Sathow's Sinners (18 page)

“If not,” Keyes said, slapping his hand down onto Deaugrey's shoulder, “I can make you dead.”

Deaugrey took the money and flipped through the stack while taking a long sniff. “Nothing smells better.” With a grin, he added, “Except for certain bits and pieces of my dear Melanie.”

Anstel's face remained a wall with no cracks. “Just bring her here.” With that, he got up and walked out of the room. Once in the hall, he told someone, “Get him out of here,” and walked away.

Before he knew what was happening, Deaugrey's glass was taken away. He was pulled from his chair and then shoved toward the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder and smirked at Keyes. “How'd you find me?”

“You came to us, remember?” Keyes replied.

“Not here. Back at that mining camp. How'd you find me?”

“Your friend Sathow and I have some history. I was already at that camp on other business when I saw him riding through there. He was preoccupied with something or other, but called you by name. He had to say it loudly because you couldn't take your eyes off of one of the whores trying to draw cowboys in off the street. I've seen that look in men's eyes plenty of times before. This time, it told me if I wanted to find you, all I had to do was keep an eye on that tent full of whores and you'd come along sooner or later. I was fairly certain it would be sooner.”

“That doesn't explain why you put on such a display when you interrupted me in that cathouse,” Deaugrey said while he and Keyes walked down the stairs. “Whatever history you had with Sathow doesn't explain that.”

“You've had a price on your head well before making that escape from the nuthouse,” Keyes told him. “The word of your recent liberation was put out through several counties, and it caught my attention since I know you've worked with my friend Nate Sathow.”

Deaugrey could only guess at the sort of hell that would show in Nate's eyes if he knew Keyes had just referred to him as
friend
.

They were on the ground floor now and Keyes continued pushing Deaugrey along until they'd both stepped outside. “I wanted to put a bullet through your head,” Keyes said in a voice that sounded like it had been dragged through a mess of wet gravel. “After what you pulled all throughout Linn County, the authorities didn't much care if you were brought in alive or dead.”

“That was a memorable couple of weeks,” Deaugrey mused.

“When he heard about you breaking out of McKeag's, Mr. Anstel got word to me the very next day that I should try to get to you as soon as possible. Between that and the reward being offered, I thought I should keep my eyes open. To be honest, I didn't really think I'd find you. Stumbling upon Sathow at that camp was a bit of luck. You being there with Sathow was an even nicer bit of luck.”

That was a bit too much luck for Deaugrey's liking, but he wasn't about to let on. “Well, I appreciate you being so forthright with me.”

Keyes filled the doorway with his tall frame and imposing stance. One hand was hooked over his gun belt and the other rested upon his holstered pistol. “Don't be too sentimental. There ain't nothing you can do with what I told you, and it was the quickest way to shut you up. Besides,” he added as he stepped back and started closing the door, “you, Sathow and plenty of others I don't much care for will be dead soon anyways.”

P
ete had spent the last couple of days constantly thinking about what was happening in town. Part of that was because he didn't have much else to do while he lay on his belly in the weeds or sat against a tree with ants and every other kind of insect burrowing into his boots or nibbling at his sweaty skin. While he and Frank moved from one hiding spot to another watching the depot that he and Nate had found, the others were eating hot meals and sleeping in warm beds. Deaugrey probably hadn't left his favorite saloon and Nate was surely enjoying a hot meal and a nice shave.

“Not Pete Meyer,” he grumbled as he lifted his field glasses to his eyes and used his free hand to smack a mosquito on the side of his neck. “Pete gets to sit in the dirt because that's what he does. Pete's a damn fool. He should've picked a more comfortable occupation. Maybe food taster,” he groused. “Or gambler. Gamblers get the finest rooms and all the whores they can . . . What have we here?”

Throughout most of the time he'd been keeping watch on the depot, there hadn't been much to see. There were only a few guards. From what Nate had discovered, the place was locked up so tight that the depot didn't require many. But there was something in there, otherwise there wouldn't be any guards at all, and there certainly wouldn't be reinforced doors. Every so often, one of those guards might step into the old depot. So far, Pete hadn't been able to get much of a look inside when that happened but over the course of the last day, four men and a half dozen horses had trickled inside and had yet to come out. His luck might have changed, however, since the set of larger doors at the front of the big building were now being opened. He looked over to a spot about fifty yards away where Frank was hiding and signaled for him to sit tight.

Rusted hinges wailed and heavy wood scraped against the ground. Pete stared through the field glasses, smiling widely as he finally got a glimpse of what was being held within the old depot. It seemed a good portion of the building's innards had been scooped out to leave a hollow area. It took both guards to open the doors wide and four of the six horses to pull a long black wagon outside.

