Decker decided to go to the Broadus House and talk to the bartender, whose name he didn’t remember—if he’d ever known it at all. He wanted to assure the man that he had had nothing to do with Martha’s death.
When he reached the saloon the doors were locked, and he banged on them until they were opened.
“Decker,” the bartender said.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
The man stepped back and allowed the bounty hunter to enter.
“I heard what happened to Martha,” Decker said. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“Where is she?”
“The undertaker’s.”
“Was the sheriff here?”
“He sure was.”
“He interrupted my breakfast by trying to arrest me for her murder.”
“That’s crazy,” the man said.
“Why do you say that? He seemed to think that since I was the last one with her, I was the logical suspect. In fact, I was afraid you’d believe it, too.”
“Naw,” the man said. “I saw Martha after you left her.”
“You did?”
He nodded.
“And she was fine. We exchanged a few words and then she went back to bed. Next thing I knew, she was dead.”
“I think I know who killed her.”
The bartender’s eyes widened and he asked, “Who?”
“The sheriff.”
“What?”
Decker explained his reasoning, and the bartender listened, nodding.
“The poor kid,” he said when Decker was finished. “If what you say is true, then she died for something she wasn’t even involved in.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Shit!” the man said.
“I don’t think I ever even learned your name,” Decker said.
“Potts.”
“Well, Mr. Potts, I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. I’d like to see that sheriff get his, though.”
“Don’t worry,” Decker said, opening the door to leave. “I’m sure he will.”
As he walked down the street, Decker got an idea and headed for the store that Josephine ran. As he entered, a little bell above the door tinkled, announcing his presence. The woman behind the counter looked up and smiled at him.
“May I help you, sir?” the woman asked. “Something for your wife?”
“I’d like to see the owner,” Decker said. “Miss Hale.”
“I can help you just as well—” the young woman began, but Decker cut her off.
“I’m sure you can, and I mean no disrespect, but I’d rather see Miss Hale.”
“Very well,” the woman said. “If you’ll wait one moment?”
“Of course.”
The woman disappeared through a curtained doorway, and when the curtain parted again Josephine Hale came through. Decker was surprised at how tall she was, her eyes nearly level with his.
“Yes? Can I help you?” she asked.
“Maybe I can help you,” Decker told her.
“Oh? How?”
Decker took the shoe heel he’d found in the livery from his pocket and laid it on the counter.
“You lost that.”
She looked at the heel, her eyes widening. Then she looked at Decker and saw the distinctive gun on his hip.
“Decker!” she said, her voice a harsh whisper.
“That’s right.”
She tried to run, but he grabbed her by the wrist.
“Please,” he said, holding her tightly. “I’m not here to frighten you or hurt you.”
“You
are
hurting me,” she said, trying to pull free.
“I’m sorry. When I let you go, please don’t try to run. We have to talk.”
“I’ll call the sheriff,” she said defiantly.
“I doubt he’ll be able to come. Your man broke his neck this morning.”
She stopped struggling and simply stared at him, a look of horror on her face.
He released her wrist, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“He broke his neck, right in your kitchen.”
She slapped him then, hard enough to make his ears ring.
“You’re a liar!”
“I’m not,” Decker said. “What name does he go by, this man of yours.”
“You know his name. You’re hunting him!” she snapped.
“I know him as the Baron,” Decker said, “but I don’t know his real name.”
“The Baron?” she asked, confused. “His name is Brand.”
“Just Brand?”
“It—it’s all I know.”
“He lives with you, and that’s all you know?”
“That’s all…he ever told me.”
“I’m sorry to show you this, Miss Hale,” he said, taking the poster from his pocket and handing it to her.
She read it, a growing look of horror on her face.
“A—a professional killer?” she said, staring at Decker. He winced at the pain he saw in her eyes but consoled himself with the knowledge that he wasn’t causing the pain, her man was.
“Yes.”
“It can’t be.”
He took the poster from her.
“What did he tell you?”
“That he had been framed for killing someone and that you were a bounty hunter. He said you wouldn’t be concerned with whether or not he was guilty, you’d just want to take him in.”
“He’s right,” Decker said. “As far as it goes, that’s all true. I hunt men for bounty and bring them in for
trial. It’s up to a judge and jury to decide if they’re guilty or not. As a matter of fact, most of the men I hunt have already been found guilty.”
