Deadman's Revenge (The Deadman Series Book 3) Page 2

  The two men came to be regarded with fear and respect. No tasty tidbit came onto the prison grounds that Earl and Joshua didn’t have a taste of and any aggression toward them was met with swift and irrevocable retaliation.

  For two years, Earl and Joshua were as thick as thieves until the summer of ’98, when Josh was let go for lack of evidence. The warden and his guards knew that Josh was a simpleton who only did what he was told to do and they figured (rightly) that more exposure to the criminals within the walls of the prison would only set into stone what his brother, Martin, had molded out of soft clay.

  Earl studied the road ahead and frowned. Where is that kid? he wondered. He had told Josh on the day he left, to stay close and to be ready for a fast get-away upon Earl’s release. Had he forgotten? That old, familiar serpent of anger began to coil in his stomach and his flesh grew hot. He had plans—BIG plans—and his success depended upon swift transportation.

  He stood on the side of the road watching as farm carts and fast-moving buggies made their way into town and wondered what he was going to do now. He had given everything he had stashed over the last seven years in prison to Josh for the necessary items. Now he had a grand total of ten dollars in his pocket (plus about twenty in his sock), which wasn’t even near enough to purchase a horse—much less two horses and a wagon to go with them.

  Trembling with frustrated wrath, Earl turned to his right and started walking toward town. His clothes were stiff and sour with mildew and, the rank odor of his own nervous sweat rose up to his nostrils as he made his way down the road. He was thinking fast—he could stash his lousy thirty bucks and, perhaps, work as a stoker for the railroad. They hired by the day—no credentials required—if memory served.

  “Hey boss, is that you?” a deep voice said behind him.

  Earl spun around and saw Josh sitting on the bench of a wagon with two large draft horses in the traces. Still boiling with anger, he snapped, “Where the hell have you been, Josh? I’ve been waiting over a half-hour!”

  The big man flushed and stammered, “Sorry, Earl. Had to ketch the horses an’ it took longer than I figured!”

  Earl took two deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. He knew—going in—that his partner was a moron, and there was no sense in scaring the boy off… at least until Earl was through with his services.

  He climbed up into the wagon and sat next to Josh on the bench. “That’s okay. For a minute, I thought you might have skedaddled with my cash, that’s all.”

  Joshua’s eyes got big. “I would NEVER, boss!” he said in his slow, garbled tongue.

  Earl nodded. “That’s right, son. Now, how much is left of what I gave you?”

  Joshua pulled a grimy leather pouch from his pocket and handed it over. “Never was good with counting,” he said. “But I got a good deal from the farmer for the rig and horses. I even put what was mine inter this bag for ya.”

  Earl emptied the bag and counted the bills and coin within, finally nodding with satisfaction. Ninety-four dollars and change, he thought. That would be plenty, if he was careful, to make it to the cemetery in Wenatchee.

  He had spent years thinking about a conversation he had once had with Fred Marston… an employee of the long dead and buried Patrick Donnelly. Fred was, as usual, in his cups when he let slip the fact that Donnelly stashed a large part of his fortune in a secret vault of the mausoleum in his cemetery in Wenatchee.

  It was supposed to be a closely guarded secret but Fred was pissed at his boss at that moment in time and had let slip a lot of valuable intelligence. Now that Marston, Donnelly and his slut of a sister were all dead, Earl wanted to make a play for that hidden treasure.

  He only hoped that it was still there, now that the Wenatchee city council had taken over custodianship of the graveyard. If not… oh well. But if so, he would be a rich man. Rich enough, in fact, to mete some revenge on the man who had so drastically changed his life for the worse.

  “Let’s head on into town, Joshua,” he said. “I’m sorely in need of a bath and a new set of clothes. Then, in the morning, we’ll head on into Wenatchee. If things go the way I hope, we’ll be rich men and then…”

  As Joshua watched his boss’ face change into something dark and devilish, he wondered, for the twentieth time, if following Earl Dickson was a smart thing to do or just another stupid choice in the long list of misdeeds his life had become.

  “Then,” Earl continued, “We’ll go pay an old friend of mine, Matthew Wilcox, a long overdue visit.”

