THEY WAITED FOR Jem to get on with it; he was taking too long; somebody walking soft could be laying a dynamite charge outside the door. Kane would be looking for Jem as soon as he was missed. It wouldn’t be hard to trace him to the store.
Clearing his throat, Fallon said, “We haven’t got all night, Jem.”
Jem was apologetic. “Sorry, Mr. Fallon.” Gatling thought he looked like a big, awkward dog that had done something bad, like killing a chicken.
“I came here because I was afraid for my life,” Jem said. “Kane didn’t threaten to kill me, but I thought he might. A bullet wouldn’t be so bad. It’s the other things he might do to me. It’s like he’s going wild in a way I never saw him before. He’s rattled. He’s drinking. Usually he sleeps like a log; only, these last few nights he’s up half the night walking the floor and ringing for me to make him drinks. Queer thing happened two nights ago, four in the morning. I was called out of bed to make a drink. He was asleep for an hour, so I lay down and dozed for a bit. I’m handing him the drink and he says normal-like, not yelling or sneering, ‘How long you been with me, Jem?’ I swear it’s the only time he ever called me Jem to my face. I said five years and he said I must know plenty about him. Well, Mr. Fallon, I didn’t like the sound of that, so I said I just did my work and minded my business. Then he laughed a queer kind of laugh and said he knew I wasn’t the thickhead I pretended to be. Next he asked me what he said when he got drunk. I had to be careful there. He could’ve been testing me, you see. I told him some of the things he said, babbled about, that didn’t mean much of anything.”
“What’s the point?” Fallon said, prodding him to move along.
“Kane said I knew more than I ought to know about him. Then he told me to get out. Maybe he forgot what he said. I didn’t. I knew I had to escape before he killed me or one of the others did.”
“So you doped the dogs?” Gatling said.
Jem answered Gatling but looked at Fallon as he did it. “Feeding the dogs is—was—part of my job. Kane’s doctor gave me some stuff in a bottle when I was sick and coughing my lungs up. Said it would make me sleep. It did. I poured it on the dogs’ meat and they just wolfed it down, like always. Then I had to wait, thinking the dogs were big, wild bastards and it might not work. I let them out—it was dark. After a while I snuck out and found one of them asleep. I took off the monkey suit and put on the clothes you see. Mr. Fallon, I will tell you the truth. I went to see if I could kill Kane before I left. But the door was locked from the inside. I would have knocked, making some excuse, but I heard men coming up from downstairs. I panicked and ducked out.”
Fallon just nodded, but Gatling knew what he was thinking. He was thinking the same thing. If Jem had managed to kill Kane, their troubles would be over, most of them. One or more of Kane’s men would try to make a grab for the reins, thinking to man the ladle in the gravy boat. But none of them had an organization behind him. Quarreling would lead to gunplay, and they would do themselves in quicker than any outsiders.
“Go back some,” Fallon said. “What do you think set Kane off? The heavy drinking, not being able to sleep.”
“I’m thinking, Mr. Fallon.” Jem passed a huge hand across his eyes. “Monday ... Tuesday ... no, it was Wednesday. I gave him that day’s mail. One letter caught his eye. He threw the rest aside and ripped open that one. As I was going out I heard him say, more of a shout, ‘Let them try it! Just let them try it!’ He went on yelling, but I couldn’t make it out, the door being closed. A few minutes later he called me back to make a drink, and kept me running all day. I had to carry him to bed. A few hours from then he was still good and drunk. By nightfall he was climbing the walls. Next morning he had changed into hunting clothes—laced boots, canvas coat—and had a gun belt and a big gun strapped on. Still drunk, he yelled at me, ‘Let them try! You can try it! Let anybody try it!’”
An explosion sounded somewhere in the town. Jem threw himself out of his chair and lay face-down on the floor, shaking all over. Judging by the sound, Gatling figured the charge had gone off some distance away, maybe about a quarter of a mile. He went to the window and looked out. It was close to the first light. There was no rain, no one in the street.
“You want to bet that isn’t my house?” Fallon said.
“You’re not going there to find out,” Gatling said. “If it’s your house, it’s gone. You don’t want to keep it company. They could be laying for you. You own or rent?”
“Rent.”
“Good. Then they just blew up an old house unless you had some valuables in it.”
Still no fire ball, Gatling noticed.
