Kill Crazy (7 page)

Obeying the instructions, Duff pulled his pistol from the holster and dropped it into the brass container of expectorated tobacco juice.

One of the other robbers took out a cloth bag and handed it to Caldwell. “All right, Mr. Bank Teller,” he said. “I want ever' dollar this bank has to be put in this sack.” He cocked the pistol and pointed it at Caldwell. “And if you hold back as much as one dollar, I'll blow your head off.”

“I won't hold anything back!” Caldwell said, taking the bag with shaking hands. He moved quickly to the safe, opened it, then began taking out packets of bills and dropping them in the bag.

“Whooee, look at that money, Johnny! Did you ever think we would get so much?”

“Clay Calhoun, you ignorant son of a bitch! Don't use my name!”

When the bag was filled, Caldwell handed it to the man Clay Calhoun had identified as Johnny.

“All right, boys, let's get out of here,” Johnny said.

The robber who was holding Cindy gave her a shove as the five men started toward the back door of the bank. Duff watched until all were outside. Then he stuck his hand down in the spittoon and came up with his pistol, now dripping with brown slime. Ignoring the odorous goo, he started toward the back door.

“No!” Cindy said, running in front of him. “Don't go out there! They'll kill you!”

“Let me by, lass!” Duff said.

“No!” Cindy grabbed him and tried to hold him back. “Don't you understand? They will kill you!”

Gently, but firmly, Duff pushed Cindy away, then stepped out into the alley. Mounted now, the six bank robbers were galloping down the back alley, shouting and shooting their pistols into the air to keep everyone back.

Chapter Ten

Outside in the alley behind the bank, Duff took careful aim and squeezed off a shot, and one of the riders fell from his horse. He fired a second time, and another rider fell. But before he could shoot a third time, the remaining four riders went around a corner. Duff ran back through the bank, where he saw Cindy standing by the front window looking out onto the street, while Caldwell bent over Welch's body. Duff ran out of the front door to see if he could get a shot, and he saw the bank robbers at the far end of the block, where they had come back out from the alley. He raised his pistol to take aim, but there were too many townspeople drawn into the street by the commotion. Curious men and women were standing in the street between Duff and the fleeing robbers, preventing him from getting a clear shot.

By now, Marshal Jerry Ferrell, as well as Deputies Willie Pierce and Frank Mullins, showed up, their own pistols drawn. “What's going on?”

“The bank's been robbed, Marshal!” someone shouted.

Seeing Duff with pistol in hand, standing in front of the bank, Ferrell hurried down to him.

“Did you get a shot at them?” Ferrell asked.

“Aye, two of them,” Duff said. “One I think I killed, and one I but wounded. They are out back in the alley.”

“Ha!” Ferrell said. “When I took this job over from Marshal Craig, he told me you were like an unpaid deputy. Willie, Frank, you keep an eye on things out here. Duff, what do you say you and I go back there and take a look at them?”

Ferrell and Duff moved quickly back into the alley. There they saw two men on the ground, one lying, and one sitting up. The two robbers were behind Guthrie's Building and Lumber Supply, and R.W. Guthrie and Fred Matthews were standing over them, holding pistols on the one who was sitting up. The masks had been pulled away from both of them.

“I thought I recognized you. Marshal, this gentleman is Emile Taylor,” Duff said. “Or at least, that is what he said his name was when I met him in Fiddler's Green.”

Ferrell chuckled. “Yes, I heard about that meeting.” Ferrell looked at Emile. “And I heard about your little episode with Burt Kennedy too. Not so much now, are you, Taylor?”

“I'm hurt,” Emile said.

“Are you now?” Ferrell replied, though there was absolutely no compassion in his voice. “Have you checked him over, Fred? How bad is he shot up?”

“He's got a crease in his shoulder is all. He was hurt worse when he fell off his horse than he was by the bullet,” Matthews said.

“You're slipping, Duff. I would have thought you would have killed both of them.”

“I thought you might want to speak with one of them,” Duff said.

“That's a fact,” Ferrell said.

Deputies Pierce and Mullins arrived then.

“Ain't nothin' more happenin' out front,” Pierce said.

