Hard Ride to Wichita (13 page)

Without even knowing it, Luke straightened a bit when he heard that.

“If you think these boys are gunmen,” Carlo said, “then you've led a real sheltered life.”

“Then who are they?” Bickle asked. “And why are they chasing me . . . while carrying
guns
?”

“They're chasing you because you ran away, you fool!” Carlo said. “You don't need to concern yourself with them. I'm the one talking.”

Forming his mouth into a tight line, Bickle put some fire into his eyes as he defiantly said, “Fine. You want to talk? Say whatever you want to say. Just be quick about it. I've got a business to run.” Once again, he did a terrible acting job.

Carlo took another step forward and then hunkered down so he was closer to Bickle's level. “You do have a business to run, don't you? That's something you didn't mention when we first met.”

“We were meeting in regards to a different matter,” Bickle replied. “My other affairs weren't important.”

“See, now, that's where I disagree. You lied to me. You told me that you were in a different line of work altogether.”

Bickle shrugged. “That's not necessarily a lie. A man can be in several different lines of work.”

“What's any of this got to do with—” Red started to ask before he was cut short by a backhanded swat on the arm from his friend.

“I wanna hear this,” Luke whispered. “Just keep watch for anyone trying to barge in on us.”

“You don't tell me what to do,” Red snarled.

“We're both keeping watch. Let's just make sure we don't let anyone sneak up on us.”

Grumbling to himself, Red stepped outside Luke's reach and turned so he could watch the alley. Luke faced the stores in the other direction while also angling himself to watch Carlo and Bickle from the corner of his eye.

“I said not to worry about them,” Carlo said in a tone that cut through the air like a knife. “Don't make me say it again.”

Bickle moved the crate to one side as if he'd only just realized it wasn't his biggest concern at the moment. “I didn't tell you about my trading company,” he said. “I didn't tell any of those men about it. I don't need those kinds of men knowing about something like that.”

“Normally I would understand such a precaution,” Carlo said. “I take plenty of precautions myself. This, for example,” he added while lifting his gun so it was directly between his face and Bickle's. “I can use this for all kinds of things.” Flipping it around to present its grip, he said, “I've even used this right here to knock in a few nails or crack a few skulls.” With another snap of his wrist, the pistol turned around so it could be held properly again.

Every time that gun moved, Bickle jumped as if he were getting rapped on the nose with it.

“But mostly this is the business end,” Carlo continued, obviously savoring every moment. “It's a great precaution against snakes and other vermin. You know all about snakes, right?”

Bickle shook his head. “I . . . I don't . . .”

“What's the matter? Now you can't talk so well? Seemed to me you were talking just fine when we met a few weeks ago.”

“Whatever it is you think happened—”

“I don't have to think about anything that happened. I
know
what happened.” Turning to Luke, Carlo asked, “How many wagons were parked outside the Eastern Trading Company?”

“I counted three,” Luke replied.

“And I believe him,” Carlo said as he shifted his attention back to Bickle. “He's a real bright kid.”

The store owner put on a wide, shaky grin as he said, “And a fine-looking boy as well!”

“No need for the sweet talk,” Carlo told him. “He's not mine. Although perhaps I should take him under my wing. I could sure teach him a few things about being able to spot a snake. See this right here, Luke?” he said while pointing his gun at Bickle. “This is a snake!”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Bickle squeaked. “Why would you s-say such a thing?”

“How much inventory were you unloading today?” Carlo asked. “I've never seen one store getting so much at one time.”

“Every store needs to keep its shelves full!”

“And where would you get the money for so much? It's not like this is the sort of town that can make a shop owner like you into a rich man!”

“It's just a matter of timing!” Bickle swore. “All my shipments decided to come in at once. That's all!”

Spinning his gun around to once more present the handle first, Carlo raised it high and brought it down like a hammer to smash the top of Bickle's crate into splinters. “What's this?” he asked while reaching into the broken crate with his other hand to grab a candlestick. “This looks awful fancy for a general store in a town this size.”

“I'm branching out.”

“I'll just bet you are.”

“What's the meaning of all this?” Luke asked.

“Yeah,” Red added. “And what's this got to do with that money we're supposed to be getting?”

“The boys bring up a real good question,” Carlo said. Keeping his intense gaze fixed on Bickle, he said, “That money I told you two about was meant to pay off an outstanding debt of mine.”

