Colorado Clash Read online

  “You sure of that?” Aaron’s tone wasn’t unkind, just gently doubtful.

  “Money in the bank,” O’Malley laughed. “And I mean that both ways. Money in the bank that the story’s going to be that great. And money in the bank that that’s what I’ll have—money in the bank and plenty of it.”

  “For your sake, I hope you’re right, O’Malley.”

  Aaron went to take care of one of the oldsters at a card table. The man’s back had been seriously damaged in a mining accident about ten years ago. He needed help getting up out of his chair and aimed in the general direction of the outhouse in back of the saloon.

  O’Malley watched Aaron guide the old man. That was a warning sign to him. He didn’t want to wake up one day and find himself in the same situation this older man did. O’Malley’s dream was of the life he’d led in the big cities before the bottle had taken over his life so completely. There had been fresh young women and expensive meals in fashionable restaurants and spring days when he felt confident that someday he’d not only be working for a newspaper, he’d be running one.

  When Aaron returned, O’Malley ordered another round for himself. He ordered a shot for Aaron, too. The bartender smiled. “You down to your shoe money?”

  “My shoe money? How’d you know about that?”

  “You told me one night.”

  God. So hard to remember what he said and did. Had to be careful with his secret. Had to be very careful. “Well, do me a favor and keep it to yourself.”

  “Won’t do any good, O’Malley.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Same night you told me you told about half the people in here the same thing. I was surprised somebody didn’t wait for you outside and take your shoe off. I hate to admit it but some of my customers ain’t exactly saints. They hear of a drunk with a shoe full of money—”

  O’Malley laughed but it was forced. “Me and my big mouth, huh?”

  “You got to be careful. I don’t know what kind of thing you’re talking about—something big obviously—but you better watch yourself when you’re drinking. Don’t want to give it away.”

  Aaron moved down the bar to grab a couple of empty schooners and clean up.

  O’Malley’s heady dreams had been dashed for the moment. Aaron was right. O’Malley always ran his mouth when he was drunk. Had he already told somebody what he had figured out?

  But then his hand dipped into the pocket of his soiled suit coat. Merely touching it filled him with hope once again. He took it out and laid it on the bar momentarily, far from the eyes of Aaron. He just looked at it. To the uneducated eye this wouldn’t look like much at all. In fact, the uneducated eye would pass right by it. But to O’Malley this was Chicago and St. Lou all over again. Those fancy meals and those fan cier girls.

  He sat there staring at it, the silver button that was a match to the one Fargo had found near the body of Clete Byrnes.

  7

  Sam Raines was the first one down from the second floor of Rose Fitzhugh’s Parlor of Pleasure. Early in the day for sex but then it was also early for drinking four shots of whiskey back to back.

  He had just enjoyed the pleasures of a buxom redhead who had tasted of the perfume she had put on the hottest part of her body and who had enjoyed—or who had faked enjoying—the mating as much as he had. She had worn a sheer black slip under which her full breasts had shifted with mesmerizing grace. Her nipples were enormous and red-tipped like spring flowers.

  He had been rough with her at first, pushing her back on the bed and trying to jam himself inside her before she was properly damp. But she had quickly educated, easing him out and gently putting him on his back where she’d begun to stroke his manhood with educated and nimble fingers. He had been ready to explode then but those educated fingers had dissuaded him from ending their session so abruptly. And somehow he found himself pleasuring her, his mouth on her womanliness, and enjoying the joy he was giving her. But once again she stopped when she sensed that he was ready to end things. She got up on her haunches so he could take her from the rear—as he’d whispered his wishes earlier—and in that position gave him the kind of sexing he’d rarely enjoyed. He’d certainly gotten his money’s worth.

  He was buttoning up his trousers when the plump Rose, a gaudy wreck of a woman who affected red wigs and enough makeup to cover a line of six high-kicking saloon dancers, came through the beaded curtain leading to the parlor where the customers sat. As usual she carried a meerschaum pipe in one hand and a fancy fan in the other. She smoked the clay pipe frequently. “What’s wrong with that brother of yours this morning?”

