Reaper's Fee Part 4

To his credit, the deputy kept his bony fingers wrapped around the rifle even after the gun was trapped under Nick's boot. Once Nick put a bit more of his weight down though, the crus.h.i.+ng pain shooting through the deputy's half-frozen fingers was too much to bear.

Nick shoved the deputy toward Barrett with one hand and scooped up the rifle with the other. "It's all right," he said as he glanced around to make sure they weren't being watched. "You're not the first one to fall for that trick. Now, how about you come along with us so we can have a little talk?"

The deputy flinched and looked over at Barrett when he realized what had happened. Although Barrett didn't have his own gun drawn, he had his hand upon his holster to make it clear that he could pull his weapon at any time.

"I'd suggest you do what he tells you," Barrett said through the bandanna wrapped around the lower portion of his face. "Or this could get real ugly."

Nick walked with an easy stride and dropped his arm around the deputy's shoulders as if they were just three friends headed out to get a drink. He kept the rifle in his grasp and pointed in the deputy's direction. "This won't take long, and you might just be glad you b.u.mped into us."

They led the deputy away from the center of town and around a corner. It wasn't a very long walk before they found themselves in front of a darkened store, with a mountain range behind them. The sun had set some time ago, and the moonlight reflected off the snow.

Squinting into the pale shadows, Nick couldn't see another living thing for miles in that direction. The street was more than quiet enough to suit his purposes, so Nick grabbed the deputy by the throat with his left hand and used his right to jam the rifle's barrel into the lawman's gut.

The deputy looked even younger up close than he did from afar. His skin was pale and his cheeks had the sunken appearance of someone who had been deathly ill. With so much fear showing on his face, his eyes looked wider than the sockets that held them. "Whoawho are you?"

"I'm the son of a b.i.t.c.h that's robbing your bank tomorrow," Nick snarled. "And if you know what's good for you, Marshal, you'll steer clear of it so I can do my business."

"I'm not a marshal. I'm just aa""

"I can see the deputy badge on your coat, you loco son of a b.i.t.c.h. I ain't blind. I'm just giving you credit for being smarter than another s.h.i.+t-for-brains deputy. No matter what badge you got on, you should be able to influence your fellow law dogs."

"The sheriffahe's the one whoa" The deputy's voice caught in the back of his pinched throat as the rifle barrel was driven even further into his stomach.

Nick leaned forward to glare directly into the deputy's eyes, making certain most of his weight was behind the rifle. "Make up a reason for the law to be somewhere else around noon tomorrow. Find something to keep them busy. Think of something, or everyone inside that bank will be killed. You understand me?"

The deputy nodded weakly at first, but his head found a momentum of its own and was soon twitching up and down.

"Good," Nick said. "Now, do I even have to tell you to keep quiet about who gave you this idea when you see your law dog friends?"

The deputy shook his head wildly.

"Didn't think so." Nick started to turn away, but then s.h.i.+fted back around to fix his glare once more upon the deputy. His lips curled into a predator's snarl as his finger began to tighten around the rifle's trigger. "You sure I can count on you?"

"Yes, yes," the deputy wheezed. "Please. G.o.d, don't kill me."

Nick could smell the young lawman's fear and he pulled it all the way down to the bottom of his lungs as if he were savoring a beautiful woman's perfume. Once he'd had his fill, he nodded and backed away. "All right, then. Get the f.u.c.k out of my sight."

Those words might as well have been a fire lit under the deputy's backside, since they sent him scampering away from Barrett and Nick so quickly that he almost lost his footing several times. Even after the deputy had rounded the corner, his desperate steps could still be heard sc.r.a.ping against the frozen soil.

Nick was laughing as Barrett pulled the bandanna down from his face.

"Are you sure about this, Nick?" Barrett asked.

"Sure, I'm sure. Now, where's this weak link you were talking about?"

"In the saloon right down the street."

"Then let's get to him before that yellow little runt does. You'd better be the runt's shadow for a while, just to make sure."

Barrett took off in the direction the deputy had gone.

Nick had to keep himself from whistling as he stepped back onto Main Street to look for the saloon Barrett had mentioned. The town was laid out just as Barrett had described on their way in from their shack. The saloon was right where it should be, marked with the picture of the wolf's paw Barrett had described.

Shoving open the door, Nick stepped in and spotted Barrett's lawman. The man was about Nick's size and possibly a few years older. He kept himself upright by putting both elbows upon the edge of the bar and wore his badge pinned crookedly to his left collar.

