He started up the stairs, then turned and said, “Angel said to send up the next one.”
“Already?”
“She’s a helluva worker.”
“I guess so,” she said. “Okay.”
He went up the stairs, walked to room three, knocked, and went in.
Lisa didn’t know a thing about a man named Adderly.
“Oh, Chet!” she said, when he explained who he was looking for. “I didn’t get his last name.”
“You called him Chet? His name was Chester, right?” Lancaster asked.
“Yeah, but I called him Chet.”
He could see her shoulder and hip bones through the thin robe she was wearing. She was older than Angel, but either not as busy or cleaner, because the room—and the sheets—were not as grimy.
She screwed up her face.
“Maybe he didn’t like that, because he never came back to me. Started using that bitch Angel.”
“You don’t like Angel?”
She wrinkled her nose and said, “She’s dirty.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“So you’re lookin’ for Chet?”
“Yeah.”
“You gonna kill ’im?”
“Probably. What made you ask?”
“You look like a gunman,” she said. “He looked like an outlaw.” She shrugged. “I slept with so many men—cowboys, gunmen, gamblers, lawmen—that I can tell them apart.”
“And can you tell me anything about him?” Lancaster asked.
“Like what?”
“Like where he was going when he left Henderson?”
“We didn’t talk much,” she said. “In fact, he was finished with me pretty quick.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“No, no,” she said, “those are the best kind of customers, the ones who finish fast, roll over, break wind, and then leave. Well, except for customers like you.”
“Like me?”
She nodded. “The kind who pay to talk.”
“Oh.” He took out the money he promised her and she shoved it into the pocket of her robe.
“Anything else I can do?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “That’s it. Thanks.”
“Any time,” she said. “Come back and talk some more.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m leaving town.”
“Too bad.”
He started to leave but as he grabbed the doorknob she said, “Wait.”
“What?”
“He asked me a question before he left.”
“What question?”
She screwed her face up again. “He asked me if I knew a place called Peach…something.”
Thirty-five
As promised Lancaster stopped in at the sheriff’s office before leaving Henderson.
“Did you get what you wanted?” Carver asked.
“I’ve got a line on two of the men I’m tracking,” Lancaster said.
“Well, congratulations, then,” the lawman said. “I guess you’re on your way, then.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll walk out with you.”
Out front the lawman saw Crow Bait tied off and was taken aback. “That’s your horse?”
“That’s right.”
“Couldn’t get somethin’ better?”
“This horse carried me out of the desert, saved my life,” Lancaster said. “I owe it to him to ride him for as long as I can.”
“Don’t seem it would be that long, from the look of ’im.”
“He’s better than he looks, believe me,” Lancaster said, hoisting himself into the saddle. “Thanks for your help, Sheriff.”
The sheriff knew he hadn’t done anything, but he said, “Any time.”
Lancaster knew he’d never be in Henderson again, so he just waved and turned Crow Bait east.
Next stop was Peach Springs, Arizona.
As Lancaster rode out of town, the sheriff went back into his office, took the cell key from the peg on the wall, and entered the cell block.
“He’s gone,” he said, while fitting the key into the lock.
In the cell Kent stood up impatiently.
“Come on out,” Carver said.
Kent followed the lawman out of the cell block to his desk. There Carver returned Kent’s hat and gun belt.
“You better warn Beck that Lancaster’s comin’,” Carver said.
Strapping the gun on, Kent said, “Don’t worry, Gerry’ll take care of ’im. I remember him now. Lancaster was a drunk for years. He’s lost it.”
“He took care of you and your partner,” Carver said. “You’re lucky you’re not dead.”
“Oh yeah? Well, next time’s gonna be different,” Kent said. “I’m gonna make him pay for killin’ Tyler.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Carver said, sitting down.
“You don’t think I can?”
“I’m just sorry I won’t be there to see you try,” Carver said.
“You got a big mouth, fat man.”
“And you’re about to talk yourself right back into a cell,” Carver said. “Look, I’m done with Beck and I’m done with you and your kind. Now get out of my office and get out of my town.”
Kent stood in front of the sheriff with his muscles bunched, his jaw twitching.
“Go ahead and try it,” Carver said. “I didn’t get to be this age by backin’ down from the likes of you.”
Kent stared at Carver with undisguised rage, but eventually his muscles relaxed and he backed down. “You’re lucky I want Lancaster first.”
Carver looked down at his desk and said, “I can’t even hear you anymore, Kent. You’re a memory to me. A bad memory.”
Thirty-six
Lancaster used the time it took to ride from Henderson to Peach Springs to bond further with Crow Bait. He spoke to him each night as he rubbed him down and fed him, and then made sure to give him some green apples for a treat. To his eye the horse did not seem to be putting on weight, but each day the animal seemed to be getting stronger. He still looked like a bag of bones, but he felt stronger.
And he swore the horse could understand him when he spoke to him. This was the most serene animal he’d ever ridden. Nothing seemed to faze him, whether they were on the trail or camped. They encountered a rattler at one point, and Crow Bait couldn’t have cared less while Lancaster shot the reptile. And nothing in the darkness ever rattled the horse. Although Lancaster felt certain that, if there were any danger approaching, the animal would have sounded the alarm.
Lancaster swore that, for the rest of his life, he’d never judge anything by the way it looked—man or beast.
Peach Springs was a small town—what some people would call a “one horse” town. As he rode in he saw only three buildings—one was a hotel, one a saloon, and one a livery. He reined in Crow Bait in front of the hotel. As he walked in he smelled food cooking. He wondered if this was the one place in town to eat.
“Afternoon, friend,” the clerk said. He was a man in his fifties with a smile that looked plastered on. Lancaster wondered if he smiled all night, while he was asleep.
“Good afternoon.”
“Do you need a room?” the clerk asked. “We’ve got plenty. We don’t get many visitors.”
“Who’s your kitchen cooking for, then?” Lancaster asked.
“Anyone who wants to eat,” the man said. “Folks around here don’t have any place else to go.”
“I see. Well, I’ll take a room, and then I’ll come down to eat.”
“Excellent,” the man said. He turned, took a key from the wall, and handed it to Lancaster.
“Do you want me to check in?” he asked.
“It’s not necessary,” the clerk said. “If you don’t like the room, you can try another one. We have plenty.”
“Thank you.”
“The rooms are upstairs.”
As Lancaster started for the stairs the clerk called, “What would you like to eat?”