  “What the hell business is it of yours?”

  “It’s my business when he hits one of my girls.”

  “They’re whores, what’s the difference?”

  “He never hit none of them before, not even when he was drunk. I’m wonderin’ what’s botherin’ him.”

  Sam knew damned well what was bothering Kenny. Kenny Raines, the blond and more handsome of the brothers, was worried about the same thing Sam was.

  “You have one of your gals get me a whiskey and you never mind what’s troubling him.”

  She looked at him with aged agate-colored eyes. But there was a youthful impishness in her gaze now. She was enjoying this. “Never thought I’d see the Raines brothers worried about anything.”

  “You get out of my sight, Rose.”

  She fluttered her fan in front of her wrinkled doll-like face, parted the beaded curtain and went into the other area of the house.

  He got up and walked to the window that looked out on the butt end of the town. To his mind, one long latrine. People still living in tents and shanties. On the other side of the mud street were the saloons and the casinos, the owners of which lived in Cawthorne proper. No way would they live here among the people they hired for pennies a day. This was where respectable people and visitors came to be bad and as soon as they’d taken their pleasure they hightailed out of here.

  The whorehouse was quiet, something Sam wasn’t used to. A Negro man with enormous pink arm garters usually played the piano. A girl or two in filmy dresses carried trays of drinks around. On nights when the wait was long you might find three or four customers playing a friendly hand of poker.

  The beaded curtain parted. A middle-aged Mexican woman with large hands gave him his drink. “Your brother, he was bad with Deborah this morning.” She touched her eye. “The black eye as it is called.”

  What the hell was this? First Rose and now this Mex. They acted like no girl ever got slugged before in a whorehouse. He’d been going to whorehouses since he was fourteen. Girls got slugged in them all the time.

  The curtains rattled again and there was his brother. The Mex scowled at him. Kenny laughed. “She giving you shit about that little gal upstairs?”

  “Says you gave her a black eye.”

  “Yeah, well she probably gave me crabs. So we’re even up.” He raised his bandaged hand. “All I did was backhand the bitch with this.”

  The Mex flashed a look that said he was despicable and left.

  Kenny walked over and took Sam’s drink from him. Took a deep swallow and handed it back. “You been thinking about it?”

  “I don’t know what we should do. This Fargo—”

  “Right now he’s all I care about.”

  Kenny purloined his brother’s drink again. Took another deep swallow and handed it back. Sam hadn’t taken a drink yet. “If you won’t help me, I’ll do it alone.”

  “He’s thrown in with Cain.”

  “To hell with Cain. People want rid of him anyway. It ain’t like the old days when he was such a big man.”

  The beads clattered again. Rose. She said, “It’s one thing hittin’ a girl at night. At least I can understand that a little bit. But hittin’ a girl this early in the day, I should charge you boys double.”

  “You’re lucky we didn’t hit you, Rose,” Kenny said.

  Then he whipped the drink from
his brother’s hand and finished it. He handed the empty glass to Rose.

  “C’mon, Sam, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  It was only as they were walking out that Sam Raines realized he hadn’t gotten as much as a sip of his own drink.

  Fargo stood behind three people in line for stagecoach tickets. This gave him a chance to observe Ned Lenihan. The Pinks he’d worked with said that you could tell a lot about a man just by watching him deal with other people. If he was in any kind of trouble he might appear agitated in some way.

  If Lenihan was agitated, he knew how to keep it hidden.

  “The finest book I’ve ever read,” said a sensible-looking middle-aged woman in a man’s denim shirt and gray butternuts. She held the book up for Lenihan to see. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Have you ever read it, Ned?”

  “No. But I’ve been meaning to. Amy has and she really enjoyed it.”

  “I’m taking it along on my trip to Denver. That’s one of the few good things about the stagecoach—no offense, Ned—I get a lot of reading done. Unless the other people talk too loud. You get some real loud ones once in a while.”

