He said, “Lynch. What brings you to Fury in general, and my office in particular?”
Beside him, he heard Ward utter a low gasp and felt him take a discreet step to the side, then halt, rock solid as usual. It was good to know Ward had his back.
Lynch said, “Guess you already know my name. And I know yours, too. You’re Marshal Jason Fury, brother to the charming Miss Jenny Fury, and son of the late, lamented Jedediah Fury.” He stuck out his hand and Jason reluctantly took it.
“And you’re Ward Wanamaker,” Lynch went on, “unless I miss my guess. Have I?”
Next, Ward took his hand and gave it a half-hearted shake. “I’m Wanamaker, all right,” he said, a little stiffly.
“You’ll pardon my deputy,” Jason said when Lynch arched a brow. “Like me, he’s just wonderin’ what a fella wanted in California for killin’ eight men is doin’ here in Fury.”
One corner of Lynch’s mouth crooked up. “Well, you boys ain’t nothin’ if not direct.” He turned around and pulled out the chair opposite Jason’s desk. “You mind if I set myself down? I got a feelin’ this is gonna be a long palaver.”
Jason said, “Help yourself,” moved around to his chair on the other side of the desk, and wished he’d finished that damned letter and sent it out yesterday. At least the wastebasket didn’t look disturbed. Lynch hadn’t been snooping, which left Jason feeling oddly relieved.
Ward moved across the room and took a seat in front of the cells, where he could keep an eye on Lynch’s gun hand.
Jason crossed his arms on the desktop and leaned forward. “So, why Fury? How come we’re blessed—or damned—with your presence?”
Lynch gave him that crooked-up smile again. “Because you’re close enough to California that I can make it in a day’s ride, and because rumor has it that you run a friendly little town. Am I right?”
Jason tipped his head, then nodded. “So far,” he said.
And Lynch laughed! Still cackling, he said, “I like you, Fury! You got a by-God sense of humor!”
But Jason didn’t return Lynch’s smile. He said, “I mean, how long are you plannin’ to stick around? You waitin’ for somebody or what?”
“Tryin’ to tell you,” replied Lynch, still holding that amused expression. “I’m not meetin’ anybody, or makin’ plans for anything, and there ain’t nobody here I wanna hurt. All I want is safe harbor, like those sailor boys say. I promise to mind my P’s and Q’s while I’m in town. Hell, while I’m in the whole territory!”
Despite himself, Jason was warming to Lynch as he spoke. He could see why Lynch would want—and need—a safe place. And he didn’t seem like such a bad fellow. Of course, he’d killed all those men. That mattered. That counted against him in the most serious way!
Jason said, “And what about all those men you killed? They probably could’a used a ‘safe harbor’ somewhere, too.”
“I ain’t gonna go into it now, but there’s a good reason attached to each one’a those killin’s.”
Behind him, over by the cells, Ward let out a loud “Hmmph.” Both Jason and Lynch ignored it, each for his own reasons.
Lynch stood up, startling Jason, who rose, too. Lynch said, “Well, I just wanted to check in and let you know I ain’t lookin’ for any trouble. I’m stayin’ across the street at the saloon, in case you wanna get hold of me. I liked it at Miss Abigail’s, but there ain’t much of anybody in there to get up a decent poker game with.” He paused. “The gals who drop by are a bit on the tender side, too,” he added, with a wink to Jason.
“I imagine they are,” he replied, without expression. He was glad, though, that Lynch had taken up residence at the other end of town, in the saloon. And he also hoped that Lynch kept true to his word, and stayed out of trouble.
They’d taken a few steps toward the door before Jason remembered, and stopped. “Wait,” he said, grabbing Lynch’s arm. “There’s a fellow in town. Just rode in with the wagon train, and he’s lookin’ for you. Says his name is Sampson Davis, and that he’s gonna—”
Lynch’s grin widened. “Gonna kill me?”
When Jason nodded, Lynch added, “I knew he was gonna catch up with me sooner or later. Just sorry it had to be here. You tell him I was in town?”
Ward said, “Already seemed to know. Nasty sort of fella.”
“Yup,” said Lynch. “That’s Davis. Well, I’ll be on the watch for him. Thanks, fellers.”
He tipped his hat and walked out. Jason watched through the window as he looked up the street, toward Abigail’s, then down it toward the saloon. Finally, he set off for the saloon, walking at a casual clip.
Beside Jason, Ward said, “He’s sure somethin’.”
Warily nodding, Jason said, “Yeah. He surely is.”
Finally satisfied with the content and phrasing of his letter to the U.S. Marshal (which included the fact that Fury had not one, but two gunslingers in town), Jason sealed the envelope. “I’m leavin’!” he called to Ward, and exited using the front door.
Up the street he went toward Solomon’s store, after checking to make sure the end of the street with the saloon was quiet. Everything was calm, aside from the burble of trading coming from outside the gates. He momentarily wondered if Jenny had been out to buy anything edible, and if there’d be a treat for supper. It didn’t last long, though. He put his hand on the latch to Solomon’s mercantile and went in, accompanied by the jingling little bells attached to the door.
“Solomon?” he called when he saw no one. “Hey, Sol, are you around? It’s Jason!”
He heard some rustling from upstairs, then Solomon’s voice. “Hold on to your skivvies. I’m coming, already!” Then footsteps on the staircase.
