The Only Man I Can Trust
Chapter 8
Trent Carp felt a sense of satisfaction as he watched the man with the stiff leg ride out of town. It was good to know his name alone could intimidate someone. Of course a man with a crippled leg, who didn't even carry a gun, wasn't really much of a threat. The man he had locked in the jail cell, that U.S. Marshal, now that was another problem all together. He should have let his men finish him off the night they found him, but Holcombe wanted to wait because his brother had a score to settle with the lawman. He had to let the gambler have his way - after all he did bring a lot of money into the town.
It was later that evening when he strode into the office he had so easily usurped from Sheriff John Hicks. He found Farrell and that young kid who helped him, playing checkers. They hurriedly put the board away and stood up from the desk when he arrived.
"So this is how you spend your time when I'm not around." He was angry to think he paid these worthless people good money.
"There's not much to do right now, sir," Farrell said as he indicated for his young helper to leave. The door closed behind him and Carp calmed down a bit.
"I saw that crippled drunk leaving town this morning, so I guess you did your job on that. How about that marshall back there. Has he given you any trouble?"
"No, Sir. I hardly hear anything from him."
To Carp, that didn't seem right. From all he had heard about United States marshals, they didn't give up easily. In his opinion, most of them were murdering scum anyway, but that didn't make him worry any less. He held out his hand towards Farrell.
"Give me the keys, I want to go talk to him."
Farrell obediently opened the desk drawer and handed over a collection of keys on a large ring.
"You want me to come with you?"
Carp almost sneered. "Unlike you, I don't need a whole posse behind me to face one marshal."
With that comment still in the air, he grabbed the keys and headed to the cells with quick purposeful strides. He planned to confront this upstart marshal and show him who was boss around here.
Carp had expected that his important prisoner would be standing at the bars demanding to be released. On the contrary, the man was relaxed, lying back on the old cot as if he had no care in the world.
"You're Dillon, aren't you?" he demanded.
"You seem to have that figured out." Matt's voice was calm. He was determined to sit up and face Carp. His bruised and broken ribs would get in the way, but he would not let this despicable excuse for a man, see that.
"Spike Holcombe is out of prison," Carp stated, hoping to get some kind of reaction from the man in front of him.
"So I heard," Matt replied as calmly as if the man had been describing the lunch menu at Delmonico's.
"He's got it in for you, Dillon. He wants us to keep you around till he gets here, otherwise you'd be dead already."
Again Matt showed very little reaction. Without allowing the pain he was feeling to show on his face, he stood up and walked towards the bars. He noted with a sense of pleasure that Carp took a step back.
"You don't scare me, Carp, and neither does Spike Holcombe. I made my peace with death a long time ago, but you'll find yourself in a pretty bad way if I should disappear. People know where I am, and more lawmen an deputies will come looking for you if I don't return. Your luck will run out eventually."
There was such a cold intensity in the blue eyes that Carp could physically feel it. There was no way he could enter that cell now. In spite of the fact that he held the upper hand, he felt intimidated. He hadn't meant to move away from the bars - it gave Dillon an advantage - but somehow he hadn't been able to make his feet stand their ground. Although this marshal was his prisoner, he didn't have the power over him he was used to having over other men. All he had left was his threats - and even they didn't seem to make much impression on the tall lawman. If he had his way, he would pull his gun and kill him right here, but then he would have to face the Holcombe brothers - and that could make him come off the worse for wear. In the end, all he could do was issue a warning, and, he had to admit, that sounded pretty weak.
"You just wait, Dillon. You'll regret the day you came to Great Bend."
Dillon didn't want Carp to have the last word.
"Just tell me that again, Carp, when I arrest you for the murder of John Hicks." His voice was not loud but it had such an undertone of determination that for a moment, Carp almost feared that somehow the marshal would find a way to do what he said. Rather than face this man, he turned and tried to put strength into his stride as he left the cells. He threw the keys onto the desk where Farrell was still standing.
"I'll be at the Aces High if you need me." His words were mumbled, but it made Farrell smile to himself - obviously Carp's encounter with the marshal hadn't gone the way he planned. Farrell went back to sitting behind the desk and, knowing that Carp would probably not return for several hours, he propped his feet up and leaned back in the chair. He had just about got comfortable when the door opened. He almost jumped to his feet, fearing that Carp had returned for some reason. But it wasn't Carp - it was Fleur.
