CLOCKWORK
By NotTasha
You guys are so kind with your comments. Thank you!
PART 3:
Ezra's boots beat a staccato on the stairs as he returned to their room, his mind abuzz with what they'd learned that morning.
What did he have in that clock or chest that was worth killing for?
He'd seen nothing in the envelopes aside from pages of letters. He had missed something. Did the love letters reveal more than just sordid details? Did the clock contain other secrets in its works? He damned himself for not investigating the evidence while it was still in his hands.
He should have let JD have his light reading.
He quickly unlocked the hotel room, determined to grab their bags and rush back to meet young Dunne. Thank goodness they were already packed.
He swung the door open.
Not already packed - clothing was strewn over the floor, mattresses were overturned, a lamp was smashed on the floor, its oil leaking into the wood. He froze for only a second but that was too long.
Something slammed into his head.
Ezra staggered, falling heavily to the floor. He blinked, desperate to clear his head as someone came at him.
Instinctively, he swept his legs around, connecting with his opponent's ankles. The man went down hard, grunting and swearing. Ezra clambered to his feet and made a grab for the dark-haired man. Someone else grasped him, pinning his arms and pulling him fully upright.
Ezra slammed his head back, making his already aching head ring, but the accompanying grunt and "Son of a bitch!" from his attacker was satisfying.
The hold loosened and he pulled away with a donkey kick, connecting with a rather sensitive part of his attacker. The man screeched and the grip was entirely released, but Ezra didn't have time to reach his weapon as the first assailant slammed one fist into his jaw and the other into his stomach.
Ezra went down to his knees, heaving as he tried to breathe. Stars swarmed his dimmed vision. His hand clasped the Remington, but the first man tall and black-haired, with a narrow, ugly face, pressed the barrel of a gun to Ezra's forehead. "Drop it," he ordered, his voice thick and oily.
Ezra did as he was told.
"That other one, too!" The man pointed with his gun to the Colt that was tucked in the holster under Ezra's arm.
With a sigh, Ezra complied and the dark-haired man quickly scooped up the weapons.
"Raise 'em!"
Ezra lifted his hands, trying to blink away the blackness. He could still trigger the derringer, but it would do little good in this position not with two of them and a gun pointed at his forehead.
"Where is it, you stinkin' son of a bitch?" the second man growled as he staggered around to face Standish. The man was blond, and a bit shorter than the first man. He might have been called handsome at one point in his life, but his newly broken, and profusely bleeding nose, wasn't going to help his looks any. "Tell me, Standish, where is it?"
Ezra flinched at the sound of his own name, knowing he was in grave trouble. "And who the hell are you?" Ezra asked bluntly, "Seein' as how you know me, perhaps we should be better acquainted?"
The blond man's face darkened, and too quickly for Ezra to do anything about it, he slammed a fist just above his eye, snapping his head to one side. "Get your goddamn face up!" he snarled as Ezra bowed and hissed in pain.
"I guess this means I'm not gettin' any answer," Ezra said with a little chuckle, slowly raising his head to meet the man's gaze.
The blond yanked a handkerchief from his pocket, held it to his bleeding nose, and repeated the question, "Where is it, you stupid bastard?"
An apt description, Ezra thought, knowing it was his own fault for getting into this situation. He tried to calculate the odds of fighting his way out. The odds weren't good.
"Talk, Standish!" the blond gritted out, moving uncomfortably. "Where did you put it?"
Ezra cleared his throat and stated, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
The blond looked as if his head was about to boil off with rage. He grabbed Ezra by his shirtfront, dragging him to his feet. "Where the hell are those things you got yesterday?"
"Things?" Ezra tried. "You mean the blanket? The little bauble with the snow? Marbles?" He seemed to ponder it. "I hope you're not talking about the squirrel, because"
The blond slugged him and Ezra's knees buckled again. He gasped and somehow managed to keep upright.
"You need to be taught some respect," the assailant snarled.
