Diver was the magnet that drew all the rest of the professionals in. I mean, look at the ones that married Diver’s daughters. There was somebody named Lester Gaskamp who was supposed to have been killed in the robbery at Junction City about two years ago. She was married to your girl, Rebeccah. By the way, would she talk about him?”
Davis shook his head. “No. And I want to tell you something right now. There was no Lester Gaskamp or any other Gaskamp killed there. The only man killed in that robbery was a lad identified as Willy Bower, and nobody had ever heard of him. There was a man down along the border named Gaskamp done some robbing and rustling, but he disappeared.”
“Well, this Lester Gaskamp was supposed to have been a Mason County boy, but I can’t find anyone who ever heard of him. I asked the hotel keeper, Jim Jacks, and he’s lived here for the last ten years and he don’t know who he is.”
Davis said, “There was a Archie Bowen killed in a robbery at Brady. That was about a year ago. I had paper on him and I seen the body. The description matched him. I guarantee you he wasn’t no Mason County resident.”
Longarm took another drink. “Then there was a Jim Squires who was supposed to have run off from a stage holdup on the road from Austin. He married one of Diver’s daughters named Salome, but like all the rest, got the ceremony but not the honeymoon.”
Austin Davis suddenly laughed. “Jim Squires? Run off from a robbery? I need to go down to my room and get the poster on him. He’s wanted for everything but singing too loud in church. I can’t imagine him running out on a job.”
Longarm made a face. “I’ll take your word for it. Hell, if I had a hard, cold fact I wouldn’t know what to do with it.” He held up a hand and ticked off fingers. “We got Bowen, Gus Home or Gus White. We got Gaskamp, we got Squires, and we got Dan Hicks and Vince Diver. All of them known bandits. Then we got this Amos Goustwhite who had money and a check on him from the auction house robbery just as Gus White did. That’s enough professional bandits for a town this size, wouldn’t you say?”
Davis said, “Yes, considering they must have a crew goes around and collects the bodies, like Goustwhite.”
“So we got to figure that some of them ain’t bandits, at least not full time. We got to figure that some of them are decent citizens right here in Mason County who only slip out every once in a while to hold up the odd bank or stage. Hell!”
“It’s a slick little proposition,” Davis said. “I don’t see no way to get a knife blade in edgewise and peel the cover off the damn thing. Like you say, knowing what’s what and proving it are two different matters. And you ain’t even named this Shaker fellow you say folks claim is the boss.”
“Wayne Shaker.” Longarm shook his head. “Hell, I don’t even know if he exists.” He looked over at Davis. “But one thing I know exists is this gang of outlaws, be they Mason County goat herders or border bandits who have shifted their operations. Before I got sent down here we had better than fifty complaints and requests for help filter down to our office. Letters, telegrams, reports from deputies in the field. Mostly we were hearing from officials and law officers from the towns and counties surrounding this one. Best we can figure, they have robbed somewhere in the neighborhood of over two hundred thousand dollars. You can run a county pretty good on that kind of money.”
Davis got up, put the palms of his hands in the small of his back, and stretched. He said, “Well, that’s fine and dandy knowing what they done. But who is they and how are you going to bring them to bay? You got damn few names, none of which you are sure about, and no faces except a couple of dead ones and my memory of what Vince Diver looks like. And Dan Hicks. How you going to herd them up?”
Longarm shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“You need a soft spot.”
“I got a soft spot, but I can’t be the one pokes it with a sharp stick.” He glanced up at Davis. “I kept wondering what I hired you on for. Now I know. I reckon it’ s got to be you puts the squeeze on.” He stared at Austin Davis.
Davis put his hands on the back of his chair. “Now wait a minute. You going to have to tell me a little more about what you mean by squeezing. I ain’t planning on killing nobody if that is what you mean.”
Longarm gave him a sarcastic look. “How the hell would you get information out of a corpse, Davis? Use some of that stuff you got between your ears.”
“Listen, don’t get insulting with me. I hired on, but I can quit just as fast.”
“You can’t quit.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It’s against the law. Federal law.”
Davis stared at him for a moment. He finally started laughing. “Longarm, you are full of it; you know that? I see you are not above a little bullying to get your way. Pray tell who is it you intend I should squeeze.”
“The sheriff. Bodenheimer.”
“Oh, the sheriff. That’s different.” Davis walked around his chair and sat down. He picked up the bottle of Maryland whiskey and poured a generous amount in his glass. “Don’t flinch like that, Longarm. Dirty work requires good whiskey.”
Longarm sat down. “It ain’t like you could appreciate it. Hell, if I hadn’t told you you’d have been just as happy with rotgut. You are just drinking that up to spite me.”
Davis drank from his glass and then set it down on the table. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aaaaaa!” he said with satisfaction. “That is mighty goooood. I reccon I need the rest of the bottle for this dirty work.”
“Like hell!” Longarm said. He reached out and pulled the half-empty bottle to his side of the table. “You got a mean streak in you, Davis. You know that?”
Davis laughed. “Here’s a man talking about squeezing some poor old fat boy till he pops and he accuses me of having a mean streak. You are a stretch, Longarm. A real stretch. By the way, how come you can’t do the squeezing your ownself?”