“I had nothing but a few suits of clothes,” Fallon said. “Two grips. I needed a house so I wouldn’t have room clerks taking note of my movements. Just the same it was my house.”
“We don’t know whose house it was or if it was a house. We’ll know soon enough. For now, we’ll just sit tight. If somebody doesn’t come to us, maybe we’ll take a look when the town is up and around.”
Fallon roared at Jem, “Will you get the hell up off the floor!”
“Easy,” Gatling said. “Get up, Jem. It’s nearly light. They won’t be coming at us now. Sit in your chair.”
A fire bell sounded just as somebody knocked hard on the street door. Gatling went to the window and saw Lieutenant Evans and the sergeant who had been with him earlier. Three patrolmen stood behind them. Fallon was shoving Jem toward the back room. He closed the door and came back to sit by the stove. Gatling unbolted the door when the lieutenant said who he was.
The two men came in, their eyes taking in the dimly lit room. “Your house just got bombed,” the lieutenant said to Fallon. “Big charge, blew it to smithereens.”
“We heard.” Fallon didn’t show any surprise. “A good thing I didn’t own it.”
The lieutenant frowned at that. “A good thing you weren’t in it.”
“Kane will be disappointed. That man doesn’t waste any time, does he? Wonder what he’ll try next. But his bomber probably knew I wasn’t there.”
The lieutenant didn’t like that either; he would have to be dumber than he was to miss what Fallon was suggesting.
“How would he know that, Fallon?”
“A little bird might have told him.”
The lieutenant reached under his cap and scratched his head. “We don’t know if Kane was responsible. You’ve sent a fair number of men to jail since you joined the department. Could be one of them just got out and came here to even the score. Maybe he hired the two men Mr. Taggart killed. Who knows what’s behind it.”
“Who indeed. Anything else, Lieutenant?”
“Have you seen Jem Staples? The Englishman that works as a butler for Kane? Great big brute of a man.”
Nothing showed in Fallon’s face. “I’ve heard of him. Never have seen him. What’s he done?”
“Murdered a man, Fitzsimmons, broke his neck. Stole eleven hundred dollars and a pistol. Kane doesn’t know what else. They’re still looking. Staples hasn’t been seen at the depot, so there’s a good chance he’s still in town.”
“He’s been spotted in town?”
“A man of his description was seen. Late last night, not far from here. You haven’t seen or heard anything?”
“Not a thing, Lieutenant. We got some sleep, then I woke Mr. Taggart with my tossing and turning. We were up and around when you knocked. Let’s hope you catch him, a dangerous man like that. But what makes you think he might want to come here? I’ve never laid eyes on the man.”
Gatling said, “I saw him the one time I was out to Kane’s house.” He figured the lieutenant would have heard about that. No point holding it back. “Maybe he stole a horse and is well on his way.”
“Kane is missing no horse. The Englishman can’t ride a horse, so we can forget about that. He has to be in hiding, here in town, I think. With all that money he can find a hidey-hole. Under some saloon, a cellar. Or a whorehouse. Somebody will hide him, but he’ll have to pay through the nose as long as the money lasts. Kane has posted a reward of a thousand dollars. That’ll turn him up, you bet.”
“That much?” Fallon raised his eyebrows, faking surprise. “Kane must want him pretty bad.”
“The man he killed was a close friend of Kane,” the lieutenant said. “Kane and Fitzsimmons were boys together in the Old Country, something like that.”
A long face from Fallon. “That’s very sad. I guess Kane was so mad he came to town and signed the charges himself, being so close to the murdered man and all.”
“The charges were made out and Kane signed them.” The lieutenant didn’t say where. Gatling was pretty sure Kane hadn’t budged from his house.
As if talking to himself, Fallon murmured, “A homicidal butler! Well! Well!”
The lieutenant said, “He was no real butler. Kane says he hired him after he served five years for nearly killing a man. To give him a second chance, Kane says. Like the other ex-jailbirds he’s got on his payroll. That’s his business. All I know is this man is armed and dangerous. We hope to take him alive, but that’s up to him.”
Fallon touched his head. “I’m glad I don’t have to face him, at least not today.”
That gave the lieutenant the opening he was looking for. But first he took a deep breath. His words came fast as he let it out.