“But not…him?”
“Not yet. He’ll have to stand trial.”
“He—he said you’d want to kill him.”
“That’s why I came to see you,” Decker said. “Go to him, tell him I don’t want to kill him. Convince him to come back with me.”
“I can’t—” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t…go back there—”
“Whatever he’s done, Miss Hale,” Decker said, “I’m sure he loves you, or else why would he have kept coming back?”
“You’re—you’re confusing me,” she said. “First you say he’s a killer, then you say he loves me.”
“One doesn’t prevent the other from being true.”
“It can’t—that can’t be true. How could such a man—love?”
“Believe me,” Decker said, “all men can love, no matter what they do for a living.”
She looked at him now as if seeing him for the first time.
“You’re a strange man.”
“No stranger than he, or any other man. I’ve got a job to do, and I’d rather do it without killing him.”
“But—but you will if you have to.”
“If he forces me to,” Decker said, “yes.”
“Or he may kill you.”
“That’s very possible.”
“And yet you’ll still try to bring him in?”
“Yes.”
“To—to bring him to justice?”
“Please, don’t try to make me out some sort of
saint, ma’am,” Decker said. “I want to bring him in for the bounty. No other reason.”
“I don’t—” she said, shaking her head, “I don’t understand either one of you.”
“I’m not asking you to understand us, I’m asking you to save one of us from being killed and one of us from killing.”
“I don’t—I still can’t believe—”
“Go and talk to him. You’ll know when he’s telling you the truth.”
“Yes,” she murmured, “yes…” She looked at him and asked, “Where will you be?”
He thought a moment, then said, “The Broadus House.”
She nodded and told him, “I have to go home.”
“I’m sorry about what I have to do. I truly am.”
She looked at his face again and said, “Yes, I do believe you are.”
Brand had just finished disposing of Sheriff Roman’s body—albeit temporarily—when he heard the front door of the house open. He stiffened, then relaxed when Josephine came into the kitchen.
“What are you doing home?” he asked. Then he saw her face and said, “What the hell is wrong?”
“He came to see me.”
“Who?”
“Decker.”
“He did? What did he want?”
“He wants me to tell you that he doesn’t want to kill you.”
“That’s what he said?”
“Yes.”
He studied her for a moment and then asked, “And you believed him?”
“Yes,” she admitted, lifting her chin, “I did.”
Brand frowned and asked, “What else did he tell you?”
“That you were a professional killer called the Baron, and then he showed me a wanted poster.” There was a long pause, but she finally asked, “Is that what you were doing all those times you were gone? Killing people?”
“I was doing,” he said, “what I have to do to survive.”
“You have to kill to survive?”
“We all have to kill to survive, Josephine,” he said. “Sometimes.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“But you believed everything that Decker told you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t try to lie about what he is. He said that everything you told me about him was true. Tell me, Brand, if he has no need to lie about himself, why would he have to lie about you?”
Brand was about to protest when he saw that it would do no good. Josephine finally knew who he was, and what he was.
“Josephine—”
“He also said you killed the sheriff in this room, broke his neck. Is that true?”
Jesus! Brand thought. Had Decker seen that? How was that possible?
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t deserve to live. He was trying to blackmail me. He tried to shoot Decker in the back, and he killed a whore to try and blame Decker for it.”
“Then he was no different from you or Decker. You’re all killers.”
“Yes.”
“My God—” she moaned. She started to sit at the kitchen table and then suddenly stiffened and jumped away. “God! I can’t even live here anymore.”
“Josephine,” he said. He moved to touch her but she flinched. “We can go somewhere else—”
“How can we?” she asked. “How can I forget what happened here? How can I forget the lies?”
“I never lied to you,” he said. “I never told you what I did when I was away, and you never asked.”
“No, you’re right,” she said. “I never asked. I’m just as much to blame for all of this as you are.”
“Nobody’s to blame—”
“He doesn’t want to kill you,” she said, “he just wants to take you back.”
“So
they
can kill me,” he replied bitterly. “Make me dance at the end of a rope.”
“Please!” she said, clapping her hands to her ears.
“That’s what they’ll do to me, Jo. They’ll hang me.”
She removed her hands from her ears and said, “Only if you deserve it.”