  Lenihan was a small man of about forty with fine, precise features. Instead of looking annoyed at the woman prattling on when there were other customers waiting, his smile seemed to say that he really enjoyed her company. All the while he was making out her ticket.

  “Yep, I’ll read it through again and then I’ll give it to my granddaughter. She’s eight but she can read up a storm. She’ll love it as much as I do.”

  The next two customers were just as talkative and Lenihan was just as patient. He stood there in his blue shirt with the black bolo tie, able to watch them as he scribbled out their fares.

  Fargo knew you couldn’t judge a man by either appearance or demeanor. He’d once hunted a grandfatherly man who had set fire to his daughter and three grandchildren. Their offense was trying to stop him from playing his accordion late at night. The man had a face that would have worked as a magazine illustration of all that was right and good and wise of old age.

  But if Lenihan had killed three men in cold blood he had a kind of cunning that Fargo had never encountered before. Cold-blooded killer in the night, friendly open man during the day.

  Then it was Fargo’s turn to step up to the counter.

  “Howdy. Can I help you?”

  “Name’s Skye Fargo. I’m helping Tom Cain.” He wasn’t surprised to see Lenihan’s face tighten. He had to know he was under suspicion for the robbery.

  “Yessir. What can I do for you?”

  “Wanted to talk to you about that robbery last month.”

  “Terrible. That Englishman was headed back home when it happened and the driver was a good friend of mine.”

  “I was thinking more about the money that got stolen, I guess.” Fargo kept his gaze fixed on the man’s face. “I’m told you were one of the few people who knew about it.”

  “I guess that makes me guilty, huh?” Anger, frustration.

  “I didn’t say that. I’m not making any accusations. I’m just trying to find out what happened.”

  “I heard you were helping Cain. In case you didn’t know, he spent a good bit of time trying to win my woman from me.”

  “He told me that he’d given up.”

  “So he says. And here’s something else you might think about. Tom Cain knew about that shipment, too.”

  “You’re saying that he had something to do with it?”

  “I’m saying that since the rest of us are under suspicion, he should be too. And personally, I don’t know why you’d want to get hooked up with a man like Cain.”

  “I’m doing him a favor. He’s an old friend of mine.”

  “Favor, huh? By my lights he’s a bully and a liar.” He smiled. “You know what this is about? He wants to marry the woman I plan to marry. It’d be one thing if she wanted to marry him. I’d step aside. I wouldn’t want to force her into anything. I’m not like that. But Cain’ll do anything. And I guess I should’ve figured he’d come up with something like this. Like saying I was in cahoots with those robbers or something. He gets me in trouble and then he has a clear field with Amy. Or that’s what he thinks anyway. But I know better. I’m sure if I was out of the picture Amy would find another man—she’s very pretty and very healthy—but it wouldn’t be Tom Cain. Not under any circumstances I can think of.”

  “That a serious accusation or you just talking?”

  Deep sigh. “I don’t know. I hate Cain and I’d like to see him run out of town. Or sent to prison. He made out real good taming this town. So I got to admit I may just be talking. But I’ve thought about it and I can’t see who else it would’ve been that tipped off those robbers. Maybe somebody at the other end, at the bank. But there’s no way for me to know that since I don’t know any of the people over there. And besides, if it was somebody over there I’d think the president of the bank would have his suspicions and he hasn’t said anything. And he’s been over here twice. So as far as I’m concerned that leaves Cain.”

  “So you are accusing Cain of robbery and murder.”

  Lenihan had an easy smile. “And you know what? I don’t have any trouble sleeping and I digest my food just fine.”

  The door opened and a fetching young woman in a yellow blouse, a brown leather vest and Levi’s walked in. Her body was rich with curves. Breasts turned the yellow blouse into a fine tribute to femininity. Fargo didn’t recognize her at first. The first and only time he’d seen her it had been night and she was dressed in funeral black. Sarah Friese, the undertaker’s daughter.