“Folks still standing around in the street?” Ferrell asked.

“Yeah, they're doin' that, all right.”

“I'd better get back out there. Come on, Taylor, you're going to jail. You two, keep him covered.”

“I heard what you done to Burt Kennedy,” Mullins said. “So I would really love it if you would try and run.”

“I ain't runnin' nowhere,” Emile mumbled.

 

 

Duff and Marshal Ferrell walked back out into the street, where the crowd of curious onlookers had grown even larger.

“Folks, the show's over,” Marshal Ferrell shouted. “You may as well get out of the street so horses and wagons can pass.”

“I heard Mr. Welch was killed,” someone said. “Is that right?”

“Aye, I'm afraid it is,” Duff said.

“He is the one who shot Danny,” Caldwell said, pointing to the prisoner that Pierce and Mullins had in tow.

“Let's string the son of a bitch up!” another shouted. “Get a rope! I'll put it around his neck myself!”

Marshal Ferrell saw who had shouted, and he pointed at him. “Prentiss Montgomery, if you so much as open your mouth again, I will throw you in jail. And if anyone else makes such a comment I will throw him and you in jail! There will be no more such talk in this town. Do you hear me? I'm talking to all of you.”

“Marshal, Danny Welch was a good man,” someone said. “We can't let this son of a bitch get away with killin' him.”

“Welch was a good man, that is a fact,” Ferrell said. “And if Mr. Taylor here is the one who shot him, there is no doubt in my mind but that he will hang. But if he, or anyone else, is hanged in this town, it's going to be legal. Or else there will be two hangings. The one that is illegal, followed by the legal hanging of the son of a bitch who did it.”

“Duff! Oh, Duff!” Meagan shouted, running up from her place of business. There was an expression of fear and worry on her face, but when she saw Duff standing uninjured in the street with the marshal, the expression of fear and worry was replaced by one of relief and joy.

“Oh,” she said. “I heard—I was afraid—I'm so glad to see that you are all right.” Without hesitation or embarrassment that they were standing in front of the entire town, Meagan went to him and embraced him.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears of relief; then she saw his hand, still soiled with the expectorated tobacco offal. She stepped back with an expression of repulsion.

“Oooh!” she said. “What
is
that?”

“Och . . . 'tis naught but tobacco juice,” Duff said with a wry grin. “They made me drop my pistol into a wee pot o' the stuff.”

“And you stuck your hand down into it?”

“Aye, for 'twas the only way I could retrieve my gun,” Duff said.

“Which, I may say, Miss Parker, he put to excellent use,” Marshal Ferrell said. “He put two of the varmints down.”

“But the others got away with the money,” Duff said.

“How much money did they get?” one of those standing in the street asked.

“I don't know yet,” Marshal Ferrell replied. “We'll have to go through the records and find out.”

“Damn! I had money in that bank!”

“We all had money in that bank, Snellgrove,” Guthrie said.

Johnny Taylor and the others galloped for two miles before they slowed their horses to a trot. There, the riders dismounted, unsaddled their horses, then gave the animals a swat on their flanks and sent them galloping off.

“Where's Emile?” Johnny asked.

“Him 'n' Julius didn't make it,” Calhoun said. “They was both shot.”

“My brother was shot?” Johnny said distressed by the news.

“Emile wasn't kilt though,” Short said.

“He wasn't kilt? How do you know?” Johnny asked anxiously.

“He was right beside me, and I seen where it was that he got hit. He just got hit in the shoulder is all.”

“Julius is dead though,” Calhoun said. “Hell, I seen blood and brain comin' out of his head where the bullet hit.”

“Did anybody see who it was that shot 'em?” Johnny asked.

“Yeah, I seen 'im,” Calhoun said. “It was the one we made drop his gun into the spittoon. He must've fished it out.”

Carrying their saddles, the four men walked almost a mile into a closed canyon where six horses were hobbled.

“When are we goin' to divide up the money?” Short asked.

“We'll divide it up now,” Johnny answered

“Good,” Calhoun said. “And now with two of 'em gone, that just gives us that much more money to divide up.”

“Not quite. Emile and I still get half of the money,” Johnny said. “But you three can divide up the money that would have gone to Jackson.”

