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Once Upon A Time In the Future (2/3)
A Justice League Unlimited - R 'Verse Story
by BillA1
Copyright September 2007
Rating: (PG-13)
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CHAPTER TWO
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Was it in Tahiti?
Were we on the Nile?
Long, long ago,
Say an hour or so
I recall that I saw your smile. - (I Remember You - Mercer & Schertzinger)

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Warren had been waiting outside Mister Lomax's office for about half an hour. The sign in the window said he would return in an hour. That could only mean he'd gone to the Harley House for dinner and Warren knew better than to interrupt someone as important as Mister Lomax while he was eating. Warren would wait outside the office.

Finally, Mr. Lomax returned. He opened the door to his office and took the sign out of the window before turning his attention back to Warren who'd followed him in.

"Mister Lomax! Did you hear about Redding being captured?" Warren said as Mister Lomax took his gun belt off and put his rig in his desk before sitting down.

"Redding?" Mister Lomax didn't look too happy that his fiancée's killer had been caught.

"Yeah, he's back," Warren said. "Some colored marshal brought him in."

"Did he say anything?"

"The marshal? Nah, he didn't say much except he wanted the sheriff to lock Redding up for the night."

Mr. Lomax frowned. "Not the marshal, you nit-wit. Redding! Did he say anything? Did he talk?"

Warren was confused. "You mean did he confess? No, he didn't say a word."

"That's too bad," Mister Lomax said as he stood, put his gun belt back on and walked out the door.

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Kate, standing outside the Moonglow Saloon, reached inside the inner left hand pocket of her leather jacket and fingered her dead father's badge, a five pointed star. She took a deep breath to steady herself and whispered, "So it begins and so it will end," and then entered the bar.

It seemed to her that all the eyes in the room were on her as she stood in the doorway. The bargirls eyed her suspiciously and the men looked up from their tables and just stared in silence. There were maybe twenty people in the room, at least on the first floor. There was a stairway that led to the second floor and she could see that there were rooms off the second floor landing. There were three people standing at the bar.

She walked to the bar and slapped a half dollar on the counter. She didn't need to worry about getting the bartender's attention because he had noticed her from the moment she walked in. "Bourbon or whatever you have that passes for that," she said louder than she needed to as she turned her back to him.

"Ladies don't buy drinks in this bar," he said. Kate turned back around in time to see him shoving her money back toward her.

She locked her eyes on the bartender as she took off her hat and placed it on the bar counter. She drew her pistol and laid it flat on the counter pointing it at the bartender, keeping her hand on top of it and shoved the half dollar back toward him. "Good rule. When you see a lady in here you can tell them that. Now I asked for bourbon. Leave the bottle."

The bartender didn't hide the anger in his face. Someone behind Kate called out, "Give her a drink, Sam. No use being shot by some woman who ain't your wife."

Everyone started laughing except for Kate and Sam. Sam frowned before putting a bottle and a glass in front of her and taking the half dollar. Kate holstered her pistol and put her hat back on, positioning it so it hid her eyes. She poured herself a drink and downed it in one gulp, then poured herself another one.

She picked up the glass, turned around and leaned back against the bar counter. The card games and conversations that had stopped when she entered resumed. She carefully scanned every face in the room. Then she saw him.

Mick Harris. He was one of the men who'd killed her father.

He was seated, facing her, and in a card game with two other men, at a table in the back of the room. Kate made a show of downing the drink in her hand and pouring herself another one. She turned back to the barkeeper who looked at her with narrowing eyes as she shoved the bottle toward him.

Kate picked up her glass and walked over to Harris' card game. She stood off to the side and watched the game for a while making sure that she was positioned where Harris could see her.

"What's that?" Harris said in self-amusement, "your third or fourth? You trying to get drunk, pretty lady?" The other men at the table started snickering.

"No," Kate said with a slight slur in her voice. "Trying to get in a card game."

Harris frowned. "You got money? We play poker for real stakes." Then he leered again. "But I might be willing to bankroll you for a while if you're real friendly."

"I can bankroll myself," she said as she pulled out a wad of bills from her inside coat pocket. It was all the money she had in the world. "And with this I don't have to be friendly."

