I headed down the hallway while she stared at me and plucked at her purple petunias.
Room seven was silent. I pressed my ear to the door and heard nothing at all. I tried the door knob, and it opened the door, and no lead blew past me. So I looked in there. There was no girl in sight. Sammy Upward lay on his back, staring open-eyed at the ceiling. He was wearin’ all his clothes, including his boots. I slapped him once or twice, but he wasn’t moving, and his lungs weren’t working, and I figured out that Sammy was history, and he’d been dosed to death with that knockout juice. Just to make sure, I looked for any bullet holes and blood, but there were none. There wasn’t a mark on him. Poor old Sammy had bought the farm this time.
“So long, Sammy,” I said. “You can pour me one in hell.”
I was pretty sure Carter Bell would be in the same boat, but first I went back to the parlor and got aholt of Big Lulu.
“He’s croaked. How’d he get put in there? You tell me fast and true.”
She looked frightened out of her wits. “Oh, sir, Mr. Ruble brought them in, Mr. Upward and Mr. Bell, and said he wanted two private rooms for them to sleep off a drunk, and they shouldn’t be disturbed, and for me to say they were enjoying the company of my temporary wives.”
“How long ago?”
“Just a little while ago, sir.”
“Were Upward and Bell on their feet?”
“Oh, yes, sir. They were joking with Mr. Ruble. It was all very jolly. He told them it was time to celebrate, and he’d foot the bill.”
“Where’s Ruble?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir. He left here a little later, in a very good mood.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Yes. He said, ‘Let them sleep. They need rest.’ And he said if they wanted one of my wives after they woke up, I should provide one.”
“Did he pay you?”
“I always expect a gratuity, Sheriff. I’m in the temporary marriage business.”
I headed down the hall to room five, found the knob, and pushed in real quick. There was Carter Bell, faceup, eyes closed, fully clad, and dead as a mackerel. I shook him a few times. I slapped his rat-face a few times. I found a hand mirror on the dresser and held it to his nostrils and found no moisture on it. I felt his hand, which was still warm but not like he was alive. There was a half-filled tumbler of booze on the dresser. I knew what was in that booze and I knew who poured it into Bell and Upward. Just to make sure, I checked him for bullet wounds. There were none, no blood, no cuts or bruises, nothing busted.
He sure looked natty, clean shaven, dressed real nice. “Look what you bought when you got to telling the judge a few things, Carter,” I said. “A dose of that stuff. Chloral hydrate, that’s what Crayfish served up for you. Guess you’ll be visiting the devil.”
I closed the door and got out of there. I’d collect the bodies later.
I knew that Crayfish Ruble was scot-free. All them witnesses that testified that King Bragg shot them T-Bar men were dead. There wasn’t nobody left to take back the court testimony, and not only was Ruble free, but King Bragg was still in trouble, and once they got some new judge in here, the boy might still be hanged for a crime he didn’t do.
THIRTY-FIVE
It wasn’t any trouble finding Crayfish. He was in Rosie’s parlor, running his paws over all them smiley girls, and having himself a fine time. There wasn’t anything to run from, so he was back with the ladies once again, while Rosie was watching over the parlor so things didn’t get too rowdy.
I simply wandered in there, ready to swing my shotgun into action, but no one seemed to care any. The girls were more interesting to Crayfish than any lawman. He patted one on the behind, and she winked at him, and Rosie smiled because she might get a cut of the business.
“You came just in time for the party, Sheriff,” Crayfish said, running a feral hand over another behind.
“I got to take you in for questioning, Mr. Ruble.”
He looked annoyed. “For what?”
“We’re gonna talk about a lot of stuff,” I said.
“Oh, the hanging. I tried to stop it. Judge Nippers was a friend, you know. But my boys didn’t much like it when he stopped the hanging, and they got a little frisky.”
“Well, we’re gonna talk about that some.”
“I’m not inclined to go. You can see I’m busy with important things. Try me tomorrow morning—early. We’re heading back to the T-Bar around noon.” He smiled. “Any earlier and the boys would be fighting hangovers.”
He slid an arm around a real pretty little thing, who chirped cheerfully.
“I’ll send him over when he’s done here,” Rosie said. “Now don’t you go cheating me out of a sale.”
“Your sale’s gonna wait, ma’am,” I said. I turned to Crayfish. “You coming or do I get serious?”
I moved the shotgun muzzle a notch or two, and it didn’t escape him.
He sighed, smiled, and surrendered. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said to Rosie.
