One Went to Denver and the Other Went Wrong (Code of the West) (14 page)

  With the opening of the door, Tap reached for his revolver.

  Startled by his drawn .44, Rena grabbed his sleeve and pulled him inside the room. “Relax. He’s not here.”

  “Then I’ll head down to room 8. Is that room laid out like this one?”

  “Not hardly. It’s small. The bed is on the right, behind the door. You can’t see who’s there when you first walk in unless you look at the tiny, round mirror above the dresser. Of course, if the lamp’s turned off and the curtain’s drawn, you won’t see much of anything.”

  “Will he try to crawl out the window and get down to the street.”

  “Maybe. But he’s got a room full of friends down below. All he needs to do is stir them up, and you wouldn’t stand a chance. There’s no one in this building that will come rescue you, Tap—not even me. You could get shot down and dumped in a canyon like those Lane brothers. No one in the city would know. And few would care.”

  “I don’t aim to have anyone get killed.”

  “Yeah, you keep sayin’ that. But somehow it feels different to me.”

  “And this Sarah—is she the type to stab me when my back is turned?”

  “If she takes a mind to it, Sarah will stab you when you’re lookin’ straight at her with a gun in your hand.”

  “Does Barranca still have a cross-the-body holster?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And does he carry six cartridges in the cylinder?”

  “You know him well.”

  “Only from the sights of a gun.”

  “So I guess I’ll wait here and see which one of you comes through the door.”

  “I’ve got to find a way to get Wade a postponement. Killing Barranca certainly won’t accomplish that.”

  “And I say only one of you will walk out of that room alive.”

  “Which one are you hopin’ for?”

  Rena took the ribbons out of her raven hair and began to comb it. “If I was smart I’d have sent you away twenty minutes ago and never brought you up here. But it’s obvious I’m pretty dumb when it comes to choosing men. Barranca’s a violent, immoral drunk. And Tap is impetuous, stubborn, exciting, and gentle with the ladies.

  “But, you see, as long as I own this establishment, Barranca will stay with me and protect me, whether I want the protection or not. And Tap will kiss me tenderly on the lips and ride off into the mountains. Or desert. Or canyons. I will lose and I will win no matter what happens. But I do believe that you will try to keep both of you alive, at least for a while.” She paused her combing to look Tap in the eyes. “Perhaps you can do it.”

  He pulled his Colt .44-40 and slipped another bullet into the chamber. Then he stepped toward the door and slid his hand around the cold brass door handle. He glanced back at Rena. He thought about kissing her.

  Instead, he slipped down the dimly lit, stale-smelling hall. He stopped at Room 8. He stuck his ear against the oak door.

  Lord, I’ve got a few hours before I have to shoot Wade out of jail. I sure hope this is going to work.

  He rapped on the door with the barrel of the revolver.

  After some noisy confusion, a weak female voice answered, “Yes, what is it?”

  “Sarah?” Tap called. “There’s a man down at the bar that wants to see you.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “This old boy’s carrying a silver-handled cane,” Tap called.

  He heard a man’s voice curse. “Silver cane? That’s Masterson. What’s he doin’ in Denver? Go see what he wants, and don’t tell him I’m up here. You understand?”

  “But, Victor, I don’t want to go see some old—”

  Tap heard a loud slap of an open hand striking bare flesh.

  “Ow! I’m goin’. You had no call to do that.”

  With his gun still drawn, Tap slipped down the hall and around the corner. He waited until he heard the door squeak open. A dark-haired girl buttoned the sleeves of her dress and descended the staircase.

  He stepped softly to the door. Sarah had not pulled it completely closed. Silently shoving the door open a couple of inches, Tap glanced at the mirror above the dresser. He could see a reflection of a shirtless Victor Barranca strapping on his bullet belt and holster around his waist.

  Quickly sliding into the room, Tap pointed the cocked .44 at Barranca’s head.

  “Drop the gun belt, Victor.”

  “Andrews! What the—”

  “Drop it!”

