Robert Randisi - Bullets & Lies

“In the dark?”

“We can’t wait,” Roper said. “There’s a killer after you.”

“Ain’t he after you, too?”

Roper looked at him and said, “You’d think so, wouldn’t you.”

It puzzled Roper. If the killer was the one who had taken a shot at him in Washington, why hadn’t he tried out on the trail? He was sure he’d been in the man’s crosshairs at least once.

They outfitted themselves from the general store with just enough supplies for them each to carry some. Then they went to the livery, where Roper used a portion of his expense money to buy Wilkins a fresh horse.

“Ain’t had an animal this sound under me in a while,” he said as they moved his saddle onto it.

“What about the ones you had in your corral?”

“Second-rate,” Wilkins said. “Ever since the war, I been nothin’ but second-rate.”

Roper didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t very well tell a man he just met that he was wrong.

They walked their horses outside, Roper checking the corners and rooftops.

“You really are worried about a shooter, aren’t you?” Wilkins said.

“I am.”

They mounted up and rode out.

Kilkenny was angry.

He rode into Sedona behind the tracks left by Roper and Wilkins, but he knew he wasn’t going to be able to follow them out. Not tonight. He wouldn’t be able to track them in the dark.

He put his horse up at the livery, got himself a room at the smallest, cheapest hotel in town. Then he had a hot meal, wondering why he’d taken this job in the first place. It was a lot of time on the trail for not much of a payoff. He knew the payoff would come in the end, but getting to the end was taking longer than he liked.

There was no doubt in his mind that Roper was going to head north—but to where? The logical place would be Montana, and David Hampstead. He was next in line—but what if Roper didn’t stick to the list?

He wondered if Roper had sent any telegrams while he was in town. That was something he would be able to check in the morning, when the office opened. Might even send a telegram of his own. At the moment there was nothing he could do but have a few beers and then turn in. Get started back on the job in the morning. Because that was all it was to him, a job.

Like any other job.

Roper and Wilkins got away from Sedona, headed north, and then camped.

“We could’ve spent a night in a hotel,” Wilkins said, sitting across the fire from Roper.

“I wanted to get out of town,” Roper said. “A killer could have tracked us that far. But he can’t track us at night.”

“Unless he’s part Injun.”

Wilkins made a good point. Roper wondered just what kind of killer was on his trail—or to be more precise, Wilkins’s trail.

Half Indian.

That wouldn’t be so good. Any man with Indian blood would be able to track them no matter what he did. Roper was a great detective, but to his mind just an adequate cowboy. Even if the shooter was a professional bounty hunter, his trail knowledge would be better than Roper’s. The detective was a man who knew his limitations.

“Let’s just figure he’s not part Injun,” Roper said, “and act accordingly.”

40

Roper decided not to go north, but northeast. When they got to Albuquerque, they caught the train, took it toward Denver. He wasn’t interested in going back to Denver, but since they had to change trains there, he decided to spend one night and catch a train in the morning. He also decided to turn Nickel over to Wilkins, and pick up his own horse.

He stashed Wilkins in a small hotel he used for hiding people. Then he went to his office. He unlocked the front door and entered, was glad to find the reception desk empty. He figured Mrs. Batchelder kept sending Lola over, but apparently today wasn’t one of those days. He went into his office and sat behind his desk. He ran his hand over his face, felt the two-day stubble there. He also felt fatigue in his bones. Later he’d go home, have a hot bath and a shave, and be ready to kick off again the next day.

He looked on his desk and found two messages, one each from the men he’d sent telegrams to.

First Sally Bando. His real name was Salvatore Bandini. He’d come to the United States twenty years earlier from Italy, made his way to Denver, working mostly as a strike breaker for disreputable private detective agencies. There he met Roper, who put him to work from time to time on more honest matters.

Sally left a message that said he was on his way to Montana as Roper had instructed. He left the message just in case Roper stopped in there. He also said if he had anything to report, he’d send a telegram to Mrs. Batchelder. Roper also paid her to be a go-between when he was on the trail.

The other message was left by Tommy Dexter, who did the same kind of work for him as Sally Bando. His message said he was on his way to South Dakota, and that Roper was going to owe him if he lost any toes to frostbite. He made the same comment about sending further messages to Mrs. Batchelder.

He put the notes back on the desk, rubbed both hands over his face. Being in Denver wasn’t smart. If the killer knew anything about him, he knew he was from Denver. He might have come here to wait for him. The good thing was Roper knew every inch of Denver, and had contacts and, at least, a few friends.

He decided to go on home and have that bath and get started early the next morning.

The next morning, before picking up Wilkins, Roper stopped in at Mrs. Batchelder’s.

“Well, hello, handsome,” she said from behind her desk. “Didn’t know you were back.”

“Back and gone again, Lily,” he said. She was a handsome woman in her late forties. She had set up her business ten years earlier, and Roper still didn’t know what she was doing before that.

“Are you checking for messages, telegrams?”

“I am.”

“Well, nothing’s come in yet,” she said. “Where are you off to this time?”

“Can’t say,” he said, “but I’ll send you a telegram from time to time. I’ll wait an hour for an answer, and then move on.”

“Are you in trouble, Tal?” she asked.

“Might be,” he said. “But don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

“If you say so,” she said.

“I’m going to go out the back way, Lily,” he said. “I’ll lock it behind me.”

As he left her office, she remembered the last time he’d gone out the back door. He’d been in real trouble that time. But he’d gotten out of it. She was sure he’d get out of it now.

Roper went to the hotel and picked up Wilkins.

“Sure did sleep good last night,” Wilkins said as they left. “Can’t remember the last time I slept so good. Real nice bed.”

“It’s not even one of the best hotels in town, Wilkins,” Roper said. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Better than any hotel I ever stayed in before,” Wilkins said. “It was fine, Roper, just fine.”

“Come on,” Roper said. “We’ve got to catch a train.”

They picked up their horses—Nickel, and Roper’s palomino—took them to the station, and put them on the stock car. Then they got on the train and took their seats.

“Where are we headed now?” Wilkins asked.

“We’re going someplace nobody will expect us to go,” Roper sad. “At least, so I hope.”

41

Edward Harwick looked up as Victoria Westover entered his office. He was surprised to see her. She came to town very infrequently. She was dressed for business, in a severe suit and hat.

“Victoria,” he said, standing.

“Sit down, Edward,” she said. “I just came to talk to you. I haven’t heard from you in some time about Mr. Roper’s progress.”