“I’ve heard every word you’ve said.”
“Ah. But did you listen to them? I have given you fair warning, stableman, but you won’t heed. You have only yourself to blame for what happens if you do not answer my next question truthfully.” Gunther paused. “Where is Charley Pickett?”
Leeds had put up with all he was about to. “For the last time, how should I know where the boy is, you overbearing, arrogant son of a—”
Gunther swung his cane. The thunk of the ivory knob striking Leeds’s jaw was quite loud. Leeds collapsed, groaning, and sprawled on his side. “Hans, Oscar, pick him up,” Gunther directed, and his two beefy subordinates seized the stableman’s arms.
Leeds was conscious, but barely.
“Now then,” Gunther said. “We will try this again. I didn’t hit you hard enough to break your jaw, although I easily could have. You need your mouth to talk. You don’t, however, need your knees.”
Never in his life had Leeds felt such pain. He cried out, or tried to, but Hans clamped a thick hand over his mouth. Tears filled his eyes, more from frustration and outrage than the blow.
“When you are ready to tell me, you have only to nod.” Gunther hefted the cane. “Bear in mind, I can do this the rest of the day if I have to. I can break every bone in your body one by one. Or do far worse. You will talk, whether you want to or not. Hold out as long as you can, but the information my employer needs will be mine. So, what will it be?”
Leeds would be hanged if he would cooperate. But neither did he care to be hit again. “What will you do to Charley when you find him?” he stalled.
“He is not our main interest. It is Fabrizio we want most. He stole from Mr. Radtke and must be made an example of. A man in Mr. Radtke’s position cannot allow a slight like this to go unpunished.”
“You won’t harm Charley?”
“Your devotion to your stableboy is commendable but misplaced. Are you aware that he and Fabrizio are killers? Yes, that’s right. The two men murdered in an alley the other night, both of whom worked for Mr. Radtke, were killed by your precious stableboy and his friend. And Mr. Radtke is a firm believer in an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.”
Leeds refused to believe it. He could never imagine Charley killing anyone. Tony, maybe, but he didn’t know the other boy that well. “How do you know it wasn’t the buffalo hunter who’s to blame?”
Gunther blinked. “Who?”
“That buffalo hunter friend of theirs. He’s as wild and woolly as they come. And he carries a Bowie knife.” The newspaper article, Leeds remembered, had mentioned that the men in the alley were stabbed. He thought that by confusing Gunther and the others, he might induce them into lowering their guard, and he could break free. He had a derringer in his office, and he was not averse to using it.
Gunther appeared shocked. “The lout from Kincaid’s! He baited us deliberately! And I never caught on.”
“What?” Leeds was having difficulty focusing with so much pain coursing through him.
“I was played for a fool.” Gunther’s whole body shook with the severity of his anger. “The others must have been at Kincaid’s too. They will pay for this insult.” He poked his cane against Leeds’s chest. “For the last time, stableman. Will you tell me where they are?”
Leeds held his chin high. “Do your worst. I’ll never break.”
But he was wrong, dreadfully wrong, and two hours later, when the handsome young couple who had gone for a buggy ride along Cherry Creek returned, they found his broken, bloody body with a pitchfork stuck in its chest.
Kincaid’s normally did light business until six, when most of the regulars began flocking in. The time was five minutes till by the bronze clock above the mirror, and Ralph Kincaid was towel-drying the last of a batch of glasses he had washed in the kitchen basin when he sensed rather than heard someone come up behind him. “Eddy, is that you? I expected you to deliver those Saratoga chips this morning.” Kincaid turned. “You!”
Ubel Gunther had one hand in a pants pocket and was twirling his cane with the other. “We need to have a few words, Mr. Kincaid.”
Kincaid glanced at the two slabs of muscle flanking Gunther and debated trying to get past them to reach his shotgun out under the bar. “The kitchen is off limits to the public,” he said, hoping his voice did not betray his nervousness.
“Surely you jest. Mr. Radtke has a one-eighth interest in your establishment, does he not? Which would make me a fellow employee.” Gunther grew somber. “How much can you tell me about that buffalo hunter who had the audacity to pick a fight with me yesterday?”
“Enos Howard? He’s harmless except when he’s drinkin’, and he’s generally always drinkin’.”
“Let me be the judge of how harmless he is.” Gunther came closer. So did the other two. “Share with me all you know about him. Or must I have Hans and Oscar persuade you?”
Ralph Kincaid was no fool. “Where should I begin?”
Walter Radtke’s office was a monument to luxury. A mahogany desk was the centerpiece. The rest of the furniture was black walnut and rosewood. Plush wine red carpet covered the floor. A serpentine-back sofa with a half-lyre armrest sat against one wall. It too was red.
Red was also the color of Walter Radtke’s face when he was mad, and he was mad now. His jaw muscles twitched as he stared at his top lieutenant. One of his huge hands wrapped around the base of a gilded desk lamp, and he started to lift it as if to throw it but then set it back down. “No one does what they did to me and gets away with it. No one.”
“They must be miles out on the prairie by now,” Ubel Gunther said.
“I don’t care if they’re halfway to St. Louis!” Radtke slammed his hand onto his desk. “If word of this insult got out, my competitors would see it as a sign of weakness. A man in my position cannot afford to give that impression.”
Gunther placed the tip of his cane on the carpet and leaned on it. “Eventually they will tire of their silly hunt.”
“Which could be weeks from now. And you have no guarantee they will return to Denver. They could go anywhere.” Radtke shook his head. “No, waiting for them is not an option.”
“Then what?”
Radtke drummed his fingers. “I want you to take Hans and Oscar and two others and go after them. Find them. Kill them.”
“As always, I will obey. But I must point out that tracking is not among my many skills.”
“Hire a tracker. Frontiersmen are as common as flies in this city. There is bound to be one competent enough. Pay him well to get the job done, and spare no expense in buying provisions and the best horses. You should overtake them with no difficulty.”
“Just so I am clear on this, you want the girl killed too?”
Radtke thought before answering. “Her we can put to better use. A year in one of my boarding houses will teach her to choose her friends more carefully.” He jabbed a finger at Gunther. “The thing I want most, the thing you must bring me without fail, is Tony Fabrizio’s head in a sack. I want it as a keepsake.”
Gunther smiled. “You don’t want the heads of Pickett and Howard?”
“Them?” Radtke hissed in contempt. “Do as we usually do. Chop them into small pieces and leave the pieces for the coyotes and the vultures.”
“Consider it done.”
Chapter Ten
Eastern Colorado Territory
Charley Pickett was in heaven. For two whole days he had basked in Melissa Patterson’s company. He had eaten with her, slept near her. They had talked more than ever before, with her doing nearly all the talking. He had tried to say more but couldn’t stop his tongue from tying itself in knots.