"And you need a new nose. I think I came out better in that bargain," Ezra replied glibly, and was rewarded with another fist to the belly.
Ezra regretted having biscuits and gravy for breakfast and he struggled to breathe.
"The clock! The god-damned clock and chest!" the ugly man screamed, keeping the gun at Ezra's forehead. "They're the only things we haven't found, and we know you got 'em. We need what's inside!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ezra responded, but when Blondie drew back to deliver another blow, Ezra seemed to brighten a little. "Oh! The clock! Amazing timepiece. And the chest. It was lovely. I hated parting with them, but the price was right and what could I do? I hadn't planned on keeping them in the first place. They're hardly right for me, far too gaudy. I am not a gaudy man. My style is perfection."
"What?" Ugly barked.
"I sold them," Ezra explained, "last night, and for a good price, too."
Ugly and Blondie both looked annoyed and disgusted. "Sold them? Damn it!" Ugly whined.
"To who?" Blondie snapped. "Who bought them?"
"There was a fellow in the hotel lobby," Ezra spun the tale as he tried to get control of his aching head and belly. "I don't believe he was a guest, rather he was there to meet with someone. Tall man, nearly as tall as you, sir, but with not so fine features. He was a businessman, involved in land speculation I believe. He was investigating some land sales in these parts and was hot on purchasing some acreage for himself. He had his eye on a house for sale out yonder, and was about to bring his family along to fill it. He was looking for some ornaments for his new home, to surprise his wife."
"What's his name!" Blondie ordered.
"Abernathy," Ezra immediately responded. "Or Ainsworth, or maybe it was Anderson. I'm not certain, I'm horrible with names. His first name was Donald, of that I'm certain. Or maybe it was David or Brian. I always get those names confused."
Ugly's gun lowered. He seemed to realize what he was doing and raised it again, his hand shaking. "Where is he?" the gunman demanded. "Tell me where to find him."
"He probably left town this morning. Headed westward, I believe. If you hurry, you can catch him," Ezra smiled hopefully.
Ugly seemed to believe him and was ready to follow this mysterious man out into the desert, but Blondie wasn't biting.
"Get them," Blondie growled.
"Come again?" Ezra responded.
"Follow this Ainsworth or whatever he is, and get the clock and chest! Bring them back to me or else"
"Or else what?" Ezra asked, because obviously if they allowed him to go, he would no longer be in their clutches.
"Or else we kill the kid," Blondie said, and he smiled as Ezra's face went blank. "We got him before he reached the livery. You get that clock and that chest back from that fella, bring them both to me with everything in them and we won't kill JD Dunne."
The use of the kid's name drove the situation home. Ezra's eyes darted as he took in the information. "Now," he said. "Why should I believe you have him in your care?"
The blond looked smug and pulled something from his gun belt. He flung a crushed bowler hat at the gambler.
"Ah," Ezra responded. He swallowed and continued, "Very well. I will do my level best to retrieve the items you requestedwith everything in them. It might take some time to get my hands on"
"You have until 3 o'clock," Blondie said. "Bring them back by then, and we won't hurt him. At three, we'll we start cutting off fingers, breaking bones, slicing him up bit by bit."
Ezra felt cold at those remarks, remembering what hed heard in the restaurant that morning. These men were capable of such horrors.
Blondie looked absolutely delighted, his face macabre with the blood still dripping from his broken nose. Ugly just looked ugly.
"A little more time would be appreciated," Ezra tried.
"Three!" Blonde barked, "And if you're not standin' in front of this building at that time, we'll start parting him out."
He drew back one foot, but Ezra saw it coming and let his knees fold. The sudden weight twisted Blondie and he missed his mark as Ezra went down. Instead of kicking their captive in the groin, Blondie was jerked to one side and almost fell with Standish.