  ~

  The first thing Earl Dickson did when he and Josh hit town was head to a bathhouse. He was only forty-two years old, by God, but he looked as old and used up as a dead miner’s gold pan. While he washed the stink off his body and allowed a Chinese man to shave his chin whiskers and cut and clean his nails, he directed Josh to run to the mercantile and purchase a new set of clothes—dungarees, a warm wool shirt, socks, boots and a sturdy coat.

  As Josh nodded obediently and stepped out the door, Earl wondered, briefly, if the moron would bring back clothes only fit for a scarecrow. He was distracted though, by the pleasant sensation of getting truly clean for the first time in years and the thought of possibly becoming a rich man in the next day or so.

  Therefore, he was happily surprised when Josh stepped back inside the warm, steam-filled room a little while later with a paper-wrapped bundle containing a pair of perfectly fitting black wool pants, a snowy, white cotton shirt, brown leather boots with wool socks stuffed inside and a fine tweed jacket. Each piece of clothing fit like a glove and he looked up at Josh with surprise.

  The fat man stared at his broke-down boots and said, “I already bought ‘em, Earl. Right after you sent me that letter sayin’ you was getting’ out.” I did use some of your cash to get you this though—hope it fits good.” He brought a hatbox around from behind his back and handed it to Dickson with a shy smile.

  Staring at Josh’s face, Earl realized that the dope was halfway in love with him. In his opinion, doing the dirty behind bars was one thing, but engaging in that kind of nonsense on the outside was… well, a perversion of nature. Deciding to have a heart-to-heart with the kid before things got awkward; Earl opened the hatbox and drew in a breath.

  Nestled inside the tissues was one of the nicest hats he had ever seen. A dark grey Derby with a black, leather band around the crown; it even sported a tiny black and red feather. Facing the mirror, Earl put the hat on, adjusted the angle and gave himself a jaunty wink. He had half a mind to admonish the idiot for spending so much cash on a hat but he was so impressed by how it made him look—and feel—he didn’t have the heart for it.

  He had to admit, going to jail might have been good for his health. He looked better than he had in years. He had quit smoking and taking drugs… and dreamed of his new life after jail with no trace of guilt or remorse over what had gone before in his rough and violent life.

  Staring at himself in the mirror, he saw a gentleman. No, he acknowledged… not some high-falutin’ dandy with a lacy collar and pointy, white shoes but a man of substance. Studying his own clear blue eyes, he saw no trace of his bad, old days as a murderer, a thief, a hopped-up drug-runner or a roust-about for Patrick Donnelly.

  Josh was staring at his reflection as well; his hazel eyes open wide in awe. “You look nice, Earl,” he mumbled.

  Earl spun on his heel and said, “Come on. Let’s get something to eat.

  Mindful of his money and reluctant to smudge the reflected image he had seen of himself in the mirror, Earl bought dinner for the two of them at a café and refrained from availing himself of the abundant tail offered at the closest saloon. Although his loins itched for relief, Earl didn’t want to take any chances… not with the possibility of such a big pay-off only two-day ride from here.

  He and Josh were asleep like upright citizens, soon after the sun set that night.

  ~

  The next morning Earl shook his partner awake. “Come on, let’s move out.”
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br />   Josh groaned, sleepily, and rolled over but Earl took the young man’s limp and dirty slouch hat and whipped it across his head. “I said, get up asshole… NOW!”

  Josh yelped and sat bolt upright. He stared up at Earl with scared eyes and touched the two perfect welts rising up on his left cheek.

  Earl glared. “Now, listen up, Josh…” he hissed. “You and me, we’re partners and that’s all, got it? I won’t put up with any of that nonsense from before and I don’t want you mooning around about it, neither…. You hear me?” He watched as Josh’s cheeks flushed red.

  Then he added, “And don’t you go forgetting that I’m the boss of this outfit. You can hang around with me if you like and maybe I’ll make you a rich man in the process, but when I say jump, the only thing I want to hear coming from your mouth is, how high? Can you live with that, because if not, you get up and get outta here, right now!”

  Tears flowed down both of Josh’s cheeks now, but he jumped out of his bed and pulled his old boots on with alacrity.

  Earl watched with stony eyes and then he said, “Go in and brush your teeth, Josh. Your breath stinks like the grave. Soon as you’re done, we’re heading to Wenatchee.”

