Unbound by Law Read online

  “Sittin’?”

  “Just sittin’.”

  Pratt frowned.

  “We gotta get him to move.”

  “He’s gotta eat,” Devlin suggested.

  “Yeah, but he may just go into the hotel and eat there,” Pratt said. “We need him on the street.”

  “How do we get ’im there?”

  Pratt thought for a moment, then said, “We send him a message. Get him to meet somebody somewhere. Only when he gets there . . .”

  “. . . it’s us.”

  “Right.”

  “Who do we send him a message from?”

  “That’s your job.”

  “What?”

  “You been in town longer than I have,” Pratt said. “Find out who he’s made friends with, or who he’s had dealings with.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Ask.”

  “Harry!” Ava said, when she saw him.

  “What?” the man on the bed said. Then he saw the gun. “Hey!”

  He withdrew from Ava and jumped off the bed, his dick waving around in front of him.

  “Harry, damn it, you’re ruining it!” Ava said, turning and sitting on her butt.

  “Where’d you get this one?” Cantrell asked.

  “He came riding in asking for water,” she said.

  “And you gave him more than water.”

  She smiled, gnawed on a nail. He noticed how hard her nipples looked.

  Then he looked at the man. Young, well built, not particularly well endowed but he seemed to be doing the job.

  “She’s not much to look at, is she?” he asked.

  The young man didn’t answer. He tried to hide his cock and balls, looking frightened.

  “But she’s good in bed, right?”

  “Look, Mister,” the man said, “I didn’t know she was married—”

  “Yeah, you did,” Cantrell said. “She always tells them she’s married.”

  “Them?”

  “You don’t think you’re the first, do you?”

  “Mister,” the man said, “I just earnin’ my meal—”

  “Yeah,” Cantrell said, “I know.”

  Cantrell fired. The bullet hit the man in the chest. His arms got flung wide and then Cantrell shot him in the groin.

  “Harry,” Ava said, “I’m impressed. You’ve never shot one before. Jealous?”

  “Shut up, bitch” Cantrell said.

  He put the gun aside, dropped his own trousers, revealing his erect penis.

  Ava got on all fours, hiked her butt up into the air, and said, “Come to Momma, baby.”

  Cantrell removed the rest of his clothes and got on the bed with his sweaty wife. He slapped her on the ass hard enough to leave a red handprint.

  “Ow! Harry, oh yes.”

  He grabbed her hips, ignored the sweaty sheets beneath them and drove himself into her from behind.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Clint Adams was a man people noticed. Johnny Devlin went around town asking questions, like Pratt had told him, and came back with the answers.

  “What’ve you got?” Pratt asked.

  “Adams has only been seen with two people. One is Sheriff Glenister.”

  “And the other one?”

  “A woman,” Devlin said. “Her name is Lisa Mason. She owns a couple of businesses in town. The mercantile and the Gun Shop.”

  “Gun Shop?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Wait a minute,” Pratt said, “doesn’t Cantrell have a piece of that?”

  Devlin nodded and said, “And the mercantile.”

  “So this Mason woman is his partner?”

  “I guess so.”

  “He doesn’t like having partners, does he?” Pratt asked.

  “No,” Devlin said, “he’s always tryin’ to get rid of them.”

  “Okay,” Pratt said, “we’ll use the Mason woman to get Adams out in the open.”

  “How?” Devlin asked.

  “You’re gonna deliver a message.”

  “A note?” Devlin asked. “What if he knows it’s not her handwriting.”

  “Then it won’t be a note,” Pratt said. “You’ll just tell him.”

  “Tell him what?”

  Pratt drank some beer, licked his lips, and said, “I’m still thinkin’ on that part.”

  It wasn’t dark yet when the telegraph operator came walking over.

  “Mr. Adams?”

  “That’s right.”

  “This came for you, sir,” the clerk said. “It was marked rush.”

  “Thanks.”

  Clint unfolded the telegram, read it, then got up from his chair, and headed for the sheriff’s office.

  When Devlin got to Clint’s hotel he saw that the chair in front was empty.

  “Damn it,” he said. “Now what?”

  He turned and headed back to the red-light district.

  Clint entered the sheriff’s office and caught the man apparently meeting with his deputies.

  “Lonny and Jim,” Glenister said, “My deputies.”

  Clint nodded. The two young lawmen stared at him in awe.

  “Just got this,” Clint said, handing Glenister the telegram.

  The lawman read it, then looked at Clint and said, “So they were poisoned.”

  “They don’t know what it was,” Clint said, “but yeah, there was something. They must have had somebody rush the samples to Santa Fe.”

  Glenister handed the telegram back. “If we knew what the poison was we could check if any of Cantrell’s businesses used it, or carried it.”

  “We still don’t have any evidence,” Clint said.

  “So you’re still gonna wait for him to send somebody after you?” Deputy Lonny asked.

  “That’s right,” Clint said. “That’s all I can think to do.”

  “What if they actually kill you?” the other deputy, Jim, asked.

