Send Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #2) (9 page)

Angel had stayed in
Metter
’s
saloon longer than necessary but he knew how it was in towns like
Daranga: the word would have rapidly been passed that there was an
armed stranger in town. Larkin would hardly need to be told that
this might be someone looking for him; and Angel was perfectly well
aware of how the gunslinger’s thoughts would run. He knew that
Larkin was in some way a key to the puzzle of the deaths of Clare
and Perry: not their physical deaths, but the motive. Clare
ambushed, and by a professional ... Larkin? Perry whipsawed into a
fight he had no way of winning: Larkin. While during these events
Birch and Reynolds kept their men in full public view, completely
alibied for the murders. If the murders benefited them, in what way
did they? If the murders did not benefit them, why had they
happened at all? Why would Larkin ride into Daranga unless he had
been sent - or sent for? And why would they send for a gunman when
they employed Boot and Mill? He shook his head; Larkin was the key
and so the next step was to face Larkin. Angel emptied his mind as
he paced down the dusty street towards the Alhambra corner. It was
a trick he had learned years ago, the ability to remove from his
thoughts any distraction, any apprehension, any trace of
imagination: a man distracted, afraid, or thinking about the
possibility of losing a gunfight could not be effective. He would
hesitate; and he would be dead. As he walked he noticed that the
streets were cleared; a covert glance at the windows of the
boarding house revealed faces blurred behind the thick glass, and
he felt the pressure of a hundred pairs of eyes as he walked
towards where Larkin sat on the porch of the saloon.

Larkin looked as if he was
sleeping but Angel knew that beneath the tilted hat brim the
gunman
’s
eyes were watching his every step. He moved without haste, and
there was no threat in his stance or his approach, yet those
watching could see menace in his very casualness.

Larkin eased his feet to the
floor and sat up slowly as Angel came nearer, then stood and
stretched as lazily as a cat, turning to face Angel, leaning
indolently against the post which a moment before had supported his
feet. An infinitesimal nod was acknowledgment of
Angel
’s
approach. Angel kept walking towards Larkin, and the gunman eased
his shoulder away from the post and stood balanced easily on
wide-apart feet, his weight slightly forward of center, hand poised
near the dulled butt of his gun.

Angel stepped up on to the boardwalk beneath
the porch of the Alhambra on the Fort Street side, pacing steadily
towards Larkin.

‘
Near
enough,’ said Larkin conversationally. He moved his fingers
slightly, and Angel thought for a second that the man was going to
pull the gun, but Larkin hesitated and Angel knew that he was
puzzled by his inexorable approach, waiting to see what he would
do. He kept on coming, and cast his whole life behind the
conviction that Larkin’s vanity would make the man wait for his,
Angel’s, first aggressive move. He was within ten feet of Larkin
now and again the gunman spoke, his voice sibilant.

‘
Near
enough, I said.’

Angel kept on coming.

Three more steps and he was
within arm
’s
length of the gunman and still Larkin waited and then Angel was
facing him and the gunman cursed as he recognized Angel’s tactic
and his tensed muscles reacted to the command from the galvanized
brain. His hand blurred towards the butt of his gun but he was too
late. Like a striking snake, Angel’s hand had moved and the barrel
of his six-gun jarred into Larkin’s belly, stopping the man’s hand
in mid-movement, making his gasp.

‘
Don’t,’
Angel said.

Larkin looked into the cold grey eyes and
saw the killing machinery held in check behind them. For a long
second the two men stood in a frozen tableau and then Larkin sighed
and opened his fingers. His gun slid back into the holster.

‘
What
is this?’ he said. There was no tension in his face at all. He
looked suddenly relaxed and at ease. Behind his eyes was an amused
reaction at having been tricked, and the supreme confidence of the
man who knows that his aggressor has a tiger by the tail. Whoever
this cold-eyed interloper was he could not stand there all day with
a gun jammed in Larkin’s belly. As soon as the gun was put up, the
advantage was canceled and Larkin knew without thinking about it
that he could beat this man to the draw.

‘
Citizen’s arrest, Larkin,’ Angel said evenly. His voice was
loud enough to be heard by the people watching. ‘For
murder.’

Larkin threw back his head and laughed, a
good big hearty laugh of pure contempt and his laugh was at a high
point when Angel slammed him to the floor with the barrel of the
gun. Larkin was out like a light before his body jarred the wooden
porch with the weight of its fall. Angel looked down at the fallen
gunman.

