“What the Hell are you staring at?” Oakley demanded, his teeth drawing back from his lips.
“I was just wondering how an animal like you must have felt when you killed that woman in Denver.”
Oakley snorted with derision and his thin lips turned in a cruel smile. “Before I answer that, I need to know which woman you’re talking about, Marshal.”
“Never mind.”
When Longarm started to turn away, Oakley’s big paw shot through the bars and tried to grab Longarm’s six-gun. Anticipating the desperate attempt, Longarm spun on his heel, grabbed Oakley’s wrist, and twisted it hard, nearly cracking bones.
“Ahhh!” Oakley gasped, his face turning pale. “Marshal, long before we reach Denver, I’ll kill you slow!”
“You’ll try,” Longarm said before he released the arm. “But you’ll fail and then I’ll have to either shoot or brain you. Maybe I’ll just pistol-whip you too hard the way you did Paul Smith.”
Oakley’s eyes dilated. “Smith shouldn’t have looked at Miss Bean like he wanted to eat her for supper. I warned him once, but he kept pesterin’her, so I fixed his gawddamn wagon for keeps.”
“You’re going to hang and then burn in Hell,” Longarm promised. “That’s the way it’s going to be, Oakley.”
But the killer and bank robber laughed. “We’ll see! We’ll see! It’s a long damn way to Denver, Marshal Long. A long, long way!”
“I’m going to watch you swing,” Longarm vowed. “I’m going to make it my business to watch your hanging, even if it’s on my own free time.”
“You sonofabitch!” Oakley hissed. “When I kill you, it’s going to be slow. No quick bullet in the belly, no quick anything. I’ll just enjoy listening to you holler and beg for mercy.”
“That will be the day.”
“It will,” Oakley allowed, nodding his head with agreement, “and it will come within the week.”
Longarm spun on his heels and marched back to face Marshal Wheeler. “I’ll be taking him out on the next stage bound for Elko. That’s the day after tomorrow.”
“I know when the damn stage leaves my town,” the marshal snapped. “Don’t have to be told that too.”
“All right,” Longarm said. “But I want it clearly understood that Ford Oakley is to be watched very closely.”
“We been doin’that already. And once he’s in your custody, Marshal Long, you better not ever let him escape.”
Upon hearing this, Ford Oakley laughed. His laughter wasn’t pretty and it would never have brought a smile to anyone’s face. It was a high, chilling laugh. The kind that came up from the belly of a man and went sour on his lips. The kind that told you its creator wasn’t quite right in the mind.
It was, Longarm thought, the kind of a laugh that you might expect from a wild hyena just before it attacked to rip your guts out.
Chapter 3
Longarm found a room at the Bear’s Lair Hotel on Center Street, just a block up from the marshal’s office. It wasn’t a particularly nice room, but for a dollar, in addition to the room, a man got a free shot of whiskey, a cheap cigar, and a free breakfast in the little downstairs cafe. Longarm was always trying to save money, and as long as the room was free of ticks, lice, fleas, and larger vermin, he was not above shaving his hotel expenses.
That evening Longarm savored a good steak dinner with peach pie and brandy, then attempted to enjoy his cigar for a little while before he went up to his room and to bed.
He was aware that people were watching him out of the corners of their eyes, but no one approached him until a pretty young woman in a green print dress walked into the room and then marched right over to his table.
“Are you the federal marshal who is going to try and take Ford Oakley to Denver for trial?”
“I am Deputy Marshal Custis Long, at your service. And who are you?”
“Miss Molly Bean,” she said, chin raising slightly. Marshal Long, may I join you for a few minutes?”
Longarm rose from his chair and extended his hand. “Please do, Miss Bean. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
She ignored his hand and sat. Molly Bean was in her early twenties. Her face, neck, and hands were tanned. She had taffy-colored hair bleached by the sun, and strong, handsome features. She was a tall, full-bodied woman with a square jaw and very direct blue eyes that bored straight into a man. There was no friendliness in those penetrating eyes, but neither was there open hostility.
“I have heard that you hate all men,” Longarm said, deciding to be direct. Molly laughed coldly. “Who told you that?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Whoever said that doesn’t know his beans from his bacon,” Molly said, glancing at the waiter and nodding her chin. She turned back to Longarm and added, “I just hate most men.”
“What a pity.”
“Why?” Molly asked. “You’re all just lechers and thieves.”
It was Longarm’s turn to be taken aback, but he recovered in a hurry. “I doubt very much that you believe that.”
“You’d lose the bet,” she said flatly. “The fact of the matter is that the only man I ever trusted was my brother, and he betrayed me.”
“How?”
“Long story that ends badly. My brother died trying to escape the Yuma Prison almost six years ago. Everyone said that he would eventually come to a bad end, and he did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Molly said. “Let’s discuss another man that needs to be shot down.”
“You’re talking about Ford Oakley.”
“Of course. Is it true that you are taking him all the way to Denver for trial?”
“That’s right. He raped and then murdered a woman about your own age.”
Molly had been about to say something, but now she paused a moment before asking, “How did it happen?”
“The unfortunate victim was not a lady of great virtue,” Longarm began, choosing his words with care. “In fact, she was not a lady and she had no virtue. But she was a human being and Ford Oakley violently took her life.”
“How?” Molly whispered, leaning her chin on the back of her hand.
Longarm blew a cloud of blue smoke over her head. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because,” she said, “it could have been me.”
Satisfied with the answer and sensing its importance, Longarm decided to tell Molly the rest of the tragic story.
“All right. Ford Oakley strangled the young prostitute in a drunken rage. They were in bed when it happened. I don’t know what she did—or didn’t do—that caused Oakley to go into a rage. It doesn’t matter. They had a fight. People in the rooms adjoining theirs heard the argument and then the woman’s terrified screams. One man ran downstairs to get help, but the hotel clerk was not about to interfere, and by the time the law arrived, the poor woman was dead.”
“Broken neck?”
“No,” Longarm said. “She was strangled and her skull was fractured in several places.”
Molly took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Her next words were soft, but heavy with passion. “And that is why, Marshal, Ford Oakley doesn’t deserve to draw even a single breath.”
“He’ll hang,” Longarm said. “I promise you that much. And I’ve heard about what Oakley also did to your young friend, Paul Smith.”
At the mention of Paul’s name, Molly looked away in sudden pain. Instinctively, Longarm laid his hand on her arm to comfort the young woman.