I knew who. It was Crayfish. He owned the Last Chance, but didn’t want no one to know it, so the name on the papers was Rosie, but she didn’t have a dime more than she could make on her back, and someone put up a wad to buy this place, and it was Crayfish.
“I get my pay from Rosie,” Sammy said.
I leaned across the bar and grabbed a handful of apron and pulled him tight. I seen his hands clawing for that Greener under the bar, so I just tugged him tighter.
“Don’t,” I said. “Who owns this joint?”
“Never did figure that out,” he replied.
“You’re a card, Upward. I think I’m going to look a lot closer at this here triple murder. Somebody shot three of Ruble’s hands, and maybe it was King Bragg, just like the court says it was, but maybe it was someone else, you know who, and ain’t saying. And I’m poking around a little more until I got a better handle on it. This ain’t makin’ me happy.”
Upward, he didn’t like that none.
FOUR
Sammy Upward, he polished that bar so hard he was scrapin’ varnish. I sure liked him even if I didn’t trust him none. He’s got a full deck in his head, more than I got, and he’s always trying to deal aces to himself. So I just stood there and waited for him to outsmart himself.
“Pickens, I never give anything away. You want something from me, you pay for it.”
I’d heard that before, so I just waited.
“Maybe trade. I’ll trade for things.”
I nodded.
“Like, you tell me something and I tell you something. You want news, you tell me news.”
I nodded. “Don’t call me Pickens,” I said. “It’s bad enough alone, but when you put Cotton in front, it’s good for a punch in the nose.”
“Well, do you think I like Upward? What am I, a choirboy?”
“What do you want to know, Sammy?”
He quit polishing. “This is a cold case. How come you’re opening it up?”
“I ain’t very happy with it, is all.”
“You ain’t squaring with me, Sheriff. What got into your bonnet?”
It’s true, I wasn’t squaring with him.
“I got just about hanged myself. So I thought I’d have another look at things.”
“Just about hanged? Just about hanged? Get outa here, Sheriff, or make sense.”
“I got shot in the outhouse.”
“Shot in the outhouse! Now I’ve heard everything. Pickens, you’re either drunk or you belong in the funny farm.”
“It was in Belle’s crapper, and they surrounded me and put a bullet in. Now you tell me something.”
“Me tell you something! You got shot in the crapper and hanged, and now you want something from me!”
This was getting impossible. “I quit,” I said, and clamped the Stetson down on my lumpy head. I’d had enough of Sammy Upward.
“Who hanged you? Who shot you? It had to be Admiral Bragg. Right?”
“I’ve done enough confessing, dammit.”
“How come you’re alive if you got hanged and shot?”
“The bullet went over my head and the rope didn’t hold.”
“Sheriff, I ain’t getting the whole monte.”
“That’s because I don’t feel like telling it. Now I’m outa here.”
“Wait! Don’t go out that door. I’ll tell you something. This here place, it’s owned by Crayfish Ruble, not Rosie.”
“So?” I yawned and headed for clean air. That saloon stank like the vault of an outhouse, especially when the air was moving from Sammy in my direction.
I hadn’t got anything from Upward that I didn’t know, and me getting shot in the crapper would be all over Doubtful anyway.
“Up yours, Upward,” I said.
Maybe that wasn’t very smart, but I never can think of anything catchy to say. Some men, they’ve got just the right word for every occasion, but not me. Upward had got a confession out of me, and I got nothing in return. So all I could think of was Up Yours.
I sure hated the way it was going to play around town. There’d be whispering and laughing behind my back. Admiral Bragg, he dang near hanged the sheriff! Strung him right up and kicked the wagon out! Put a slug through Belle’s crapper, too, caught the sheriff with his pants down! Every time I walked into one of the town’s five saloons,
