Reaper's Fee (18 page)

So far, both deputies had been content to keep their mouths shut and watch the marshal. When Eaves seemed to be at a loss, the deputy still on his horse said, “He’s carrying a gun, Marshal.”

“Go on and get it from him, Chuck.”

Chuck climbed down to walk past the first deputy. Unlike the other deputies, Chuck held his gun in a steadier hand. His eyes didn’t have the unchecked energy in them that made him look like he would act without thinking first. He stopped well out of Nick’s reach and kept his gun trained on him.

Nick held up his hands, palms out, so everyone could get a good look at the mangled remains of his fingers. The deputies winced slightly, but the marshal didn’t flinch. When Chuck snatched the pistol away from Nick, he looked as if he’d been forced to pick up a cow pie.

“This thing’s barely even a gun,” Chuck said.

The marshal was quick to reply, “Take it from him anyway, and step back so we can tie his hands.” Looking at Nick, he said, “You’re coming with us, mister. What’s your name?”

“Nicolai Petkus.”

The marshal took the Schofield that was handed over to him, and the two deputies tied ropes around Nick’s wrists and ankles. “I ain’t never heard of a Nicolai Petkus.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Nick said.

“Yeah, well you’re still gonna hang for killing these folks, Nicolai.”

“Don’t I get a trial?”

“Sure do.”

Nick held his chin up and said, “Then I shouldn’t hang. There’s not one witness here who saw me kill anyone who wasn’t shooting at me first.”

The fact of the matter was that Nick would have staked every bit of that Reaper’s Fee on the fact that there weren’t any witnesses who could attest to his shooting anyone at all.

At least, he would have wagered those jewels if they were anywhere to be found.

The Reaper’s Fee was gone. Every last bit of it had disappeared, along with the sole witness to Lester and Kinman’s final seconds on this earth. In return for the Reaper’s Fee, that deputy simply had to ride far away and forget what he’d seen. Jim had been just frightened enough and just greedy enough to take Nick’s offer and start running. Nick’s faith in lawmen was sent right back down to the cellar, but at least those jewels had done some good.

Somewhere, Nick was certain Barrett was laughing his ass off at how that loot had been put to use.

Once Nick was bound tightly within those ropes, Marshal Eaves looked him in the eye and said, “I’ve got some bad news for you, Nicolai. I spoke to Kinman before and he never mentioned working with anyone. He did mention rounding up
more than just Wesley and Pat, though. He must have had his sights set on someone real good, because the two dipshits who lived here weren’t even worth enough for me to come get ’em myself.”

“He must have meant him,” Nick replied, nodding toward Lester’s body. “I hear he stole a horse from a man down in Texas.”

Eaves winced at that and shook his head. “That could be. It ain’t wise to take a Texan’s horse.” Raising his voice as he looked at his deputies, Eaves announced, “All right, boys. Let’s take our prisoner to his cell.”

“He’s a damn killer,” Chuck said. “We should string him up for what he done to them ladies back there.”

“We don’t know who the hell he shot,” Eaves replied. “Wesley was a crazy asshole, so he could have done it. This ain’t ours to decide. That’s what judges are for. This man’ll get what’s coming to him once he’s on trial.”

With that, Eaves snapped his reins and rode toward the trail that led back into Hackett.

Nick didn’t put up much of a fuss as he was lifted up onto the horse that Kinman had been using. In fact, he did his best to make the deputies’ job easier by going where he was pointed, sitting where he was supposed to sit and keeping his mouth shut. Part of his brain still raced with ways to get away from the lawmen, get out of his ropes or possibly get a weapon, but Nick set all of that to the side.

Once he was tied to the saddle and bound up like a prize calf in a rodeo, Nick’s options had dwindled down far enough to put that unquiet part of his brain to rest.

The quiet did him some good.

Ocean, California
Three weeks later

Mail was delivered to the Tin Pan Restaurant same as always. It arrived at the usual time, dropped off by the owner of the cigar shop across the street.

“Here you go,” the cigar shop owner said. “Looks like there’s some excitement for ya.”

Catherine smiled and took the small bunch of letters. The man from the cigar shop always expected excitement when Catherine got a letter that wasn’t from someone in her family or a notice from a distributor. When Catherine spotted the familiar, florid handwriting on the envelope, she nearly dropped over.

Since he wrote out most of his own burial notices and funeral invitations, Nick’s handwriting was very distinct. She’d been sick with worry over the last few weeks, and she hadn’t expected to hear from him in this manner. After pouring herself a glass of water, she sat at a table in the back of her
place and carefully opened the envelope. She read the letter slowly, savoring each word, but also dreading the next.

Catherine felt a coldness in her face. When she reached up to pat her cheek, her hand came away sweaty. A few drinks of water helped and she felt the liquid run through her system to chill her all the way down to her core. The name in the letter had struck her as odd, but only for a moment. Catherine recalled Nick telling her about someone in his family by the name of Petkus. Although there was some comfort to be had in that, it wasn’t enough to keep her hands from shaking as she held the letter and read on.

Catherine took a few more sips of water. Her nerves had calmed down a bit, but they still threatened to overwhelm her. Despite that, she couldn’t help but smile at Nick’s way of putting things in his letter. His little shortcut was most definitely giving the law that false name. He was right about one thing, though. If they knew who was truly in their custody, those lawmen would have dumped Nick into a cell and thrown away the key.

Either that, or they would have taken him out and…

Her next breath caught in her throat as Catherine knocked that thought straight out of her mind. Whatever Nick had done in his youth, she knew he’d been paying for it in his own way for plenty of years. Considering what he’d done to step in for her or plenty of other folks, she figured he’d already paid his debt. In Nick’s mind, however, she knew that probably wasn’t enough.

He never talked about it too much, but she could always see the haunted distraction in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking at him. Catherine knew he still thought back to his wilder days as if the sting of gunpowder was still in his nose and all that blood was still on his hands.

To comfort herself, she continued reading. Every curve of every letter on that page put the sound of Nick’s voice firmly in her thoughts.

Catherine smirked at that. She could practically hear Nick telling her that he could walk away from any jail cell as if the door were unlocked. In the past, it might have made her uneasy to know that it could be true. Now, it brought her some comfort. Not a lot, but some was better than none.

Catherine wiped the tears from her face and looked around as if someone nearby was actually going to scold her. She folded the letter and tucked it away in her skirt pocket.

“Was that from Nick?” one of the girls who waited tables asked.

“Yes.”

Wiping off the table next to Catherine’s, the server nodded. “I could spot that fancy handwriting anywhere. Is he coming home soon?”

“No,” Catherine replied. “Not for a while.”

Nick stretched out on his cot, which required him to dangle one leg over the side. The ceiling of his cell wasn’t much higher than the top of his head when he was standing, and it was built at a slope toward a window that wasn’t much larger than a slice of toast.

The cot made his back ache. The food sat in a warm lump at the bottom of his belly. He desperately missed Catherine and would kill to ride Kazys for miles at a full gallop. But all of that would have to wait.

For now, Nick was home.