She looked coyly around the door. Seeing Farrell was the only one around, she entered and closed the door quietly behind her. She placed the basket on the desk and fluttered her eyes a little at Carp's right hand man.
"Hi, Pete, they left you all alone tonight?"
"What do you want?"
"I brought some supper for your prisoner. He paid me quite well and I figured I could make his life a little more pleasant."
The man reached across the desk and grabbed her arm.
"What about me, Fleur? Don't I always pay you well?"
"Oh yes, indeed you do." It was all she could do not to wrench her arm away from his clammy grasp.
"So why does he get all the favors? He ain't gonna be around much longer anyway." He lifted up the red and white-checkered napkin that covered the basket. Inside there were some biscuits and ham, and a bottle of wine.
"How about you and I have a little picnic of our own?"
"I don't know." She didn't want to appear too eager. "I really put this together for him."
Fleur tried to take the basket from the desk, but he grabbed at it.
"Where'd you get those biscuits? I know you didn't make them."
"I can cook when it suits, " she replied, "I just ain't had no reason to cook for you."
Farrell got up and brought two mugs to the desk, "I think you and I need to sample this wine. It looks too good for a man who ain't got that long to live."
He sat back at the desk and pulled her onto his lap, running his hands over her bare shoulders.
"Don't do that, Pete, you know what it does to me." It took all she had to act the part. The very touch of this man repulsed her, but he had paid her well in the past, and she needed him to want her now.
"Yeh, that's what I thought. Maybe we should try a little of that wine - maybe it'll loosen you up a bit. Come on Fleur - you ain't never fought me off before."
"That's because you were paying me." She didn't want to give in too easily, but didn't want him to get mad at her either. This man could be rough if he didn't get his way.
Farrell reached in his pocket and pulled out some coins. He threw them on the table.
"Whore!" he cried.
She gathered up the coins and hastily put them in the pocket of her dress.
"Maybe you should start with some food before I open the wine - it's pretty strong you know."
Farrell laughed. Just open the wine now, and let's have some fun before Carp comes back."
She managed to get away from his grasp and open the wine bottle. She poured a healthy size drink into his cup and just a small one into her own. He laughed.
"You always were one for the booze, Fleur - we'll have a little fun tonight.
There were plates in the basket, and she pulled them out and placed the ham slices on one, and biscuits on another. The ham was extra salty and would make him drink. She knew he had no manners and would gobble down the food without leaving much for her. She sipped slowly on her wine, trying to look like she was drinking more than she really was. She knew a little of the doctored drink wouldn't have much effect on her.
He ate and drank as she expected, and she kept pouring more wine into his cup. Then she began to get worried. His hand was on her thigh, and although he had consumed almost the whole bottle of wine, he showed no sign of slowing down.
"Wait, Pete, it's not very comfortable here, I can't give you the good time I usually do. Why don't we go back to my place."
"I can't leave here, not with that prisoner back there. Suppose you do the best you can." His mouth was nuzzling her neck. She tried to get up from his lap but his hands were all over her. Eventually she got loose and ran around to the other side of the desk as if in a game.
"Come get me," she teased. He didn't stop to think, just thrust himself up from the chair to come after her. He stood there for a moment, swaying slightly on his feet.
"What was in that wine?" It was as if his befuddled mind had suddenly figured out what was going on.
"Nothing, just wine, I told you it was strong."
All of a sudden, it was if his legs crumpled. He fell to the floor in a collapsed heap. He was too heavy for her to move on her own, so she left him where he fell and went to the door. Chester would be watching for her signal. It was less than a minute before he was standing beside her.
"I thought you were never going to call me, Miss Fleur." He was flustered, hoping that the lady had not had to get too involved with Carp's hired gun. "Did he give you any problem?"
She couldn't believe that this man was really concerned for her safety.
"No," she lied."No problem."
"You head across the street now. Tebbers has a horse all saddled for ya. We'll all catch up with ya shortly.
Chester grabbed the keys and went back to release his boss.
TBC