“The Chief says you’re to go on sick leave. You’re not to report back for duty till he says so. That’s an order, Fallon. You know the Chief wants the best for you. You’ll draw full pay. That goes without saying. Another thing. The Chief thinks it might not be a bad idea if you took a little trip to California. Get some rest and sun and clean air. This town is no place for a sick man. Get well, the Chief says, then come back to work.”
“Is that an order too?”
No quick thinker, the lieutenant had no ready answer. Then he said, falling back on the Chief’s authority, “The Chief won’t like it if you don’t take his advice. Good advice, if you ask me. Be sensible, man. Go to California and get back on your feet. I wish the hell I could go.” The lieutenant tried for a little humor. “You don’t think we can hold the fort without you?”
He got a grunt for an answer. He turned to Gatling. “Can’t you talk some sense into him, Mr. Taggart? A head wound is a serious matter. But there’s something else to think about.”
Fallon cut in with, “You mean I’d be safer on a sun porch with the lung cases.”
“That’s what I mean. California is a long way off.”
“No more than a train ride,” Fallon said. “Give the Chief my heartfelt thanks and tell him I’ll think about it.”
Knowing he wasn’t getting anywhere, the lieutenant was ready to leave. “You do that, Sergeant.”
Fallon called after him. “I won’t lose my job if I don’t go?”
Nothing showed in the lieutenant’s face. “You don’t want to get him too mad at you, is all I can say. Let us know what you decide. I’m leaving a man outside to keep an eye on things.”
Gatling bolted the door and went to the back room to tell Jem to stay there. “You heard what was said?”
Jem was shaking but not with fear. “Mr. Taggart, I killed nobody and stole no money, no gun. Kane never leaves money laying around. He’s too stingy to do that. Fitzsimmons was in and out trying to talk to Kane. Kane wouldn’t talk. He cursed him and told him to get out and stay out. They’ve had arguments before ...”
Looking at Jem, Gatling wondered if he’d taken some of the dope he fed the dogs. It would figure, all the abuse he’d had heaped on him. Anything to kill the pain of humiliation.
“You want a drink, Jem?” Jem shook his head. “You hungry?” Another shake of the head. “Then get some sleep,” Gatling ordered. “Kane can’t get at you here, not in daylight.”
As he slumped in his chair, Fallon’s face was lined with fatigue; his eyes had the bright, alert look of a hunted animal. But he had some sour humor left. “You’ll have to add on an extra room if any more people come in here. Gatling’s Refuge for Waifs and Strays.”
“I’ve got a few cans of steamed beef, some crackers.” Gatling went behind the counter. “You want some?” Fallon said no, but Gatling opened the can of beef, sliced off some, and put it on a plate, added crackers, and put the plate on the chair where Jem had been sitting.
“Kane never misses a trick.” Fallon put a piece of beef between two crackers and ate it. “Bastard killed Fitzsimmons so he could blame it on Jem. Two birds with one stone. Jem is a dead man no matter who finds him first. Better the police, Kane is thinking.”
“That would figure.” Gatling wished he had some beer to go with the cracker sandwiches.
For a man who said he wasn’t hungry, Fallon cleared his plate in no time. Gatling got up and opened another can of bully.
“Maybe we can use him to keep some of Kane’s men busy,” Fallon went on. “Kane would prefer it if the police killed him, but he can’t be sure of that. The Butte Police Department is not the finest body in the world.”
“A lot of men with shotguns don’t have to be.” Gatling lowered his voice. “You’d stake him out like a goat?”
“A harsh way to put it, but I would. We could put him on a train, but how far would he get? The police? Hardly the police. I don’t want to use him as bait, but I’m ready to do it.”
“You come a long way from law and order.”
“Since when have you cared about law and order? I’ve killed four men in my time. How many have you killed?”
“I’ve never used a big, dumb man as bait,” Gatling said.
Fallon said, “You’re forgetting he’s a wanted killer.”
“That bullshit charge in New York! You know as well as I do that was never reported. Body found, case closed, you said.”
“Meaning you won’t do it? We won’t get a better chance.”
“We’ll do it,” Gatling said slowly. “But we’ll give him a gun and a good start. Most everybody deserves a fighting chance.”
“And he’ll get it.” Fallon chased crumbs around his plate. “We’ll give him two guns, all the ammunition he needs. Who knows? He could surprise us.”
