“But you didn’t do it.”
“No.”
“I ain’t askin’ ya,” she snapped, “I’m tellin’ ya.”
“Can you also tell us how you know Luke didn’t do it, Mary?”
“Of course I can.” She smiled, showing a few gaps where teeth used to be, but the ones she had left looked good and strong. “Because I know who did.”
More tea, more cookies, stories about her three husbands, only one of the no-good sonsofbitches gave her a son who was taking care of her.
“Only one son?” Butler asked. “Or only one worth mentioning?”
Short looked at him like he was mad. What did they care about these stories?
“That’s a good question, Mr. Butler.”
“Just Butler, Ma’am.”
“Ain’t that a good question, Mr. Short?”
Butler gave Short a look.
“It’s Luke, Mary,” he said. “Just call me Luke.”
“Don’t you think Butler’s question was a good one?” she pressed on.
“I think it was mighty fine, yes.”
She looked at Butler.
“I’ll tell ya, I got only one son, but he’s takin’ real good care of me.”
“That’s good,” he said. “It’s important to have a good son.”
“What about you?” she asked Butler.
“What about me?”
“Are you a good son to your Ma?”
“I like to think I was.”
“Was?”
“She’s dead, Mary,” he said, then added, “somebody killed her.”
“Who?” she asked. “Who killed her?”
“Same people that killed my Pa,” Butler said. “I don’t know who they are yet, though.”
“Yet? You gonna find them?”
“Someday,” he said. “Someday I’ll find them and kill them all.”
She stared at him, then smiled and said, “See that? You are a good son.”
She looked at Short, who was hoping she wouldn’t ask him about his mother.
“Who thinks you killed Cramer?”
“The sheriff.”
“That skunk Courtwright?” she asked,
“I see we agree on somethin’, Mary,” Short said.
“We agree on more than that, Luke,” she said. “We agree that you didn’t kill that sonofabitch Cramer.”
“But you know who did?” he asked.
“Ya darn tootin’ I do.”
“And you’re gonna tell us?”
She nodded sagely, and said, “I’m gonna tell ya.”
CHAPTER 31
Butler and Short actually walked out of Hell’s Half Acre, and then stopped in a small saloon to discuss what they’d found out. They figured it was fairly safe to have a drink there, and each ordered a cold beer.
“I don’t know how much good that did,” Short admitted. “She saw a man go in, saw a man come out, doesn’t know who he was, but had seen him many times before, at odd hours.”
“The odd hours part indicates to me that he was doing specialized work for Cramer.”
“You mean like killing for him?” Short asked.
“Right.”
“And then they had a fallin’ out and the employee killed the employer.”
“Why not?”
“So what does the killer do now?” Short asked. “He’s cut off his source of income.”
“There’s still the price on my head,” Butler said. “It’s large enough to make up for losing his employer, until he finds a new one.”
“Or,” Short said, “maybe he intends to take over Cramer’s business.”
“If that’s the case,” Butler said, “then we already have his attention.”
“If I stay out in the open to give him a try,” Short said, “the sheriff might end up bagging me first.”
“Well then, maybe we should just keep walking up and down Rusk Street until he tries for you—or me.”
“It ain’t natural for a man to have a bull’s-eye on his back.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Sorry,” Short said, “I forgot.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Butler said. “I’ve learned to live with it.”
“How do you live with that?”
“How do you, Bat, or Wyatt live with the fact that someone, somewhere, is going to make a try for your reputation?”
“You have a point there,” Short said.
They finished their beers and went out onto the street.
“So, do we walk back in?” Butler asked.
Short was considering the question when several men came running at them, from both sides, brandishing guns. Neither man had a chance to draw their own weapon.
“What the hell—” Short said, and then he saw Jim Courtwright coming across the street with a satisfied look on his face.
“Short,” the lawman said. “You think I don’t have eyes in the Acre? I knew the minute you and your buddy, here, showed up.”
“What do you want, Courtwright?” Short asked, trying to brazen it out. “We’ve got business—”
“No, no, you have no business today with anybody but me. I’m takin’ you in.”
“For what?”
“Questioning,” Courtwright said. “We’re gonna have a nice talk about who killed Ed Cramer—although I think we both know who did it.”
“Butler,” Short said, “why don’t you go back to the White Elephant and tell Bill what’s—”
“Oh, no,” Courtwright said, “Mr. Butler is gonna come with us. I’ve got some questions for him, too. Now raise your hands up so my boys can take your guns.”
Butler and Short complied.
“Now we’ll all take a nice ride to my office,” Courtwright said. “We have lots to talk about…”
When they got to the sheriff’s office, Butler and Short were put in cells next to each other and left there for an hour or so. Finally, Courtwright came in with two deputies, who opened their cell doors.
“Okay, you two, out,” Courtwright said.
“Finally came to your senses, huh?” Short asked. “I won’t press charges for false arrest—”
“Shut up, Short,” Courtwright said. “I got enough to arrest you right now, and that’s what I’m doin’.”
“What, no talk?” Butler asked.
“You shut your mouth or I’ll arrest you, too.”
“You mean you’re not?”
“You’re free to go,” Courtwright said. “Take my advice and keep goin’.”
They walked Short and Butler out into the office, where Short got pushed into a chair. Butler was given back