  Head hanging low in bewilderment, the big man pulled his seldom-used toothbrush out of his back pocket and commenced to cleaning his mouth. Two hours later, the men pulled out of town heading north to Donnelly’s cemetery in Wenatchee.

  ~

  Earl and Josh watched the cemetery for a couple of days before making their move. It looked like a groundskeeper came out every day from 9 am to 4 pm. He would yank a few weeds and scythe away some of the taller grasses around gravestones and monuments. Mostly, though, the old man grabbed frequent pulls off a small jug and took long naps behind the mausoleum.

  Earl had wondered if the house that sat behind the graveyard was occupied but it didn’t seem to be and there were no guard dogs to worry about either. Perfect! He thought, grinning.

  Now, as they hunkered down in the weeds behind some leafless shrubbery, Josh muttered, “He’s leaving, Earl.” They watched as the caretaker staggered up to his small wagon and drove away. It was a little past 4:00 in the afternoon, and the sun was setting behind the low hills.

  Earl nodded. “Let’s wait for a few more minutes, Josh. By 4:30, it should be almost dark. Anyone who chances by won’t be able to spot us if they tried.”

  A half hour or so later, Earl and Josh ran out from behind a stand of lilac bushes and scaled the fence, landing on the grass behind the mausoleum. A wrought iron gate in front of the building was bolted for the night but it was quick enough work to smash the padlock. Earl’s heart pounded with excitement as the tall gate swung open with a rusty screech.

  According to Marston, the vault that held Donnelly’s fortune was the biggest one on the end. There was supposed to be a rendering of St. Patrick and the word, DONNELLY on the front panel.

  Turning to his companion, Earl hissed, “Light that lantern, Josh. It’s black as pitch in here.”

  Josh complied and as the feeble light filled the room, Earl saw that the young man’s face was slack and wide-eyed with fear. “Don’t worry, Josh,” he murmured. “There ain’t nuthin’ in here but dust… and maybe a buried treasure.”

  Taking the lantern, Earl moved down the room and stopped in front of the last vault. Sure enough, a saint stared back at him from the vaults front cover and DONNELLY was etched into metal’s fancy scrollwork. The panel had been soldered shut though, and Earl said, “Time for some muscle, Josh.”

  They each took a side, and using whatever means they had at their disposal, the men hammered and pried away at the seal. It was hot and sweaty work but twenty minutes later, most of the seal was lying in pieces on the floor at their feet. Then, they removed the metal cover and, holding the lantern high, Earl peered inside the vault.

  There were no dusty bones or any half-rotted corpses inside but there was a metal lockbox pushed toward the rear of the enclosure. Grinning in anticipation, Earl reached in and pulled the box out. It was heavy, though, and Earl grunted, “Josh, come here and give me a hand!”

  “I’m a scairt to, Earl! Can’t you manage it yourself?”

  Josh’s sudden recalcitrant moods were really starting to get on Earl’s nerves. The man didn’t seem to grasp that fact he was under orders! He stopped pulling and turned around.

  “You do what I say, Josh, or I swear I’ll kill you and stick you in one of these vaults!” he snarled.

  Gulping, Josh stepped forward and grasped the end of the heavy metal box in both arms. A moment later, it hit the floor with a resounding bang. Coughing against a plume of dust rising into the air, Earl knelt over the lockbox and proceeded to pound at yet another padlock pinning the lid tight.

  Apparently, Josh had no qualms about a box that was not hiding inside a crypt and he said, “Move over, Earl. I can get it.” He had found a shovel, somewhere along the way and with a mighty heave; he drove the metal blade down onto the lock, which gave away with a dull thud.

  Holding his breath, Earl lifted the lid. It stuck for a moment and then lifted into the air to reveal Earl’s every hope and dream. There were banknotes—thousands of them, and small boxes of jewelry. There was coin, gleaming gold and silver in the lamp light and files of miscellaneous paperwork—bills of deed, licenses and assorted legal papers representing, Earl guessed, a separate fortune all on its own.

  Shaking with greed, Earl straightened and said, “Can you carry this on your own or do you need help?”