The wagon looked like it had once been a hearse. Now it was stripped down to the essentials and covered with bulky panels on the side with holes cut through at a passenger's eye level. Gun ports, most likely. As for the contraption bolted to the top of the wagon near the back of its roof, Pete could only guess.

“What in the hell?” he grunted while squinting through the field glasses.

Atop the wagon was some kind of large kettle with hoses and narrow pipes running along its sides. A handle was attached to a long nozzle fashioned from several pieces of various widths pointing behind the wagon. Thinking back to the specialty weapons commissioned from Caster Grunwaldt, Pete lowered the field glasses and cursed under his breath. Part of him had hoped the fire spout was just a fanciful lie, but that contraption on the wagon looked like anything but. After the wagon had been pulled far enough away, Pete looked for any more of the guards. They all seemed to be busy with the wagon and the horses, so he gave another signal to Frank. The preacher nodded to acknowledge the command and moved in to get inside the depot for an even closer look.

As much as he hated to leave Frank to his own devices, Pete knew the preacher could take care of himself. They'd already argued about what to do next, and the consensus had ended in favor of the greater good. Still, he didn't feel good about hurrying back to the spot where he'd tied his horse. Behind him, the team tied to the wagon was straining to get it moving. Its wheels were turning and it would surely gain some momentum, but it wouldn't be a quick ride into town or wherever they were headed.

When he got to his horse, Pete didn't give a damn about making noise. Attracting the guards' attention would only give Frank a better chance to infiltrate the depot, so he snapped his reins, tapped his heels against the horse's sides and took off like a shot toward Joplin.

*   *   *

Nate wasn't much for strolling and it was even rarer for him to do so while wearing the simple, contented smile of a man half his age. The source for that smile was easy enough to see. Of course, any man in the vicinity would probably not even notice Nate at all since the woman on his arm was so naturally captivating.

“So,” the woman said, “this is Joplin. I've heard good things about it.”

“Perhaps we can take in some sights when this job is over,” he said while shifting his weight to compensate for the heavy bag he carried in his free hand.

Even when Angelica Corday frowned, she was beautiful. Her smooth skin seemed positively luminous in contrast to the raven-black hair framing her face. Thin, red lips formed the frown, which had more playfulness in it than anything close to sorrow. “It's always a job with you, Nate. When are you going to take better care of yourself? Or,” she added while leaning in closer to him, “you could let me take care of you.”

“We might have had time for that if you hadn't gotten yourself locked away, Angelica.”

“I've been out of jail for a month! Where have you been?”

“Keeping busy. And since I had to send telegrams to four different places if I was to have any chance of reaching you, it seems you've been keeping plenty busy yourself.”

Angelica wore a simple black dress with a white lace collar and matching cuffs. The red ribbons woven into the bodice created a set of lines that nicely accentuated the trim curves beneath her clothing. Smiling, she put a spring in her step which made it seem more like she was playing dress-up as she took hold of her skirt and gave it a little twirl. “I have been busy,” she said. “I was also very flattered that you took such pains to bring me here. Your message sounded so . . . urgent.”

“I need you, Angelica.”

Her eyes widened and she sighed. “I like the sound of that.”

“You're the best in your line of work. If you sign on to this job with me, you'll be more than happy with your share of the pay.”

“Back to jobs again,” she pouted. Before she could get too worked up, her other arm was taken by a second man who fell in step with them. Her smile returned as she unhooked herself from Nate so she could cling to the second man's arm like he was saving her from drowning. “Hello, Deaugrey,” she purred. “At least there's someone here I can rely on for a good time.”

“Indeed, you can,” Deaugrey said. “And I've already started to fill your dance card.”

“See, Nathan?” she said. “Someone around here knows how to treat a lady.”

“I'll let you spend every waking hour with the crazy man,” Nate said. “We'll see how long you last.”

“That,” Deaugrey said as he tightened his grip on her arm, “is what I believe is referred to as a verbal contract. From what I hear, they're quite binding.”

Angelica laughed with him and continued to rake Nate over the coals while the three of them walked back to the Joplin Grand Hotel. They were about five long strides away from the wide front porch when the hotel's doors opened and Pete frantically hurried outside. The tracker looked to either side and was about to take off running in another direction when he finally spotted the threesome headed his way.

“Thank God!” Pete said as he hurried over to them. “I just tried looking for you inside . . .”

“Let me guess,” Deaugrey said. “We weren't in there.”

“What is it, Pete?” Nate asked. “What's wrong?”

“Over the last few days, a few men have taken their horses into that old depot,” Pete explained. “Just like I told you when I saw you last time. Those horses are hitched to some kind of wagon that looks to be too damn heavy to be carrying just a bunch of men. It left the depot and there was something bolted to the top of it that could very well be that fire spout that Caster put together.”

