Ed Gorman - Showdown

"They say something agin me?" Murphy, agitated, said. "People always say things again me and they got no right, no right."

"Did they buy you drinks? Two men? Last night?"

"I stay away from them windas now. And I don't look at naked ladies, either. I swear to God I don't." Prine grabbed the man by the shoulder, squeezed.

The old man's eyes reflected sudden pain.

"Last night. You were talking with two men. Tolan and Rooney."

The expression shifted. A half-smile of recognition. "Oh, yes, them two. They was mostly makin' fun of ole Murphy, was what they was doin'. But they kept buyin' me drinks, so I put up with 'em."

Prine squeezed harder. Tears gleamed in the old man's eyes again. "I want you to think hard now."

"It hurts awful, mister. It hurts awful."

"Just answer my questions."

"It hurts awful. Just awful."

"Did they say anything about where they were going?"

"Going?"

"After they left the saloon."

"Bad place," the old man said, and then started babbling to himself again. "They kick ole Murphy out. Say I was tryin' to peek in the doors and see the naked women. But I just wanted warm to see. I needed warm. The snow and cold, Murphy needed warm was all. Sonsofbitches, dirty sonsofbitches." He made a pathetic little fist.

"The bad place? Where's that, Murphy?"

Looking at Prine as if for the first time, Murphy said, "You work for them, don't you?"

"Work for who, Murphy?"

"I shoulda seen that right off. You work for them. You was there the night they drove me out in the cold and Murphy got pneumonia an damn near died. You was one of them that run me off, wasn't you?"

"Where is this bad place, Murphy?"

"You know where it is."

"No, I don't, Murphy. I really don't."

A drunk four feet away said, "You talkin' about the bad place again, Murphy?"

"You just shut up," Murphy said. "You just shut up."

"He means the Empire Hotel," the other drunk said. He was a man of hair so wild, he looked like an insane jungle beast of some kind. "They kicked him out one winter night when they caught him sleepin' in one of the rooms. He was sick—pneumonia, like he said—and they run him out of there and he got a lot sicker by mornin'. The doc damned near couldn't save his life. About five times a day, ole Murph here remembers it and gets mad all over again."

"This Empire Hotel still in business?"

"Right down at the end of the next block."

"I'm gonna blow that place up some night," Murphy said as Prine was leaving. He was still talking to up one of these days and they'll be sorry they ever treated me like that. Sorry to the end of their born days."

The Empire was a two-story Victorian-fronted place with a colored man in some kind of smart wine-red uniform just inside the vestibule to take your luggage. Drummers, judging by all the checkered suits and heavy valises, preferred this particular hotel when in the embrace of Picaro. The colored man looked sad when he saw that Prine had no bags.

Prine went up to the desk, where a middle-aged woman in a bun and a severe gaze said, "Help you, cowboy?" She apparently didn't notice his badge.

"I'm looking for two men who might be staying here."

"We have forty-seven guests at the moment. You'll have to help me out there. Oh, a badge, huh?"

"You can check me out with Marshal Valdez if you'd like."

Icy smile. "I can tell you aren't from around here."

"Why's that?"

"Why's that? Because he won't talk unless you pay him to, and even then he lies most of the time anyway. You over to his office, were you?"

"Yeah."

"His daughter? With her tongue cut out?"

"She's a beautiful girl."

"He sing you his sad song about these terrible men cutting her tongue out as a way of getting back at him?"

"It is a sad song, ma'am. You shouldn't make fun of it."

"It'd be sad if it was true. Hell, he raped her himself and then cut her tongue out and made up this story to tell his wife. But the girl wrote her mother a letter, explaining everything. Then the mother died in a drowning that the coroner always said looked funny to him. You know what 'funny' means, don't you, son?"

"That he doesn't think she really drowned? That she was probably murdered?"

"That's exactly what he meant. But with her gone, and the note the daughter wrote missing, how's anybody gonna prove anything? But everybody knows the truth anyway. You got to watch yourself with Valdez, believe me."

Picaro was proving to be just the kind of place Prine had been searching for—the sort of town where a fella could settle down with a wife and raise some kids. And then hide out in the barn when all the local lunatics and degenerates came for you carrying torches and pitchforks.

He had no doubt that this version of the tongueless daughter was the true one. But he wondered what sinister secrets of her own this woman harbored.

He gave her the description of Tolan and Rooney.

"Oh," she said, "those two."

"They're here?" He sounded eager, too eager.

"Upstairs. They got pretty drunk last night." Then: "What the Sam Hill is this?"

Marching through the front door, fanning out in military fashion, were six men carrying rifles. The leader was Gomez, the man who'd tried to pass himself off as the marshal of the town.

Gomez appeared to be much more sober than the last time Prine had seen him. He didn't wobble when he walked. And his gaze was fixed on the desk clerk as he stalked over to her, the barrel of his Winchester leading the way.

"There are two men here, Tolan and Rooney. Which room?"

She told them.

"They are there now?"

"As far as I know they are, Gomez."

"My name is Deputy Gomez. This would be a healthy thing for you to remember, señora." The woman looked about to laugh, but then stopped herself. "All right, Deputy Gomez, if that's the way you prefer it. Just remember, Marshal Valdez always gives me a little bit of the cut."

Gomez glanced at Prine and then back at the woman: "This so-called cut, I have no idea of what you're saying. We run this law and order here. We do not have 'cuts.' Cuts are for criminals and lawmen who do not honor their laws." This seemed to be for Prine's benefit, this profoundly moving and convincing speech on law and order. Prine was surprised that Gomez didn't choke on words as hypocritical as these.

Gomez angled his head to his men. "Let's go." To the desk clerk: "Do not try to warn them in any way, señora, as that would be bad for the health of your entire family."

Prine watched all the men but one go up the staircase. The lone man detached himself at the last moment and hurried down a long, narrow hall to the back. He'd cover the door opening on the alley.

"Looks like your friend Valdez beat you to it," the woman said.

"He's arresting them?" Prine said.

"In a way." A smile old and weary. "He obviously thinks they have money. He never arrest anybody who doesn't. He'll put them in a jail and then the local judge will set bail for some exorbitant price—which means any amount they can find on the men and in their room—and then the men will agree to pay this 'bail.' Then Valdez will give them half an hour to get out of town. If they try and come back, his men are told to kill them on sight."

"Bastard."

"You're right about that. Look what he did to his wife and daughter."

"There's never been a state official to look into all this?"

"What would they look into? The judge has a good standing with the state court and he's free to set any bail he wants. If the men go to court in his jurisdiction, they'll be found guilty because Valdez and the judge will have planted evidence that proves their guilt. So they won't take the chance of going to court. They just ride off and never come back here."