CHAPTER VII
VALENTINE, NEW HANOVER, JUNE 7TH 1900
'Saints Hotel', the main overnight stay of Valentine was so quiet and peaceful. You quickly forgot there was a filthy town full of equally filthy people on the other side of its gleaming oak door.
As Vic and Sawyer walked in, stomping their feet to rid their boots of thick mud, they were greeted by the manager stood behind the reception.
Very eye-catching, the building was clearly much prettier and better built than practically everywhere else in town. Everything was a beautiful shiny oak wood and even the wallpaper around the room was a sparkling blue. The only place as nice was probably the station, Vic thought. Sawyer on the other hand, having only ever slept in rough digs or in camps out in the open fields, found Saints Hotel a particularly glorious sight. Almost immediately, the young outlaw felt like paying up to stay there for at least one night just to experience it. Those thoughts went quickly though, as the young renegade exercised self-discipline and remembered he and his unlikely ally had a job to do.
Vic, doing his job, observed the reception room and the manager as he instinctively did with everything else. The deputy judged the look and feel of his surroundings, along with the man who was watching him and his former target. The owner was wearing a smart, clean and fresh suit that he probably never took off, making its pristine quality that more impressive.
There were even a couple of big comfy sofa-like chairs in the corner, just as shiny as everything else in the room. They were probably there for visitors to have a rest but weren't staying there the whole night. Vic looked at them with a desire for just a split second.
As both men greeted the manager with weak nods, Sawyer faintly heard footsteps and muffled noises coming from directly above. It was a hotel, so it could've been anyone, but the footsteps seemed a little too quick and frank for his liking. The young outlaw turned to Vic about it, but his older ally was already engaged.
"Howdy friend." Vic greeted the manager, arms resting on the counter.
"Afternoon, Deputy." Asked the spiffy manager, taking a note of the shiny badge, "What can I do for you? Is it a single room for two?"
Confused, brows low, both Vic and Sawyer glanced at one another and then back to the owner.
"No… It ain't" Said Sawyer, for both him and Vic.
The manager swallowed hard, "Oh, my apologies! We get all kinds in here, see."
Vic kept glaring as the manager chuckled apologetically, awkwardly patting down his suit to make sure it was creaseless.
"Well oddly enough, that's why we've came here, sir." Vic replied, "Hearing 'bout the kinds of folks you get coming through here."
"Is it somebody you're looking for?" The manager asked, curiously leaning forward and lowering his voice.
"Somebody who stayed here. Not too long back… Maybe a few days?" Sawyer said, entering the conversation.
The manager looked away from the young outlaw and the older deputy to think to himself for a short time. Valentine wasn't the most pleasant town to be in, but the hotel had a lot of people stopping by on the daily. Whether it was for a bed, one of the women, or a bath from one of the women didn't matter, his clientele wasn't small.
"Details on the person?" He asked, needing more.
Vic himself then turned to Sawyer; the only man present who was able to describe Roland Payne.
"Tall. About six-foot six. Bald like he never had hair. Big beard going down the neck. Hard to even look in the eye." Sawyer told the manager from vivid images.
Even Vic was intrigued, getting more info and knowledge on who exactly he was on the trail of. The more the deputy heard, the more strangely eager he became to come face to face with Payne. The tales he'd heard from people made him out to be about as dangerous as a grizzly.
"Does ring a bell, I must say." The manager said, rubbing his chin, "Doesn't speak much?"
Sawyer's head shook, "Hardly ever a fucking word."
"I guess the best thing to ask now is for his name?" The manager asked, reaching below the counter.
Vic's eyes never left the manager as he slumped down and even Sawyer put palm to holster, but both men eased up when the manager brought out just a book. A leather-bound manual-looking book. Bigger than the average history book, clearly.
"I get every customer who stays for any kinda service to sign their name in here." Said the hotel owner, pointing down on the leather.
"Roland Payne. That's the name you're looking for." Vic stated calmly and clearly.
The manager did a double-take at Vic, "I've heard that name. Quite a lot actually."
"Yeah well he's gettin' famous around these parts." Sawyer replied, with clear knowledge of the man of topic.
After an odd glance at Sawyer, the manager opened up the book to take a look at the names written within the last few days. Some had just put their surname with the first's initial. Wasn't often that customers jotted down their full names. Anyone staying at Saints Hotel must've been fairly security conscious, which said a lot about the sorts of people that must've taken a bed there for the night.
