A smiling clerk lifted a hinged panel at the end of the bank counter and ushered McBride and Remorse to Jared Josephine’s office. The clerk scratched on the door and a man’s voice boomed, ‘‘Come in!’’
The clerk opened the door and McBride and Remorse stepped inside. The door shut silently behind them.
Josephine sat behind a huge mahogany desk and his son Lance stood at his side. McBride saw with some satisfaction that the younger man’s nose had set crookedly on his face, spoiling his good looks.
For his part, Lance stared at McBride with eyes that glowed with hatred and the naked desire to kill.
Jared rose and walked around his desk, beaming, his hand extended. ‘‘Welcome, gentlemen, welcome.’’
Remorse accepted Jared’s hand and shook it briefly, but McBride suddenly found something of great interest on the toes of his dusty boots. He was aware of Josephine dropping his hand and sensed rather than saw the scowl on the man’s face.
Josephine’s affability returned quickly and he said, ‘‘Lance, quickly, chairs for the gentlemen.’’
Sullenly, Lance placed two straight-backed chairs in front of the desk and his father bade McBride and Remorse to be seated. After the men sat, Jared resumed the comfort of the red leather, brass-studded chair behind his desk. His eyes moved to Remorse.
‘‘Reverend, your reputation proceeds you, sir, a man of the cloth who uses his gun to right wrongs wherever they occur in the western lands. Very commendable, sir, very commendable indeed.’’
Josephine’s eyes were flat, the color of lead.
‘‘And you, Mr. McBride, what are you? Another doughty champion of the poor and oppressed?’’
‘‘I was passing through until you decided to hang me,’’ McBride answered. ‘‘Then your son and your town marshal tried to kill me, and very nearly succeeded. Putting it in terms you’ll understand, I’d say I’m looking to get even.’’
‘‘Pshaw! Let bygones be bygones, forgive and forget, I say.’’ Josephine waved a dismissive hand. ‘‘Mr. McBride, life is too short to harbor a grudge. We must move on. Yes, onward and upward, that’s the ticket.’’
He reached into his desk drawer, an action that brought Remorse upright in his chair, his eyes wary. But Josephine produced only a long envelope. ‘‘Sixteen hundred dollars, the bounty on three wanted and desperate men. Thank goodness they had left Rest and Be Thankful and were no longer my responsibility. Your actions were justified, gentlemen, no doubt about that.’’ He handed the envelope to his son. ‘‘Lance, give that to the reverend.’’
Remorse put the envelope in his shirt pocket without looking at the contents and said, ‘‘Josephine, why did you ask us to come here?’’ There was no friendliness in his voice. ‘‘You could have given the money to Harlan. Unless you think you can talk us into a bank loan.’’
Josephine smiled and glanced up at Lance. ‘‘The reverend has an excellent sense of humor, has he not?’’
Lance said nothing, his eyes unwavering on McBride. The man’s hate was a palpable, malignant presence in the room.
‘‘Ah well,’’ Jared said, his angled gaze scorching,
‘‘it seems my son is a little out of sorts today.’’ He looked at Remorse again and managed a smile. ‘‘As to your question, Reverend: why did I ask you here? First let me first say this: on the face of it, for a man of your . . . ah . . . inclinations, you think there is much work to be done in Rest and Be Thankful. After all, this is basically an outlaw town.’’
Remorse nodded. ‘‘Your assessment is correct.’’
Jared Josephine was short, stocky, his gray hair thick and cropped short like an iron helmet. His face looked as if it had been roughly hewn from granite with a butter knife and his eyes were without light. It was the face of a man who did not believe in negotiation, but would rely only on the application of raw brute force. And it was the face of a man who had so much wealth and power he believed he would never die.
‘‘Reverend,’’ Josephine said, ‘‘being a man of the cloth, you will understand what I’m about to say. Rest and Be Thankful, as the name implies, is a haven, a sanctuary, for outlaws of every stripe. They come here from all over the West to recover from their unlawful exertions, lick their wounds—’’
‘‘And spend their money,’’ Remorse said.
‘‘Exactly.’’ Josephine smiled. ‘‘They give a large percentage of their ill-gotten gains to me, one way or another. Reverend, this town is booming.’’
‘‘Why are you telling me this, Josephine?’’ Remorse asked.
‘‘Because I wish you to refrain from . . . ah . . .’’
‘‘Smiting?’’
‘‘Excellent word! Yes, refrain from smiting wrong-doers while they are within the town limits. Once they leave’’—Josephine shrugged—‘‘well, do as you please.’’
‘‘And in return?’’
‘‘You and McBride go on my payroll. The outlaws in this town expect protection from lawmen, bounty hunters and others who would do them harm. So far, my son’s fast gun and Marshal Harlan’s rope have done just that. But I need a couple more revolver-savvy men to ensure that the peace around here is maintained, especially since a new venture I’m working on will come to fruition soon and I’ll require additional guns.’’
Josephine waited for a reply and when none was forthcoming, he said, ‘‘Here’s my proposition: one hundred and twenty dollars a month and every time I ask you to kill a man you get a fifty-dollar bonus. Come now, gentlemen, I can’t say fairer than that.’’
Remorse turned to McBride. ‘‘John?’’
The big man rose to his feet. ‘‘Josephine, I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.’’
‘‘That’s first-rate,’’ Josephine said, beaming. ‘‘Mc-Bride, you’re true-blue.’’
‘‘And this is what I want in return,’’ McBride said, as though he hadn’t heard.
‘‘Anything within reason. Go ahead, young man.’’
‘‘I want you and your son out of this town within five days. You can take with you one rifle and what you can carry on a single pack mule.’’
Josephine looked baffled, unable to believe what he was hearing, and Remorse’s delighted laugh did not help his state of mind. Beside him, his son stiffened, his eyes blazing.
‘‘Are you . . .’’ Josephine almost choked on his words and had to start again. ‘‘Are you threatening me?’’
‘‘I’m doing exactly that.’’
‘‘Why, you piece of worthless trash, I chew up low-lifes like you and spit them out into the dirt.’’
‘‘Five days, Josephine,’’ McBride said. ‘‘If you’re still here after that time, I’ll find you and kill you.’’
Lance brushed his coat away from his gun, a searing anger in him. ‘‘Pa, let me take him right now.’’
Remorse was on his feet. ‘‘Boy, skin that Colt and there will be dead men on the floor.’’ He smiled. ‘‘The Josephine line could suddenly become extinct.’’
‘‘Let it be, Lance,’’ Josephine said. ‘‘Our time will come.’’ He slammed back his chair and stood. ‘‘Get out of here, both of you.’’