  “Howdy, Ned.”

  “Howdy yourself, Sarah.”

  “I’ve got this box I need to send to Fox Junction. No hurry but thought I’d drop it off here.” She came over and set it on the counter. Looked like a cigar box, wrapped in tan paper, string neatly enclosing it.

  “I’ll get you a receipt,” Ned said.

  While he went to work, she looked at Fargo. “You probably don’t recognize me.”

  “I sure do.”

  “My father says that I don’t have to worry about men chasing me as long as I keep wearing his funeral clothes.”

  “Hard to mistake a good-looking woman even in funeral clothes.”

  She touched Fargo’s arm with long, thin fingers. “Did you hear that, Ned? There should be more men like him in Cawthorne. Maybe my father could get me married off after all.” Then: “I hope to see you soon, Mr. Fargo.”

  “I have a feeling you probably will.”

  She favored each man with another smile and left.

  As soon as she was gone, Lenihan jabbed a finger in the air. “I didn’t have one damn thing to do with that robbery. Nothing. And like I told you, as far as I’m concerned this is nothing more than Cain trying to steal Amy from me. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d get the hell out of here.”

  Fargo was ten steps from the stage line office when he saw Deputy Pete Rule standing near an ore wagon talking to a couple of men. He headed over there, standing back until Rule was finished with his conversation. Rule didn’t look all that happy to see him.

  “Heard you signed on, Fargo.”

  “For twenty-four hours.”

  “Glad to hear it. I’ve been doing some nosing around myself.”

  “I got tricked into it. I wanted to be on my way to Denver now. I’m doing this as a favor to the three women who asked me. Cain put them up to it but I’m doing it anyway—for twenty-four hours. And then I’m gone whether I find out anything or not. Just because I’m asking around doesn’t mean you have to stop. The thing is to find the killer. Doesn’t matter much who finds him.”

  “Well, I’ll keep asking around.”

  “One thing I’m trying to figure out is Cain and this woman Amy Peters. I just talked with Ned Lenihan. He seems to think that Cain wants to blame the robbery and the killings on Lenihan so he can have Amy all to himself.”

  Rule smiled, looking younger and healthier. “W
ell, she’s a beauty. No doubt about that. But Tom, he gave up on her a while back. It got embarrassing for everybody. He really tried everything he could to win her over and a lot of people hated him for it. Ned Lenihan doesn’t compare to a big good-looking man like Cain. And Ned’s a local man, so naturally most of the people took his part. And I think the sheriff took about all the humiliation he could. She made it real plain that she was in love with Ned and standing by him and that Cain didn’t have a chance. So he gave up.”

  “So Lenihan’s wrong?”

  “About Cain still chasing after Amy, yes. But Ned has financial troubles with his farm. That means he needs money. He doesn’t want to talk about that. That’s why Cain thinks he might have arranged the robbery with those three boys. He needs the money. But he can’t fool people into believing that Cain is just after him because of Amy.”

  “What’s your opinion?”

  Rule’s leathery face wrinkled into a frown. “That’s the thing. I like Ned. He’s a hard worker and a decent man. But the trouble is he loves that little farm of his almost as much as he loves Amy. So if it came down to setting up a robbery to save it”—he sighed—“well, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “Thanks, Pete. I’m glad we got to have this talk.”

  “Yeah,” Rule said. And damned if he didn’t smile again. That was two in the space of a few minutes. Maybe he wasn’t just a sour cuss after all. “Now I don’t have to go around sulking all day.”

  A large red barn stood next to a rope corral where six horses stood while a Cheyenne man examined them. Inside the barn came the sounds of stagecoaches being repaired and made ready for the torture of traveling over roads that could seriously damage or even destroy any stagecoach ever made. Fargo had swung back here after talking to Rule. He’d talked to Lenihan. He decided it was time to talk to Kenny Raines and his brother Sam. As employees of the stage line, they’d known about the money in the strongbox, too.