Dark Reflection
Chapter 50
"Conspiracy"
by Lilyjack
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Even though the sun had sunk below the horizon a good hour ago, the brutal heat of day still blanketed the town, stifling and sticky. Deke Bowman and Chester Goode could make out raucous noise from saloons, poolhalls and bawdyhouses in the distant parts of town, but here at the old warehouse, it was as hushed as a cemetery before a funeral. Both men, using bandanas to mop their sweaty faces, vigilantly stood guard at the weedy front entrance, admitting only those included on Matt Dillon's unwritten list of trusted Dodge citizens. Wiry and dark sixteen-year-old Ocie Bleeker and his friend, the beefy, strawberry-blonde young Lafe Whitcomb served as lookouts, alertly scanning the surrounding streets for unwelcome members of Blackthorne's army, tersely nodding at those passers-by they knew to be sympathetic to their cause. Carefully selected townspeople arrived circumspectly and, as they'd been instructed by Sam and his cousin, near look-alike Horace Noonan, approached only one or two at a time at gradual intervals so as not to draw attention to their clandestine gathering. The sultry night air was heavy with anticipation.
Inside the neglected, dusty structure were Sam and Horace with elderly stable owner Moss Grimmick and his craggy employee Hank Miller, standing alongside a lantern resting on a wooden barrel. It was the single source of light in the musty-smelling, cavernous building. The men quietly welcomed arrivals with a grave nod or firm handshake. The warehouse was echoey and scattered with empty packing crates, but everyone remained standing close to the comforting light, ready to flee at a moment's notice should the need arise.
Talk, if any, was muted amongst the nervous arrivals. They spoke in hushed whispers or waited silently, expectantly, uncertain what lay ahead, what their role might be in these proceedings. But everyone present had come to this meeting tonight because they were united in one belief – that the treacherous situation in Dodge must change, the sooner the better.
Chester and Deke were well-acquainted with the assembled - merchants and businessmen and ranchers who desired Dodge to return to normal, knowing they must rid themselves of the scourge called Silas Blackthorne who'd managed to overtake and terrorize the town so devastatingly quickly.
Amongst the small crowd of predominantly men, there were a few ladies present, women brave and desperate enough to come forward and meet secretly in this empty building under cover of darkness. Among them were dressmaker Mary Mahaffey and Patience Whitcomb, Lafe's tall, fair-haired mother, who'd run her own laundering business ever since Lafe's pa had been killed laying tracks to Dodge for the Santa Fe Railroad.
At the appointed time, Deke and Chester swung the heavy doors closed, the hinges groaning from disuse, and bolted them from the inside. Several people turned their heads to watch, clearing their throats and pulling at their hot collars nervously.
Chester took note of numerous present – Barney Danches, Dodge City's diminutive telegraph operator who'd been thrown in jail alongside Hank. And there was Charlie Halligan, whose arm had been so badly broken, it still hadn't healed completely. Even now, he wore it in a sling. Chester noticed Dodge House desk clerk Howie Uzzell's face was still badly bruised from his run-in with Blackthorne's cronies as was his boss Jim Dobie. Folks here had plenty of reason to want Silas Blackthorne's vicious gang out of Dodge for good.
At that moment, a second light appeared seemingly out of nowhere from a far corner of the murky warehouse. Feet shuffled nervously as the light grew closer. Traveling to the warehouse via the underground tunnels, Matt Dillon warily approached the crowd carrying a glowing lantern, accompanied by Kitty Russell and Ruby Moon. Ruby's gait was careful and measured, her face still bruised and abraded, her jaw swollen. She wore a simple green day dress that Chester had secretly ferreted out of her lodgings at the Long Branch the day before, imagining the color would set off her striking hazel eyes perfectly.
Matt glanced down at Kitty walking beside him, recalling the stormy night he'd first come to this building, nailed into a pine coffin, badly injured but still desperate to free Kitty from Blackthorne's hands. And when they'd finally rescued her, he'd cradled her unresponsive body in his arms, hurrying across the dark underground tunnels nearby to get her to his cellar room. So much had happened in the past weeks, and it'd all come to this night.
At the trio's appearance, several quiet gasps were heard, a buzzing of whispers amongst the small gathering. Matt, Kitty and Ruby pensively examined the collected faces, gravely hoping they could trust each one. It was a dangerous business, this coming out of hiding.
Bill Pence was the first to speak up, "Why, you…you're Jack Mathias. I thought you was killed, stranger."
Matt firmly answered, "Nope, Pence. Not yet anyway." Clearing his throat, he looked to his friends, "We ready?"
"Go ahead, Dillon. Let's get this thing started," Moss Grimmick declared. "It's about doggone time, you ask me. We've waited way too long to put a stop t' this business."
There were murmured voices of assent from the approximately two dozen people standing in the room. Matt set his lantern at his feet, casting his face and body into contrasting planes of light and shadow. Confidence and conviction in his voice, he spoke clearly but quietly, "For those of you who don't know me, my name is Matt Dillon, and I've come up with a way to get rid of these spoilers who've invaded this town that I believe will work."
