“Goddammit, McCoy! I told you to watch him, not to beat him up! What if he can’t work?”
“Aw hell, Bru, he ain’t hurt that bad. ‘Sides, he wouldn’t tell me where he went.”
“Well why didn’t you know where he was in the first place? I told you to watch him!”
McCoy pouted, sitting in the chair holding his aching head. The hangover was gonna be a doozy. He didn’t remember half of what he did today, much less losing track of Madrid.
“Shit, Bru, I dunno why I have to babysit him anyhow. You hired him, I just brung him to ya. If you don’t trust him, then don’t hire him.”
“I don’t trust my own mother, McCoy,” Brubaker spat. “Yeah, you brung him to me all right. Didn’t you think it just a might peculiar that you just happened to run into the likes of Johnny Madrid in a little town five hundred miles from his usual stompin’ grounds?”
McCoy cleared his throat and murmured a small, “No.”
The shouting was getting too loud and Brubaker knew it. He wanted to hurt McCoy, but he needed him. He needed Madrid too, but he felt like he was a loose cannon.
The others hung out together in the saloon, took target practice outside of town, but Madrid. Madrid was different; kept to himself and hadn’t been seen much since yesterday morning. He was supposed to show at the meeting this morning at eleven. If he didn’t, Brubaker decided he’d have McCoy quietly get rid of him. This project was too important to risk to a loose cannon.
Elizondo trusted him to hire the best. Brubaker knew that if his plan was to work, he needed men loyal to him. Men that would do what he wanted them to do, even when Elizondo started his insane ranting about Spanish royal grants and nonsense. Elizondo held the purse strings, but only until Brubaker got into position.
The orphanage compound was only the first step. The first step that would lead up to the grand prize of control of all cattle operations in Northern California, and eventually, the entire state. Brubaker didn’t give a rat’s ass about the orphanage, but it was all-important to Elizondo. To get to the main goal, he had to indulge Elizondo in this first.
Right now, their first obstacle was that bitch head nun out at the orphanage. The old woman was stubborn and once she was out of the way, the kids and all the nuns could be moved to Elizondo’s house in Salinas. He was going to “donate” his estate because by that time, he would be moved into the Lancer ranch house and Brubaker would be the puppet master behind the puppet.
Brubaker turned back to McCoy and looked haughtily at the has-been drunk gunfighter. “Get out of here, McCoy. I don’t want to see you again until the meeting tomorrow.”
McCoy mumbled, “Yessir,” and slunk his way out.
Chapter 32
It was only eight thirty, and he’d slept most of the afternoon, but Jess felt like sleep was beckoning to him. He struggled to keep his eyes open as he read what he’d written to Andy and Jonesy. The page waved in front of his eyes and the printing ran like the ink was still wet. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and glanced over at Slim.
Slim had picked up Oliver Twist an hour ago and hadn’t said a word since. Jess was worried. Not for himself but for Slim. He was worried that he wasn’t strong enough yet to be of any help in what they had to do. His chest still felt tight and he got winded and weak even if he just walked out to the stables where they were keeping Traveler.
He was frustrated with his own body and impatient to be healthy again. He looked at his hand that held the pencil he wrote with. It shook of its own accord. He couldn’t stop it even if he made a concentrated effort. He balled it up in a fist and pounded it into the bed.
“What’s the matter?” Slim said absently.
“Nothin’.”
Slim raised an eyebrow and looked over at Jess. His head was bent over the letter he was working on.
Fifteen minutes later Slim glanced over to the next bed again and Jess’ head was still bent over the letter but his hand wasn’t moving. Slim smiled, set his book aside and got up. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his boots off and in his sock feet, padded over to Jess’ bed. He pulled the letter out of Jess’ hand and glanced at it. He’d written about a page, but it wasn’t signed yet. He could finish it in the morning before Slim left for town.
Slim set the letter aside. On the tiny bedside table he saw the bottle of medicine and remembered Sister Michael’s instructions.
“Hey, Jess,” he reached out and shook Jess’ shoulder.
Jess’ head bobbed up, “Huh?”
“You forgot to take your medicine.”
Jess grunted and reached for it. He clumsily pulled out the cork and took a large swallow of it, followed by a grimace. “Yuk!! That stuff’s worse than Jonesy’s spring tonic.”
Slim took the bottle, sniffed it, and re-corked it, “Nyah, nothing could possibly be worse than that.” He laughed and put the bottle back. “C’mon, under the covers. It’s already cold in here.” He pulled the covers out from under Jess’ legs and held them up.
Jess sleepily rolled over and Slim dropped the covers over him. “G’night, pard.”
Jess grunted but didn’t answer.
Chapter 33
Scott tossed and turned. He felt like he would jump out of his skin. Every time he settled down, he got the skin-crawling feeling again and had to move. Finally he just got up and paced. He realized for the first time in hours he hadn’t even thought about his sore jaw.