“You already mentioned that,” Luke said.

“It was a debt meant to be paid to someone who wasn't able to come and collect it himself,” Carlo went on to say as if he hadn't heard anyone else. “Bickle here was sent to collect his money for him. I handed over the money and figured everything was fine. A week or so later, this man who I owe the money to sends word to me that he ain't been paid.”

At this point in the story, Bickle got even more nervous. “I'm just a businessman,” he said while shaking his head. “Ask anyone in town.”

“You think them people I ask will know about you stepping in to barter a deal between an army captain and a gunman like me?”

“Probably not.”

“That's right. You keep to yourself, don't you? What if it gets around that you have dealings with known killers and outlaws?” Carlo asked. “How many customers do you think you might lose then? Or the better question might be . . . what sort of customers do you think you might gain? Maybe a bunch of thieves and killers looking for another middleman to broker their deals? I doubt that'd last long when it gets out you can't even be trusted to do that much.”

“You can't back up anything you're saying,” Bickle insisted.

“I ain't no lawman,” Carlo replied. “I don't need nothing more to go on than what I've already seen. And what I've seen is a man who took a whole lot of money from me that was supposed to be delivered on my behalf. That money never was delivered and then I see the man who took it rolling around like a pig in slop in a whole bunch of new stuff that must have cost a whole lot of
my
money!”

“It's merchandise for my store! Didn't you ever think that one of those other men who were there when that money changed hands might have taken it? They were desperadoes, you know! Killers and thieves.”

Carlo shook his head. “They may be killers and thieves, but they know better than to double-cross a man like Captain Granger.”

Although he'd been content to stand back and watch how things unfolded, Luke felt his composure unravel the instant he heard that name. This time, it was Red who reached out to stop him. When Luke looked over to try to shake loose of his friend's insistent hand, Red grabbed him by the front of his shirt to pull him aside.

“Let me go,” Luke said. “They're talking about—”

“I know,” Red said sharply once there was some distance between them and Carlo. “I heard him too. Now's not the time to get into all of that, though. Let's just straighten out one mess before gettin' into another.”

Despite what his heart was telling him, Luke choked back the anger that had risen so quickly to his surface. Carlo and Bickle were still talking. By the looks of him, Bickle no longer had the strength to put up much of a fight or argue in any meaningful way.

“I don't know what you want me to do about it now,” Bickle said. “What's done is done.”

“No,” Carlo told him. “You find a way to get that money to where it was supposed to go or
you're
done.”

“Even if I did have the money anymore—but I don't—I—”

Carlo grabbed the shop owner's shirt and pulled him close enough to jam the barrel of his pistol into Bickle's chest as he asked, “What the hell do you mean you don't have the money anymore? You're telling me you spent every last dime of it on the garbage in them wagons?”

“First of all, it's not garbage. That's fine merchandise!”

“I swear, if you so much as look at those ugly candlesticks, I'll put an end to you right here and now.”

Despite the fact that Carlo was obviously serious about that threat, it took some degree of willpower for Bickle to keep from reaching for the damaged crate. “Say what you will about the quality of what was purchased. The wagons are already here making the deliveries. It's too late to ask for a refund.”

“Not if you pack it right up and send them wagons back.”

“Even if I could, and I'm not guaranteeing anything, I don't know where to find Granger so I can deliver that money to him.”

“I know where to find him,” Carlo said. “How long will it take for you to get my money?”

Still staring down the barrel of Carlo's pistol, Bickle said, “I can . . . I can see what can be done about boxing up the merchandise that was delivered. Then I'll arrange for a way to ship it back and I'll have to have words with my suppliers in regards to a discount. That could take—”

“I don't care about that. How much can you get your hands on in the next day or two?”

Bickle's mouth opened and closed like a trout that had just been pulled onto a rowboat. Finally he managed to reply, “I don't . . . I . . . can't . . .”

Angling his pistol upward and placing it under Bickle's chin, Carlo spoke in a low, strained tone. “Those aren't the kinds of words I want to hear right now.”

“If I had that kind of money . . . I wouldn't have needed to take what you gave to me.”

When Carlo met Bickle's eyes once more, he was more ferocious than ever. “I don't care how, but you'll get my money and you'll get it to me quick. You hear me?”