  Josh shrugged. “I reckon I can manage, for a while anyway. It’s about a mile to the wagon… maybe you can spell me if’n I get tired?”

  Earl nodded and watched as Josh bent down to pick his new fortune up off the dusty floor. Then he followed, closing the big iron gate behind him and fastening the padlock back into place. It was slightly bent but, with some effort, fit the lock well enough. Besides, Earl had not seen the old caretaker look inside the mausoleum once in the last two days.

  He figured that by the time the man bothered to look, and report the breakin (if ever) he and Josh would be long gone. Earl blew the lantern out and watched Josh’s wide back as the young man picked his way through the dusk to the back fence.

  Earl still needed Josh’s muscles for what he had planned next but… he had no intention, of sharing his newfound wealth. One more job and Earl would put an end to the sassy moron once, and for all.

  Chapter 2

  “Getting tired, is all”

  State Marshal, Matthew Wilcox picked up the latest batch of WANTED posters from the polished wood counter-top of the marshal’s office in Spokane, Washington. Thumbing through the paperwork, he saw the usual suspects; bank robbers, train robbers, a few rapists/murderers and two Yakima Indians, accused of torching houses and barns all along the Columbia River gorge.

  Sighing, he stuffed the papers in his carryall and stared out the window across the street at his son, Chance, who was talking to a couple of boys his own age. Matthew smiled. His twelve-year-old son was an almost perfect mixture of Iris and himself. The boy’s hair was strawberry blonde and his eyes as green as grass. He was growing up tall and lean and his smile was already melting a number of girlish hearts back home in Granville.

  Stepping up to the windowpane, Matthew gestured and saw Chance nod. He said something to the other boys and then led his horse over to the hitch rail in front of the marshal’s office, tying it fast. Placing a bag of oats over the horse’s muzzle, he patted the animal’s rump and then stepped up on the boardwalk.

  “You ready to head out, Pa?” he asked, after entering the office.

  “Just about… Marshal Adams is fetching the payroll from the safe, and then we’ll go home.” Matthew replied.

  At that precise moment, Matthew’s boss stepped into the room with a small canvas bag clutched in his hand. “Here you go, Matthew… and, here are your orders for October. Looks like there’s not too much going on— just prisoner transport from the Spokane County ja
il to Walla Walla penitentiary… um… twice, in the first two weeks and then you need to stand as state witness in four separate trials, from October 15th through the 22nd”.

  He looked up from the orders with a grin. “Looks like a gravy train for you, at least for now. Of course, that could all change,” he added with a sigh.

  Knowing how true that statement was, Matthew nodded in agreement. Looking the orders over, he said, “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you in about three weeks, right?”

  “That’s right. Get on home now and give that wife of yours a big hug for me, won’t you?” The portly, little marshal (and confirmed bachelor) was half in love with Iris, Matthew knew.

  But, he mused, what’s new about that? Wherever she goes, Iris makes friends, both with her uncommon good sense and her deep compassion for others. She is as pretty as a picture and for many of the folks back home, an angel on Earth.

  Matthew smiled. He had been gone for almost three weeks this time and couldn’t wait to get home to her loving arms. The only reason he wasn’t home already was that Chance was attending school in Spokane and Matthew had seized the opportunity to ride the thirty miles back home with his son.

  He looked forward to hearing about Chance’s studies, the latest local gossip… and, just spending time with his boy. He longed for Iris’ touch, though. Although she was almost forty-four years old now and gray was beginning to etch its way through her long, red hair, she was just as desirable as ever. Her long, lean body was still straight and strong and Matthew couldn’t wait to run his hands over her curves.

  “Hey, Pa, did you see this?”

  Looking over at Chance, Matthew saw that the boy was staring at a poster on the wall. Walking up to stand beside him, Matthew saw an all too familiar face. It was none other than that little weasel, Martin LeVesque. Matthew grimaced as he read the words, MARTIN LEVESQUE FOR ATTORNY GENERAL!

  The crooked, police commissioner was one fish that got away seven years ago, after a sex-slave prostitution ring in Seattle was discovered, and dismantled for good. Matthew was able to prove many people’s guilt in that affair but, although he had eyewitnesses and proof of Lévesque’s involvement in the scheme, Matthew was not able to see the man convicted of his crimes.