‘
He
who laughs last,’ he said coldly.

Things were happening too
damned fast for Nicky Austin. Up till recently, it had been nice
and quiet around Daranga. Throwing the occasional drunk into the
lockup was one thing. Bushwhackings and gunfights in the plaza were
something else
again. And now here was Sunny Metter taking the utmost
delight in telling him that some stranger had thrown down on Larkin
and was bringing him up the street to his jail. Panic flooded
Austin’s brain; he wanted to call for help, but there was nobody to
call to. Both Birch and Reynolds were up at their ranches in the
valley. As far as he knew none of their riders were in town. Nicky
Austin was on his own and he didn’t like it one little
bit.

He liked it even less when his
door was kicked open and he saw on the threshold the stranger he
had met the other night at Perry
’s place, dragging in the unconscious form
of the gunfighter Larkin.

‘
Now
look here, mister . . .’ he began.

‘
Brung
you a prisoner, sheriff,’ said Angel cheerfully. He turned to the
grinning Metter. ‘You owe me a beer,’ he reminded the
saloonkeeper.

‘
Come
over an’ drink all you want,’ Metter said. ‘I never thought I’d
have the chance to make the offer.’

Austin
’s eyes shuttled from one to the
other. His jowls trembled. In his mind he could already hear
Birch’s harsh voice asking him questions for which he could have no
possible reply.

‘
Now
see here ...’ he began again.

‘
This
man is a murderer, Austin,’ Angel told him coldly. ‘I know it and
he knows it and now you know it. I want him in custody until the
United States marshal can get across here.’

‘
I
can’t ... uh ... you can’t...’ Austin’s mind raced around like a
squirrel on a treadmill. ‘You can’t arrest people in my town,
mister,’ he squeaked. ‘I’m the law around here.’

‘
You’re a poor substitute for the real thing, you tub o’
lard,’ Angel told him. ‘George Perry had as much chance with this
one as you’d have with a cornered wildcat, and if that doesn’t make
it murder I’d admire to hear your definition.’

‘
Perry
went for his gun first,’ blurted the Sheriff. ‘A dozen people seen
it.’

‘
Shore,’ said Metter, sardonically.

‘
We’ll
just hand him over to the Federal marshal anyway,’ Angel went on
inexorably. ‘He’s got some explaining to do. About Perry. And Walt
Clare.’

‘
Clare?’ bleated Austin. ‘What’d he have to do with
that?’

‘
I
ain’t sure,’ Angel told him. ‘But I’m planning to find
out.’

‘
Now,
wait a damned minute, here,’ Austin said, getting up from behind
his desk. ‘This town can handle its own affairs.’ How could he
manage this? He needed to talk to Birch before this thing got out
of hand. He needed help. By God, he needed a drink. He licked his
lips.

‘
Murder ain’t a Federal offense, Angel,’ he said, craftily.
‘You know that.’

‘
Hiring an assassin and bringing him into the Territory is,’
Angel said flatly. ‘I reckon when this little birdie starts singing
that’s what his song is going to be about. Maybe he’ll tell us
whose idea it was to bring him over here.’

Austin shook his head. He needed time. A
thought came to him.

‘
This
jail ain’t no good, then,’ he said. ‘See for yourself. You couldn’t
lock up a ten-year-old boy here. He’d be out afore you could say
scoot.’

Metter looked at Angel and
nodded.
‘Damn place has been fallin’ down for years.’

‘
There, you see,’ cried Austin triumphantly. ‘You cain’t put
him in here.’

‘
Get
some cuffs and leg-irons then,’ Angel told him coldly. ‘We’ll hand
him over to the military at Fort Daranga. I reckon they’ll be able
to keep him quiet long enough.’

‘
I
ain’t got the time to ...’

‘
You’d
better make time, Austin,’ Angel said coldly. ‘You and I are taking
friend Larkin over to the Fort, and we’re doing it now. So get your
fat butt into gear and do what I tell you or this town’s going to
be shy one misfit sheriff.’ The lambent fire in Angel’s eyes made
the sheriff quail. He hastened to do Angel’s bidding, and by the
time Larkin began to come around, groaning slightly as he opened
his eyes, he was firmly manacled, and Metter had carefully searched
him for hidden weapons, bringing a deadly little snub-nosed
Derringer from the man’s pants pocket and a sharp knife from its
hiding place between his shoulder blades where it had hung on a
rawhide thong.