“I hear you, but—”

“No buts! You'll scrape together what you can or I'll carve it out of your hide.”

Bickle swallowed hard and nodded.

“I'm a reasonable man,” Carlo continued. “I'll grant you some wiggle room, but that's only because I need to take Granger what I can as soon as I can get it there. And if you think today has been rough for you, just wait to see what's in store for you when Granger finds out how you kept money from going into his pocket. Even I wouldn't want to trade places with you for that.”

“Please,” Bickle whispered. “Let's just keep this between you and me. I'll make good on what I did. I promise.”

“That's right. You will. Because if you don't, I'll come back and have another conversation that ends with me setting fire to your store with you in it. Got me?”

Bickle nodded. “I can get a good portion of the money to you soon. I swear.”

Carlo glanced over his shoulder to where Luke and Red were standing. “What have you got in your till right now?”

“I'm not sure.”

“You got five hundred dollars?”

“Probably.”

“You'll hand that over to my young friends over there,” Carlo demanded. “I'll be along for my payment tomorrow morning. It had better be good—you hear?”

“What's the five hundred dollars for?”

“It doesn't matter what it's for! Just get it as soon as I let you up and then start working on scrounging up the rest!”

“All right,” Bickle said. “I will. I swear!”

Carlo backed away and holstered his pistol.

When he saw that Bickle was having trouble getting to his feet, Luke helped him up. He then escorted Bickle back to the Eastern Trading Company, where he received five hundred dollars in cash. It was the easiest money he would ever get.

Later that night, after Luke and Red had stuffed their bellies with the finest cuts of beef prepared in Stormy's kitchen, they made their way back to the nameless stable across town. The man who answered the door when Luke knocked had a bit more meat on his bones than the skinny stable man from before, but not much.

“You two ain't them boys from earlier, are you?” the man asked.

“We are,” Luke told him.

“Then you'll be on your way. I got a scattergun and I ain't afraid to put it to work!”

“We don't want any trouble. We're just here for Carlo Procci.”

“I was told that's what started the trouble last time.”

“Just a misunderstanding,” Red said. “It's been sorted out.”

“In case you people haven't noticed, this ain't a hotel me and my brother are runnin',” the man explained. “It's a stable. For horses.”

Luke extended a hand with two silver dollars in it. “That's for your trouble. Go on and take it.”

After taking the money and examining it, the man hooked a thumb toward the stable. “He's inside. Don't think you bought yourself any space in there unless you've got a horse to put up for the night.”

“I know. Stable, not a hotel.”

“You got that right.”

Both of the young men entered the stable. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Red gave Luke a backhanded swat and said, “What'd you pay him any money for? He wasn't gonna be any trouble.”

“It's to keep from making waves. Just take a breath and forget about it.”

Carlo was in his stall, only he wasn't sleeping under a bunch of hay and a blanket. His horse stood next to its trough with its eyes closed and its head hanging low. “What are you two doing here?” he asked. He wore a fresh set of clothes and was in the process of folding the dirty ones up to put them into his saddlebags. “You got your money for Stormy.”

“She's all paid up,” Luke said. “And we appreciate the help in getting it.”

“I'll take any chance to gouge that skinflint Bickle I can find. Still didn't answer my question, though. What are you doing here?”

“Tell me about Captain Granger.”

Pausing just long enough to look over at them, Carlo said, “I was only fooling about taking you under my wing. Now move along before you get yourselves hurt.”

“I just want to know if he's any relation to Bose Granger,” Luke said.

Carlo's eyes narrowed and his gaze focused on Luke as if it had been drawn by a magnet. “Where'd you hear that name?” he asked.

“We're from a town called Maconville.”

“Never heard of it.”

“A man came through there and killed a bunch of folks,” Luke said in a voice that was cold and unfaltering. “He mentioned someone named Bose Granger was behind it.”

“What was this man's name?” Carlo asked. “The one that passed through your town.”

“Scott.”

“Emory Scott?”

“All I heard anyone call him was Scott. He came to Maconville looking for something.”

“What was he looking for?”

“I don't know that either.”

After studying him for a few long seconds, Carlo got back to packing up his things. “Could be Emory, I suppose,” he said. “Although I'm not sure if anyone's seen him lately. So why do you want to know about Captain Bose Granger?”

“That man he sent killed my family.”

