“What kind of business?” Nick asked carefully.
The store owner nodded toward a narrow hallway behind his counter. Standing there, huddled together, were three women in various stages of undress. They appeared to be a little frightened, but curious nonetheless. “That kind of business,” the old man said.
“You run a whorehouse as well?”
“And sell liquor. This is the only store for miles, so’s I figure on taking advantage. I just hope to hell those bastards don’t kill the girls I sent out to them camps when they hear about what happened back here.”
“When are they due back?” Nick asked.
“Tomorrow. Maybe I should bring them back sooner, though.”
Nick blinked a few times and glanced back to Joseph. When he looked back to the old man, he said, “We might just be able to help you with that.”
“How?”
“We’ll go and make sure they get back here without you or anyone else having to risk yourselves.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because that way you can forget it was us who shot these men and you can let anyone who asks know that we’re just working for you.”
The old man squinted at Nick carefully as his face slowly pinched up. “You ain’t the law. Are you bounty hunters?”
“We want to get close to those killers,” Joseph said. “That’s all you need to know.”
Finally, the old man shrugged and said, “Fine. If you can get my girls back, that’s all I care about. You two sure got a better chance of walking into them camps and getting out alive than me and the kid who normally runs my whores. You make it back and I’ll even forget about the damage you caused to my place. It ain’t gonna cover the cost of all that food and supplies you’re takin’.”
Just then, Joseph walked up to him and handed over a small bundle of money. “That should be enough to cover the supplies.”
The owner counted up the money he’d been given and stuffed it in his pocket.
“You’d better find that shotgun of yours,” Nick said. “There’s someone out there you might want to keep an eye on. He’s tied up, but you still should be careful around him.”
“What should I do with him?”
“Call the law or feed him to the coyotes, I don’t give a shit which. We just don’t have the time to waste on him.”
As Joseph dragged the bags he’d packed out the door, the shop’s owner looked around as if he’d been thrown into the middle of a whirlwind. Clenching his fist around Joseph’s money, he shrugged and wandered over to collect his broom and shotgun.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The gang was divided into two small camps with just over a mile between them. In the main camp, Dutch talked to the men who’d gathered up the fresh recruits and discussed their next move. He’d looked in on the other camp before returning, like a field commander making the rounds among his troops.
“Lot of new faces,” said one of the veteran gang members.
Dutch nodded and picked up a stick off the ground. With his other hand, he pulled a hunting knife from his belt and started whittling away the tip. “There should have been more, Bertram. You know that.”
Bertram nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“What happened?”
“It’s too soon after the raid at Van Meter’s place. Some law’s been poking their noses into it after all that ruckus and—”
“No law’s been looking into it,” Dutch cut in. “No more than usual, anyhow, and you know it.”
Bertram shrugged and said, “Then I don’t know why. We got more’n enough to pull the next few jobs, though, so what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that you’ve been getting lazy. You’ve also been getting sloppy. You took too much time at the Van Meter ranch.”
The memories brought a smile to Bertram’s face. “That bitch wife of his was mighty fine,” he said in a slow, breathy manner. “I wouldn’t have minded fucking her even after we sliced her up.”
Dutch’s eyes shifted in their sockets and fixed upon Bertram. When that wasn’t enough to dim the smile on Bertram’s face, Dutch barked, “Shut your damn mouth!”
“What’s the matter, Dutch? Jealous because we got to have the fun? That herd must be sold off by now. Maybe you can buy yourself some pussy.” Licking his lips, Bertram added, “That younger girl at that ranch, though…she was the kind of sweet meat that you can’t even buy. At least, not without looking real hard for it.”
Dutch looked down for a second, snapped his eyes back up and then grabbed Bertram underneath his chin. Pinching Bertram’s throat between his fingers, Dutch pulled the other man forward and said, “I put up with a lot of your shit because you get results. You fucked up at that ranch and it may have cost us money.”
“Them bitches didn’t have any money. I searched ’em real good.”
“The rancher did, but he was shot before he could tell us the rest of what we needed. Seeing as how we haven’t heard from the man I left behind, the rest of that money is probably gone for good.”
“We can always go back.”
Dutch’s grip tightened around Bertram’s throat. His eyes narrowed a bit more and his lips curled back to reveal a set of perfectly straight teeth. “Now you’re just talking like a goddamn fool and I don’t tolerate fools.”
“You’re gonna have to tolerate me a bit longer,” Bertram said. “I’m the most experienced man you got.”
“Keep that fucking tone in your voice and the next thing you’ll experience is the grave.”
The smile on Bertram’s face didn’t fade, but it did lose a good amount of its cockiness. It was a subtle change, which made a world of difference.
When he saw that shift in Bertram’s manner, Dutch loosened his grip and finally opened his fingers wide enough for the other man to slip free. “Maybe I should stay to oversee these new men,” he said.
“My boys are doing fine,” replied Bertram.
“Your boys are like you. They think with their dicks at the wrong times and it may have already gotten some of them killed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You heard from those men who stayed behind at San Trista?” Dutch asked.
“No, but it hasn’t been that long.”
Dutch shrugged. “They should have been back today and they’re not. They’re probably rolling around with some of those whores you found. Either that, or they’re wasting time shepherding them whores back and forth between here and town instead of doing what they get paid to do. Or there could have been some trouble,” Dutch added. “Trouble like whatever J. D. ran into.”
“They’re a day late,” Bertram reiterated. “I wasn’t even starting to worry about them. Besides, if there’s trouble, they can handle themselves.”
Dutch stared silently into the distance, his face resembling a portrait. While other men were known for how they collected their scars in various fights, Dutch was known for being in twice the number of fights without getting scarred once. His eyes were cold and calculating; they gazed off a little too long before blinking.
“Any word from J. D.?” Dutch asked.
“Not since we heard he was out of jail. Most of us didn’t even know he was in jail.”
“So where is he now?”
“I couldn’t tell ya. Probably trying to catch up to the rest of us.”
Judging by Dutch’s expression, he didn’t care for that explanation one bit. His annoyance only grew when he saw Bertram shifting from one boot to another without a care in the world. “Where’s Bill?”
“What do you need him for? All he ever does is herd cattle.”
Dutch answered that with a burning gaze that shoved Bertram a few steps back.