“What do you mean, Emile and you get half the money? Emile ain't even here,” Short said.

“He ain't dead, either. So that means I'm goin' to keep his money for him.”

The four men sat down then and counted the money. It came to forty-five thousand dollars.

“All right,” Johnny said. “Half of forty-five thousand is twenty-two thousand five hundred, which I'll keep for Emile and me. That leaves seven thousand five hundred dollars for each of you.”

“That don't seem no way right,” Short said.

“Is that, or is that not, what you agreed to?” Johnny asked.

“Johnny is right, Al,” Evans said. “We did agree to that, and if you think about it, what with Julius gettin' hisself kilt an' all, why, we're gettin' a lot more 'n we bargained for.”

“Plus, we come up with more money that we thought we would,” Calhoun added.

“Yeah, and if you boys just stick with me, there will be a lot more where this come from,” Johnny said as he continued to count the money. “I've got at least two other jobs in mind.”

“All right. All right, I like the sound of that,” Short said.

“Now, that you've seen it, I want you keep some of it back, but wrap the rest of your share up in your spare shirt, and we'll bury it here.”

“What do you mean, bury it here?” Calhoun asked. “Why the hell would we want to do that?”

“You want to be wandering around carryin' that much money with you?” Johnny asked. “Nobody walks around with that much money.”

“But bury it?” Evans asked.

“You don't have to bury it. You could go into town somewhere and open yourself a bank account. Of course, they might ask where you got twenty years' worth of salary. On the other hand you could probably take it back and open up an account in the bank we just robbed, then they wouldn't have to ask, because they would know.”

Short chuckled. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“How do we know one of us won't come back here and take all the money?” Calhoun asked.

“Who's going to do that, Calhoun? You?” Johnny asked.

“Well, no, I won't but . . .”

“There's a real easy way to handle this,” Johnny said. “We won't none of us separate until we're ready to move on to somewhere else. Then we'll all come here together, dig up our money, and go on to the next job.”

“All right, I'll bury my money if the rest of you do,” Short said. “But I ain't goin' to bury all of it. I plan to keep some with me.”

“I suggest you men back no more'n a couple hunnert dollars apiece,” Johnny said. “That's enough money to last you for a while. I'm going to keep back about two thousand.”

“Why are you keeping so much back?”

“We are going to have some operating expenses, and I'll need enough money to cover that.”

“All right, sounds good to me,” Evans agreed.

After the money was buried, Johnny saddled his horse. “I don't know about you boys, but I'm goin' into town,” he said.

“What? Why are you goin' to do a dumb thing like that?” Short asked. “In case you forgot, we just robbed a bank in that town.”

“I need to know if my brother is still alive, and see what I can do about gettin' him out of there.”

“You're goin' to get yourself caught,” Calhoun said.

“No, I ain't. They didn't nobody see us without we was masked. And we was ridin' different horses then.”

“Hell, Johnny's right. We could all go back into town,” Evans said.

“Are you crazy?” Short asked.

Evans smiled. “Yeah, like a fox,” he said. “Think of it. We was all wearing these here long coats, so they didn't nobody see what we wearin' underneath. And like Johnny says, we was all masked and we was ridin' different horses. Ha! More'n likely they've got a posse out lookin' for us right now all over hell's half acre, and all the time they're a-lookin' for us out here, why, there we'll be right there in town, right under their noses. They won't never think we'll be there.”

“Damn if I don't think Evans is right,” Calhoun said with a broad smile. “And we sure as hell can't spend none of the money out here, but if we're in town, why, we could have us a good supper at that restaurant Emile told us about.”

“And maybe get us a few drinks, and play some cards,” Evans said.

“What do you say about it, Johnny?” Short asked.

Johnny smiled. “I'd like to have me a steak and some taters.”

“And maybe a woman to warm my bed,” Evans added. “Lord, with this much money we can get any woman we want.”

“All right,” Johnny said. “We'll go back into town. We'll have us a good meal, and do some drinkin' and whorin'. But don't none of you get drunk.”

“What do you mean, don't none of us get drunk?” Evans asked. “Hell, what's the purpose of drinkin', if you can't get drunk?”