"It's d.a.m.n cold out there!" Nick said as he stomped into the saloon.

"It's always cold, mister," the bartender replied. "How about something to thaw the blood in yer veins?"

Nick stood beside the haggard man wearing the badge. "You cold, too?" he asked.

The man was barely sober enough to look up and spot the person beside him. "I ain'tacold enough to p.i.s.sain thea" were the only slurred words he could p.r.o.nounce clearly.

Nick laughed and slapped the man on the back as if the babble actually meant something to him. He then slapped twenty dollars upon the bar. "This is for my drink as well as my friend's here," Nick said to the bartender. "Keep 'em coming!"

SIX.

The bank was situated near the edge of town. It looked like something closer to a church or schoolhouse, since the building was small, square and had a tall, pointed roof. The two masked men approached it, one anxiously pulling the other along. The more eager of the two kicked open the bank's front door with his gun already in hand.

It was six minutes past noon.

"Hands where I can see 'em!" the first man shouted as he waved his gun at the three customers standing in front of the two teller windows. "You a.s.sholes behind that cage get all the money you can grab and stuff it into a sack!"

There was one young woman behind the cage separating the public and private halves of the bank. She already had her hands in the air and was trembling almost too much to hold them up. The other person behind the cage was a man in his fifties who wore a pair of round spectacles. He'd been sitting at a rolltop desk when the masked men entered and now stood up.

"You!" the first masked man snapped as he aimed directly at the old man behind the cage. "Open the safe and empty it into a sack."

"There is no safe," the man replied.

The first masked man shoved forward past a customer to stick his arm between two of the cage's bars. "Don't feed me any bulls.h.i.+t unless you want to die, old man!" he said as he thumbed back the hammer of his pistol.

"We've got cash in the drawers, buta""

The older man was cut short as the gun in the masked man's hand barked and sent a bullet through the female teller's side. Yelping and falling to the floor, the woman grabbed the fresh wound. Despite the pain, the bullet had caught more of her dress than it had of her skin.

"Don't try my patience, old man," the first masked man said.

The older man didn't have anything else left to say. Instead, he nodded and walked behind his desk to reveal a small safe hidden beneath a red sheet and a vase of flowers.

Until now, the second masked man hadn't done anything but stand in the doorway. When he started fidgeting, the first gunman walked over to him and pulled him inside.

"My partner's getting nervous," the first masked man said.

Just then, one of the customers spoke up. "Maybe that's because the law's outside," a young man with smooth features said as he pointed toward the window.

The first masked man looked out the window and nodded. "So they are. All three of them." Looking toward the cage, he asked, "How much you got for me?"

"The safe's not open yet," the old man replied.

The teller was already on her feet. She held up a single bag and whimpered, "This is all I could get."

"Toss it over."

She did as she was told and then leaned against her counter.

After scooping up the bag, the first gunman walked to the front door and patted his partner roughly upon the back. "What do you say? Feel like shooting your way out of here?"

The second gunman started to say something, but was cut off as the first one shoved him toward the steps leading to the street.

"Kiss my a.s.s, law dogs!" the first masked man said as he fired a few shots at the approaching lawmen.

The sheriff was a barrel-chested man in his forties with a thick mustache drooping over his mouth. He fired the shotgun in his hand, missing the first masked man and startling the second. As the second masked man started to raise his arm, another blast caught him in the chest and dropped him straight to the ground.

The first masked man was already on his horse, thundering away from the bank. He rode down Main Street, allowing the lawmen to come after him.

The thunder of hooves beating against the ground and shots blasting through the air made it seem as if a storm had rolled in from the mountains to stir up some h.e.l.l in Willhemene Pa.s.s. That storm rolled out of the town, leaving a body in the street and several confused locals standing with their mouths agape.

Inside the bank, the manager scrambled to the teller's side. "Are you all right?" he asked.

The woman pulled in a few breaths, pressed her hand to her side, but eventually nodded. "It's not so bad. At least, I don't think it is."

"We'll get you to Doc Whistler." Craning his neck to get a look past the teller through the bars to the front section of the bank, the manager shouted, "Can anyone hear me?"

Plenty of noise was coming from outside. One voice answered the manager's question, though. It belonged to the only customer who'd spoken to the masked men before they'd left.

The customer's steps echoed through the bank as his boots sc.r.a.ped against the floor. "Are you all right, ma'am?" the customer asked, peeking through the teller's window.