  “Well then, hopefully you’ll be able to arrest somebody and get them to turn on Cantrell.”

  “You boys get out there,” Glenister said.

  “You keeping them away from the hotel?” Clint asked.

  “They’ll just be makin’ their rounds,” the sheriff said. “At the sound of any shootin’, we’ll be there.”

  “Appreciate it, Sheriff,” Clint said. “If they see any badges around they may not try.”

  The two young deputies put on their hats and left the office.

  “They wanna back you,” Glenister said.

  “I appreciate it, but I hope they’ll listen and stay away.”

  “You figure they’ll come for you at the hotel?”

  “No,” Clint said, “I think they’ll try to draw me away, somehow.”

  “How?”

  “Maybe a message from you.”

  “You get a message from me, you’ll know it’s a phony,” Glenister said.

  “There’s only one other person in town who might send me a message,” Clint said. “One that I’d respond to, I mean.”

  “Cantrell?” Glenister asked.

  “No, Lisa Mason.”

  “One of Cantrell’s partners?”

  “Reluctant partner.”

  “He’s got lots of those,” Glenister said.

  “I’m going to head back to the hotel,” Clint said. “Might go inside for a bite to eat, then I’ll be back in the chair.”

  “Me and my boys’ll be ready.”

  “Why are you going along with me on this, Sheriff?” Clint asked. “A lot of lawmen wouldn’t stand for it.”

  “Cantrell’s been runnin’ roughshod over this county for long enough,” Glenister said. “And if he killed those people, I want him to go down for it.”

  “Can’t blame you for that,” Clint said. “I’ll see you when it’s over.”

  “I hope so,” Glenister said.

  FORTY

  Pratt watched as Devlin reentered the saloon and approached his table.

  “Now what?”

 
“He ain’t there.”

  “Well, where is he?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Well, find him, Johnny,” Pratt said.

  “And deliver the same message?”

  “What else?”

  “I dunno—”

  “Yes, deliver the same message!”

  “Okay.”

  As Devlin went back outside, Pratt muttered, “Idiot.”

  At another table, Sinclair was watching the Wilkes cousins work their way slowly through a mug of beer each. No more whiskey for them.

  Cantrell rolled off his wife onto his back, trying to catch his breath.

  “Jesus, Harry,” Ava said. “What got into you tonight?”

  “Stress,” he said.

  “You should feel stress every night,” she said, reaching down to rub between her legs. “You fucked me sore and raw.”

  He turned his head, looked at the dead man on the floor. Ava was lucky she had a lover with her, because he had to kill something tonight.

  “And you killed a man!” she said.

  “I know.”

  She sat up and took a look. “Yep, he’s dead. How do we get him out of here?”

  “I’ll have a couple of boys take him out.”

  “What are you gonna tell them?”

  “That he broke in and attacked you, and I shot him,” Cantrell said.

  She fell onto her back again, making her floppy tits jiggle. “You’ve got a story for everything, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “I do.”

  After having some supper in the hotel dining room, Clint came back out to his chair and sat down. It was only a few minutes later when Johnny Devlin came walking along, looking surprised to see him there.

  “Been lookin’ for you,” Devlin said.

  “I’ve been here.”

  “I was here before, you wasn’t.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I had to go inside to get something to eat. What’s on your mind?”

  “I got a message for you.”

  “From who?”

  “Mrs. Mason.”

  “What’s she want?”

  “Says she wants you to meet her at Mr. Cantrell’s office at nine o’clock.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Well, yeah . . .”

  “Kind of late, isn’t it?”

  Devlin nodded. “She said she had some business with him, and she wants your help.”

  “Why would she give you the message?”

  He shrugged again. “Because that’s what I do,” he said. “I’m everybody’s errand boy.”

  Devlin seemed honestly bitter about it.

  “Okay, Devlin,” Clint said. “You delivered your message. Now I have some advice for you.”

  “What advice?”

  “Don’t be there.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t be there at nine o’clock. You don’t want to catch any flying lead.”

  “What? Lead?”

  “That’s right.”

  Devlin stared at Clint. He figured the man was either wondering what the hell he was talking about, or was wondering how he knew he was being set up.

  “Just go, Devlin,” Clint said. “Go away.”

  Devlin, still looking confused, went.

  And when he entered the saloon to tell Pratt that he’d delivered the message, he was still confused. Should he tell Pratt that Adams seemed to know that he was being lured into a trap?

  “Well, you idiot?” Pratt asked. “Did you deliver the message?”

  “Yeah,” Devlin said. “I delivered it.”

  “Then get yourself a beer.”

  Let’s see, Devlin thought as he walked to the bar, who’s going to be the idiot at nine o’clock?

  FORTY-ONE

  Clint checked the time, and at eight-forty-five he got up from his chair. He’d already checked both his guns—his Colt and his New Line—and both were in perfect working order. The New Line was tucked into the back of his belt.

  The street was empty, and he considered that they might have been setting him up to be shot in the street on the way to his “meeting” with Lisa Mason. So he kept to the shadows as much as he could while making his way to Cantrell’s office.