Once again, Carlo stopped what he was doing. “Sorry to hear about that. Sounds like Emory all right. That one's as cold as they come. If you know what's good for you, you'd count yourself lucky you didn't get in his way.”

“Was Emory Scott a friend of yours?” Red asked.

Carlo chuckled and shook his head. “Men like Emory Scott don't have friends.”

“Granger sent him to Maconville,” Luke said. “And I'm hunting him down.”

“Now, that,” Carlo said, “is a foolish idea. Most folks don't even know where to find Captain Granger at any given time. He moves around a lot and has a knack for knowing when people are sniffing around after him. Those people aren't normally heard from again.”

“I know where to find him.”

Letting out another half chuckle, Carlo shook his head. “Whatever you heard, it's probably just some lie spread by Granger himself. Do yourself a favor and forget about finding him. Men like that will get what's coming to them.”

“I don't think it's a lie,” Luke said. “What I heard came from a good source.”

“What source is that?”

“I heard it from Scott.”

Having finished packing his saddlebag, Carlo cinched it shut and diverted all of his attention to Luke. “You spoke to Scott?”

“No. I heard him speaking to my stepfather before Scott gunned him and my mother down.”

“And who was your stepfather?”

“Kyle Sobell. You know who he is?”

Carlo nodded slowly. “Yeah. I knew Kyle. I heard him mention some family he had in Kansas, but he never mentioned their names or what town they were in. He's dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would Scott kill him and your mother?”

“Because he wanted to keep us all quiet,” Luke said as if he no longer felt any attachment to the matter. “I got away. The rest of my family . . . didn't.”

“Did Scott find what he was looking for?”

“I don't know,” Luke said with a straight face. “All I recall from that night is blood and gunshots.”

“So, where did he say Granger was at?” Carlo asked. When he didn't get an answer right away, he stormed toward Luke and grabbed hold of his shirt before either of the young men knew what was going on. “I asked you a question, kid! Where did he say Granger was at?” Carlo was interrupted by the unmistakable click of a pistol's hammer being thumbed back. When he looked in the direction from which the sound had come, he found Red standing there with Smith & Wesson in hand.

“Let him go,” Red said. “I won't ask twice.”

Carlo let him go. “The best thing I could do for you two is keep you from getting anywhere near Granger,” he said. “Tell me where he's at and I can bring him down myself.”

“So both Grangers we mentioned are the same man?” Luke asked.

“They are. Bose is a name he's called by some of the men under his command.”

“He's really an army captain?” Red asked.

“Most definitely,” Carlo told him.

“What's your business with him?” Luke asked.

Looking at both of them to make it clear he didn't care whether they were armed or not, Carlo said, “That's
my
business, which means it's none of yours.”

Red started to inch forward to assert himself even more, but Luke stepped in and said, “All that matters is that we both have business with him. I imagine we can get everything squared away faster if we throw in together.”

“You do, huh?” Carlo scoffed. “You want to know why you think that? Because you don't know any better. You were lucky to have gotten away from that little town of yours when Scott went on his tear. It's plain to see that you barely know your way around a gun. Hell, you two had your hands full in running down a fat shopkeeper.”

“But we did it,” Luke reminded him. “And we can do a whole lot better than that if we get the chance.”

“It's not my duty to give boys like you chances to kill themselves. You'll tend to that well enough on your own.”

“You don't know where to find Granger. I do.”

“I'll be able to find him,” Carlo said.

“Can you do that before he moves on again?”

“Yeah,” Red added. “And can you do that before he sends more gunmen to hunt you down for swindling him outta his money?”

“I didn't swindle anyone!” Carlo said. “That fat man we chased down today spent it on candlesticks and . . . Lord knows what else.”

“But does Granger know that?” Red asked. “And even if he did, do you think he'd care? You carry yourself like a gunfighter, but you're hiding out in a horse stall sleeping in a pile of hay. I reckon that means you need to find Granger even worse than we do.”

“I'll find him.”

“And then what?” Luke asked. “Put a gun to his head and convince him to forgive you? Whatever it is you paid Granger to do must have been important or you wouldn't be so interested in finding him at all.”

“And it must be expensive too,” Red said. “Judging by all the candlesticks and whatnot your money bought and paid for.”

“Maybe you're right about us all having business with Granger,” Carlo admitted. “But I also know I'm right when I say the both of you will get yourselves killed right quick if you keep trying to use those guns of yours.”

