Reaper's Fee

Nick’s horse slow to a stop, so Barrett followed suit and climbed from his saddle as soon as he was able.

“Are they gone?” Barrett asked.

Nick swung off of his horse’s back and strutted up to him so he could clap his friend on the back. “There’s no way in hell them laws are gonna find us. Now let’s see that money.”

“We should wait until morning, or maybe until we’re far enough away to—”

“To hell with all of that,” Nick cut in. “I went through all this trouble, so I want to see the money.”

Knowing better than to argue with him, Barrett fished out one of the two bags he’d been given by the bank manager and handed it over to Nick. “There’s another just like it, but I’m not getting that one out until we can split it up.”

Nick pulled open the bag and stuffed his hand inside like a kid reaching for the last cookie in the jar. When he took his hand back out, his fingers were wrapped tightly around a fat wad of cash. “Now this is what I call a perfect job.”

“Perfect?” Barrett asked. “I wanted to buy off that crooked drunk so he could make sure there weren’t any law around that bank. Instead, you went ahead and approached the deputy I specifically told you could be trouble.”

Nick shook his head and slowly flipped through the money. “That was a small town, Barrett. The law was gonna be there no matter what. This way, we cut their numbers down by one and drew everyone out so you could waltz right out of there with the money. Perfect.”

Even though Barrett was still more than a little aggravated, it was difficult for him to be angry with Nick. “It did turn out pretty well,” he admitted.

“Did you have any trouble getting out of there?”

“No.”

“And what about that deputy I left behind?” Nick asked.

“Dead.”

“Serves him right. You know what it took to get him over to my way of thinking?”

Barrett shrugged.

“A few bottles of whiskey and a twenty-dollar advance on what we’d take away from that bank.” Producing a folded bill from his shirt pocket, Nick added, “The dumb shit was too drunk to even ask for the twenty dollars up front. I’m surprised the law came at all, considering the chowder heads they got working for them.”

“The only thing that surprises me is that you got away without forking over that bribe,” Barrett said quietly. “Most men would sell out their own kin if the price was right. Men with badges ain’t nothing more than assholes with the authority to shove someone around.”

“Well that asshole won’t be shovin’ anyone around anymore.”

Barrett winced slightly as he said, “That might bump up the price on our heads. He was still a lawman, after all, and you did shoot that woman.”

“I didn’t do nothing more than scratch her,” Nick said confidently. “And that was just to let folks think I was serious. Besides, what’s the problem? It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah. It worked.”

SEVEN

Ocean, California

1885

Switchback Gil sat in a chair on the boardwalk with his legs propped up on a hitching rail. One hand was draped lazily across his belly as the other reached down for a cup of water on the ground beside him. From where he sat, he could look directly across the street at the gun shop, or up and down the street in any direction to see who was coming.

Gil strained his arm a bit more to reach his cup of water. When he still couldn’t find it, he turned his head to look and see if he’d accidentally spilled it. What he found was a large figure standing beside and somewhat behind him. All he could make out was a leg and the flap of a dark coat. Before he could pull his legs down from the rail, the figure extended his arm.

“Here you go,” the scratchy voice said as he handed Gil the cup of water.

When Gil looked down, he didn’t pay much attention to the dented cup being handed to him. Instead, he focused on the gnarled, whittled-down fingers holding it. Gil got his legs down, but wasn’t able to stand up before the cup was tossed away and he was hauled up by the front of his shirt.

Nick lifted Gil from his chair and set him right back down again. Although Gil’s legs were a bit wobbly at first, he adjusted soon enough.

“You’re Nick Graves,” Gil announced.

“That’s the rumor.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here. You want to spill it while we’re young or would you rather dance around some more?”

Chuckling uneasily and brushing himself off, Gil kept his hand upon the gun holstered at his side. Hooking his thumb toward the street, he asked, “You want to take a walk? I’d rather not do my talking where anyone can overhear.”

Nick glanced at the street and couldn’t find any strangers waiting for them. In fact, he couldn’t see much of anyone else in the area. “Sure.” Just to be safe, Nick stepped into the street and started walking in the opposite direction to where Gil had pointed.

Gil scrambled to his feet and followed him. “I wanted to ask about your friend, Barrett Cobb,” he said quickly.

Stopping in his tracks, Nick turned to him and said, “Barrett’s dead.”

“I…uh…I know. At least, that’s what I heard.” Gil wrung his hands as he started walking again.

This time, Nick was the one who had to do the catching up. He did so with long, powerful strides and easily overtook the smaller man.

“I heard them boys in Montana got to you,” Gil said, motioning toward Nick’s hand. “Guess that rumor was true, too.”

“You asked about Barrett. What the hell do you want to know about him?” Nick growled.

Glancing around nervously, Gil hooked his thumb toward an alley. “It’d be best if we talked in pri—”

“We’ll talk right here,” Nick said in a tone that made Gil flinch. “Say what you came to say and do it quick.”

“You were his friend. Cobb’s, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“Word is that you may be the one who gave him the Reaper’s Fee.”

Nick’s brow furrowed as he drilled straight through Gil’s skull with his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, unable to recall Barrett ever using that term.

Leaning forward on the balls of his feet, Gil said, “You buried him with the money that was stolen on his last job. Some folks say you helped him steal it. Some say you were the one to bury him, since there weren’t nobody alive who’d care enough about Cobb to…well…to go through all that trouble.”

“You talk like you know an awful lot.”

Gil nodded and grinned as if he was about to reach around and pat himself on the back.

“What’s this ‘Reaper’s Fee’?” Nick asked.

“It’s just the name someone came up with for what’s supposed to be in that coffin with Barrett Cobb. You know…like the money he’d pay to the Reaper when he came a-callin’.”

Nick’s face might as well have been carved out of stone. His expression was a cold slap that knocked Gil’s