The Great West Detective Agency (14 page)

Lucas tried to figure out how Clifford and his guerrillas had come across Vera and her revolutionaries—and where the gold fit into the puzzle.

“Have Clifford and his boys ever robbed a train? Scored a lot of gold?”

“Not that I ever heard, though they was always huntin' for just a few cents more.” Gallatin drained the bottle and belched. “I knew 'em over around Palo Duro, Adobe Walls, that area. Always steered way clear of them. Nasty fellows, the lot of them, always pretendin' to be soldiers still, and Clifford talkin' 'bout how he was gonna be king of some country or other.”

“You mean he was putting together a filibuster, like Walker down in Nicaragua back in '52?” Lucas snorted in contempt. Invading a foreign country with only a handful of soldiers and no money to back the attempt was sheer folly. “No money,” he said aloud.

“What's that? Naw, I ain't got much, but thanks for the dollar, Lucas. You're a good man, no matter what ever'one says about you.”

“Do you think Clifford would launch a filibuster if he had enough gold to buy supplies and raise a real army?”

“Don't see why not. He was only a captain in the cavalry but was always goin' on 'bout how he shoulda been the president of the Confederacy.” Gallatin laughed ruefully. “Toward the end, Jeff Davis woulda gave him the presidency if 'n he'd asked.”

Lucas stared down the street, not seeing anything as he thought hard. Dennis Clifford and Vera Zasulich. A soldier and a revolutionary. Their paths led them to violent overthrow. The gold notwithstanding, the two might have joined forces to whip up a filibuster aimed at Saint Petersburg and the czar rather than the more usual Latin American targets. Taking over an entire country was a huge undertaking, requiring men and materiel, weapons and financing. For Clifford to have any hope of success, he had to transport an army halfway around the world, establish a foothold, and fight an army that had repelled Napoleon eighty years earlier.

“How crazy is Clifford?”

“Crazy like a fox, I'd say.” Gallatin rolled the bottle around, hunting for any amber drop remaining. In that he was disappointed. He swung the empty bottle around carelessly. “Him and the men with him's all aimed like a shootin' show I seen up in Cincinnati. Baughman and Butler, it was. That lil girl, Annie Oakley, was only fifteen. Couldn't have been a day older. She had a shootin' match and she beat this fella name of Butler. Why, I never seen such shootin' in all my born days.” Gallatin picked up the bottle and heaved it into the air, where it caught the sun and reflected brightly as it spun. “Bang, she went with her rifle. Butler missed after twenty-five and I left 'fore she missed. Don't remember how many targets she'd busted but it was more 'n a hunnerd.”

Gallatin jumped a foot when the bottle slipped from his numbed fingers, crashed to the street, hit a rock, and broke into a thousand pieces.

“Lester,” Lucas said gently, putting his hand on the man's arm. “Settle down now. You're saying none of Clifford's gang is loco enough to go along with a filibuster?”

“Ain't sayin' that at all. Not a man amongst 'em would pass up the chance to go to battle again. But crazy like you mean?” He shook his head. “Stone killers, the lot of 'em. They don't go 'round talkin' to cactus or wantin' to marry their horses.”

“They would try to overthrow another country,” Lucas said. He leaned back against the splintery wall and considered everything Gallatin had said in light of what he had seen at the Russian camp.

“Has Clifford ever mentioned a dog?”

Gallatin looked at him as if he had been in the sun too long.

“The only business he'd have with a dog would be to kick it. Might be wrong, though, since I avoid him and his boys like they have the pox. Safer all around.”

“Where can I find Clifford? Does he hang out at your watering hole?”

“I left off goin' to the Seventh Saloon 'cuz he'd took up there. I go to—”

“Thanks, Lester.” Lucas peeled off another dollar bill and handed it to the man. With the other already in hand, this would buy a bottle of whiskey and hold the pain at bay for another day.

“You're a prince among men, Lucas. You are. I'll take real good care of your horse. I promise.”

