be there and to watch.

Levi and Vincent had worked out an agreement along the way that Levi wouldn’t tell the authorities about Vincent’s crimes, and would even pay him a little money if the man took him into the heart of Tel Haven. Of course, Levi had no money, so he needed to get to the bank first.

As they moved past the hustled market district, the noise seemed to lessen and the mood felt more calm, though there was still more going on than Levi had ever seen in one place. Vincent parked the buggy in front of a smaller, less populated saloon and pointed to a building about a hundred feet out.
 

“There,” he said. “There’s where you can git my money. That there’s the bank.”

Levi nodded at him. “I’ll go into the bank and you can get yourself a drink at the saloon. I’ll only be a few minutes, then I’ll join you.”

Vincent’s smile was wide. “You’ve read my mind!” He reached out to slap Levi on the back, but a stern look from the bounty hunter stayed his hand.

The two left the cart and Levi walked toward the bank. When he reached the door, he looked back to see Vincent go into the saloon, a stupid smile on his face. He wondered if the man was planning to put the drink on a tab and wait for Levi to bring the money.
 

Levi went into the bank and made his way to the nearest open teller. The man smiled at him with big white teeth. “How can I help you today?”

Levi leaned against the counter and blew a cloud of smoke into the air above his head. He kept his voice low so the others in the room didn’t hear him. “I need to know where the sheriff’s office is,” he said. “I’m new to town and have an issue I need to take care of.”

“Of course,” the teller said. “You’re actually in luck. If you leave the way you came in and turn right, you’ll find the sheriff’s office on your left about a hundred paces.”

Levi nodded at the teller and walked away from the counter without another word. He found himself in the bustling street again and stole a glance toward the saloon. He was pleased to see that Vincent hadn’t come out. Now, Levi could see the sheriff’s office plain as day. He walked toward it, all the while hoping the lawmen had word on Nathaniel Cole’s whereabouts.
 

On a board on the outside wall were postings for all kinds of wanted individuals. Sketches of various faces with bounties ranging from a hundred coins to a thousand covered the board. What struck Levi the most were the faces of individuals who didn’t even look human. Vincent had told him about the various creatures throughout Galamore. Elves…ravagers…gnomes…dwarves… This was the first time he’d had a chance to see what one of them might look like. Of course, these were crude drawings and the probably didn’t capture a true representation of what they really were. But there were a few drawings of people whose ears were as long as a dagger. These were elves, based on the description Vincent had given him. Another—a male with more hair on his face than Levi thought possible—was a dwarf. But mostly, the board consisted of men with various shades of anger etched on their faces.
 

But one stood out in particular. Right in the middle of the board was a drawing of a man who looked an awful lot like Nathaniel Cole. With all the others there had been names too. This one said that he was unknown, but information leading to his arrest was worth 500 coins.

Levi reached for the drawing and ripped it off the wall. He then stepped into the sheriff’s office quickly. There were two men in the smoke filled room, puffing away at their fat cigars. Neither of them bothered to even look Levi’s way as he entered. One of the men leaned against the back wall, humming a tune to himself. The man closest to the entrance sat leaned back in a chair with his feet resting on the desk in front of him.
 

“I need to speak with the sheriff,” Levi called out.
 

The man on the back wall continued to hum, while the man closest to him shook his head. “Sheriff’s on a break right now.”

Levi’s eyes traveled down to the man’s vest and saw the brass badge declaring that
he
was the sheriff.
 

“I don’t suppose you’d mind to come back to work so I can talk to you about this fugitive,” Levi said.
 

“No can do, partner,” the man said. “The sheriff should be in in about an hour. You can come back then.”

Levi looked toward the man at the back of the room. He had a badge as well, and Levi assumed this was the deputy. “What about you?” Levi nearly shouted.
 

The man ignored him, humming away, stopping only to inhale the smoke his cigar produced.
 

Levi knew this kind of law enforcement. They were often elected into office only to sit around and do nothing while the outlaws did as they pleased.
 