Harris looked at her money, then at her. "No, I don't think you do. You can sit in after this hand." He turned to the other players and said, "You don't mind boys, do you?"

The other players grinned and signaled no objection by shaking their heads.

Kate tipped her hat back revealing more of her face and smiled. "Good. I'll sit next to you."

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Amos watched as the sheriff set the tray with the two steak dinners down on his desk. He removed one plate and cup of coffee from the tray and pushed it toward the edge of his desk. Amos's stomach started growling as the sheriff picked up a knife and fork and starting eating.

The sheriff looked up at Amos with a stare of amusement as Amos' anger started to rise. "What're you waiting on, Marshal, a personal invite? Hell, you paid for this and a steak ain't good when it's cold."

Amos stared as the sheriff continued talking with his mouth full. "You want the steak or the sandwiches, Marshal. Don't make me no-never-mind, but I'll tell you this; whether your prisoner was white or colored, all he was going to get was sandwiches. I'd eat up if I was you."

Amos hesitated about three seconds before he pulled up a chair to the desk and started feasting on the other steak dinner and coffee. He didn't realize how hungry he really was until he had that second bite of steak. It certainly beat salt pork any day.

"So," the sheriff said after Amos had swallowed his third bite. "How did you get to be a marshal?"

Amos knew he'd be asked that question soon or later. He didn't think it would be quite this soon. He set his fork down. "What you mean is -- how did a colored man get to be a deputy marshal, right?"

"Okay. Yeah. What happened? Was Judge Parker your old ex-master?"

Amos frowned. Yes, he'd been born a slave, but his former owner wasn't the type to setup anyone unless there was something personal in it for himself. Not many whites seemed to understand that he'd earned this job. He wasn't 'setup' into it.

"No," Amos said as he picked up his fork again. "My old master is dead. Judge Parker picked me because of the law work I did in Van Buren, Arkansas." He flexed his shoulders as he added, "And you can rest assured the judge has had no complaints."

The sheriff smirked. "Nah, judging by the size of you I don't think he would. You got family?"

Amos smiled broadly. "Yup. Got a pretty little wife in Arkansas, a big farm and ten kids."

"Ten kids? Good Lord, man. No wonder you're in Texas."

Amos laughed loudly. He wasn't a deputy because he wanted to get away from his wife, Mary. He was away because he was a deputy and his job demanded it. But there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't miss his family. He turned to the sheriff. "What about you? You married?"

"Widower."

Amos hadn't expected that answer. Sometimes it didn't seem fair that he'd been blessed with a loving wife and God had seen fit to snatch them away from others. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

The sheriff shook his head. "She died in childbirth a long time ago. Gave me two of the handsomest boys ever born before she died. Oldest boy, Dan, is a Texas Ranger. Youngest one, Rudolph, is finishing up law school in San Francisco." He paused and his chest filled up with pride the way a man's chest does when he's about to brag on his family. "He's gonna come out here next summer and see me and his brother," he continued. "But I ain't letting him stay out here. Gonna make him go back, have a good life and marry into society all proper like."

Amos was suitably impressed. A man who could raise two boys into respectable, law biding men by himself had a right to proud. That was no small tasks in these troubled times. Amos gave him a hearty smile as he raised his cup. "Here's to a good life."

The sheriff looked amused as he held up his cup being careful not to allow his cup to touch Amos'. "To a good life." He was silent before adding, "You better hurry up and finish that steak. I don't want anyone to come in here and get the wrong idea about me."

Amos frowned, put the cup down and said flatly, "Yeah. We wouldn't want that, would we?" He ate in silence until he finished his dinner and coffee. Then he stood and stretched. "That was good! Real good!"

The sheriff nodded as he took Amos' empty cup, broke it against the desk and tossed Amos knife and fork in his trash container. Amos said nothing as the sheriff added, "One of the best meals I never paid for."

Amos stared at the broken cup for a moment, wondering if the sheriff would break the plate as well. Then he asked, "Is there a general store around here I can get some supplies?"