Lucas slapped him on the shoulder, then set out for his boardinghouse. He tried to decide whether food or sleep mattered more to him. Instead of deciding, his thoughts jumbled up as he tried to make sense of the anarchists and filibusters joining forces. The two gangs had already left a sizable number of bodies behind them. Gregor had been killed and Tovarich stolen, and Clifford's gang had robbed and murdered everyone on a stagecoach. Lucas came to the conclusion these were only the tip of the knife and others had died along the way.

He slowed when he reached his boardinghouse, then spun and retreated. He recognized the man lounging under a tree across the street as one of Dunbar's men. Rather than trying to sneak in the back way, Lucas chose to let the henchman boil in the sun. Another of Dunbar's guards undoubtedly stood sentry at the rear of the house.

Being hunted like this told Lucas a couple things. Dunbar hadn't found the dog. And he considered it a possibility that Lucas had. While the politician might be pissed at being bothered by someone poking around his home and talking to his hired help, he wasn't the kind to waste manpower unless there was a payoff for him. Staying away from Dunbar should have been enough to gain invisibility. That it hadn't proved to Lucas that Dunbar still sought the puppy.

His route took him back toward the Great West Detective Agency office. Another idea came to him. Amanda might be stirring up Dunbar.

Lucas walked past the empty office several times, attentive to anyone staking out the building. Business outside appeared normal. Around in the alley, he saw patches of blood where the dogs had bled after attacking him. A few quick jabs with his lock picks opened the door. He slipped into the storeroom. The damp bloodstain on the floor reminded him how close he had come to dying there.

After he'd closed and locked the door behind him, he hunted for a blanket or something to provide a pallet so he could stretch out and sleep. After he was rested, dealing with Dunbar's henchmen could follow.

Finding nothing, he went into the main office. He saw a blanket tossed into one corner and went for it but froze when he realized he was being watched. Hand going to the pistol in his coat pocket, he slowly turned and stared out the front door.

Amanda Baldridge stood there, motioning for him to open up.

A
manda pressed closer and waved to him, then knocked. When Lucas didn't move to open the door, she looked over her shoulder and rapped harder. Her consternation finally prompted him to go to the door and work it open. He needed to make a set of keys for the office if he intended to keep squatting on Jacoby Runyon's property.

“Miss Baldridge, I hadn't expected to see you.”

She shoved past him, closed the door, and tried to grab the string on the blinds to pull them down. She wasn't tall enough to succeed, but Lucas got a nice view of her figure as she strained.

“Please, Lucas, we can't be seen together. Lower the blinds.”

He did so, then asked, “Are you afraid of what Jubal Dunbar would say if he knew you were here?”

“Jubal? I—” She clamped her mouth shut and turned a touch whiter, causing the rouge on her cheeks to appear as tiny fires against porcelain. “You know Dunbar and I have been talking over business matters?”

“I'm a detective. Of course I know,” he said, taking some small pleasure in the words. He had pieced together a large picture beyond a stolen dog and had revealed the real mission. An entire country's fate hung in the balance.

“Then you know.”

“I know a great deal.” He pointed to a chair. She settled into it, hands in her lap, looking even paler than ever. “Are you faint?”

“Faint? I, no, not at all. It's just that emotion overwhelms me.”

He stared at her, not sure what to say. Her presence played on him. She was a lovely woman and one who wrapped men around her little finger like a string. With a deep breath, he again scented her perfume.

“Did you get the perfume from Vera?”

“Vera? Who's that?”

She was a good actress, but Lucas saw real confusion on her face. Then the mask lowered and her eyes went emotionless.

“I am not here to discuss my perfume, as fascinating as you find it, Lucas.” She smiled insincerely. “What are you going to do about Tovarich?”

“Have you discussed this matter with Dunbar?”

“Why do you keep mentioning him? He's not involved in this.”

Lucas looked up, then craned around to stare at the brilliant blue sky outside. Only a few white clouds moved in the direction of the mountains.

“What are you searching for?”

“A storm cloud. I wouldn't want lightning to strike you dead for lying.”

“How dare you!” She shot to her feet. Now the color in her cheeks came from a blush of anger, not artificial rouge.