“Then show me what I'm doing wrong,” Luke said. “Tell me how I can better defend myself.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Carlo said, “you're too eager for it. And you,” he said while looking over to Red. “You've got just enough of a temper to be more dangerous to yourself than to anyone else. I've got nothing to gain by helping you boys. Nothing but a guilty conscience, that is.”

“We're going to meet Granger whether you help or not,” Luke said. “I say we've all got something to gain by making the ride together.”

“Is that a fact?” Carlo asked.

“Yes, sir. How much money do you owe?”

“To Granger or everyone in general?”

“Granger.”

Placing his hands on his hips and staring at Luke as if he were about to deliver a knockout punch, Carlo said, “Three thousand.”

Red let out a low whistle.

“What if I could get that money for you?” Luke asked.

Shaking his head as if he already knew the answer to his own question, Carlo muttered, “How could you do something like that?”

“It doesn't matter how. What if I could? Would that be enough to convince you to ride with us to face Granger together?”

“That's the part I'm trying to keep you from, kid.”

“Stop calling me that,” Luke demanded. “I'm no kid.”

“I don't know anything else to call you,” Carlo said. “It ain't as if you properly introduced yourselves.”

“I'm Luke Croft and that's Red.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Carlo said. “And now that we have that out of the way . . . we can part company. Nice meeting you both.”

“I'm being serious.”

“So am I. The two of you have been lucky so far. If you want to spit in the face of someone like Granger, you'll need more than luck on your side.”

“That's right,” Luke admitted. “Which is why the three of us stand a better chance.”

“Look, as much as I'd like to keep going round and round about this, I'm pretty sure I'll have a busy day tomorrow tying to wrangle that shopkeeper again to get a portion of the money he stole. After that . . . well . . . you two don't need to concern yourselves with after that. Run along now.”

Spitting a disgusted breath while turning his back to the stall, Red said, “I say we leave this vagrant where he is. We don't need the stink of him fouling our air anyhow.”

Although Red was all too willing to leave the stable, Luke stayed behind.

“What are you waiting for?” Carlo asked. “Don't you have a tantrum of your own to throw?”

“I think if you were in our place, you'd be angry too.”

“Could be.”

“What sort of thing were you paying Granger for anyway?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I'd like to know what I'm getting into when I face him.”

“You're a smart fella,” Carlo said. “The best thing for you to do is not face Granger at all. Even if you think you stand a chance against him, you wouldn't be facing him alone. And even if you think you could figure out a way to get to him when he is alone, you'd never make it back alive.”

“I'm not worried about that last part,” Luke said in an icy tone.

Carlo laughed under his breath while shaking his head. “I know you've probably heard this from plenty of others, but I know exactly what you're thinking. I used to think the same thing, you know.”

“And what am I thinking?”

“Well, right at the moment you're thinking I'm just another sack of wind trying to sound like he knows what he's talking about.”

Luke shrugged. “Good guess.”

“You're also thinking you're immortal. Not right at this exact moment perhaps, but it's in there. Strangely enough, that goes hand in hand with thinking that you're all settled up with dying.”

Although Luke had been doing a good job of keeping his poker face intact this far, he couldn't help twitching when he heard that.

Carlo nodded to acknowledge that he knew he was on the right track. “Some big part of you thinks it's seen all there is to see or that you've seen so much that you don't want to see no more. A kid your age—and I'm sorry if that rubs you the wrong way but you are still a kid to me—he gets a notion in his head that he can walk right up to death and tell him to wait until he's ready. Me? I used to go around tellin' everyone I wouldn't live to be any older than my pappy was when he died. Know how old he was?”

Luke tried to look as though he didn't care.

“He was twenty-six,” Carlo said. “I was certain I wouldn't see one day past that number. The part that makes no sense is that I also thought I was somehow safe until then. That's why I had no fear of God or man when I took up a knife and swung it at anyone that looked at me cross-eyed. When I was bested by someone who was better with a blade than me, I picked up a gun and put that to work.”

“Seems like you handled yourself pretty well,” Luke said. “You're alive and I'd wager you're older than twenty-six.”

“Sure. I'm also on the run and sleeping in a horse stall. The only reason I've got that much is that I thought harder about another trail to follow because the one I was on led nowhere.”