“How the hell could they both be gone?” Solomon asked.
The men at his table were all on Solomon's payroll, and they laid their cards down so they could be ready for any whim their employer might have.
Dench sat at the second table. He shook his head and tossed in a few more pennies to cover his bet.
A man stood next to Solomon, wearing the uniform of the boat's crew. There was no insignia on his shoulders or chest, but instead the coal stains and calluses on his hands marked him as someone who worked below the decks. He wiped his hands on a cloth and shrugged his shoulders. “I'm just telling you what I found when I went to check on the others,” he said. “The tool shed at the back of the boat was empty. Some people said they heard a shot or two, but wouldn't swear by it. Crane's cabin was a mess. At least, the outside of it was.”
“What do you mean by that?”
The uniformed man shifted on his feet and looked around to the others in the room as if he was waiting for someone to save him from drowning. “The two men that were watching Crane are . . . They're dead.”
Solomon ground his teeth together as he looked down at the cards he'd been playing. There were no chips or money of any kind on his table. Instead, he'd been playing gin with his men. After sifting through his cards one more time, he set them down again and pushed his chair a little ways from the table. “What do I pay you for?” he asked.
The uniformed man raised his hands and replied, “The man being held down below is still right where he should be. I was just making the rounds to check on the other two.”
“And I suppose there wasn't anything you could do?”
“No! It was already done, Mr. Solomon!”
“And there was no way for you to know this was happening? Don't any of the other crew members spread news like that around?”
“There isn't much of a crew,” the uniformed man said. “Half of them are already working for you and the other half are doing their jobs to keep the boat moving. Considering how many of those are in this room right now, it's a wonder we haven't run aground.”
A few of the men at the tables shifted nervously in their seats. They were wearing uniforms as well, but their clothes didn't show half the wear of those worn by the man speaking to Solomon.
After glancing at those men for himself, Solomon nodded and said, “Fine. What did you find when you went to check on the other two?”
“Like I said, there were two dead men inside room number one. Crane was gone. The tool shed at the back of the boat was empty. There was a bullet hole in the wall, but no blood that I could see.”
“That's it?”
“That's it.”
Solomon's frustration showed on his face. His hands were clenched into fists, but he relaxed them and said, “We're not completely unprepared for this. We'll just have to round up replacements for the people we lost. You men,” he said while snapping toward the other table. “Go get another two from the list and bring them to join the other one.”
“Is that a good idea?” the man in the dirty uniform asked. “Someone might still check in on us down there.”
“Then we won't let them. Besides, we won't need much time. I'll arrange to start up a big game tonight, and while I'm playing, we can smuggle our three guests off the boat. It was going to happen anyway, so it's just a matter of making it sooner rather than later.”
Hearing that, a few of the men seated at the tables got up and left the room. Dench was one of those who stood, but he stayed behind for a few seconds longer.
“I want to know who's behind this kink in the plan,” Solomon said. “Whoever answers that question will get double their cut. Whoever allows another kink to develop will not live to see the next sunrise.”
That caused the rest of the men to get up and hurry out of the room. Only Solomon, Dench and the man in the dirty uniform remained.
“Go back and keep a close watch on your prisoner. Fortify your position and prepare for the others.”
“What if whoever killed those men comes down there?”
“Then you kill him,” Solomon said. “Take Dench with you. He knows what to do if things go wrong.”
Dench grinned and held open the door for the uniformed man, who walked out of the room like he was being led to the gallows.
THIRTY-SIX
Clint and Mia walked arm in arm along the deck. They moved at a brisk pace, but not brisk enough to catch the attention of any of the others who were out for a walk as well. With the poker games in full swing, the
Misty Morning
seemed close to deserted. Its decks were all but empty, but every window was glowing with light.
Inside the riverboat, it was a completely different story. Music was being played, and voices were rolling through the air. Fists slammed against tables, and stacks of chips were being pushed back and forth. Money was no longer allowed in the pots, simply because there was too much of it being thrown around.
“How come there's no more cash on the tables?” Mia asked as they walked past a window looking in on a game.
Clint tipped his hat to the men who looked outside. “It's supposed to keep folks from getting bad ideas about grabbing some of that money and running off with it.”
“They could grab the chips.”
“Sure, but then they'd still have to cash them in. Anyone who hadn't missed their chips and come after them by then deserves to lose them. At least, that's the general idea.”
Clint came to a stop within sight of the paddle wheel. They were on the same deck as the one where he'd found Marty, and they now stopped as if to take in some of the scenery.
“Is that it?” Mia asked.
“Yep. Is there anyone around?”
Mia looked around and even backtracked a few steps to get a look around the corner. When she came back to Clint's side, she shook her head. “Sounds like they're serving supper.”
“Between that and the games kicking in, I'd say we've got this deck to ourselves for a little while.”
“I thought you said there was a shed around here.”
Clint walked toward the wall next to the paddle wheel. Now that he knew what was there, it was a wonder that he'd ever missed it before. “This is it,” he told her as he reached out to touch the bullet hole in the wall. He led Mia around to the door and pushed it open. After all that had happened earlier, the door was wedged shut rather than locked.
Mia stepped forward and looked into the narrow little space. Her eyes wandered along the walls and the long rods that hung there. Piled in one corner was a set of nets, hooks and pikes that tapered down to the same rounded attachment.
Turning back to Clint, she asked, “I thought you said there was someone tied up in here. Where is he?”
Clint was leaning against the rail with his arms folded. “This is the first place I knew someone would be coming to look,” he said. “Why would I leave him right there?”
“Where else can you take him? What the hell is this even here for anyway?”