"It looks like a flesh wound, but I'm no doctor," the manager replied. "Are those robbers gone?"

The customer walked back to the door, looked outside and then shut it behind him. The sound of the lock being turned rattled through the small one-room building.

"The law rode off to chase after that robber. Looks like they got one of them before they left, though," Barrett said in the same, calm voice he'd used to inform Nick about the sheriff and his men. He walked over to the cage and looked at the area behind it with mild interest. When he spotted the safe, he took a gun from under his coat and eased it between the bars.

The manager was in the process of helping the woman to the back door when he spotted Barrett pointing the gun at him. "Whatawhat the h.e.l.l is this?"

"Weren't you listening before?" Barrett asked. "It's a robbery. Now that we've got this place to ourselves, why don't you finish emptying that safe?"

The confusion written across the manager's face might have been funny under any other circ.u.mstances. In fact, Barrett knew that Nick would have been laughing if he was there to see it.

"Butawe werea"

"Only told about two of us coming?" Barrett asked as a way to finish the manager's question. "Things change. Now get that money before I start making more noise."

The manager did what he was told; emptying the contents of the safe into another couple of bags as if he was in a daze.

Barrett took the bags, fitted them under his arms and then closed his coat over them. "Keep quiet until someone comes to get you," he told the two behind the cage. "My other partner outside's got an itchy trigger finger." With that, Barrett turned his back on the cage and walked out the front door. By the time he stepped outside, his gun was tucked away and a panicked look was on his face.

"Good Lord," exclaimed a local man who was kneeling next to the body of the masked man lying in the street.

Barrett and several other locals gathered around the body as the man kneeling beside it pulled the robber's mask off. When the face of the drunkard deputy was revealed, Barrett let out a relieved sigh. As the locals got a look for themselves and started nervously chattering, Barrett was able to slip away and walk down the street to the horse waiting for him there.

It was well past nightfall and there was still no trace of Nick. Barrett sat huddled in the shack they'd claimed as their own, rubbing his arms and watching the steam curl upward every time he let out a breath. The cold had been gnawing at him for hours and had chewed all the way down to the marrow in his bones.

Outside, a few hearty animals scampered through the snow. The wind wasn't as fierce as it had been earlier, but there was still a trickle of air seeping in through the walls. Barrett focused his eyes upon a spot on the floor just in front of his boots. As much as he wanted to go outside and watch for Nick, he knew he'd only last a matter of moments before his ears began to ache and his fingers went numb.

Instead of giving his eyes something to do, Barrett closed them and focused on what he could hear.

Barrett could never figure why, but winter nights always seemed to be especially quiet. Because of that, every footstep was a crash and every snowflake's landing was like a pebble knocking against a tin roof.

When he heard the sound of heavy steps crunching in the snow, Barrett's eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet. Since he hadn't stretched his legs for a while, every joint in his body ignited with pain. Barrett simply gritted his teeth and drew his pistol.

There was someone outside.

Whoever it was, they were most definitely on a horse.

The lighter steps could just be heard scattered among the heavier ones, but as hard as Barrett tried, he couldn't decipher how many were out there.

The more he strained his ears listening, the louder each step got. Finally, he knew he had to take a look outside for himself. If it was a posse approaching the shack instead of Nick, showing himself now wouldn't make much difference anyway.

Barrett tightened his grip on his gun and steeled himself to look out through the shack's crooked window. Despite all the possible outcomes racing through his mind, Barrett kept going back to the one that ended with him catching a bullet in his face the moment he showed it to some approaching lawmen.

Letting out the breath he'd been holding, Barrett leaned to the side, looked out the window and found himself less than an inch away from Nick's smiling face.

"Jesus Christ," Barrett said as his finger clamped reflexively around his trigger and sent a bullet through the door.

Nick jumped away from the window and drew his own gun without even thinking about it. "What the h.e.l.l?" he said as he took a quick look behind him and then around to either side.

Barrett charged outside, still holding his gun. "You scared the s.h.i.+t out of me, Nick. What the f.u.c.k were you thinking?"

"And that's coming from someone who's always telling me to watch my cussing?"

"Where the h.e.l.l have you been?"

Nick didn't answer right away. Instead, he c.o.c.ked his head to one side and held up a finger like an overly dramatic actor playing to his audience. "You hear that?"

"My ears are still ringing."

"The posse's on its way."

"You're not getting me twice," Barrett said.

As if on cue, the sounds of more hooves pounding against the snow could be heard rumbling through the air.