“Will you be staying long, sir?” the clerk asked him. He was a dapper man with slicked-down hair, and he smelled of cheap cologne.
“That depends,” Decker said, signing the register.
“On what, sir?”
“On how long it takes me to find a man named Calder.”
“Who, sir?”
“Calder,” Decker said. He put the pen down and stared at the clerk. “You don’t know anyone by that name?”
The clerk thought a moment, then shook his head and said, “No, sir. Does the gentleman have a first name?”
“I’m sure he does,” Decker said. “Can I have my key, please?”
“Of course, sir,” the man said. “Room 7. It overlooks the street.”
“What does Room 8 overlook?”
“Just the alley.”
“Is there a roof or ledge outside the window?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll take that one.”
“As you wish, sir.”
The clerk replaced the key to number 7 and handed him the key to number 8.
“If there’s anything else—”
“I’ll let you know,” Decker said. “Thanks.”
He picked up his rifle and saddlebags and ascended the stairs to the second floor. Once in the room he dropped his gear on the bed and walked to the window. Sure enough, it overlooked an alley. Across from him was a blank wall. There was no way of telling what kind of building it belonged to. Its roof, however, extended another floor above his window. There was no access there. He was satisfied that the room was fairly secure from outside entry—except for the door. He fixed that by taking the one straight-backed wooden chair in the room and jamming it under the doorknob.
He had ridden all day and was tired, even more than he was hungry or thirsty. He took off his boots, reclined on the bed, and fell as deeply asleep as his instincts would let him. At the slightest sound, he’d be instantly awake and alert. Left alone, he’d be able to sleep for about an hour, then go in search of a drink and a meal.
The drink was a shot of whiskey at the saloon, followed by a beer.
“Maybe you can help me,” Decker said to the bartender after he swallowed the last of the beer.
“I just did, friend,” the man said. He was a sloppy fat man with huge forearms that looked as if they might once have held some muscle. Maybe there still was some beneath the surface. His face was a mass of bumps, dominated by a lumpy nose. He had either been a wrestler or a bare-knuckled boxer.
“I need to find a man.”
“I supply drinks,” the man said, “and you can probably find a woman in here. We don’t deal in men.”
“Look, friend—” Decker said, putting his hand on the bartender’s arm. The bartender quickly closed his other hand around Decker’s wrist and squeezed. Decker found out that the man still had plenty of muscle.
“You wanna ask me a question, you go ahead and ask,
“I’m looking for a man named Calder,” Decker said. Holding his hand below the bar level so the barkeep couldn’t see, he began to flex it, trying to bring it back to life.
“So?”
“You heard of him?”
“What if I have?”
“I’d like to see him.”
“And what if I haven’t?”
“I’d still like to see him.”
“What for?”
“That’s between him and me.”
“If I did know him, where would he be able to find you?”
“Right here, after about an hour.”
“Where you gonna be for that hour?”
“Getting some dinner. Know a good place?”
“There’s a cafe down the street. It ain’t the best food in the country, but it’ll do.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back here in an hour.”
The bartender shrugged, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.
Before going to the cafe Decker stopped in at the sheriff’s office.
The man seated behind the desk looked up.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“My name’s Decker,” the bounty hunter said, moving toward the desk. “Just wanted to check in with you. I just arrived in town.”
The lawman stood, showing himself to be a tall man of medium build, not thin, not heavy.
“Why would you be checking in with me?”
“Isn’t that what a stranger does when he comes to town?”
The man laughed, showing yellowed teeth.
“Not in my experience.”
“Well, I’m a bounty hunter on the trail of a man.”
The lawman frowned and said, “That’s different. I’m obliged that you came here and introduced yourself.” He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Calder, Sheriff Sam Calder.”
Decker paused only slightly before taking the man’s hand and shaking it.
Finding Calder had been easier than he’d thought.
Over dinner, Decker considered his options.
He had left the sheriff’s office without approaching the man about the Baron. For one thing, he didn’t know if the lawman was the right Calder. For another, he’d already made contact at the saloon and was probably better off going through the proper channels. If the sheriff
At the cafe Decker ordered a steak with potatoes and onions, some biscuits, and a pot of coffee. The bartender had been right. The food wasn’t the best, but it was edible and better than the beef jerky and beans he’d been eating on the trail. As for the coffee, Decker rarely found better coffee than he prepared for himself over a fire.
After dinner he went back to the saloon and ordered a beer from the bartender. From the big man’s demeanor, no one would have known that Decker had already been in the saloon once. Decker did not speak up. If that was the way the man wanted to play it, that was fine with him.
The saloon was fairly full now. Two private poker games were going on at opposite ends of the room and a couple of saloon girls were working the room, both looking more suited to their occupation than Viola had back in El Segundo. These women were older and knew how to work a crowd of men, not playing favorites but making each of the men feel special.
Decker took his beer over to one of the poker games to watch. Ten minutes later, when a chair opened up, he slid into it.