Levi’s teeth ground together and he stepped forward, grabbed the sheriff’s boot by the toe and slung it off the desk. The sheriff and his deputy jumped with fire in their eyes and guns drawn almost immediately, but they stopped in their tracks when Levi held up the paper at eye level.
 

“Ya’ll know who this man is?” Levi asked.
 

The sheriff looked at the paper and his look of anger was wiped away suddenly.

“By golly!” the deputy said. “That’s the man who helped Marum escape!”

“We don’t know who the man is,” the sheriff admitted. “But finding him would get me out of a heap of trouble, that’s for sure. Do you know who he is?”

“What’s his story?” Levi asked, ignoring the question.

The sheriff sniffed. “What’s it to you, anyway? You can’t just come in here like you own the place. I could arrest you for assaulting an officer of the law for what you just did.”

“You wouldn’t get that chance,” Levi said coldly. His stare into the lawman’s eyes dared him to try anything.
 

The sheriff holstered his gun and looked away toward his deputy who still had his gun drawn. He waved the man off and the deputy shoved his pistol into his holster, stomped a few feet back, and leaned against the wall again.

Levi hadn’t even drawn his weapon and already he was taking control of the situation.

“That man right there showed up in death row yesterday,” the sheriff said, turning back to Levi. “Nobody knows how he got there. Nobody knows who he is. Nobody knows where he came from. But he released all the prisoners which has the Rangers breathing down my neck. Gibbons questioned me for four straight hours last night.”

“So, he was here yesterday,” Levi said, his heart giving a sudden leap.
 

“That’s right,” the sheriff said. “You know anything about him?”

“More than I want to,” Levi said. “I’ve been after this man for ten years. He’s good at what he does.”

“Why would he want to release Marum? He was seen with her.”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Levi said. “All I know is this man is dangerous. And with a little bit of help, I can get him for you.”

“You a bounty hunter?” the deputy called out from the back.

“That’s right,” Levi said. “But I don’t know this part of the country very well. I’ll need some help navigating.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” the sheriff said. “We’ll get you all the help you need. What’s his name?”

“Nathaniel Cole,” Levi said. “Goes by Nate. He has a brother that’s here somewhere. His name is Joseph, but Nathaniel is my priority.”

“You’re really saving my neck,” the sheriff said.

“Another thing,” Levi said. “A man brought me into Tel Haven here. His name is Vincent. He’s got a cart parked out in front of the saloon across the way. It’s full of stolen goods. Vincent ought to be about halfway through his second or third drink by now. Just thought you should know. I plan on taking his horse if it’s all the same to you.”

“You can take the shirt off his back if you can help us get to this Nathaniel Cole,” the sheriff said. He reached out a hand. “The name’s Strand. Albert Strand.”

“Levi Thompson,” he said, reaching out to shake hands with the sheriff.

Strand looked behind him at the deputy. “Eric, take care of Vincent at the saloon. I gotta set up a meeting with the Rangers.”

“I’ll go with you,” Levi said to the deputy. “I need that horse of his.”

Autumn, 903 A.O.M.

Devlin lay in a bed, his head still throbbing from his fight with the gray elf, Marum, and the man she’d escaped with. Of course, this was the story he told to the other Rangers of Tel Haven. This was surely what had been told to President Jacob DalGaard. Devlin had been made to retell the story again and again, and he was careful to keep it straight every time he told it. Gibbons was terribly angry that a Ranger could be so easily beaten by two people. Devlin had not talked to the head Ranger directly, but this is what Ranger Colten had told him. Ranger Rickston had been the one to find him miles from Tel Haven, unconscious and bleeding. According to Rickston, Devlin looked so bad, he had put him on the horse and sprinted back to Tel Haven the entire way. The old Ranger had been afraid that Devlin was not going to survive the trip. But Devlin had survived with little more than deep cuts, painful bruises, and a particularly nasty knife wound to the shoulder.