Before the sheriff could answer, the front door opened and a nattily dressed man briskly walked in the room. Amos stepped to the side so he wasn't between the two white men.

The man flashed a practiced grin at Amos, who was left with the impression that the man was about as trustworthy as a snake. "So this is the man who brought in Redding. Good job ... Marshal." Amos nodded in acknowledgement, but the man ignored him as he turned to the sheriff and said, "How soon before we can have a trial?"

The sheriff frowned as he threw a glance at Amos. "The marshal here is taking Redding to Fort Smith tomorrow for trial."

"I see," the man said turning his attention to Amos. "Maybe you don't understand. Redding murdered my fiancée. We need to have a trial here and hang him."

This must be Lomax, Amos thought as he reflected that hanging Redding was also what Judge Parker was probably going to do. "I am sorry for your loss, Mister Lomax, but maybe you don't understand. I have a warrant for Redding's arrest for bank robbery and he's going before Judge Parker at Fort Smith to stand trial. I told the sheriff I'd take a warrant from him back with me and Redding would stand to account for the murder too." He paused. "You'd be a powerful witness against him according to the sheriff, Mister Lomax."

Lomax's eyes narrowed almost to a squint as he answered, "I don't know how you knew my name, but it doesn't matter. It's a longtime until tomorrow and I wouldn't place any bets on Redding seeing sunrise." He turned to walk out, but stopped as he noticed the broken cup and the tray with two plates. "Maybe you don't represent the people here anymore," he said turning back to face the sheriff. "I'll remember this at the next election and I'll make sure others remember it too." He turned and stormed out slamming the door behind him.

It was always something, Amos thought to himself. He looked at the sheriff. "You never finished telling me where I can get some supplies?"

The sheriff's eye's widened in disbelief. "Are you dense or just plain deaf? He just told you he's going to try and take Redding by force tonight."

Amos pursed his lips together. "Like you said: try to take him. It just strikes me strange that the man who supposedly killed the teacher didn't say one word of protest about coming back to this town? I know if I'd killed somebody the last place I'd want to go was back to the scene of the crime."

The sheriff seemingly pondered that notion for a moment and then said, "There's no accounting for some folks. I'm going to get a drink. You gonna stay here?"

Amos shook his head. "I have to tend to the horses. You can lock the door when we leave." The sheriff picked up the food tray and walked to the door.

Amos followed and stood on the sidewalk as the sheriff set the tray outside and locked up his office. After pointing out the general store to him, the sheriff headed across the street to the saloon. Amos would have liked a drink too, but he knew his chances of getting served in the bar were slim. He'd have to wait until he got back to Fort Smith before he could satisfy his thirst. He turned and headed to the store.

Cornmeal, coffee and some salt pork were all he needed. When he entered the shop, he approached the man behind the counter and asked for a pound of the meat, coffee and a bag of meal, placing a silver dollar near the register as he did so. The man, who Amos would later learn was the owner, looked at the coin, grunted an acknowledgement and grudgingly filled Amos' order.

Amos knew he was overpaying for his supplies, but by doing so, it improved the chances that he'd get waited on. Greed can be a powerful incentive to do the right thing, his momma had taught him. Besides, Amos knew he'd be reimbursed for any expenses he incurred -- as long as they were recorded in his book.

It didn't come as a surprise to him that the storekeeper became aggravated when Amos wanted him to sign his ledger. And when it became clear that Amos wasn't going to leave until he'd signed the book, the frustrated shopkeeper snatched it from Amos' hand and made marks in it. The storekeeper's anger seemed to diminish a little when he noted that the sheriff had also signed the book.

Amos took his supplies, said a polite, "Thank you," and walked out of the store into the warmth of the evening sun. He had originally planned to take the horses to the stables and bed them down for the night, but now that he had to consider that there may be a lynch mob to take Redding, he decided that he would leave the horses saddled and tied up back behind the jail. If he was going to make a stand to protect his prisoner, he'd preferred to make it here at the jail and not on the trail. But it didn't hurt to be ready, just in case.

