Shattered, Chapter 3
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Hannibal Heyes woke from a fitful sleep to the warm rays of the morning sun resting on his face. His first thought was where Kid would want to have breakfast. His second thought was of the image of Kid with two gold coins lying on closed eyelids, and suddenly the thought of food caused his stomach to twist and tighten.
Except for his boots and gun belt he hadn't undressed the night before. Dragging his legs from the bed, Heyes sat on the edge and pulled on his boots, then stood and strapped on his gun. His hair unkempt, his face unshaven, he ran a splayed hand through his hair, picked up the room key from the dresser, and headed down the stairs to the lobby. Walking up to the desk, he jingled the bell and waited for the clerk to appear..
"Yes Mr. Heyes, what can we do for you?"
"I'll be gone for about an hour. By the time I return I'd like the bed nearest the window made in my room, but don't bother changing the sheets or the pillow covers on either bed."
"Of course, Mr. Heyes. Anything else?"
"You should have the manager take a look at the east wall, and let me know the cost of the damages."
"The damages, sir?"
"He'll understand when he sees it and, there's some broken glass to sweep up, too."
"Of course, sir, and may I say..."
"Please don't," Heyes said, cutting him off. "I appreciate the sentiment, but please don't."
"Of course, sir."
Heyes walked out of the hotel and crossed the street to the saloon. "Coffee with a shot," he told the bartender.
The combination of the bitter coffee and the smokey burn of the whiskey offered a reprieve to the tight knot that had settled in his stomach, and when the first cup was finished, he ordered a second.
Sheriff Wilkes looked over the top of the bat wing doors and, seeing Heyes at the bar, he pushed open the doors and stepped up to the bar.
"I went to the hotel and they said you were out. Figured this would be the first place to start looking,"
With elbows resting on the bar, Heyes held the coffee in his left hand while the thumb of his right hand played with the silver ring on his finger.
"You looking for me for a reason?" Heyes asked.
"I am. I wanted to let you know the Circuit Judge will be here tomorrow."
Heyes nodded but kept his eyes focused on the rows of bottles on the shelves behind the bar.
"Don't think the proceedings will take very long. In fact you might be on your way by Friday," Wilkes told him.
Heyes turned his head sharply and locked angry eyes with the sheriff. He wanted to lash out at the man, but was taken aback by the look of compassion in the man's eyes. "As long as justice is served," was Heyes' only reply.
"Well, be that as it may, Judge Morrison has a good reputation."
"Meaning what, he can't be bought?" Heyes asked.
"Meaning he looks at the facts and only the facts. When he makes a judgment, he don't leave room for question."
"Good, cause in my mind, there ain't no question," Heyes replied.
"I also want to offer you a bit of caution," the Sheriff said.
"Yeah, what about?"
"The local paper is out, and of course this is front page headlines. You'll likely be hearing a lot of talk around town. You might want to stay clear of places like this as the day wears on."
"What's the matter, Sheriff? You think I might go following in Rawlins' footsteps and go shooting some innocent man in the back of the head?"
"I think when a man is angry enough, he might not realize just what he is capable of doing."
"You don't hafta worry about me, Sheriff. I wanna see Rawlins' swinging from the gallows, and I can wait until tomorrow to watch a judge see to it that happens."
Heyes turned his head back to the bar and gulped the last of his coffee. He set the cup on the bar and gave the bar a tap with his hand before he stepped back and brushed passed the sheriff as he walked back outside.
He stopped just outside the saloon and took a long look up and down the street. Just as the sheriff had said, people were milling about in small crowds, pouring over the newly published paper. Occasionally someone looked up and recognized him and a finger would be pointed in his direction.
He looked down the street at the jail, knowing Rawlins was inside and his right hand fisted into a ball. He could taste the sweet revenge of justice.
Heyes stepped off the boardwalk and crossed the street to the hotel. He climbed the stairs and unlocked the door to his room. Inside, only his bed had been neatly made, leaving Kid's bed just as he had left it. The glass shards had been cleaned up, the whiskey stained wall had been washed. On the nightstand next to his bed was a full bottle of whiskey, a single glass, and a note that simply read no damages found.
He sat down on the bed and pulled the cork from the bottle and poured himself a double shot of whiskey. He took a sip but corked the bottle as he was not about to drink himself into a stupor. He didn't want a morning hangover. He wanted to be alert, and sharp, and in full control when he entered the courtroom the next day.