“Fire spout?” Angelica asked. “What is that?”

“Much like it sounds, actually,” Deaugrey told her.

“I'll tell you about it later,” Nate said. “Pete, where were they headed?”

“Don't know yet. I knew I could get to town and warn you before the wagon got here. It took a bit longer than I thought to find you, though. We gotta find that wagon and put it down.”

Deaugrey and Angelica were staring at something farther down the street. “Finding it may not be a problem,” she said.

Nate and Pete followed their line of sight as the crowd on both sides of the street began to look and point as well. Smoke was rising from another part of town that was smearing the sky with thick black trails.

“Putting it down, however,” Deaugrey said, “may not be so easy.”

N
ate wasn't very familiar with the streets of Joplin and he didn't need to be. All he had to do was follow the smell of smoke and the sounds of screams to bring him closer to the source of the fire. When he was about to turn the next corner, gunshots were added to the mix.

“How many men were on that wagon?” Nate asked.

Pete was still beside him and replied, “At least six went into that depot over the last day or so along with two guards on the outside. I don't know how many are here now because as soon as I saw that wagon roll out, I got back here to warn you as quickly as I could.”

“Where's Frank?” Nate asked.

“He slipped into the depot to get a look at the place.”

“Good. Now's the perfect chance for that.”

Around the next corner, Nate found a scene of total chaos. People huddled on both sides of the street, watching three nearby buildings consumed by a growing fire. There were already men tossing water onto one of the larger buildings and a bucket brigade was forming to keep the blaze from spreading any farther. Two smaller groups of men stood facing each other in the street. Although they were near the groups that were fighting the fire, they were definitely not a part of them.

“Climb down from that wagon and keep your hands where I can see them!” one of the men shouted.

Two gunmen faced his group near the black wagon that had been parked in the middle of the street. “Stay where you are, Jake!” one of those fellows shouted. It wasn't until that moment that Nate spotted the man who sat perched atop the wagon behind the contraption that had been bolted near the back end. Jake must have been the one up there because he waved at the two near the wagon from behind the contraption.

“You know what we're after,” the second man near the wagon said.

“That's the sheriff,” Pete said as he and Nate did their best to get closer to the confrontation without attracting attention. “That place across the street from all them flames is his office.”

“Jesus,” Nate sighed.

“There's still time to put a stop to this, Hastings!” the sheriff shouted. “I don't give a damn who you work for. You're not getting away with this.”

Hastings was the oldest of the men near or on the wagon. He wore a duster that had been pulled back to grant him easy access to his holster, and a bandanna covered a good portion of his mouth. “It's already done, Sheriff,” he said. “Turn our man loose and we'll be on our way. Keep us waiting any longer and you'll have a whole lot more to worry about!”

To emphasize Hastings's point, Jake pointed the nozzle of the contraption toward one of the buildings that hadn't started burning yet and sent a stream of fire toward it. Nate could smell kerosene in the air and saw the spark at the tip of the nozzle that had set it alight. The fiery stream grew longer and shorter in time to how Jake worked the pump on the side of the contraption. When the stream was at its lowest, the flame got dangerously close to his hand and was finally cut off when Jake flipped an iron shutter that closed the top portion of the device.

People had scattered at the sight of all that fire, and the men fighting the blaze worked even harder. The flames that had just spewed from the nozzle had singed part of an awning, but hadn't done much more than that.

Nate turned toward the two people who'd followed him and Pete this far. Pointing to Angelica, he said, “Grey, get her out of here.”

Deaugrey nodded quickly. “Of course.”

Digging her feet into the ground, Angelica kept herself from being moved. “You wanted me here to help, Nate,” she said. “So let me help.”

“This isn't why you're here,” Nate told her while shoving her toward Deaugrey. “And if you get burnt to a crisp, you won't be much use to me whatsoever. Go with Grey and stay safe. Pete and I will handle this.”

The lawmen who'd taken a stand against the wagon had backed up a few steps but were still facing the men who'd started the fire. “You make one more move to work that machine and we'll start shooting!” the sheriff warned.

Hastings stood his ground. “You hit the wrong part of that wagon and this whole block goes up in smoke.”

“The longer we stand here and talk, the more of this town will burn around us!”

“Your town,” Hastings said. “Not mine. And if you don't want it to burn, then I suggest you do what we asked.”

The sheriff thought about his options for a few more seconds. He made up his mind real quick when the front portion of the bucket brigade hollered an alarm as a portion of one burning building's roof collapsed. “Wesley,” the sheriff said. “Bring that prisoner out here.”

“Goddamn it,” Nate snarled from within the crowd.