Ugly caught Blondie with one hand, saving his partner from a spill, but the sudden misstep made Blondie howl and clutch his bruised privates in agony. He drew back a foot as if he again intended to kick Standish, but stopped with a gasp and gave up on the idea. "Three!" he shouted to the curled Standish. "3 o'clock! Or the boy suffers for your mistakes!"
And the two men left the room one striding long steps, the other shuffling.
The door slammed and Ezra uncurled, his stomach still roiling from the abuse, his jaw and head sparking with pain. His face felt swollen and certainly one of his eyes was blackened.
"That went well," he murmured, and then pulled himself to his feet, groaning and grumbling at the pains that caught him. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, feeling where his teeth had torn his cheek and then checking to see if his gold tooth was still in place at least he had some luck there.
Thankfully, there was no mirror in the room. He really didn't want to see what his face looked like at that moment.
He leaned against one of the disheveled beds and pulled his watch from his pocket. It was just past 9 am. He and JD had been up early to get started for home it was a two day trip and they wanted to cover most of the ground on the first day.
That gave him six hours to get the clock and the chest, and bring them back by 3pm. At least they hadn't decided on the more clichd 'high noon'. They were probably hoping to catch the afternoon train out of town.
The train the crate was on the morning train. How in the world was he going to get it back in time to save JD? The freight wagon wasn't going to get to Four Corners until tomorrow and it would be a hard day's ride to make it to Eagle Bend if he wanted to pick it up there.
Perhaps he should just try to find Dunne and rescue him without bringing in the requested items? Might be simpler? But there had to be a minimum of three men involved the two that had attacked him and at least one left to watch JD, possibly more.
And he had no idea where they'd taken JD.
He needed that crate. The crate was on the train.
The train after leaving the town of Bernard - had four stops before reaching Eagle Bend. It would stop in White Rock for about 20 minutes to take on water and coal. Then it would head to Happy Home.
The train had left the station in Bernard only a short time ago.
If he had a fast horse he could catch the train before it left White Rock. White Rock wasn't far.
Ezra looked up from his watch as he calculated the timing. He could do this.
He started to leave the room, ready to get Chaucer and fly, when he paused.
They would be looking for him. Ugly, Blondie and whoever else was working with them would be waiting for him. If they wanted these items so badly, would they allow him to fetch them alone? Of course, they'd want to shadow him.
He moved toward the window, leaned against one wall and cautiously peered out. Blondie was across the street, pressed against a roof support, looking uncomfortable and holding a handkerchief to his nose, watching the front door of the hotel.
Ezra had no doubts that Ugly was currently stationed at the livery, watching their horses.
He didn't want these men following him. What would stop them from reneging on the deal and killing JD if they had their prize? They'd already killed three men. The only thing stopping them from finishing off young Dunne was the hope of getting what they wanted.
Lord, if any harm had already come to JD, he would never forgive himself.
Without any clear plan, he left the room and headed into the hallway, and then down the back stairway that led to the privies. He winced as he moved, damning his stupidity at letting them catch him so unprepared, damning his stupidity at letting them catch JD.
He glanced through the back door and, finding no one waiting, moved quickly past the privies and through a narrow alley to the next row of buildings, wondering how he would be able to cut over to the livery, and gain entry (and exit) from it without being seen.
He stopped when he reached the next street. He stopped and stared.
Standing at the hitching post, just outside the bathhouse was a thoroughbred stallion of heart-breaking beauty. It was a deep gray, almost black, well-muscled, gorgeously built. It stood with grace and it arched its neck as if knew just how perfect a creature it was.
Ezra would bet on that horse in any race. He'd bet everything he owned. This horse was a winner. This horse was built for speed. Its stance told him of its endurance. The way it held its head told that it had all the confidence in the world.
Ezra didn't move. Only his eyes scanned one way, and then another. No one was watching not really.
Stealing a horse was a hanging offence and someone would definitely miss this one but time was wasting and JD was in trouble. He had to move - he had a train to catch.TBC
this should go smoothly..