“You wanted Dunbar to find the dog, too, and you never told me. His bully boys have beaten me up a couple times.” Lucas sniffed delicately as he remembered being thrown into the sewage canal. “They have also ruined my favorite coat.”

“I know nothing of this. He never mentioned you to me. If he had, I'd have warned him off.”

“He's not looking for Tovarich?”

“I . . . I won't lie to you. Yes, he wants the dog because he thinks to win my favor. My
sexual
favor. He must consider you a rival for my affections.” She fanned herself as she slowly sank back into the chair. Her blue eyes glinted with emotion now.

“Am I?”

“Are you what?”

“A rival for your affections. You are a lovely woman with far-reaching interests, ones that extend to foreign countries.”

“I don't understand. Are you saying that because Tovarich is a Russian wolfhound? It is only the dog's safety that interests me, Lucas. Truly.” She smiled winningly. “When can you return him to me?”

“I have to find him first. Although I have examined a number of leads, all have been dead ends.”

“But you said—” Again Amanda appeared flustered, but he wasn't sure how much of this was an act. Then it was his turn to be left without anything to say. “I found Tovarich.”

“You found the dog?” He felt his throat tighten. “You came here to tell me my services aren't needed any longer? That is decent of you.”

“You sounded as if you had found Tovarich, too. You'd know that I can't get him back without help. Your help.” She fumbled in her purse and passed over another hundred dollars. “Here is the balance of your payment since you'll need it.”

“To buy the dog back for you?”

“If possible, though I fear my poor little puppy will need to be stolen back. A very bad man by the name of Makepeace has him.”

Lucas recoiled at the name. Benjamin Makepeace operated at the other end of the social scale, gambling on blood sport rather than the turn of the card. He acted as bookmaker on bear fights, dogs against bears, dogs against rats, dogs against dogs, even, it was rumored, dogs against men to the death. The biggest event in Denver the prior year had been a match Makepeace sponsored of an elk against a bear. The ursine beast had won, though the victory had been short lived. Makepeace had then sold bullets to the onlookers and bet on which round finished off the bear.

“You know him?”

Lucas swallowed, considering giving back the money he had already received from the woman.

“I'll need some help.”

“Oh, you're so clever and strong,” she said, reaching out. Her fingers touched his wrist and sent thrills up his arm. “I can go along and do what I can to take care of Tovarich.”

“How'd you find out that Makepeace had the dog? You aren't the kind to travel in his social circle. Neither is Dunbar.”

“I put out a reward for any news of Tovarich. A woman of ill repute collected the money.” Amanda looked aggrieved. “She was in such sorry shape. My heart went out to her. I gave her an extra few dollars reward, though I fear she might spend it on some hideous addiction.”

Her hand tightened around his wrist, keeping him from pulling away—from running like hell.

“Is Makepeace at his gaming pit?” The words caught in his throat. “He might not start his matches until after sundown.”

“We can steal Tovarich away from him before he starts!” She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “What is he likely to do with the poor little dog?”

Lucas chalked it up to lack of sleep and food. He stood, Amanda's hand not leaving his now. She clenched his fingers tightly. He touched the pocket where his Colt rested. Seven shots might not be enough, but if he got close enough to Makepeace, he could combine threatening to fill the gambler with lead and bribing him to return the dog. What it took to overwhelm his need for sheer cruelty to both animal and human was a question that had to be answered, and Lucas was afraid it might be answered in blood.

His.

The old barn looked like a fortress. From the hayloft door poked a rifle barrel. As Lucas moved around, he caught sight of not only the man holding that rifle but two others, both armed and looking fierce. The main door into the barn was even better guarded. Both outside and in were four men who looked like winners from bear-wrestling contests. Past them, inside around a deep pit in the floor, crowded a dozen men, clutching money in their hands and cheering. Their attention was focused entirely on the bottom of the pit.

From over the men's cheers came snarls and snaps. The crunches and death chitters warned Lucas a dog was in the pit killing rats while the men bet on a score of different fates. Few bet against the dog. Most were betting on the number of rats killed in a minute or five or whether the dog finished off all the rats before they swarmed over it.

