Unbury Carol(25)

“You see,” Dwight said. “That story scares me.”

“I should hope it does.”

“I don’t want a loose bird on my dollar.”

Lafayette’s wrinkled face stretched into a smile. Her eyes had never looked so deep-set to Dwight. “Whoever you hire, he’s going to be a little bit mad,” she said.

“You told me he was a cripple.”

“So he is.”

Dwight shook his head.

Lafayette went on, “The man’s good, Evers.”

“I want someone who can get to him fast.”

“He’ll catch him. He’ll get to him before he reaches Harrows. I can guarantee that.”

“What’s my insurance?”

“You hire Smoke. He does it.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Isn’t it? You don’t want to hire someone to watch this guy.”

Dwight looked as though he might.

“Evers,” Lafayette said. “This man doesn’t count the same sheep that we do.”

“It’s my dollar.”

Lafayette’s smile fell from her eyes. “You hire someone to watch Smoke and Smoke might start watching you.”

“He sounds more than a little mad.”

“He is. And he’s in the area.”

Dwight looked out the window, quickly. “What area?”

“Mackatoon.”

“Another job?”

“Another job.”

Then Dwight looked Lafayette in the eye and nodded and it was sealed.

Lafayette studied him. “I’m curious,” she said. “What’d James Moxie do to you?”

Dwight looked surprised. As if Lafayette was suggesting Moxie could or would do something to him.

“Nothing.”

“But you want him killed.”

He didn’t want to tell Lafayette that Moxie knew Carol’s secret. A revelation like that would send cracks through the foundation of their plan.

What else did you overlook, Evers? Maybe I should get out now, Evers? Maybe you brought me in on a sour deal?

“Nothing yet,” Dwight said.

“And this has nothing to do with your wife?”

“No,” Dwight said. “Nothing at all.”

Lafayette laughed. It was the sound of one who doesn’t want to know where someone else buries their dirt. She started for the door.

“And you don’t want a loose bird!”

But Dwight wouldn’t let her have the last word. He cried out to her as she exited his home, yelling as the front door closed.

“This is my idea! This is what I want to do! Don’t forget, Lafayette, I brought you in on this deal! I’m making the big decisions here!”



* * *



—

But Lafayette, having her hands in every conceivable channel of communication, her ears to every telegram office on the Trail, had already known about Farrah Darrow’s telegram to James Moxie. For this, Lafayette had hired Smoke on her own. Smoke to follow Moxie. The loose bird and the legend. Let Dwight Evers think he was making big decisions. Let him believe he was emerging, born again, from the shadow of his wife. And let him suffer, too, under the weight of that new sun.





It once was he rode into town and people blanched. Men avoided his eyes and women turned their backs, hoping not to be seen. It once was the domesticated dogs of the Trail-towns barked at him from afar. It once was he was whole, he was awesome, he was dread.

And while he was certainly still noticed, Smoke spotted the benign curiosity in the eyes of the Mackatooners now. Things hadn’t been like they used to be in a long time. Old men nudged each other on front porches and kids stopped to look up at the rider whose legs hung limply by the horse’s side. He was a rare sight, indeed: the gangly limp-legged hatless man arriving on Blandon Street. Even the traditionally disinterested had to watch him, and anybody who saw him held his image a breath or two longer than they would an ordinary stranger.

His thinning hair added years to him that he had not earned; his yellow shirt, rolled to the elbows, gifted him levity that he did not deserve; and the fact that he carried no gun squelched the uneasiness his image inspired.

He was not feared. Not yet.

Smoke halted the horse at the post office where a series of hitching posts stood crooked in the dirt. Only one was unused and Smoke knew it was going to be difficult getting off the gelding without much room to maneuver.

He gripped his right thigh and lifted the whole of his leg up and over the horse’s head. The scant oil sloshed within. He’d used most of it on this Mackatoon job and the broken carriage that followed.

A small lady, watching, felt pity for him and crossed the street, her eyes sympathetic behind thick glasses.

It didn’t used to be like this.

“Do you need some help?” she said, looking up at him.

Others on the street grew silent, sensing what the woman had not.

While the stranger was certainly crippled, it didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. The Trail delivered tricks all the time.

Smoke faced the lady, seated as he was, both legs on the same side of the horse.

“That I do,” he said, his voice a singsong. But some in earshot knew better than to sing along. “Know where to get good oil around here?”