“Yeah, Bill?”
“You didn’t, uh, kill Cramer, did you?” Ward asked, stammering a bit.
Short turned to face his partner.
“No, Bill,” he said, “I did not kill Cramer.”
“Okay,” Ward said. “I’m, uh, real sorry I had to ask.”
“Yes, Bill,” Short said, “so am I.”
Short stopped when they stepped out into the saloon, as if he expected to find the sheriff there waiting for him.
“What is it?” Butler asked.
“Nothing.”
“What do we do first to find this killer, Luke?” Butler asked.
“We have to go downtown,” Short said, “to Hell’s Half Acre and start askin’ questions.”
“That’s going to raise a red flag,” Butler said. “Word will get around that we’re there.”
“I know.”
“So that’s what you want?” Butler said. “When the killer hears we’re looking for him he’ll come after us.”
“Me,” Short said, “he’ll come lookin’ for me.”
“What’re you—I’m not staying behind, Luke. You hired me to watch your back—”
“You’re fired.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Butler said. “I’ll follow you there, anyway.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“Why? You don’t owe me anything. And somebody’s already tried to kill you. The best thing for you to do is move on, Butler.”
“I can’t do that, Luke.”
“Why not?”
“How would I ever face Bat and Wyatt if I let you get killed?”
They planned to go downtown together, but not travel side by side.
“Just stay behind me, watch my back, and maybe that way we can get the drop on the killer.”
“Or whoever he sends against us.”
“Cramer didn’t treat women very well. No one really mattered to him. Maybe the killer is a woman.”
“That’s interesting,” Butler said. “Maybe his murder had nothing to do with you, or the White Elephant.”
“Well, that would be preferable,” Short said. “I’d like to keep Bill Ward out of it, if I can.”
They stepped out on the street cautiously, looking for gunmen or lawmen.
“Looks like the coast is clear,” Short said. “Let’s start now and take separate cabs. Once we’re down there you can follow on foot at a good distance.”
“What about when you go inside to ask questions?”
“You’ll have to watch from the window,” Short said, “or come in and have a drink.”
“Remember,” Butler said, “you told me to watch what I drank down there.”
“Yeah, well,” Short said, patting Butler on the arm, “I guess certain sacrifices will have to be made.”
CHAPTER 28
When Luke Short entered the Bloody Spur the bartender, Zeke, went for the shotgun he kept under the bar. Short drew his gun and pointed it at him.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said.
Zeke froze. There were a few men in the place—two at tables, one standing at the bar—who looked but didn’t move.
“You gonna kill me, too?” Zeke asked.
“I’m not going to kill you, too, because I didn’t kill your boss.”
“Yeah, right,” Zeke said. “You said you were gonna blow out the back of his head, and you did.”
Short approached the bar and said, “Somebody did. Somebody who knew that killin’ him that way would lead to me. Now my question to you is, who did you tell?”
“Me?” Zeke said, staring down the barrel of Short’s gun. “I didn’t tell nobody. There was plenty of other fellas in here that day, maybe one of them did it.”
“Well, that’s possible,” Short agreed. He turned to look at the other three men in the place, who immediately turned away.
“Okay, let’s try somethin’ else,” he said to Zeke. “Who found your boss dead?”
“I did.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It was early—uh, early for him to be in his office. I went in, figuring he wasn’t there, and I found him.”
“With the back of his head missin’.”
Zeke nodded.
“Who else could have had a motive to shoot him?”
“You kiddin’?” Zeke asked. “Anybody down here.”
“He wasn’t well liked?”
“Nobody’s well liked down here,” Zeke said. “Everybody’s out for themselves.”
“So you can’t give me a name or two—your boss’s biggest enemies?”
“There are other saloons right on this street,” Zeke said. “Start with them.”
“What about women?”
“He had lots of ’em.”
“Did he treat them badly?”
“Well, yeah,” Zeke said, as if that was obvious.
“Would any of them have killed him that way?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because the kind of woman he kept company with liked bein’ treated that way.”
Short studied the man for a moment, then decided he was telling the truth. Apparently, when it came to women, Cramer kept to his own kind.
He turned to leave, then thought of something else.
Butler stood outside the Bloody Spur, watching the action from the window. He also had to keep an eye on the street for an ambush, or for the law. He checked out the rooftops across the street, saw a white curtain in a window move. He stared into the window of the Spur again, but this time he was using the reflection. Sure enough, as soon as he looked away the curtain was pushed aside and someone looked out the window again. He didn’t see a gun barrel come out. Somebody was just watching him, or watching the Bloody Spur.
Interesting.
“Who was your boss using for bushwacking people?” Short asked Zeke.
“Huh?”
“Come on,” Short said, “Cramer had people killed. Who was he usin’? Give me a name.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“H-he’ll kill me.”
“Who?”
“Sutherlan—” Zeke stopped, as he realized he’d been tricked.
“Finish the name.”
“That’s it,” Zeke said. “Sutherland.”
“No first name?”