Gatling was in a sour mood, though he knew Jem was a goner no matter what he did. “Sure he could. He could manage not to blow his balls off first time he draws a gun.”
Fallon tiptoed to the door of the back room and opened it. Back at the stove he said, “Sleeping like a baby. What I propose to do is kill at least one Kane man. I’ll be wearing a patrolman’s uniform, but my face will be covered by a bandanna. Unless I’m dead wrong, this should lead to open warfare between Kane’s men and the police. Naturally the mine guards will come in on the side of the police. They’re all thugs no matter which side they’re on.”
“Where will you get the uniform?”
“Off a dead policeman, but not just any policeman. Last year, Officer Marty Muller kicked a drunk to death, then stole his gold watch and money. I tried to get him on a manslaughter charge, but the Chief would have none of it. Officer Muller now wears the murdered man’s watch.”
Gatling didn’t want to listen to any more of this avenging-angel talk. You killed a man or you didn’t.
“All right,” he said. “You kill Muller, take his uniform, then kill one of Kane’s gunmen. What do you think the others will be doing? Throwing corn dodgers at you?”
“Men like that usually work in pairs,” Fallon said. “I’ll have to find two men, kill one, let the other one live so he can tell what treacherous villains the police are.”
“They’re all villains?”
“All but a few. Big, medium, and small villains. This town, in its own way, is as graft-ridden as New York. Every illegal or borderline business has to pay. Whorehouses and saloons bring in the most money. There’s no law against dope dens, but the Chinamen, what few there are, pay up to avoid disorderly conduct charges. Our boys in blue shake down queers, moonshiners, barbershops that stay open past the legal closing time. Hardly a bluecoat doesn’t get his share. Big shares for the brass, small shares for the tin. Drunks are robbed, stores are broken into.”
“Sounds like most cities I know, so forget about all the chicanery. How many of them take money from Kane?”
Fallon shrugged. “I’m pretty sure the Chief does. Rose, the lawyer, handles the payoffs, so it’s a pretty smooth operation. No bulging envelopes hidden in the hollow oak trees, that sort of thing. As far as I know, men below the lieutenant rank don’t get any Kane money. They get their cut of the regular graft and have to make do with it.”
“Can Rose tell the Chief what to do?”
“Within reason, he can. Rose is a careful man and knows how far he can go. But if Kane pushed him, he knows he could come down hard on the Chief. If that happened, the Chief would have to decide whether he wanted to stay rich and crooked or poor and honest, probably in jail. Unless it was something even he couldn’t stomach, I think he’d stay with the money.”
“Could he stop a war between his men and Kane’s?”
“Not if it really got going, though he might try. There’s always been bad blood between them. A policeman can be a crook and still hate criminals. You’re worried about my part of the plan?”
“No,” Gatling said. “I just hope it works. If it doesn’t, I’ll be out there trying to hold off an army.”
Now that he had outlined his plan, Fallon was brimming with confidence. “It’ll work,” he said. “You have the hard part. All I have to do is kill a few men and hide till it’s over.”
Gatling didn’t think it would be as simple as Fallon made it sound. And maybe Fallon didn’t think so himself.
“I’m not going to wait around,” Gatling said. “As soon as I kill Kane I’m going to clear out. All I’ll take with me is the light gun. If you want to stay and run a gun store, you’re welcome to it.”
Fallon smiled at the idea of running a store. “Enough talk. When do we do it?”
“You start your ruckus early tomorrow morning. No later than two, I would think. You’ll have to spread the word about Jem being loose earlier than that. That should draw Kane’s men into town. Then you start your war around two. Start it good, Fallon. I’ll be out there, ready to blow the mine at first light.”
Fallon yawned and stretched. “It’s settled then. Jesus God! I’m tired. Any whiskey left? I’m so tired I doubt if I can sleep without it. What are you going to do?”
Gatling put on his hat. “Take a look around. Bolt the door and let nobody in. I don’t care if it’s the Governor. Make Jem sleep on the floor. He’s had too much soft living.”
“Poor bastard!” Fallon said.
“Don’t break down and cry,” Gatling said, unbolting the door and going out. The patrolman straightened up when he saw him, not knowing if he should follow along or stay where he was. He decided to remain at his post, but another policeman stepped out of a doorway and began to trail Gatling before he had gone thirty yards. Gatling didn’t much give a damn about the police; bad as most of them were, they would hardly have the balls to gun him down in broad daylight. They just might do it if the order came from high up, but he didn’t think it likely. Kane’s gunmen were a lot more reckless, and he knew a bullet could tear into him at any moment.