No sooner had Matt begun speaking than there was a stirring in the small assemblage with necks craning to look and whispered comments. Matt glanced behind him where eyes were cast. Four more figures approached, coming from the hidden entrance of the underground tunnel – Charlie Fitz leading with a kerosene lamp, and behind him, town banker Mr. Harry Botkin, hobbling slowly but steadily with a cane, Deirdre Smalley on his arm. Doc Adams calmly brought up the rear. The crowd parted to let them through. The white-haired gentleman Mr. Botkin solemnly proffered his hand to Matt, Kitty, and Ruby Moon, firmly and respectfully in succession, murmuring to each quietly. They'd all been victims of the same tyrant and were now united in overcoming him.
Doc located a couple of crates and dragged them over, urging Mr. Botkin to sit, Ma Smalley settling beside him and placing her hand again on Botkin's arm.
Matt nodded at the banker and earnestly resumed, "Folks, we can fight this thing. All we hafta do is stand together. One man can't win alone."
There were glances from the crowd to Botkin who'd been the lone dissenter that fateful day when Blackthorne had declared himself sheriff. Matt added soberly, "Or one woman either." He glanced pointedly at Kitty Russell who stood next to him in her yellow calico dress, her hair wound in a simple bun at the nape of her neck. The assembled men who'd been present the day Blackthorne had grabbed her, pulling her kicking and screaming up the Long Branch stairs – Bill Pence, Red, Mr. Dobie and Wilbur Jonas –all had the decency to cast their eyes down guiltily at their feet. Kitty raised her chin a little defiantly even now at the memory. Ruby reached to surreptitiously squeeze Kitty's hand behind the folds of their dresses.
Crossing his arms across his chest, Matt continued, "Everyone has to do their part. One slipup and the whole thing could go to hell very easily."
Matt noticed with a start a lone figure at the rear of the crowd, a big man with dark hair, graying at the temples - Victor Hawk, the owner of Hawk Freight Company. Matt's investigation of Hawk's crimes, robbing his own freight shipments in Dodge and Hays, had been frustratingly foiled…before. Back before the fateful dust storm when Matt's world had been turned upside down, his town and his job and his friends disappearing with the cruel wind. Matt's hackles began to rise. He whispered to Moss and Hank. "What's Hawk doin' here?"
Moss murmured behind his hand, "He's one a' us, Dillon. What's the matter?"
"He's on the up and up?" Matt asked. Maybe here, in this Dodge, Hawk was not a thief and a killer. "You trust him?"
Moss reassured him. "Sure, I do."
Hank firmly nodded in agreement as he stood next to Moss. "We've knowed 'im for years, Matt. Got no reason not t' trust 'im. He's a good man."
Matt realized someone in the group was speaking quietly. He looked up to see that it was store owner Woody Lathrop. "I… I just don't know about all this," the man stammered fretfully. "It sounds dangerous to me, fighting back. I mean, won't they just get tired of us, go away?"
A couple of people nodded, their faces anxious. Encouraged, Lathrop added, "If we just cooperate, they'll leave us alone, right?"
Matt argued, his voice vehement, "You've gone along with Blackthorne this far. You've cooperated up until now. What has it gotten you?"
There was a rising murmur of agreement, especially from those who'd been injured, nearly killed.
"We got no weapons to amount to anything, Dillon," saloon owner Bull Landers pointed out. "Blackthorne's men took 'em when they searched house to house. How're we gonna fight?"
Deke's father, Jeb Bowman, a rugged, handsome, middle-aged man, weathered from many years working out-of-doors with cattle, made an offer, "I got a small stockpile out at the ranch. Those 'deputies' didn't know where I had 'em hid."
Landers inquired, "Is it enough to outfit all of us?"
"Naw…" Jeb Bowman shook his head, rubbing a hand over his stubbly lower jaw. "…and we'd need a heap more ammunition, too."
Victor Hawk spoke up, "I may be able to help out with that, if you'll gimme a little bit a' time."
All eyes turned to the freight company owner.
"I should be able to smuggle weapons and ammunition in with my freight wagons. If I pack 'em right, that is." Hawk smiled wryly. "Blackthorne's lackeys guardin' the entrances to town just do a cursory search if the shipment looks innocent enough. I can hide weapons in a box or barrel holdin' somethin' that don't interest 'em."
Ma Smalley drolly quipped, "Maybe bibles…or schoolbooks."
Mr. Botkin patted Smalley's hand that still held to his arm, quietly commenting, "Deirdre, my dear, I think you may have hit upon a good idea."
Ma Smalley blushed at Harry Botkin's use of her given name in front of everyone. The two had always avoided familiarity in public, preferring to keep their relationship private. But since Harry's grievous injuries, he'd changed somewhat in his behavior, not all of it bad, apparently. It rather pleased Ma that he'd speak her name intimately before people that he'd known for years.
Hawk agreed, "That's not a bad idea, Ma."