‘
A
real sweetheart, this one,’ he remarked. ‘But his fangs are
drawn.’

Larkin spat on the floor. There was a
trapped hatred in his eyes as he looked from Metter to Angel and
back again.

‘
You’re dead men,’ he told them, a venomous satisfaction in
his voice. ‘No matter what happens, you’re as good as
dead.’

‘
Everybody dies,’ Metter told him. ‘I’d as soon be standin’
up as bowin’ down when it happens.’

Larkin ignored the words. He did not look at
them again. It was as if they were not worth his attention.

‘
I’ll
get the hosses,’ Metter said. Angel nodded his thanks, and jerked
Larkin to his feet. The gunman snarled angrily at being
manhandled.

‘
Keep
your paws off of me, mister!’ he snapped. ‘I can walk.’

‘
Thank
your lucky stars,’ Angel told him levelly. ‘I could have blown your
gizzard out just as easy as buffaloed you.’

“
You’ll wish you had before much longer,’ Larkin
snapped.

‘
Talk,
talk, talk,’ Angel said, and pushed the gunman towards the
door.

There was a small crowd out in
the street, and they watched silently as Angel helped Larkin mount,
tying him firmly to the pommel of the saddle. Austin bustled
around, giving instructions which nobody heeded. He locked the door
of his office with a great clattering of keys and considerable
puffing and panting, then came down to the street and got aboard
his horse. Angel watched the performance with grim amusement.
Austin had told about twenty people where he was going, and why,
and with whom. There was no doubt that someone even now was burning
leather towards the Birch and Reynolds ranches: doubtless their
espionage system was good. He wondered what effect the news of
Larkin
’s
arrest would have on them. It was for this reason that he had not
prevented Austin from making so much fuss at their departure. If
the two ranchers were behind Larkin’s arrival in Daranga, then they
would act. By their action he would know their complicity. If
nothing intervened between their departure from Daranga and getting
to the Fort, then.... As he turned his horse towards the northern
end of town, Metter came jogging around the corner of a building.
He was in range clothes, and wearing a gun. He looked like a
totally different man.

‘
Hold
up there, Angel,’ he said. ‘I’ll ride along with you.’

‘
I’m
thanking you,’ Angel told him. ‘You sure you want to?’

‘
No
call for you to take sides in this, Sunny,’ Austin said, pompously.
‘It might cause you trouble later.’

‘
About
time I declared my interests, anyway,’ Metter said mildly.
‘Whatever this is all about, I’m fightin’ on the side that’s
against it. Which looks to me like you, Angel. I’m ridin’ with you,
and that’s final.’

‘
Glad
to have you,’ Angel told him. Indeed, he was. In a tight spot,
there would be no use looking for help from the cowardly Austin.
The sheriff would either run or find a hole and hide in it until
the trouble was over. Metter wearing a gun looked like a man you
could depend on.

Larkin sneered.
‘All of a sudden,
ever’body’s a hero,’ he said sarcastically.

Metter looked at the man for a moment, and
then spurred his horse until he was alongside the gunman.

‘
You
know what, Larkin?’ he said, softly. ‘I hope someone tries to
spring you. I hope they make a try. Because I’m tellin’ you: the
minute they look like breakin’ you loose I’m goin’ to put a slug
right in your navel. An’ Larkin ... all my slugs got crosses cut in
them. You know what I mean?’

Case-hardened as he was,
Larkin
’s
visage paled at Metter’s words. Cutting a notch in the soft lead of
a .45 made it a most terrible missile. Any man hit by such a slug
would be torn to pieces inside as the tumbling bullet smashed
through him. No one hit directly with such a slug could hope to
live. And if the wound were in the belly.. . Larkin shuddered.
Metter’s mean gaze was direct and convincing. Larkin recalled that
they called the man ‘the Indian.’ He didn’t look like a man who’d
be too perturbed by doing just what he had promised. Larkin fell
silent, turning away. Metter looked at Angel and
grinned.

‘
Shore
quiet, ain’t it?’ he said cheerfully, and pushed ahead of them, his
horse leading the way up Fort Street and out of the silent
town.