-25-
Duval's Arrest
"This won't be easy, Marshal." Shady, dressed in a light blue skirt and a white long sleeve blouse with a high neck, looked all the prim and proper black lady of class.
Except for the short nosed fourtyfive caliber she carried on her right hip.
"The back door covered?" Matt looked down on Shady. He already knew the answer but he had to ask. Efficiency was this woman's middle name.
"Delany's got it."
Matt, Shady, and two other federal agents stood in the middle of the deserted street, the Cow Dung Saloon only fifty steps away.
Alive would be good. But dead was totally Duval's choice.
"Sure be a bonus if we got this Heinlein character."
"Well," Shady started walking, her pistol in her hands, "if he's in there we'll get two for one. Delany, don't let anybody out that back door."
The dark haired officer nodded then slipped into the narrow alley.
Cow Dung. Matt could only speculate why any business owner, especially a saloon proprietor, would want that name hung above the entrance. Perhaps this person didn't want a lot of patrons. Or maybe the owner was in league with the criminal element of Houston. There certainly were not cattle roaming the streets like in Dodge City.
Matt put those thoughts from his mind as he got closer to the paint chipped door of the saloon.
The other agent, Forbes, followed, then came Matt and Shady.
Tornado.
Twisties as Festus liked to call them.
The inside moved, shadowy forms darted one way or another, tables and chairs crashed to the floor with dull thuds as the law enforcement trio's three pair of eyes adjusted to the darkened interior.
"Duval," Matt yelled toward a lean form standing next to the bar, "hands up. You're under arrest."
Two shots.
From the alley behind the saloon.
Forbes gathered the bartender and the three other patrons into a corner.
Duval's hands where half way up but he hadn't moved from the bar except to face the intruders.
"Looky here, ain't you that nigger bitch sits on a corner sellin oranges? What you doin holdin a gun on a white man?"
Shady pulled out her identification with one hand and held it in front of Duval's eyes.
"No. No. Can't be."
"It is," Matt grunted. "Where's Heinlein?"
Duval let his facial muscles sag into a nondescript lack of expression. "Who?"
"You're going to jail, Duval." Shady held her head up proudly. "Going down for killing Horace and Adelia Proctor and Mazzie."
"Got no proof."
"Oh?" Shady smiled, her big front teeth adding extra light to the room, "I wouldn't say that. Got all those visits you made to Proctor written down for the last six months. Even the night he was killed."
Duval scowled.
"Let's go." Matt was about to put a handcuff on Duval's wrist when the man sidestepped.
"You can't arrest me, I'm the Chief of Police."
"Not anymore. And yes we can."
"No,"
"We will."
Matt grabbed Duval's right wrist and twisted the arm behind the man and slapped a cuff on him.
Duval, bent over the bar, spat out a string of curse words.
Hands both cuffed, Matt pulled him up and propelled him to the door.
"Ain't never gona see that red head again, Marshal. I'll make sure of it."
"Go," Matt pushed him.
"Tasty little thing that Kitty."
One hard shove and Duval was out the door and into the light.
"Bumpkin marshal. You're runnin with the big boys now."
Matt shared a quick glance with Shady.
"Can't prove nothin."
"Forbes, check on Delany."
A few moments later the blond agent came back. "Dead. Delany's dead."
Duval started to laugh. "She's gona be dead, too."
Matt slammed a fist into Duval's chin and the man collapsed to the ground.