"How long do you think it'll take, Hawk?" Matt asked.
Victor Hawk removed his hat, mopped his heated forehead with a handkerchief. "Hopefully just a few days, less than a week, I hope."
"Well, that'll just give us time to prepare," Matt reasoned, propping one foot on an empty crate.
Hawk answered, "Sounds good t' me."
Botkin spoke up, "You'll need money to procure your weapons, Mr. Hawk."
"That I will."
"I have some limited funds at my availability right now which should help out. Fortunately, I don't keep all my money at the bank."
There were several snickers at Botkin's admission, but it was true. Blackthorne's men had taken over the bank and Botkin had no easy access to his own account.
Botkin continued, "I'll get it to you by tomorrow. We can set up a meeting place and Charlie Fitz here will deliver it."
Moss Grimmick spoke up. "I got some money squirrelled away, too, that I can give ya'. Don't need to be withdrawing any large sums that'll make 'em suspicious. Maybe if we all contribute whatever we got on hand, it'll be enough."
Several folks voiced their agreement, promised to get money to Victor Hawk by morning.
Matt took a deep breath, smiled grimly. "Then that's that," he pronounced. "So the next step will be to decide who best to carry out each part of the plan. We'll have to execute it quickly and as quietly as possible, and on cue. Lemme tell you all what I have in mind."
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He kissed her fiercely, blindly pushing the door to his underground room open with one hand, cradling the back of her head in the other.
They stumbled inside, hands hotly caressing, warm lips searching, breath gasping. Holding her against his body, he kicked the door closed once again with his booted heel before his fingers began fumbling at the buttons of her dress.
She felt him back her onto the bed, his body heavy on hers. He pressed into her, his hands grasping her shoulders, his face so close her eyes couldn't focus on his features in the murky light. The smell in this room, of damp earth, moldy as the grave, filled her nose and her mouth and her lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Her head was spinning as she heard him laugh deep in his throat and then hoarsely beckon to her, "Señora de la Noche…"
"Stop," she whispered.
He kissed her ear, her throat, her heaving bosom. She desperately tried to speak, to scream, but her words refused to come out as anything more than an ineffectual breath of air. "Stop," she struggled to say again. "Please…stop." She pushed against his chest, struggled against his great weight, his superior strength. "Get off me…"
"What's the matter?" he suddenly asked. "Did I hurt you?"
His blurry face wavered before her. His hands still clutched her arms, so she was unable to move.
With a Herculean effort, she found her voice, her face contorted with rage and terror. "Stop!" She growled at him, "Let go of me, you son-of-a-bitch!"
Matt released Kitty and hastily moved away from her on the bed. Dazed, he desperately held out his big hands in supplication, soothing, "Kitty, it's me."
She looked at him with a strange light in her questioning eyes that frightened him.
"Did I hurt you?" he implored. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
"Sweetheart…" she repeated, her fist clenched tightly, held defensively against her chest. She blinked and her gaze began to gradually focus. "Matt?" she puzzled.
"Yeah, Kitty, it's me…Matt." He cautiously extended his hand, his heart hammering in his chest. "I'm so sorry. I'd never hurt you, honey."
Her fist loosened and lay flat against her skin, damp with perspiration. "Matt?" she asked once more, and this time her eyes bore straight into his.
Kitty was back in this room…with him, Matt realized with enormous relief. Not with a spectral fiend who'd done unspeakable things to her.
Her voice trembled. "I thought you…were him." Face crumpling in despair, tears slipped silently onto her cheeks.
"I know, sweetheart." Matt cautiously reached out to her, offering to hold her but afraid to touch her. "It's okay now."
Thankfully, she leaned into his embrace as a ragged sob escaped her throat. "I'm sorry," she cried against his shirtfront. "I'm so sorry, Matt."
It broke his heart to hear her weep, to apologize for an egregious wrong for which she bore no blame. He whispered gently, his hands caressing her heated back, "You got nothin' to be sorry for, Kitty."
Frustrated, she cried, "When is this gonna stop, Matt?"
He swallowed hard, her devastation cutting into him like a knife. Why...why hadn't he gotten her out of that madman's clutches earlier? "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know when it'll stop…but I'll wait right here by your side until it's over." His fingers wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks, his thumb brushing her wet eyelashes.
"Will you?" her voice hitched in her chest as she spoke, liquid eyes turning up to look at him in a way that nearly knocked the breath right out of him. "You'll wait?"
"Yes…" He enfolded his long arms and legs around her, wanting to keep her safe within his embrace, unafraid, untouched…thinking all the while he was gonna kill that bastard Blackthorne if it was the last thing he did.
Matt could feel her body gradually untensing. He lightly brushed his fingers over the worry creases in her forehead until they melted away. Her eyes drifted shut as she sighed from deep in her belly.
"You tired?" he asked.
"Mm-hmm," she murmured without opening her eyes, burrowing her heated face into his chest, biting her lip.
"Let's get some sleep then." Matt lay back on the bed with Kitty in his arms, pulling the cover over them both.
tbc
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