  “I heard you broke out of A. T. P., but I hoped the Mojaves had buried you alive in the Arizona desert.”

  Tap stepped closer to Barranca. “The belt. Drop it on the floor.”

  “If I drop this, how am I going to draw and shoot you in the gut?”

  Holding the gun at Barranca’s head, Tap walked right up to the side of the bed. “You don’t have any choice. I’ve got two hundred grains of lead that will pass through your thick skull before your finger ever feels that trigger. And you know for a fact, Victor, that I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

  Barranca stood and fumbled at the buckle of his bullet belt. “Then pull it.” He reached across his stomach to draw his revolver.

  The barrel of Tap’s .44 slammed across the forehead of Victor Barranca, whose revolver dropped to the blue quilt wadded up on the floor. Barranca staggered back and collapsed on the bed.

  Andrews retrieved the revolver and shoved it into his belt. Then he walked around to the far side of the bed so that he could watch the unconscious Barranca and the door at the same time.

  Real smart, Tap. Victor can’t talk much when he’s cold-cocked like that. She’ll be back in here in no time at all and no tellin’ how many with her.

  Jamming his Colt back into his holster, Tap struggled to lift Barranca to his shoulder. Staggering to the door, he peered cautiously down the hall, and then scooted to Rena’s room. She was still at the mirror combing her hair when he entered.

  “I didn’t hear any shots. Is he dead?”

  “Nope. Just sleepin’.”

  “Where’s Sarah?”

  “Downstairs lookin’ for Masterson.”

  “Bat? Bat’s here?”

  “Nope. Neither is Ed. But she thinks one of them’s down there.”

  “What are you goin’ to do with Vic?”

  “Wake him up.”

  “In here?”

  “That’s better than sittin’ down there waitin’ for Sarah to return.”

  “But he’ll know that I .
 . .”

  “Go on down and entertain the guests. That way no one will know you have anything to do with it.” Tap dumped Barranca onto the top of the bed. The gunman lay sprawled out on his stomach with his arms draped to the floor on the far side of the bed.

  Tap heard someone run down the hall. Then there was a soft rap at the door.

  “Vic? It wasn’t Masterson at all. Someone just playin’ a joke. Come on back.”

  She rapped again. “Vic? Are you in there?”

  Tap started toward the door, but Rena motioned him to stand back out of sight. He noticed that she had removed her heavy makeup and gaudy jewelry.

  Holding her finger over her lips as a signal for him to be silent, she opened the doorway a couple of inches.

  “What do you want with Vic?”

  “Miss Lena? I thought . . . I heard you were . . . I was checkin’ to see if Vic was all right.”

  “Of course, he’s all right. Now I suggest if you want to still have a job tomorrow, you go downstairs and get to work.”

  “Eh . . . yes, ma’am. I was on my way. Oh . . . if he starts lookin’ for his boots, they are in . . . my room,” Sarah added.

  “Good. I’ll expect you to polish them before bringing them back.”

  “What? I didn’t hire on to polish boots.”

  “Just what exactly did you hire on to do?”

  Sarah glared at her and then scurried off down the stairs.

  Closing the door, Rena turned back to Tap.

  “Did I catch a little lack of sisterly love?” he chided.

  “The competition in a place like this can be .
 . . deadly.” Rena sighed.

  “You look nice without all that war paint on your face.”

  “I knew you would say that. Why do you think I took it off? And for pete’s sake, stop staring at me. The shock must be over by now. Do you still want me to go downstairs and leave you with Barranca?”

  “It’s up to you.”

  “Then I think I’ve decided to stay.”

  “I don’t know what will happen when he wakes up.”

  “Neither do I. That’s why I’m staying.”

  Cold water splashed on his face brought Barranca around. He discovered his hands tied behind him to the heavy oak bedpost. Tap Andrews sat beside him on a wooden stool, revolver in hand. Rena stood on the other side of the room by a basin of water that sat on a small rosewood table.