"I'm not seeing that name, deputy." The manager said with a slight grimace.
Vic and Sawyer took a look themselves when the owner span the leather book around and pushed it to over to them. Sawyer then heard the creeks and thumps from the ceiling again before turning back to the journal.
All pages were of a nice quality paper that seemed a shame to write on. They were a nice beige colour and really smooth. The pencil markings on top of them were almost a complete irritation to the eye.
"M. Warren… S. Morse… S. Adler… Doesn't look like he's been here, kid." Vic said to Sawyer with a sigh, reaching for a cigarette.
"Nah, give me a look here." Sawyer replied bluntly, almost snatching the book away.
Sawyer had seen Roland write things down before. He had the handwriting of an delinquent. The young outlaw had actually seen some kids' writing that was easier to read. He glanced down the pages to spot the one that may have been written by his former partner.
Sawyer landed his finger, "Got him!"
Vic stopped just as he was about to light the match, taking a look at the name that the kid was pointing at.
"B. Smith… That's him." Sawyer said, as sure as anything.
"How can you tell?" Vic asked, the cigarette hanging from his mouth.
"The handwriting. I've seen him pencilling words down on paper before. It's fucking garbage, hardly readable." Sawyer explained to the deputy, "And he's using the most basic fucking name in the land. Trying to lay low, obviously. That's the one, I'm telling ya."
Vic took a closer look with squinted eyes, "June 4th. Room 2b. Paid $1.25. What's that for?"
The manager looked at Vic from Sawyer again, "That's one night and one bath."
Sawyer got confused at such a revelation. In his whole time with Roland, the guy had never taken a bath anywhere. He was so preoccupied with killing, robbing and raiding that hygiene was the last thing on his ever-active mind.
"Could the bath have been somethin' else?" The young outlaw asked.
"I suppose it could've been for another service from one of the women?" The manager theorised.
As bad as it was, that sounded more like Roland, Sawyer thought.
"In that case, I got another question for ya." Sawyer started, frowning.
"Of course."
"Any of the girls in here… Been hurt or anything recently? Maybe 'round the time B. Smith was here on the fourth of June?" Sawyer finished, grimly.
The hotel owner's face dropped like the O'Driscoll's both men had shot earlier. He suddenly scowled, like what Sawyer said had touched some sort of nerve.
"As a matter o'fact, yes. That next morning… Angie, one of the women, went to see the town doctor for her nose and mouth. Both had been beaten in." Told the owner, his eyes elsewhere.
Sawyer turned to Vic, who looked at him with confidence. The outlaw nodded with certainty.
"Alright then, we're thinking this is the man we're after." Vic told the manager, finally lighting the match and the edge of the cigarette.
"Who exactly was this man?"
"A wanted man, sir. Roland Payne's been on the run from West Elizabeth for a couple weeks now." Vic explained, exhaling the smoke.
The manager turned to Sawyer, "Yeah that rings more of a bell… Wasn't he the marauder who was always riding alongside a younger guy?"
Vic turned to the kid and then right back to the owner, "That might be true, but we're here looking for just Payne, sir."
Sawyer and the owner exchanged knowing glances at one another. Probably the first time he was grateful that Vic's badge was there on show.
"Sir!" Vic snatched the owner's attention again, "Might we have a look up in Room 2b? We need to know where this man was headed. Order of the law."
The manager was quiet again, still looking at Sawyer at every chance, "Of course, deputy. Anything you need. Would you like me to bring down Angie? Maybe she could answer some questions."
Vic was already at the stairs, "I'll let you know on that. We'll glance through the room first."
"Is there anyone occupying Room 2b, sir?" Sawyer asked, following Vic.
Again, an awkward exchange of eyes between the owner and the outlaw. The former not knowing what to make of the sight he was seeing.
"Not today, no." He finally replied, giving Vic and Sawyer the green light.
At the top of the shiny oak staircase there was a long corridor going left and right. A big extravagant table stood right at the top holding a vase of flowers on it. It was strange that even the corridor of this hotel looked posher than anywhere else in New Hanover.
All of the doors down the long hall were equally as perfect as the building's main one. However, these doors were numbered, giving Vic and Sawyer no confusion as to where to go.
As Vic stood smoking his cigarette, Sawyer turned left to see the door to Room 2c, where the muffled sounds and noises were coming from. It had been bothering him ever since they'd walked in and now he wanted to take a look.
