Don't Close Your Eyes

Chapter 2 – The Next Kill

Bret had to laugh. His brother's idea of a meal wouldn't feed a small child. At least he ate it, every bit of it, and actually ordered pie for dessert. Coffee too, although when it came all Bart could think of was the black carada coffee from Carson City. Ah, if only Bret had tasted it!

"Ok, little brother, I've been waitin' for over an hour for an explanation of the cane and the pain I keep seein' whenever you move wrong. Time's run out. What's the story?"

Bart set down his coffee cup. "Not much to tell, really. Went to spend some time with Anderson and his daughter. Had some trouble while I was there. Got stabbed. You know, the usual."

Bret looked at his brother with more than concern on his face. He was worried about Bart, and didn't understand why pain and trouble always seemed to find him. "I believe I deserve a more complete explanation than that."

"No, you really don't. Anderson had some double-dealin' cheats trying to swindle him out of his land and I helped stop them." He really didn't want to go into any more detail. "Oh, yeah, the Governor said I was 'resourceful and dedicated.' How's that for a mouthful? Maybe he shoulda talked to Judge Kincaid. Might have had a different opinion."

"And the cane? You were almost done with that months ago."

"A – uh, slight problem I ran into." He couldn't be lucky enough for Bret to just let it go, could he?

"What kind of a problem?"

Of course not, big brother had to know everything. Alright, he wanted to know. "A very pointed problem."

Silence. Then a flicker of understanding. "A knife?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Bret blinked and asked the next question, although he was sure he didn't want to hear the answer. "Once?"

Bart was positive his brother didn't want the answer. "Three times."

In a very quiet voice Bret asked him: "How bad was it?"

"Bad."

'Where?"

"In the stomach."

"Good Lord." No wonder Bart was so thin again. His appetite was never the world' biggest to begin with, and then –

"Stitches?"

"Yep. Lots."

It didn't matter how many; stitches hurt under the best of circumstances. "They out?"

"Yep."

"Still havin' problems?"

Bart blew out a quick breath. "Can't you tell?"

Again, that quiet voice. "Every time you move. That's why the cane, isn't it?"

"No, I just like the look of it. Of course that's the reason. Most of the time I'm fine, but stairs don't help." He thought of the intimidating way he'd used it with Elliott Stander. And he smiled. "Sometimes it just comes in handy. Anything else you need to know?"

Bret shook his head no. "That'll do for now." He looked at his brother and ached for all the anguish and pain Bart had been through in the past year. He would give anything to make it all go away. But he smiled instead, lest Bart know how much he really cared. He wanted to know what was causing Bart such emotional torment but he wasn't going to dig any deeper. He had other problems right now, and there would be plenty of time to talk it all out later. He put his hand on his brother's arm and asked, "Anything I can do to help?"

"No. But I appreciate it." There was real gratitude in Bart's words and his eyes. He knew Bret was always there to comfort and protect him, no matter what. He'd proved that time and again. He hoped that he would be the same way if his big brother ever needed him. "Now let's get back to your problem."

XXXXXXXX

Now there were two of them. That put a different light on the situation. Was he supposed to take care of both of them? The job was only contracted for one. He was only paid for one. He wasn't in the habit of killing for free.

No, he was only going to do the job originally paid for. Any other complications could be dealt with later. He would concentrate on the initial target only. Maybe now it would be easier, and the mark would feel safer with a back-up to protect him. Feeling safe meant getting lax, and it would be simpler to accomplish his goal.

Now that he was here in Denver it was only a matter of time. If he'd kept travelling it would have added to the difficulty and might have prevented him from fulfilling the contract. You could only trail a man so long before you either caught him or he back-tracked and caught you. Now he could play cat and mouse in the shadows, letting confusion and fear aid him in his chosen profession. And when the job was completed he would go on his way, no one the wiser as to who or why someone had killed the man.

The next few days would require the most patience. He had to let his victim believe there was no more threat, that the trailing had ceased, that he was safe from harm. Watch his comings and goings and let patterns and routines develop. Until it was easy to find the right place and time; and then strike. And go on his way, looking for the next job, the next kill, the next payday.

XXXXXXXX

"Think we should be in the same room?" That was Bart talking, asking the next logical question.

"Sure would be cheaper, but let's stay where we are for now. Maybe whoever's following me doesn't know about you. Let's keep it that way. I want to be sure you're protected."

Bart started to protest but Bret interrupted. "Look, you've been through enough this past year. Let's keep you safe this time, shall we?"

Bart smiled gratefully. He had dealt with more than his fair share of trauma. Besides, when the Maverick stubbornness reared its ugly head there was no use arguing. So they climbed the stairs together, Bart using the cane more than he liked to, and parted at the top step. Bret went left, Bart went down the hall to the right. "Good night, Mr. Jamison."

"Good night, Mr. Joseph. Breakfast?"

"10 a.m. good for you?"

"Fine." Bart, as had become his habit in hotel rooms, drew his gun while opening the door. He scanned the room to make sure nothing looked out of place before entering. Bret watched his brother disappear into room 324 and then went into 316. At least he was safe until morning.