Like the sheriff had said there was no accounting for some people, but he prided himself on being a good judge of character. Redding was a thief, but he didn't look to be the type who'd murder. But maybe it had been an accident. He shrugged as he put his newly purchased supplies in his saddlebag. Accident or not, it didn't matter. He'd get Redding back to Fort Smith and let the judge sort it out. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask Redding some questions. After all, it was going to be a long night. He decided he'd find the sheriff in the saloon, get the key and let himself in the jail after he took care of the horses.

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Kate had watched the sheriff come into the saloon, nod at the barkeeper and then go upstairs followed by one of the bar girls. At least, he'd be out of the way for a while, she thought.

She sat on Harris' right and had played a careful game of poker, winning and losing just enough to keep her in the game and others from getting suspicious of her true intention. She watched the two men, she and Harris were playing with, to note at what point they stopped looking at the dealer as he dealt the cards and looked down at their own hand.

She'd pushed her hat back on head and made a point of slurring her words every now and then to give the impression she was affected by the alcohol. She wasn't. It was during the fourth game that she palmed an ace from the deck and was pleased that no one had noticed.

It was now Harris' turn to deal. She waited until everyone had been dealt three cards. At that point the other players would turn their attention to their own hands and stop watching the dealer. It was then, she let Harris see that she was clumsily attempting to put the palmed card in her hand.

Harris slammed the cards on the table and stood. "Cheater!" he exclaimed as the other players looked up.

Kate stood and took two steps backward. "You calling me a cheat, mister? You better take that back. Everyone got the same number of cards in their hand and you're the one dealing."

"Don't lie to me, bitch," Harris shouted. "I saw you. If you were a man I'd kill you where you stand. Get out of here before I forget you're a woman!"

In one motion, Kate moved her jacket away from her gun and pulled her hat down, shielding her eyes. "Don't let what I am stop you. No one says Katherine Manser cheats and gets away with it. And no one ever calls me a bitch to my face and lives more than ten minutes. Make your play."

The other two men at the table stood and moved away.

Harris looked around the room. "Everybody heard that, right. She's calling me out."

"Stop jaw-jacking, murderer, and draw," Kate snapped.

Harris smiled and slowly nodded his head as he said, "Don't worry honey, I won't kill you. I got something else in mind for you - something special."

Kate flexed her fingers holding them away from her sidearm. "I'm not the one who needs to worry about dying today, Harris. Draw or apologize on your knees to me for what you called me." She knew he wouldn't do that.

She watched his eyes.

She was ready.

In an instant, Harris drew on her, but Kate was faster. His shot whizzed past her ear. Her shot struck him in the chest and Harris fell back with a thud.

"Nobody move!" she shouted as she kept her gun drawn and pointed at Harris. With her free hand she pointed to the man who'd been sitting on her right. "Count the cards on the table." She waved to the man who'd been sitting next to Harris, "See if he's still alive!"

"Turn around slowly and give me your gun," a gravelly voice said behind her.

She turned pointing her weapon toward the floor. It was the sheriff. He had his shirt, derby and gun belt in his left hand as he point a pistol at her with his right. She flipped her gun around and handed it to the lawman butt end first. As he took her gun he asked, "What happened here?"

The man who'd been counting the cards announced, "All the cards are here." He pointed to Harris. "He accused her of cheating, Sheriff, but there ain't a card here that don't belong and I didn't see her do anything."

The other man who checked on Harris stood and said, "He's dead. I didn't see anything until he stood up and called her out." He paused for half a second before adding, "He drew first, Sheriff."

"Get her out of here, Sheriff," Sam the bartender called out. "She's been nothing but trouble since she walked in."

"Okay," the sheriff said to Kate, "you come with me." He turned to the other men. "Get this man to the undertaker. Anybody know who he was?"

"His name was Mick Harris and he's wanted in Wyoming for the murder of Sheriff Manser," Kate said softly. "There's probably a reward."

"Oh, a bounty hunter, huh?" the sheriff snarled. "What's your name?"

"They call me Cimarron."

The sheriff frowned. "Alright, let's go, Cimarron." He motioned her to the door.

"Not without my money," Kate said as she reached down on the table and counted out her share of the pot. Then she walked to the door with a smile on her face followed by the sheriff.

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To be continued
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