"I'm gonna check that room." Sawyer pointed, whispering.
Vic exhaled the cloud again, "Why?"
"It sounds like somethings' going on in there. Something strange."
Vic shrugged, "Knock yourself out, kid. But I'm gonna go check 2b, you know, the one we're here to check."
"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute." Sawyer said sternly, wanting Vic to be patient.
The young outlaw felt his gun's handle in his palm as he approached the big brown door to Room 2c and lent closer to listen across it.
Want me to hurt ya?! Sawyer heard a man shout. You can't hurt me, you don't got it in ya! Replied somebody else, a woman this time.
Sawyer turned sideways to Vic before unholstering his Schofield and turning the door's knob.
Both the man and the woman were stunned when the young, freshly shaven Sawyer barged through the door and brandished the gun. They were both naked, with the woman carefully positioned over the bottom of the bed's wooden frame. The fella was stood right behind her, pressed hard against her rear end, holding a tight grip of her long brown hair. They must've been in their fifties, at least according to Sawyer's young shocked eyes.
"What the fuck are doing?!" The man shouted, stood as stiff as his dick probably had been seconds earlier.
Sawyer's mouth was agape, not knowing at all what to say. His suspicions of what was going on clearly had had the wrong idea.
"GET OUT!" The woman then screamed.
Sawyer lowered the gun to almost the same place as his lower jaw. He started back away slowly when Vic grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Ma'am, sir, do take my apologies." Vic said without looking at the couple, dragging Sawyer away.
Neither the man or the woman's eyes blinked as the two strangers quickly departed the room and slammed the door shut again.
Out in the corridor, Vic pushed Sawyer hard across the landing and away from Room 2c.
"What the fuck, kid?"
"I thought… You know, I just had this feeling…"
"How's this? From here on out, you leave any investigative thoughts to me, huh?" Vic glared, "Sure we're in this hunt together and you wanna do your part, but for now, just follow my lead, yeah?"
Sawyer had a response but quickly threw it away. Instead the younger man raised his hands and nodded once in agreement.
"Lead the way. I'm sorry." Sawyer stated, looking out one of the landing windows.
In Room 2b, shutting the door behind them, Vic and Sawyer found the place a complete wreck. The room's courteous table and chair were down and across the floor. The rug was kicked in the corner, bed was unmade and even had some drops of blood on it, dried and dark. Even the mirror above the fireplace was smashed.
"Yeah, this was his room." Sawyer said, his tone bleak, glancing at his surroundings.
Vic listened to Sawyer and walked over to the table, picking it up and putting it back in its place. Sawyer looked over the bed at the bloodstains, almost definitely not Roland's.
"Take a look around, in the draws and shit." Sawyer told Vic, almost like an order.
"Why exactly? Was he the type to leave breadcrumbs laying 'round?" Vic asked, debating another cigarette.
"Not on purpose, but he did tend to do a lot of shit without thinking."
Vic decided against the smoke and did what his young ally suggested. The room had two bedside table's and a big wardrobe, both again as flashy as every other piece of furniture in the building.
Sawyer opened the draws of one of the tables and found a half-smoked cigar. The young outlaw thought long and hard if that was Payne's until he found in the second draw an almost fully drank bottle of Bourbon. That's when he knew.
"This adds up to the beating he gave on the girl." Sawyer told Vic, holding up both the bottle and cigar.
"From the stories I heard, he don't need none of that shit to give a beating." Vic replied, opening the wardrobe doors.
"Nah, he don't need 'em. But they make the beatings worse, I tell you that." Sawyer revealed.
"Had he drank some of that stuff when he gave you that bruise?"
"No." Sawyer replied, saying a lot about Payne with just a single word.
Vic rummaged through the wardrobe, finding nothing. The only place left to search was the draws at the bottom. Vic opened the top draw, finding a tub of hair pomade and a brush. Clearly not Payne's if his description was anything to go by.
"This is a waste of time, kid. He ain't gonna have left noth'n of any value." Vic said with another long sigh.
Sawyer stood looking out the window at the dirty street of Valentine. The sun was starting to go down on the horizon across the fields, turning the sky a reddish orange. Time was running out that day and the more time the two of them lost, the further away Roland was getting.
