CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Mulligan's Plan

It was a long night. Every time Nick dosed off, something woke him. Either he'd fall over and crack his head or the sheriff would open the cell doors to put someone into one of the other three cells or one of the drunks would yell or sing or fight or vomit, or he just couldn't get comfortable. But mostly, he was tormented by the image of his brother hanging from a rope.

Once the sun came up, he gave up on pretending to sleep. As did Heath and Sam.

Nick still sat next to his brother. He didn't want to remind him of the sheriff's words, so he tried to think of something else to say. "Heath, you remember what time the early train leaves Stockton?"

"Eight, ain't it? Arrives here about ten-thirty."

"Sure hope Jarrod's on it."

"Me too."

Sam sighed. "We ain't gonna make it on the early train heading to Stockton."

"No. We can send a telegram and let our families know," Nick said.

The deputy finally came in and handed them a bowl of oatmeal and a biscuit.

"Any updates on Sweeny?" Nick asked.

"I'll check here in a bit." The deputy seemed a bit kinder than the sheriff.

"Thanks." Nick looked at the lukewarm oatmeal. He tried to eat it but it tasted like paste. The biscuit was stale, but he munched on it. He needed something on his stomach.

Sam ate everything given to him. Heath ate nothing.

Heath took to pacing again, and Nick joined him.

The men in the other cells mostly slept. The deputy stopped in a few times, but each time Nick asked for an update, he said he hadn't had time to check yet.

"That's probably a good thing," Nick said. "The doc would've come over and told him if Sweeny had died."

Sam returned to his praying posture, and Nick and Heath paced.

And finally, finally, at close to noon, Jarrod walked in with the deputy.

Nick studied his expression. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't distraught. Concerned, maybe? Of course, it was sometimes hard to tell with Jarrod.

"What's going on?" Nick asked.

Jarrod waited until the deputy opened the cell and put him in with his brothers and left before speaking. "Sweeny is still unconscious, but the doctor said his breathing has stabilized."

"Thank God," Sam said.

Heath and Nick released a loud breath simultaneously.

"Nick and Sam, there aren't any charges against you, and I paid your fines."

"Thank you," Sam said. "We can leave?"

"Not yet. The sheriff will need to get a statement from you about what happened with Sweeny. I'll stay with you for that."

"Heath?" Nick asked.

Jarrod rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry. Nothing I can do right now. It's a waiting game. Sweeny is still unconscious, and they won't let Heath go until he wakes."

Nick noticed Jarrod didn't say "if he wakes." But a look at Jarrod's face told him that it was still a possibility he wouldn't.

"Then it will be up to Sweeny. If he wants to press charges, I'll try to get Heath out on bail, but they will likely hold him until his trial."

Heath pounded his fists against the wall. "I have to get out of here and make sure Margaret is okay." He swung around and faced Jarrod. "Sweeny threatened to rape Margaret!"

Jarrod walked over and patted Heath's back. "Sweeny can't do anything right now," he said calmly.

"Yes, but those jerks with him—"

"I think they're still with him." Jarrod took in a deep breath. "You're our primary concern right now."

Heath shook his head. "And what's JR gonna do? I'm supposed to be there!"

"I'll do everything I can to get you out of here as soon as possible."

Nick scratched his head. "Heath, if you ain't out of here by Monday, I'll go to JR's and handle things there."

"You have your hands full too, Nick," Heath said.

The deputy came in. He nodded at Jarrod. "Time to go."

"I'll stay in town until we know what's going on," Jarrod said to Heath. "And I'll bring you some decent food for supper."

"Thanks." Heath fell heavily on his cot and buried his head in his hands.

XXXXX

Jarrod had a late lunch with Sam and Nick after they individually gave their statements to the sheriff. Sam and Nick got on the train for Stockton.

Jarrod then went back to Doc Lefleur's office. He glanced at the two smelly, dirty men sitting in the waiting room. O'Connell and Diego, he assumed.

"Come in, Mr. Barkley," the doc said. "He just started coming around."

O'Connell and Diego stood as well.

The doctor held up his hand. "You can come in after Mr. Barkley is finished."

"Damned privileged asses," the larger man mumbled.

Jarrod walked through the treatment room and into a room partitioned off with curtains. Sweeny lay on the bed, his head bandaged. "Mr. Sweeny?" Jarrod asked.

"What?"

"Do you recall how you happened to end up here?"

"Why do you wanna know?"

"I am Jarrod Barkley, Heath Barkley's brother."

"I see."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Heath Barkley was mad at me because I had a small swallow of whiskey at the camp. Then I saw him in the bar. I didn't know he was sweet on the boss's daughter. I said she was a looker, and he just went berserk. He said he was gonna kill me and started beating—"

O'Connell ran into the room. "Don't tell him nuttin'!"

Jarrod swung around. "I don't think you're supposed to be in here."

"More so than you. I suggest you leave."

Jarrod considered. It wasn't the proper place to start a scene, but he really wanted to get Sweeny's statement before someone fed him a story.

"I'll tell you what," Jarrod said calmly. "We'll both leave. I'll get the sheriff, and we'll let the sheriff talk to him." He firmly took the man's elbow and walked with him out of the room.

"I will be pressing charges!" Sweeny yelled after them. "I want that SOB to hang! Or at least go to prison for a long, long time!"

Doc Lefleur was in the treatment room as they walked through. "I'm going for the sheriff," Jarrod said. "He needs to get Sweeny's statement before anyone else talks to him." He nodded at the man he was escorting. "Can you see to it he isn't bothered before the sheriff gets here?"

"I'll do my best," the doctor said.

Jarrod left and returned to the jail. The sheriff wasn't there. He waited around. Still no sheriff, no deputy, no one. He tried the door to the cells, but they were locked. The cabinet with the keys was also locked.

He walked up and down the boardwalks, then returned to the jail and waited.

XXXXX

"I got us a plan," Chester Mulligan said, his dark eyes narrow. He had talked to Diego and O'Connell the night before and learned that Jonathan Workman was Nick Barkley, and the dark blond was Heath Barkley. He always knew there was something about that Workman. But now, knowing Workman had deceived him, his hatred for the man—and for all the Barkleys, especially Dark Blond, who had taken his job—intensified.

"The doctor done left." Diego stood and hitched a nod towards the patient's room. "O'Connell's with 'im now."

"C'mon!" Mulligan grabbed Diego's arm and pulled him into the back room.

Sweeny sat up, talking quietly to O'Connell. They both looked up.

"I got us a plan," Mulligan repeated. He wrapped an arm around O'Connell and Diego. "And it'll be a lot more fun than just locking that blond Barkley away for thirty years. I mean, what fun is it if we can't watch him suffer? And then die a slow and very painful death?"

"I wanna watch him sweat!" Sweeny said.

Mulligan smiled, the empty space in his upper teeth obvious. "Me, too, my friend. Me, too. All them hifalutin Barkleys need to know what it is to suffer. It's gonna take some time and some planning, but we'll bring all them uppity Barkleys to their blasted knees!"

Sweeny wiped slobber off his chin. "Do I get my way with that li'l hussy?"

"Oh, yeah. We all will. More'n once. Way more'n once. While that blond Barkley watches!"

The four laughed in sinister harmony.

XXXXX