  Within sight of the office he changed direction, ducked down at alley, and worked his way around to the back of the building. He hoped for Devlin’s sake the man had taken his advice.

  Pratt asked, “Where the hell is Devlin?”

  “I dunno,” Sinclair said.

  “Idiot,” Pratt said. “Where are the Wilkes brothers?”

  “They’re cousin—”

  “Whatever!” Pratt said. “Where are they?”

  “They’re in position.”

  “Good. The four of us will do this without Devlin.”

  “He woulda got in the way, anyway,” Sinclair said.

  “That’s kinda what I was countin’ on,” Pratt said.

  Cantrell sat at the kitchen table while Ava made coffee. She was wearing a robe, but was naked under it. It swung open as she moved about, revealing sagging breasts and a bushy pubic patch. Cantrell didn’t get it. What was it about her made men fall into bed with her? Maybe it was the way she smelled? Sweat, perfume, and sex. Right at that moment, he wanted to toss her on the table and fuck her again.

  To distract himself, he thought about Pratt, Devlin, and whoever else Pratt had enlisted. Were they killing Clint Adams right at that moment? He hoped so. He didn’t need the Gunsmith getting any deeper into his business.

  Gradually, the smell of coffee began to overpower the scent of Ava.

  “Here you go, Harry,” she said, putting a cup in front of him. “Strong coffee for my big strong man.” She cupped his chin, tilted his head up, and kissed him wetly. To his annoyance, it made his dick twitch.

  “Ava,” he said as she sat across from him, “if anyone asks, I was here all evening, and all night. Understand?”

  “No,” she said, “but that’s okay. You’re my husband and I’ll lie for you. What about the two who carried the dead man out of here?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll go to the sheriff in the morning and tell him what happened.”

  “When are you going to replace that fat bastard?” she asked.

  “As soon as I take control of the whole town,” he said. “And the county.”

  “Well, replace him with somebody younger,” she said. She reached into her robe to rub one of her nipples. “And somebody better looking.”

  Seeing her massage her own breasts and nipples started to get him worked up again.

  “Ava, you’re such a slut,” he said.

  “And you love it, don’t you, Harry?”

  Cantrell reached into her robe and grabbed one of her breasts, twisting cruelly.

  “I love it as much as you do, you hot bitch,” he told her. “Maybe we both love it too damn much.”

  She smiled at him, then frowned as he twisted even more and the pain became worse.

  FORTY-TWO

  Clint saw the man covering the back door. He didn’t look particularly alert. In fact, he was working on his left thumbnail very earnestly with his teeth.

  Clint was able to move up behind him very easily and press the barrel of his gun to the back of the man’s neck.

  “Just stand easy,” Clint said, as the man stiffened. “Don’t make a sound.”

  The man stood still.

  Clint took the gun from the man’s holster, reversed it, and brought the barrel down on the back of the man’s head. It was something he never would have done with his own gun.

  He caught the man as he fell and eased him to the ground. The man was wearing a neckerchief, so Clint removed it and used it to tie his victim’s hands behind his back. It was just a safety measure. He figured the man would be unconscious long enough for Clint to get his work done.

  That done, he tossed the man’s gun into the darkness, then worked his way around to the front of the building. There he found another m
an. This one seemed a bit more alert, but he was staring off down the street and not paying attention to what might be coming from behind him.

  This time, he pressed the barrel of his gun into the man’s spine, grabbed him around the neck, and dragged him into the alley. Once again, he disarmed the man, used his own gun to knock him unconscious, and tied him up with his own neckerchief.

  Two down. He figured Pratt was inside either alone, or with one other man—maybe Devlin, maybe not.

  The question was, go in or call Pratt out? And if he went in, front door or back? Or a window?

  If he had somebody with him, he’d have them toss a rock through a window. Then he’d bust in the back door. Of course, he could throw a rock through one window and then dive through the next one over, but with all that glass flying, he could end up getting hurt unnecessarily.

  He moved to a window and peered inside. It was very dark and he couldn’t see a thing inside. He waited a while, hoping his eyes would adjust, but he still saw nothing. Then, suddenly, he thought he saw a silhouette . . .

  “Get down!” Pratt hissed as Sinclair suddenly stood up.

  “My legs are fallin’ asleep.”

  “Shut up!”

  Pratt could have shot him.

  Clint thought he heard voices, so he figured there were two men inside. There was no chance that one of them was Cantrell. He wouldn’t risk his own life. It was more likely he was home in bed with his wife.

  He could kick in a dolor—front or back—and simply fire at anything that moved. The moon was out and he’d be backlit if he tried that.

  There was another way to go, but he’d be risking the life of one of the men he’d already taken out of play. Then again, they were all lying in wait to kill him, so . . .

  He went around back, smacked the unconscious man awake, and then stood him up.

  “Let’s see how good your buddies inside are at telling us apart,” he said.

  “H-hey, Mister—”

  “How any inside?”

  “T-two.”

  “And the one in front makes four of you?”

  “Y-yeah. That’s my cousin.”