“Near as I can figure,” Clint said as he walked into the shack, “these poles are meant to clean off the paddle wheel or clear off anything that got snagged on it.” He took one of the poles off the wall, picked up a hook from the corner and screwed it onto the end of the pole. “I was going to tie him to his chair, but then I thought the same thing you did. Check outside again for me.”
Growing more frustrated by the second, Mia stepped out and took another quick look around. When she came back, she said, “Nobody's around.”
Clint stepped out with the pole in hand and went to the rail. “Then I figured I might as well use the tools I've got.”
When she saw where Clint was looking, Mia glanced there and then shook her head. “You didn't.”
Clint nodded and leaned over the rail while reaching down even farther with the hook. Mia leaned over as well and immediately saw the man about three feet down, hanging from a steel post that looked like it was intended to hold a flag.
The man dangled by his wrists, which were tied by a thick length of rope. He'd been hanging just below the sight of anyone on that deck and just above the deck below. He wasn't moving a muscle, since he'd already managed to slip to the very end of the post. He didn't even kick or struggle when Clint reached down with the hook, since doing so could very well have knocked his legs against the churning paddle wheel.
After a try or two, Clint got the hook between the man's wrists and started to pull him up. Not only did the man allow himself to be hooked, but he grabbed onto the hook with his fingers and fought to swing his legs toward the rail as soon as it was close enough. As he got closer, his voice could be heard shouting from behind the gag that Clint had wrapped around his mouth. That sound, like most of the others that close to the wheel, couldn't be heard over the splash of water.
“Give him a hand,” Clint said calmly.
Mia reached out and grabbed the man's jacket so she could work to haul him up. He landed with a wet thump, and before he could catch his breath, he was pulled up to his feet by Clint.
“You ready to talk?” Clint asked, “or do you want to enjoy the view from the back of the boat some more?”
“No, no!” the man shouted. “Don't put me back there again!”
“Then you're gonna have to tell meâ” Clint stopped talking as he felt Mia tap him frantically on the shoulder. When he looked over to her, he saw her point toward the deck, where some people were headed their way.
Before the trembling man could get a look at who was coming, Clint wrapped his arm around him and turned so they were both at the rail, facing the river. As the people slowly walked by behind them, Clint asked, “You remember your friend? He went over this same rail, but he's still facedown at the bottom of the river.”
“I . . . I'll tell you whatever you want. I just want to get off this boat. Please. I'll even tell you where to find one of the women Solomon had his eye on.”
The man was broken.
Clint didn't like seeing anyone like that, but at least both of them were still alive. “All right,” he said. “Let's get you somewhere else you can wait out the rest of this ride.”
“Thank you,” the man stammered. “Thank you.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Clint couldn't decide if it was all that river air, all that river water or all that hanging by his fingers that had gotten the gunman to change his tune. All that mattered was that he did change his tune in a big way. Once Clint got him tied to a nice chair inside a dry cabin, the man opened up like he was Clint's best friend.
In fact, he told Clint twice as much as he'd hoped to hear. When the man was finished, he let Clint tie the gag around his mouth just so he could rest his eyes without the threat of falling into a paddle wheel. In a strange sort of way, Clint actually felt sorry for him.
Clint most certainly did not feel sorry for the big fellow who was standing outside the small poker room at the front of the
Misty Morning
. He walked straight up to the bulky guard and said, “Let me inside.”
“You ain't invited.”
“How do I get invited?” Clint asked. “Hold a rich man hostage and ransom him back to his family?”
The man at the door squinted once as if he didn't know quite what to do. He didn't pause much more than that before reaching for the gun at his side. Clint's hand flashed forward to clamp down and pin the man's hand on top of his gun. Clint's free hand balled into a fist, which was then delivered straight into the doorman's face.
The doorman was a big man, so his head knocked into the door with a lot of noise, and enough force to push the door open. He was going to swing at Clint, but he was already staggering backward into the poker room. Clint followed him in and took a quick look at what he was dealing with inside.
Mia had figured this would be where a lot of Solomon's men could be found, and the gunman who'd suddenly decided to spill his guts to Clint after hanging off the back of the boat concurred. Clint wasn't quite ready to risk his life on the word of that gunman, but he figured this would be a good chance to see how much truth was in his words. It turned out that the gunman's description had been pretty close.
But that description didn't matter. Clint knew he couldn't walk straight up to Solomon without knowing what he looked like, and he wouldn't be able to ask around very long with all of Solomon's men waiting to shoot him.
Clint had to thin the herd and this was just the place to do it.
For the first second or two that Clint was in the room, the other four men already in there were stunned. Two were at a table playing cards, and another two were leaning against a small bar situated in front of a few shelves of bottles. When Clint saw Elsa tied up in the corner, he knew he had the right place.
And in the next blink of an eye, everything went to hell.
The two men at the bar were already on their feet, so it was easier for them to turn toward Clint while drawing their guns. They were both equally fast at clearing leather, but one of them raised his gun just a little ahead of the other. Clint spotted this difference immediately and unleashed a storm of lead at that man first.
Clint's first round hit its target in the chest. His second was only an inch or two to the left. Rather than try to pause and take better aim, Clint fired a third shot toward the bar and began sidestepping before return fire could head his way.
That return fire came soon enough. The first round hissed through the air to Clint's left, and the following rounds would have struck home if they hadn't been intercepted along the way. Just as Clint had planned, it was the doorman's body that did the intercepting. Clint had stepped behind that man just as he'd drawn his pistol, and bullets from the man at the bar drilled into the doorman's torso.