  “I might have known Lena was in on this.”

  “Rena didn’t do anything but wipe your face and bandage that cut on your forehead.”

  “Lena. Her name’s Lena.”

  “Not to old friends like me,” Tap informed him.

  “What do you want, Andrews? You haven’t killed me, so you must want something. Whatever it is, I ain’t givin’ it to you. The way I figure it, you’re goin’ to kill me sooner or later, so I ain’t givin’ you nothin’.”

  “As much as you deserve it, I don’t plan on killin’ you,” Tap replied.

  “You got to. You turn me loose, and I’ll shoot you. You know that for a fact.”

  “Maybe I’ll just get you tossed into jail for the next eighty or one hundred years.”

  “What for?”

  “How about shootin’ Billingsly in the back?”

  “They done convicted a man for that. They cain’t try me for a crime they already hung a man for.”

  “He’s not hung yet.”

  “Don’t matter. I didn’t do it.”

  “A couple of boys I talked to told it otherwise.”

  “Who?”

  “Three Fingers Slim and Jacob Rippler.”

  “What? Never heard of them.”

  “I think the two of them are pretty shrewd businessmen. It was surprising how mouthy they became when I offered them more money for talkin’ than you did for keepin’ them quiet.”

  “That’s bull. They ain’t got the guts to go against me. Besides, I wasn’t close to the Club that night. I was right here with Lena, wasn’t I, darlin’?”

  “Why, certainly. Vic is such an adoring man he never ever leaves my sight. I know where he is absolutely twenty-four hours of every day, don’t I, darlin’?”

  “Lena, don’t play games. Tell Andrews where I was the night Billingsly was killed.”

  “I’m not sure. It could have been with Sarah in 8 or Lucille in 12 or maybe Peggy Ann in 7.”

  “You ain’t helpin’. But it don’t matter. You know you don’t have nothin’ that will change their minds down at the jail. Ain’t that right, Mr. Tapadera Andrews?”

  “I’m still workin’ on it.”

  “You know, Andrews, I could never figure you out. You’re dumb and you’re slow. It beats me how you’ve lived so long. If I were you, I’d shoot me right now. Go down and bust out that Injun attorney friend of yours, then grab Lena-girl, and ride for the high country.”

  “If I were you, Vic, I wouldn’t give him any suggestions,” Rena cautioned.

  “But you ain’t me. You don’t know him at all. This Tapadera here—he’s a man who thinks even gunmen ought to follow some code of conduct. ‘Yes, sir. There’s got to be honor among shootists,’ he says. Why, there ain’t even honor among honest men. Old Tap there won’t even shoot a man in the back, will ya? That’s the best way to shoot ’em 'cause they cain’t return fire.”

  “That why you shot Billingsly in the back?” Tap pressed. “’Cause you were afraid of gettin’ yourself shot by some soft-skinned rich man?”

  “It weren’t the back. Them papers got it all wrong. I shot him straight on once in the heart and once in the neck. And I shot him ’cause I was paid more money than you’ve ever seen.”

  Tap glanced over at Rena and raised his eyebrows.

  “Maybe it’s time to talk to the governor about postponing that hanging. Would you be willin’ to tell what you just heard?”

  “Yeah. I might need a good attorney like Eagleman myself someday.”

  “I’m warnin’ you. You cain’t do this. After all I did for you in Mexico, you owe me.”

  “My name’s Rena. And don’t you dare try to say that I owe you a thing. I’ve paid you back in full ten times over, and you just spent the last penny of guilt down there in room 8, so don’t lay that on me.”

  “I’m sorry about Sarah. It won’t happen again.”

  Rena walked over to him and shoved the purple silk scarf she had been twisting in her hand into Barranca’s mouth and tied it behind his head.

  “I’ll kill you,” he mumbled.

  She turned back to Tap. “Okay, cowboy, what do we do now? There is no way to get him down through that crowd to the street while he’s kickin’ and screamin’.”

  “There’s some back stairs, aren’t there?”