Pete was still beside him and asked, “What are we gonna do? We can't let them burn this whole place to the ground.”

“It won't come to that. If they wanted to destroy this town, they could have doused more of it in kerosene while driving up and down every street.”

Nate didn't have to tell Pete what that reason was and if there was any question in either man's mind, it was answered by a wild howl coming from within the sheriff's office.

Pescaterro came out of the sheriff's office hot on the heels of a barrage of gunshots that were fired randomly through the front window. The crowd that had been outside waiting to see how they might be able to help with the fire now scattered like a flock of birds that had been flushed from a bush. As he stepped outside, the outlaw shoved the younger deputy in front of him.

“Nobody come near me, you hear?” Pescaterro shouted.

The sheriff held his hands out to show they were empty. “Take it easy. You got what you want.”

Until now, Nate had hung back so as not to make things worse. Since they'd already gone straight to hell, he rushed toward the lawmen and said, “Get away from that wagon!”

The sheriff turned, recognized Nate from when he'd brought Pescaterro in after subduing him at the barbershop and started to motion for him to stay back when the wagon's driver snapped his reins. Already nervous from the nearby fire and the excitement surrounding them, the team of horses lurched into motion to pull the wagon down the street away from the fires and the group of lawmen. Pescaterro reveled in the sheer chaos filling the street and laughed maniacally while running to catch up to the black wagon. Before he could get to it, the wagon's back gate fell open to reveal the multiple barrels of a Gatling gun. The man inside the wagon turned the gun's crank and sent a barrage of lead into the street.

Nate and Pete had been hurrying to the lawmen's side and split apart to get out of the street as the first shots came. Even if they'd charged straight ahead, they wouldn't have gotten to the lawmen in time before they were cut down by the Gatling gun's hellish spitfire. Dropping to one knee, Nate drew his Remington and held one arm out so he could prop the gun on it for support. Knowing the pistol's range all too well, he took aim while trying to ignore the stream of hot lead that was working its way toward him.

Once he had his line of fire set, Nate slowly let out his breath and squeezed his trigger. The Remington bucked against his palm to spit a round at the back of the wagon and knock the man behind the Gatling gun straight back into the shadows. The mechanized weapon's barrels stopped turning, and the wagon kept rolling down the street.

Not all of the lawmen had been hit. One of them nursed a grazing wound on one arm while another seemed to have made it through the ordeal without a scratch. That one was already tending to the sheriff, who was lying in a pool of blood in the dirt. Since he couldn't do any good for the lawmen, Nate ran to catch up with the wagon.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Pete asked as he ran behind him.

“I brought that maniac in once,” Nate said between huffing breaths. “I won't let him get away now.”

“There's more than the damn wagon to worry about!”

As soon as Nate thought about something other than Pescaterro, he realized the thunder of hooves wasn't just coming from the team in front of the wagon. It also came from directly behind him. Nate turned to look over one shoulder and was just in time to see Hastings charging toward him with pistol in hand. After clearing a path by hopping up onto the boardwalk running alongside the street, Nate swung the Remington to pound it against the mounted gunman's chest. Hastings slumped in his saddle to catch his breath when Nate grabbed his arm and pulled him down from the horse.

Hastings was twisted around by the combination of Nate pulling him in one direction and the horse pulling in the other. Thanks to the nearby flames spitting cinders onto the horse's back, the animal wasn't about to show one bit of care for its rider. It reared and then thundered onward after shaking Hastings loose from the stirrups. All of this took place in a matter of seconds, ending with Hastings hitting the boardwalk on his side.

Since he already had a firm grip on the gunman's arm, Nate stomped his boot into the other man's armpit and wrenched with all of his might. Hastings let out a pained yelp as his arm popped out of joint. After that, it only took one good twist for Nate to turn Hastings into a wailing, pathetic creature writhing on the boardwalk and pleading in a string of nonsense syllables.

Nate bent down to take the pistol that Hastings had just dropped and collected his horse, which was still fidgeting nearby. As soon as he was in the saddle, Nate saw another gunman who'd been near the wagon rein his horse to a stop while sighting along the top of a Peacemaker. Two shots blasted through the air, both of which were fired from behind the rider to drill fresh holes through his upper chest. His eyes rolled up into his head and he started to loll forward before he was pulled back over the opposite side of the horse. Pete looked over the top of the horse, still holding his smoking pistol in hand.

“I suppose you aim to ride straight at them like a damn fool?” Pete asked.

Nate was situated now and had gotten the horse under control. “More or less, yeah,” he said.

“Just try not to get too close. I'd rather not be the one to hand Angelica your ashes.”

“Don't worry,” Nate said as he snapped the reins and raced after the wagon. “I'm sure Deaugrey wouldn't mind doing it for you.”