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The well dressed crowd waited patiently on the docks for the riverboat easing up the Chattahoochee River. The men sported an array of expensive hats; top hats, bowlers and plantation hats floating over the throng like felt clouds. Intermingled with them were dainty parasols protecting their feminine companions from the harsh summer sunlight. The ladies’ beautiful dresses splashed with the hues of summer garden broke the monotone of the men’s black suits and added gaiety to the scene. This was a well-heeled crowd, ready to lose their wealth to the games of chance waiting inside the approaching vessel. It was a common Saturday scene in Atlanta but not the place for a sharp-eyed deacon bounty hunter with a wanted poster hidden inside his worn jacket.
Zeke stood out like a dead fish on an empty table despite his nonchalant demeanor. But he wasn’t the only one. Three white men in cheap suits caroused at the dock entrance, one of them clearly drunk and proud of it. The ladies clinging to their arms were obviously paid, their gaudy make-up and immodest clothing a clear sign of their profession. They seemed unaffected by the side glances and disapproving frowns of the genteel folks surrounding them. Zeke reached into his jacket, taking a glance at the bounty papers.
“That’s them,” he whispered to himself. “Guess my hunch was right.”
The riverboat band launched into a lively tune as the gambling boat docked. The revelers filed onto the boat, their voices reflecting their excitement. Zeke held back. He took his cross from inside his shirt, holding it between his fingers as he closed his eyes and prayed.
“Dear Lord, please protect me as I take care of business. I know the commandments say thou shall not kill, so I’ll try my best not to. But if it comes down to it, better them than me. Amen.”
He kissed the cross then tucked it back into his shirt. Patting himself to check his guns then taking a deep breath, he joined the crowd boarding the ship.
By the time he reached the main gambling room the American Queen was well on its way. The players and dealers passed chips between them, the dealers receiving more than they gave away. The roulette table clicked as it spun, the sound occasionally drowned out by shouts of joy or despair from the blackjack and poker tables, depending on the luck of the gambler. Zeke’s journey ended at the bar before a burly bartender sporting a bicycle bar moustache.
“What’ll you have, sir?” the bartender asked.
“Whiskey,” Zeke answered.
The bartender poured Zeke up a shot as Zeke reached into his jacket, took out a cigar then lit it. The bartender frowned at the cheap smoke as he placed the shot glass on the bar. Zeke tossed the man a coin then took a sip. He hated the bitter spirits as much as he hated the cigar smoldering in his right hand, but he had to keep up appearances. He was on a gambling riverboat cruising up the Chattahoochee, the last place Reverend Pete or the congregation would expect to see the soft spoken young deacon. But his profession took him many unlikely places, the bowels of the American Queen among the tamest. Though the church gave solace to his soul it didn't pay his bills. So he did what he was good at then prayed every Sunday for the good Lord to understand and forgive him.
Zeke placed the empty shot glass on the bar as he focused on his targets. Keith Bronner looked as out of place as a goat at a wedding, but judging by the smile on his sun-kissed red face one would think otherwise. His straw blond hair cascaded from under his new top hat, resting on the shoulders of his just as new tuxedo jacket. Zeke chuckled; it's a wonder what a man will spend his money on when the money doesn't belong to him. The two men standing on either side of Bronner were just as ill placed with their drab russet suits, faded derbies, and suspicious eyes. They scanned the otherwise highbrow crowd, obviously not comfortable with their older brother’s current choice of distraction.
Bronner planted a wet kiss on his paid companion's cheek.
"Go ahead honey, draw the next card!" he chortled.
The plump red-headed woman reached out with exaggerated gestures, pulling a card from the deck. She showed the card to Bonner and he flashed a wide gap toothed grin.
"Damn honey, you are good luck!"
He took the card then laid his hand on the table.
"Royal flush, gentlemen!"
The other players folded their hands and fled the table, a look of relief on their faces.
"Okay, so you won," Jebel said. "Can we go now?"
"Boy, in case you haven't noticed we're still on the river,” Keith replied. “We got about another hour before we dock. I suggest you find something' -he winked at the red-head- 'or someone to do."
"I just want to get off this damn thing," Colin said. A sick expression ruled his narrow face and Zeke grinned. He’d never seen a man get seasick on a river.
"You know folks is lookin' for us,” Colin said. “We should be lying...hey!"
Zeke turned away just at his eyes met Colin's. He touched his neck where his cross hung hidden from view.
"Lord forgive me for what I'm about to do," he whispered.
Colin stormed over to him as the bartender slipped away.
"Hey boy, don't I know you?" he said.
Zeke kept his back turned until he felt a calloused hand grip his shoulder.
"I'm talking to..."
Zeke spun, smashing his elbow against the side of the man's head. He drew his revolver from beneath his long coat, and then kicked Colin in the gut. The man doubled over into Zeke's rising knee. The blow shattered his nose and sent him reeling backwards.
"It's Culpepper!" Jebel shouted.
Bronner jumped from his chair, spilling the red-head onto the wood floor. He ran for the door. Zeke raised his revolver but before he could fire Bronner's bloody nosed brother slapped the gun from his hand.
"I’m gonna kill you, boy!"
"Not if kill you first.' Zeke swung the lever action shotgun from under his coat and fired, blowing the man halfway to the poker table. Jebel started shooting wildly as he ran for the door behind Bronner; Zeke and everyone else flattened on the floor until shooting stopped. He jumped to his feet, running out of the room and down the hallway leading to the outside. Jebel turned then fired again, barely missing Zeke. The bounty hunter hesitated; people jammed the hallway and while he had no qualms about shooting a criminal, he wouldn't risk the lives of innocent folks.
Jebel burst through the door at the end of the hallway. Zeke charged out soon afterwards. When Zeke finally caught up Jebel was climbing the side, ready to jump into the cold waters of the Chattahoochee.
"Come on down, boy," Zeke urged. "We can do this peaceful like."
Jebel turned with his revolver raised. "Go to Hell, coon!"
Zeke fired, blowing Jebel off the railing.
"You first."
Zeke ran the rail. Jebel's body floated down the river; he saw Keith Bonner stroking furiously for the shore.
"Shit!" He tucked his shotgun into his jacket then jumped. The cold water hit him like a fist and it took him a moment to get his bearings before his swan after Bronner. By the time he reached the riverbank Bonner was staggering toward a stand of mulberry trees. Zeke took off after him. Bronner was about to plunge into the trees when Zeke called out to him.
"I can take you back dead or alive, Bronner! Don't make no difference to me. I get paid either way."
"I ain't going back to Reidsville!" Bronner shouted back.
"Maybe they'll send you to Andersonville this time."
"Or maybe not," Bronner spun around, a derringer in his hand. Zeke shot first. The blast lifted Bronner off his feet. He landed in the mulberries.
Zeke sauntered up to the woods then sat down hard. He watched the riverboat steam away then looked about. He would have to carry Bronner's body to the nearest police station to get his reward. He sat for a moment longer then lifted the dead man to his shoulders. Man hunting was hard business, he thought. Maybe it was time he started preaching.