A shower of blood rose up and misted down. For a heart-stopping moment, utter silence prevailed. Then the crowd went wild, cheering and slapping each other on the back.

“A big bet went against the house,” Lucas said. “You'd better stay outside. This isn't the kind of place for a lady.”

“You're so polite, even in a crowd like this,” Amanda said. She pressed close and rubbed against him, more like a cat greeting a human than a woman on the way to recovering her dog. “I'll be safe if I stay close to you, Lucas.”

“Stay outside,” he said more sharply as he pulled free of her grip. “People might die.”

“Oh, bother. How bad can this be?”

“Makepeace is bad enough to steal a puppy.”

He went to the outer guards and passed over a dollar, then went inside to repeat the bribe to the remaining man blocking his way.

“Where's Makepeace?” He looked around, trying to spot the gambler. He had never seen the man and knew him only by his sordid reputation.

“Don't matter. Go bet or get out.”

“Have a nice day,” Lucas said, touching the brim of his bowler, smiling, and pushing past the mountain of gristle and ugly.

He hardly left behind unpleasantness. The bettors stank to high heaven, and the rank stench from the pit told its history of blood and death. Lucas edged closer to the edge of the pit and looked down. A bulldog strained at a chain at the bottom of the pit. Two men lowered cages of large black rats on the far side of the pit.

“Put down yer bets, gents. How long 'til the rats eat the dog?”

Lucas saw that the bulldog wasn't going to be unchained. A half dozen other cages of ferocious rats had been stacked on the far side of the pit, ready to be lowered if the dog bested the first wave of rodents. His belly tried to turn over end for end when the cages were opened using strings that ran up to the lip of the pit. A half dozen poured from each cage and went straight for the snarling dog.

While the men bet, Lucas backed away and circled to a small, seedy-looking man covered in chalk dust as he scribbled odds on a schoolhouse blackboard propped up on a chair. Two men moved constantly through the crowd gathering bets and bringing them back. The man snatched away the bets and thrust them into an iron box between recalculating and posting odds.

Lucas glanced up to the hayloft and saw two of the men who had been at the upper door watching carefully for any sign of robbery. From their elevated vantage, they could fill any imprudent thief with bullets before he could even touch the money-laden iron box. Lucas made a point of keeping his distance. The guards had the look of men who would err on the side of caution.

“Are you Makepeace?” Lucas had to shout to make himself heard over the din of cheers and death.

The small man stared up at him with dull eyes. He looked more like a rat thrown into the pit than he did a dog. His nose was long, and a bristly mustache twitched as his upper lip twisted about. Prominent buckteeth and a narrow face added to the look, but the final touch was the man's skin. It had a poorly tanned look to it, almost dried leather but not quite.

“You lookin' for a job? Come back after midnight. Got a full card runnin' all day long.” He gave Lucas a once-over, then dismissed him.

“I want to buy one of your dogs.”

“Not for sale. All my fighters are top of the line. They'll make me more fighting than they ever could bein' put up for sale.”

“A wolfhound,” Lucas said. “I'll give you more for him than he could ever earn.”

This caught Makepeace's attention. He carefully placed the chalk on a ledge, wiped his hands on his thighs, and looked up at Lucas curiously.

“Why do you say that?”

“He's just a puppy. Such a small dog can't stand up for more than a few seconds to a cage of rats.”

“I only got one wolfhound, and he ain't shy.” Makepeace jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the pit.

Lucas missed the yelping dog being tossed into the pit but not the four cages filled with rats. They were dumped squealing and snapping. Not realizing he did so, Lucas drew his pistol and spun to the edge of the pit to protect Tovarich.

He stared at the large Russian wolfhound in the pit, lunging, snapping, and killing with a cold methodical fury that put the other dogs to shame.

“Tovarich?” The name escaped without him realizing it.

“Best ratter I've seen in a month,” chortled a bettor. “I made twenty dollars on him so far. Never seen a mutt that vicious.”

“Tovarich?”

“Don't know if he has a name. Makepeace don't put names to 'em.”