NAILS
The characters are not mine, they belong to CBS/ViaCom.
Matt
1
Matt Dillon looked anxiously at the livery stable opposite his cinder block building through the four inch opening he'd left between door and jam. Not much of a look but just to give him a full on look from his office. Seeing nothing moving across the street, he let out a heavy breath before sidestepping to the window to his left. The view wasn't at all different. But he looked anyway.
He turned, walked past his cluttered desk. Back to his narrow cot. And for the umpteenth time since Harry delivered the telegram last night, smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles from the rough woolen blanket with the palms of his hands.
The cells were empty but he paced into that part of the office to check on the nonexistent prisoners anyway before going back to the street door once again. Closing it this time. Then opening it four inches.
Just how many times he'd done these same moves he didn't recollect but he did know that each repetition kept company with a disquieting, gnawing hollowness in his stomach.
As he waited.
For the arrival.
Life went on outside the confines of his office. It was a beautiful Fall day. Mild. The sun in its yellow brilliance shone against a cloudless sky. Dodge City's people chatted as they moved along the boardwalks and dusty streets with a serenity they hadn't felt since the cattle trade ended in August.
Matt envied each one of those people.
The sound of dry axles and a tug in the rotation of one of the wheels caught his attention. That didn't come from any of his people.
Not venturing outside, he took a look through that slight opening onto the street.
A black buggy, its canopy pushed down behind the driver, pulled up in front of the livery. He watched as Stuart Haynes stepped down from the dainty two seater.
Matt could tell a lot about a man just by watching him. Haynes was unaware of how far the ground was from the step. He almost fell backwards into the street. Clumsy, the man hung on so his pride would not be lost along with his balance.
The Warden ran his prison with a firm but fair hand. That was what he was comfortable with not a horse and buggy.
Haynes didn't wait for old Hank to amble through the weathered side door of the stable, simply tossed the long leather reins to the urine-soaked dirt at the fore of the water trough.
Only then did the round bellied man take the time to brush the Kansas dust from his well tailored pin stripped suit.
When Stuart directed his gaze to Matt's door Matt instinctively backed farther inside.
But not before he saw that fortifying intake of air, the slowness of its release, then the determination on Haynes' face.
Each step Haynes took was like a ticking clock that reverberated inside Matt's chest. Even the clop of big footed horses got lost in the din created by his own heart. The busy chatter of the board walkers melted into nothing more than a drone.
Matt pulled the door wide open and glared down at the Warden with a mix of fear, confusion, desperation, and hate.
Haynes looked up before brushing past Matt and into the darker interior of the cinder block building. He took off his dusty narrow brimmed hat and threw it carelessly on the square table before turning to face Matt.
"Felt you needed to hear this face to face, Matt."
Matt closed the door.
"You're not going to like what I have to say."
Matt considered laughing. But knew, once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. The nervous guffaws would turn to hysterics. Then he'd have to be locked up in his own jail until he calmed down or put into one of those fancy straight jackets . He didn't anticipate ever calming down.
The truth of it all lay in the Warden's physical presence. Why would this man make a forty mile journey, one way, for a simple social call? This was going to be bad.
"Tell me. Straight."
Matt didn't want to know.
But he had to know. Needed to know.
"There's been some trouble in Houston. Miss Russell is missing."
No!
Not after everything else.