Smoke nodded. This was a good stop. Max had just supplied him with the last names of two people who were with Dinkins.
Max stretched the chair out, used a brush to apply the lather, then a straight razor to shave him. When that was done, he wrapped warm wet towels around Smoke’s face.
Bates had been waiting for just that moment. He walked into the shop. “Plannin’ on stayin’ in our town long?”
Smoke’s face was wrapped in the towels, but not his eyes. “I just stopped in for a shave. And that’s about done, I expect. Wouldn’t you say so, Max?”
“Yes, sir, just another moment to relax your face is all, I would say,” Max replied.
Smoke noticed a twinge of fear in the barber’s voice, but had no idea why.
“Yes, well, here’s the thing, mister,” Bates said. “We got law in this town. And we don’t take to strangers comin’ in and breakin’ the law.”
“Have I broken the law by getting a shave?” Smoke asked.
“It ain’t the shave I’m talkin’ about.”
“I see. And you enforce the law, do you?”
“I do indeed,” Bates said. “Do you see this star? That means I’m a deputy sheriff.”
“Your mama must be real proud,” Smoke said calmly.
Bates blinked a few times at the response. This wasn’t going the way he had planned. “The point is, mister, I am a deputy. And bein’ as I’m a deputy, well, sir, that means I can collect taxes when they’re due. And right now, you owe this here town two dollars in taxes.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s to pay for the protection we give you while you are here in town,” Bates said.
“I’ll protect myself.”
“Mister”—Bates’ voice reflected his growing anger and frustration—“you ain’t payin’ much attention to me, are you? Now I’m goin’ to say it real slow so’s maybe even someone as dumb as you can understand. You owe the city of Elco two dollars, and I aim to collect it.”
“I told you, deputy, I don’t live here, I don’t plan to live here, and I don’t need your protection.”
“Bates, there ain’t no call for you to come in here and be talkin’ to my customer like this,” Max said. “He told you, he’s just passin’ through. Now why don’t you just go away and leave us alone?”
“Stay out of this, Max,” Bates said coldly. “Unless you want to get hurt.”
With Bates’ attention diverted by the barber, Smoke pulled the apron off.
When Bates looked back toward him he saw that Smoke was holding a pistol. “What the hell?” Bates said with a gasp. “You’re pulling a gun on an officer of the law?”
“Maybe you didn’t notice.” Smoke jerked the thumb of his left hand toward his badge. “I’m also an officer of the law, a deputy United States marshal. And like I said, I don’t need your protection.”
“Oh. You should have told me you was a lawman like me. Of course, bein’ as you are a lawman, why, there ain’t no tax due. Sort of a professional courtesy, you might say.”
“I accept your courtesy.” Smoke got out of the chair, put his pistol back in the holster, then turned to reach for his hat, which was on the hat rack in the corner of the little room.
“Marshal, look out!” Max suddenly shouted.
Smoke spun around, drawing his pistol as he did so. He saw Bates standing in the doorway with his own gun drawn.
Seeing Smoke’s rapid reaction to Max’s warning, the expression on Bate’s face changed from one of triumph, to one of shock. He thumbed back the hammer on his pistol, but it was too late. Smoke fired, and the bullet tore through Bates’ heart, leaving a quarter-sized exit hole just beside his left shoulder blade.
Hearing the shot, several people came running toward the barbershop.
Smoke noticed some of the men had stars pinned to their vest or shirt, but he had no idea which one was the sheriff.
“Who did this?” one of the men demanded. From the authoritative tone of his voice, Smoke realized the man had just answered his question.
“I did,” Smoke said.
“Mister, you are under arrest.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean, you don’t think so? Mister, you just killed one of my deputies!”
“Bates drew first, Sheriff Cooper,” Max said. “In fact, he was goin’ to shoot Marshal Jensen in the back.”
“Marshal?” the sheriff asked. “What kind of marshal?”
“I’m a deputy United States marshal.”
“Why would Bates try to shoot you in the back?”
“Bates was tryin’ to make Marshal Smoke Jensen pay him two dollars for tax,” Max said.