He stared at her then, knowing that he had finally lost her, as he’d always known he would someday.
“All right,” he said dejectedly.
“You’ll turn yourself over to him?”
“Where is he?”
“At the Broadus House.”
“I’ll go and see him.”
“I’ll go and tell him you’re coming,” she said.
“There’s no need,” he assured her. “He knows I’m coming.”
“How?”
“Believe me,” Brand said, “he knows.”
When Brand left the house without his gun Jose phine assumed that he was going to turn himself over to Decker.
She was wrong.
Decker was surprised when the Baron walked into the saloon, which was empty except for him and the bartender. Potts had consented to open it, once Decker told him why.
Decker was surprised not only that the Baron walked boldly into the saloon, but also by the fact that he was unarmed.
The Baron—who, he now knew, was called Brand in Broadus, and, hell, maybe that was even his real name—walked right up to Decker’s table.
“Decker?” he asked, his voice devoid of all emotion.
“That’s right.”
“I am Brand—or, as you know me, the Baron.”
“Have a seat.”
“You see that I am unarmed.”
“I noticed.”
Brand sat directly across from the bounty hunter.
“You realize what that means?”
“You’re here to talk.”
“Yes, but lest you think you can hold me because I am unarmed—”
“You’d make me kill you.”
“Exactly. You would have to be willing to shoot down an unarmed man in front of a witness,” he said, inclining his head toward Potts, who was still behind the bar.
“You want me to leave?” Potts asked Decker.
“No need,” Decker said. “All right, Brand, let’s talk.”
“I will not go back with you,” Brand said quickly, “not alive.”
“That doesn’t leave a whole hell of a lot for me to say, does it?”
“I am asking you to leave Broadus and forget about me. I do not want to kill you.”
“Nor I you, but there doesn’t seem to be any other way—unless you want to change your mind and come with me willingly.”
“I cannot do that. I would be submitting myself to a hangman’s noose.”
Decker knew what that was like and unconsciously touched his own neck where a noose had once rested.
Brand seemed to notice the move and narrowed his eyes as an idea struck him.
“That’s why you carry that noose with you, isn’t it?” he said suddenly. “You’ve had it around your neck, haven’t you? Maybe you’ve even had
that
one around your neck.”
Decker was surprised at the man’s perception and was thrown off balance by it.
“I don’t think we’re here to discuss my past,” he said lamely.
“Still, if that is your past, how can you justify bringing men in and subjecting them to the same—”
“I don’t have to justify myself to anyone,” Decker stated forcefully, “least of all to you.”
Their eyes met, and for a few seconds, neither man said anything.
“Are you prepared to come with me willingly?” Decker finally asked, breaking the silence.
“No.”
“Then you’d better get up and leave while you can. I’ll be coming for you today—unless you run.”
The man called the Baron laughed then.
“Do you think I’m afraid of you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Decker said, “just as I am afraid of you. You’d be a fool not to be.”
“Josephine was right about you,” he said and rose. Decker did not ask him to explain the remark.
The bounty hunter watched the Baron leave the saloon, wondering if he shouldn’t have tried to hold him while he had him. He might have been able to do it without killing him if he had played his cards just right.
Or maybe he wanted to kill him. Maybe what Brand had been saying about the noose and all was too close to being right on the money.
“You just let him walk out!” Potts said in amazement. “What if he runs?”
“He won’t run.” Decker looked at Potts and said, “Too early for a drink?”
“For me to serve or for you to drink?” Potts asked, but he poured it without waiting for an answer and took it to Decker’s table.
When Brand got back to the house Josephine was not there. He assumed that she had gone back to the store. That was just as well, he thought. There was no point in trying to talk to her now. Might as well wait for this thing to be over before trying to patch things up with her.
He went up to the bedroom and pulled out his gun again. He had put it back after Josephine caught him with it. Now he pulled the big Colt .44 from his holster and began to clean it.
Decker sat in the saloon and worked on his drink. It was all over now but the shooting, and the when
and where of that seemed to be up to him—that is, unless Brand chose to hole up in that house. Then Decker would have to go in and get him. Somehow, though, he didn’t think that would be the Baron’s style. If he died, he’d want to die on his feet, in the street, and if he killed Decker, he’d want it to be face to face.
As would Decker.