He saw nobody who looked like a gunman, but then what did a gunman look like? In El Paso, a few years back, he’d played cards with a professional killer who looked like a deacon and dressed like one too. It was seven-fifteen by his watch, and he went into the hotel. The dining room was busy with breakfast, but Molly wasn’t there. He asked Jules, the manager, where she was. Jules said he had seen her leaving the hotel with her bags the day before, not since then. Jules smiled to himself as he said it.
Gatling bought a newspaper at the desk; the attempt on Fallon’s life was front-page news. He was surprised to learn that the two would-be killers had been shot down “by members of our ever vigilant police department.” The gun store was mentioned only as being close to where the attempted murder took place. The reporter who wrote the story ventured the opinion that the two killers were vengeance-seekers out of Sergeant Fallon’s past.
Gatling shaved, changed his shirt, dusted off his coat, and went back out to the street. Followed by the patrolman, he went to look at Fallon’s house after someone told him where it was. The paper had nothing about the bombing; it had happened too late.
The house had been completely demolished; the houses on both sides of it, though not too close, had been badly damaged. No police stood guard. A few people stopped and stared, but by now the bombing was getting to be stale news.
Walking back to Main Street, Gatling saw the Chief of Police coming the other way. There was no getting out of it, so he shook the Chief’s hand when it was offered. The Chief clucked his tongue, saying what a terrible thing it was that happened to Sergeant Fallon, his best sergeant bar none.
“He’s a fine man, but a stubborn one,” the Chief said. “Have you had any luck persuading him to rest up in California? Damn this fog and smoke! California’s where I’d be, given half a chance.”
Gatling smiled into the Chief’s smile; the Chief had cigar shreds stuck in his false teeth; his smile was as false as his teeth. Hard as he tried, his heart wasn’t in it.
“I’ve tried and I’ve tried,” Gatling said. “But I haven’t been able to budge him an inch. You know these stubborn Irishmen.”
“I know them, Mr. Taggart.” The Chief’s smile slipped a little, but he managed to put it back in place. “Why is he so stubborn, do you know?”
“Confidentially, in my opinion he’s very badly shaken, the mind as well as the body. I’m afraid it’ll be a long time before he’s up to any kind of exertion. I intend to move him into my hotel as soon as they have a vacant room. They say tomorrow. He can stay at the store until then. There’s a good enough cot there. I’ll look after him for now.”
The Chief put on a solemn face, nodding in appreciation of Gatling’s good works. His manner seemed more relaxed than it had been.
“That’s very charitable of you, Mr. Taggart. Poor fellow is in a bad way, is he?”
“Very weak, but he’ll be all right in a week or two. Call it charity if you like, Chief, but I was close to death one time and some kind folks nursed me back to health though I didn’t have a penny to my name. So you see ...”
The Chief nodded wisely. “I do indeed. God bless you, Mr. Taggart, and I’m sorry for any misunderstanding that might have come between us. The heat of the moment, and so on. Now, sir, I must be going. Give my sincerest regards to Sergeant Fallon. Tell him not to worry.”
Gatling and the Chief shook hands and went their opposite ways. Still trailed by the patrolman in spite of the Chief’s show of amiability, Gatling stopped at the restaurant run by the German ladies and bought enough food for five men. Jem would eat seconds, probably thirds.
He thought he saw Molly ducking into the Dyer Building, but couldn’t be sure because the sidewalk was so crowded. He wouldn’t have followed her even if he had been sure. Bitch or not, he hoped she’d leave town and keep going. But with Kane tearing loose, anything could happen. If she stayed too long, she might be buried in Butte.
Fallon let him in and he spread the solid German food out on the counter. Jem looked better when he came out of the back room sniffing the air like a huge, hungry dog.
Gatling started on his plate of over roast, brown potatoes, chunky applesauce and gravy. Jem was eating like a wolf.
“I met the Chief on the way back,” Gatling said. “He asked how you were and I said you could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Very feeble and likely to stay that way for a couple of weeks.”
With a forkful of meat halfway to his mouth, Fallon said, “Good. Couldn’t be better.”