Johnny hadn’t moved or made a sound since Kate and Pearl had left. He was splayed across the bed, one hand gripping the pillow by his head, the other hanging over the side.
Kate had assured him that Mister Butts would be on the road by four a.m. She said that if he were unable to go, she would send word to him within an hour. No word had come.
Scott lit a lamp and pulled out his pocket watch. It was only two a.m. Would this night ever end?
Johnny stirred and groaned as he kicked his feet out and pushed the covers down. Scott raised the wick on the lamp just a little and sat beside Johnny’s bed.
“What time is it?” Johnny’s voice was thick with sleep.
“It’s about two,” Scott answered.
Johnny slowly rolled his head to face his brother, blinking his eyes sleepily. “What’re you doin’ up?”
“I could ask the same of you. How’s the ear?”
“Eh?”
Scott laughed. To his surprise, Johnny threw back the covers and tried to sit up. Automatically Scott reached out a hand to help him. Grasping him under the arm, he steadied Johnny as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat with his head in his hands.
“You okay?”
“Just give me a minute. Things are still kinda swimmin’ around.” Scott kept his hand on Johnny’s arm just in case.
“Johnny, I don’t think you should go to that meeting tomorrow. I think we should wait here until Murdoch arrives. He’ll be bringing some of the men from the ranch, and the law from Green River.”
Johnny had to think a minute to absorb what he’d just heard. He felt like his head was full of cotton and his right ear was too. “What? Murdoch?”
“Oh yeah, you missed that part. I sent a letter to Murdoch. Mister Butts is taking it to the ranch. Should be there by about mid-morning.”
“Who’s Mister Butts?”
Scott spoke clearly as if to a small child, “Kate’s friend? The man who helps her out?”
“Oh, yeah,” Johnny said simply. The morning in Kate’s office seemed like such a long time ago.
Johnny tried to get his mind back on track. “I have to go tomorrow. If I don’t show, Bumburger’ll send someone lookin’ for me. ‘Sides, it’s the only way we’re gonna find out what the big plan is.”
Johnny slowly raised his head from his hands and looked at Scott. The nausea was marginally better but the very air around him seemed to spin out of control. “You look awful, you should get some sleep.”
Scott couldn’t help but grin. Johnny hadn’t lost his smart mouth along with his hearing.
“You’re the one that looks like a horse sat on you. You want to take some more of Kate’s medicine?”
The answer, unsurprisingly was, “No.”
Johnny thought, but did not verbalize, how it’s almost impossible to say the word ‘no’ without actually shaking your head, as he found out to his regret. He paled as the pain shot along the right side of his head. “Remind me not to do that again.”
Scott got up and poured him a glass of water. Handing it to Johnny, he reassured him that it was just water.
Johnny drank it down while moving his head as little as possible.
“Think you can go back to sleep now?”
Johnny sat for a minute and then started to rise.
Scott’s arm shot out to steady him, “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’ve got to see if I can walk around without my head rolling off on the floor.” He took a few steps towards the window.
Scott kept a hand near, but not on his arm and dogged each of his steps. Johnny made it to the window and leaned his head on the cool glass. The street below was lit eerily by the glow of the gaslights that lined it in front of the hotel. None of the other establishments on the block had gaslights; Pearl’s innovation, no doubt.
At this hour, the streets were as deserted as any small town. Johnny spotted a lone figure, probably a deputy walking along the boardwalk opposite the hotel, rattling doorknobs.
He turned from the window back to the room and walked slowly toward the door. His head swam, but he was able to navigate without the horrible nausea of earlier. Each slight movement of his head, neck or jaw caused the shooting pain in his right ear, sometimes so bad it caused his right eye to twitch.
‘Oh great,’ he thought, ‘Virgil’s gonna think I’m winkin’ at him.’
As he reached the door, he turned and almost ran into Scott who was close on his heels. “Damn, Scott, I ain’t gonna fall over. Give me some breathin’ room, willya?”
Scott sighed and backed off a step, but stayed close. “I’m just makin’ sure you don’t keel over and break some of Pearl’s furniture.”
Johnny grinned; even that hurt. He finally sat on Scott’s bed and closed his eyes. He’d made it across the room and back without throwing up or tipping over. By tomorrow, he’d be able to get to the meeting and make a show of being Johnny Madrid, even if he did feel more like Johnny Madrid’s sicker brother.
Johnny yawned, which hurt alarmingly, and tiredly turned and pulled his feet up on Scott’s bed. He turned on his left side and hugged the pillow, settling into sleep with a sigh.
“Johnny, that’s my…” Scott sighed, “bed.” It was no use. Johnny was already asleep and his good ear was burrowed deep in his pillow. Scott couldn’t help but smile as he pulled the sheet and quilt up over his brother and made his way over to Johnny’s bed to try and salvage what was left of the night.