In the second draw of the wardrobe, Vic found nothing but extra bed sheets. He gave the wardrobe a whack with his fist in frustration. The idea of coming all this way from New Austin, so far for nothing, was starting to get to the usually cool-headed maverick.
"What the fuck do we do now?" Vic asked Sawyer.
"Again, you're asking me? I'm following your lead, remember Vic?" Sawyer replied.
Vic ran his hands through his black hair in irritation before picking up the chair, placing it in it's spot and sitting down.
"Did you and him have any plans at all? Where you were headed? Stuff like that?"
Sawyer, still gazing out the window, shook his head "Not really, by that point our plan was to just not get caught by the fucking Marshall's."
"Well, we gotta think of something fast, kid. 'Cause that manager down there, he knows exactly who you are." Vic said, pointing to the floor.
The younger man sighed, forehead leaning on the glass, "Yeah, I got that feeling myself. I'm thinking hard, deputy. Believe me."
Vic sat in the room and Sawyer stood. Both silent. Nothing to go on other than a mess, which Roland left pretty much everywhere he went. Both men were at a loss and didn't want to admit to themselves that they were already starting to think they'd lost the son of a bitch.
"Hold on a second." Sawyer said suddenly.
Vic turned a little, "Yeah?"
Sawyer remembered, back out in The Heartlands, when he got attacked by the O'Driscoll's alone and killed the Irishman. That cowardly idiot had told the young outlaw something that he hadn't really thought about up until that point.
"When I got held up by the O'Driscoll's out there. On my own." Sawyer turned to Vic, "The leader of 'em, he was Irish. As pure an O'Driscoll as you get. He told me that Roland came here to Valentine… And then further north afterwards."
Vic then looked up at Sawyer, "Further north? Where exactly?"
"Didn't say anything that specific. Just that Roland came to Valentine and then was gonna go further north of here."
"Well kid you know this area better than I do. So, tell me, what do you know is further north?"
The young outlaw thought hard, "There's the Cumberland Forest. And then there's Fort Wallace, but I would lay money more on Payne having a camp set up in the forest rather than being anywhere close to the fucking Army."
Vic took out another cigarette, "Okay, so you're thinking he's in this... 'Cumberland Forest'?"
"Well it's as good a theory as any. You got anything better, Deputy?"
Vic shot Sawyer a deadly glare, "Easy. We're after the same thing here, Sawyer."
Sawyer let out a painful sigh and turned back to the window, rubbing his ribs again. The pain kept disappearing for short times and then kept coming back to remind him who was boss.
"There was someone else here I think we should talk to, though." Vic abruptly thought, dragging the ember.
Sawyer noticed something down below, just on the street outside the building. Another pack of goons. They were standing over the body that he and Vic had left in the dirt.
"He struck me as odd the moment I got into town." Vic continued.
"Vic, shut up. We got a problem here." Sawyer whispered.
Vic took a puff and then stood up to look out the window too. The deputy and the outlaw saw the O'Driscoll's, wearing the same dark trench coats and looking just as scruffy as the last ones. Some resident they were talking to pointed towards the hotel, where they immediately started heading towards.
"Ah, shit! How many of these cocksuckers are there?!" Vic asked, raising his voice and pulling out his LeMat's.
"No fucking clue, but they're on his payroll, that much I know. Now they're gonna be after you too." Sawyer replied quickly, equipping his Hunting Shotgun and pumping it.
"Yeah well, they can join the fucking line." Vic stated, cocking both hammers of both LeMat's.
As the deputy stormed towards the door, it suddenly flew open and smashed into his face, cracking the nose and splitting a lip hard. As he floundered around, dazed and stunned, his vision all over the place, the Tumbleweed lawman tried to focus and see who was who.
Vic! Get down! He heard the kid shout, but he wanted to help, so instead of getting down, the maverick deputy aimed his guns to shoot, only to feel somebody spear him to the ground and whip him over the head with something solid.
Sawyer aimed his shotgun at the scumbag that just knocked Vic out with the butt of a rifle, but before he could shoot, another three guys entered the room. All pointing revolvers and shotguns themselves.
The younger kid aimed his shotgun at them for as long as his guts would let him. When he finally realised none of them had fired a bullet yet, he understood what was happening and put up his hands.
"You got us." Sawyer relented, dropping the shotgun.
"You're goddamn right, boy." One O'Drsicoll growled through about three teeth, "You two are comin' with us."