Don't Close Your Eyes
Chapter 10 – Mavericks is Cattle
The train ride across Colorado wasn't bad, but riding across Kansas was like riding across a wheat field – flat and brown. Bart's mind was fixed on one thing and one thing only, and its name wasn't poker. He knew several people in Kansas City, one of whom, Chester Clinton, lived a block from the stockyards. How he lived there with the odor Bart couldn't begin to understand. He'd sent Chester a telegram and told him where he would be staying. He hoped there was an answer waiting for him when he got there.
There were two things about Kansas City you couldn't miss. The best steak you'd ever taste, and the worst stench you'd ever smell. If you'd driven as many herds to Kansas City as Bart and Bret had you became immune to the stink. Until you were away from it for a while.
The Mavericks usually stayed at the Longhorn Crystal Palace Hotel but Bart had chosen not to go there this time, considering he didn't know where to look for Jason Miller. He picked one called the Cattle Ranchers Hotel and hoped it was far enough away from the cattle pens to have breathable air. It wasn't the best and it wasn't the worst, but no one knew him here so there was little danger of being addressed as 'Mr. Maverick.' He once again checked in as Bartley Jamison and went right to his room. It had been a long two days and he intended to be up early. The hunt for the hired killer had begun.
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Third cup of coffee by seven a.m. Not bad for a 'man of the cards'. He'd left his gambler's wardrobe in Denver, at Sara's house, along with all of Bret's things. He had more than enough money to accomplish the task at hand and poker was not the primary objective. There was no word from Chester and Bart was headed there this morning.
Same block, same Chester. Windows wide open despite the smell, Bart found him just getting ready to leave for some new nefarious scheme. "Bart, old boy! Was just about to go round and see if you were here yet. Timing's perfect. Got time for breakfast? Good, let's go. I'm starved."
Chester was born and bred in Kansas City but had long ago affected an English accent for one con or another and simply kept it. He maintained it lent him an air of dignity that he couldn't get any other way. He was the only man Bart had ever met who could eat and talk at the same time and never miss a word or a bite.
Once they had food in front of them Chester began the tale of what he'd discovered for Bart. "Not an easy man to find, this Jason Miller person. Had to do some real digging amongst those in the know to unearth the scoundrel. What in heaven's name do you want to find a fellow like that for? Couldn't you simply go and kill whoever you want killed yourself? Do you really need this man?"
"Calm down, Chester. I just asked you to find him, not marry him. Where is he?"
"Why do you want to find him? Come on, Bart, who do you need killed?"
That cold, hard look had assumed residence in Bart's eyes again. "Him."
"What in heaven's name for?"
It took him a minute to answer. Now there was fury and as close to hatred as Bart Maverick could get in his eyes instead. "He shot my brother in the back."
"What? Bret Maverick is dead?"
Let Chester believe that. The word would get around quickly. "You didn't let anyone know who was looking for Miller, did you?"
"Bart, old man, do you think I'm stupid?" Pause. "Never mind that question. Are you going to kill him?' Pause. "Never mind that question. When are you going to kill him? Is that why you wanted him found?" Pause. "Say something!"
"Eggs are good, huh?"
"Not that!"
"Which question do you want answered, Chester?"
"When are you going to kill him?"
"Did I say I was going to kill him?"
"BART!"
"Yes?"
"Why do you want to know where he is if you're not going to kill him?"
Bart kept eating. Let Chester drive himself crazy for a minute or two. He was good at that.
"Are you going to answer me?"
"Nope."
"BART!"
Bart finished off the last of his breakfast and pushed the plate away. "Alright, Chester, I've had my fun. I want to know where Miller is because someone hired him to gun down Bret. I need to know who that is."
"That's who you're going to kill?"
"Who said anything about killing?"
"Bart! It's your brother. I know how close the two of you are . . . . were."
"Chester. Listen to me carefully. I need to know where Jason Miller is."
"Alright! He's down on 5th street, in a room over the yards. Rumor has it he's got another job to do soon. Nobody knows who this time. I can take you there. But I'm not staying – the man's a hired killer, for heaven's sake."
"Thank you, Chester. Wasn't that easy?"
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When Chester Clinton said 'a room over the yards' he wasn't joking. The stench of closely confined steers was everywhere; somehow the setting fit a hired gun.
True to his word, Chester vanished immediately upon arrival at Miller's boarding house. Bart took up residence in an alley across the street and reacquainted himself with cattle perfume. He'd just gotten a cigar out to light when Miller left the building and walked down the street away from the stockyards. He had a rifle with him and wore a double holster gun belt. Looked like another job was headed his way.
Bart followed him at a discreet distance. Miller made his way to the nearest livery, where he saddled a horse and slipped the rifle in its saddle scabbard. He was making preparations but not leaving yet. He left the livery and headed south, not in any particular hurry. Seemingly careless for a man in his profession.
Next Miller headed to the nearest General Store, 'Kansas City's Finest', as it was labeled. He came out a few minutes later with traveling supplies; he was definitely leaving town soon. Then to Bart's complete surprise, Miller ducked into the nearest saloon. He was back out quickly, carrying a bottle of something that didn't look medicinal, and headed back towards the livery. Bart quit following him and returned to the stables, which seemed like as good a place as any to finally corner the man.
He watched and waited. Soon the hired gun re-entered the livery and, whistling, made his way back to his horse. Whistling! Just as if murder was as simple and uncomplicated a life as playing poker. Bart stepped out from behind the mount with his gun drawn and ready. Miller had a stunned look on his face. He wasn't expecting this.
"Mr. Miller, I presume."
His question was met with a growl. "Who wants to know?"
Give the man an answer. "Bart Maverick."
"What? Who?" There was genuine surprise in his voice. "Maverick?"
"Sound familiar?" Bart watched him carefully; he had no intention of being Jason Miller's next victim.
"You. You had a brother." There was almost a tone of suspicion in the statement.
"Have, Mr. Miller. You didn't succeed. My brother Bret is still alive."
Miller shook his head in disbelief. "Botched that job."
Bart couldn't help but snicker at that statement. "Yes, you did. I want to know who hired you to kill Bret."
Miller laughed outright. "Nobody hired me to kill Bret Maverick."
That wasn't the answer he was looking for. It also wasn't the only surprise coming his way. "What? Then why – "
"The jokes on me, Mr. Maverick. I didn't know there were two brothers. I was hired to kill you."