Paunch Stevens was furious. “Let go of me, damn you! You could have gotten me killed!”
“You, sir, are in violation of town ordinance,” Chester countered, even though, the truth be told, there was no town ordinance covering a situation like this. Chester was making it up as he went along.
“To say nothing of being a cheap bastard,” Sally Worth threw in.
Paunch fixed his glare on her. “How is that again?”
“You want to have it out with this other gent,” Sally said, “but you don’t want to pay for the permit and the burial. I call that cheap. So will most everyone else who hears about it.”
To Chester’s immense relief, her comment caused Paunch Stevens to deflate like a punctured water skin.
Stevens took his hand off the Smith & Wesson. “I suppose I was being a bit rash. But a hundred and fifty dollars seems outrageous.”
Chester released Stevens’s wrist but was ready to grab it again if need be. “Outrageous? For the privilege of killing a man? Where else in Kansas, where else anywhere, can you do what we are giving you the opportunity to do?”
“That is true, but—” Paunch Stevens began.
Now that the scare was over, Chester was mad—good and mad. He poked Stevens in the chest. “No buts about it! If you think we are only in this for the money, you are wrong.” Actually, they were, but Chester had never been one to let the truth stand in the way of a good lie. “If that were the case, we would demand a lot more than a hundred dollars. For the service we are offering, a thousand would be more than fair.”
Sally Worth cackled. She had poured herself a drink and was nursing it at the end of the bar, her elbows under her. “If you charged that much, no one could afford it.”
“When I want comments from you I will ask for them.”
Sally arched an eyebrow. “Don’t take that high and mighty tone with me, mister.”
“Hush,” Chester said.
“Like hell I will!” Sally declared. “I know you, Chester. You and that wife of yours, lording it over the rest of us.”
Winifred said, “Sally, please.”
“Oh, you are no better than he is,” Sally snapped. “Why you went along with this harebrained notion, I will never know. Or is money all you care about, too?”
“That is unfair,” Win said, “and untrue. I have never been all that interested in being rich. Hell, if I was, do you think I’d have stayed in this godforsaken excuse for a town as long as I have?”
Sally had no answer for that.
“I stay because I like the pace of life,” Win said. “I like things slow and easy. I like not having to shave if I don’t want to, or having a boss breathe over my shoulder.”
Club Caine thumped the bar to get their attention. “I did not ride all this way to listen to you people bandy your petty problems about. Let’s get this over with. That is, if Mr. Stevens is still eager for this to be his last day on earth.”
Paunch Stevens bristled and started to reach for his revolver but stopped and snarled, “The sooner I can empty my pistol into you, the better I will feel.”
Apparently everything was striking Sally as hilarious because she laughed anew, then said, “Grown men acting like ten-year-olds. There are times I am mighty glad I am a woman, and this is one of them.”
“What are you on about?” Club Caine asked her.
“Men,” Sally said. “How silly they are. You don’t see grown women waving revolvers at each other, do you?”
“You are threepence short of a shilling yourself,” Club Caine said.
Sally tilted her head. “What did you just say?”
“That you are a bit dotty,” Club answered. “It must be because you have about gone by.”
“You are English, aren’t you? With that accent and all.”
“I was born and raised in a city called Liverpool, yes,” Club revealed. “Why do you ask?”
“It explains why you talk so strange,” Sally said. “You being a foreigner and all.”
Paunch Stevens snorted. “You tell him, lady.”
“Sod off, the both of you,” Club rejoined, then turned to Chester Luce. “I have had all the silliness I can take for one day. Where are the permits? Is there a form for us to sign?”
Chester was momentarily at a loss. It was Adolphina who had come up with the idea of requiring permits, and he had thought it delightful once she explained about the fees he should collect. But it had never occurred to him to go have the permits printed, or even to draw them up himself.
“Well?” Club Caine asked. “Is there a problem?”
“There is nothing to sign,” Chester said. “You pay the fee, I make out the form and keep it on file.”
“One form for both of us or one form for each of us?”
Chester almost said, “What the hell difference does it make?” He could not understand why the Englishman was making such a fuss. “One form for each of you. I will need you to write down your names, where you live, next of kin, that sort of thing.”
“What are we to write with?”
Chester’s irritation mounted. He had not thought to bring ink, pen, and paper. “To make things easier, just tell me what I need to know and I will write it down later. I have a good memory.”
“Rather a shoddy way of doing things,” Club Caine said. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for us to write it on the actual permit? Why do I have the impression you do not have this whole thing worked out yet?”
“Nonsense,” Chester said. To agree was to suggest he did not know what he was doing. He turned to the bar. “Win, can I borrow paper and something to write with?”
Winifred came back with “How do you borrow paper? Once you use it, it is of no use to me.”
“Quit quibbling and help out,” Chester chided.
“I would like to oblige you but I can’t. The only paper in this whole place are the labels on the bottles.”
“Organized as hell,” Club Caine muttered. “Bloody Yanks.”
“I have plenty of paper in my store,” Chester said. “If you two gentlemen would be so kind as to follow me, we will soon have the preliminaries out of the way and you can get down to the killing.”
“That suits me just fine,” Paunch Stevens said. He had refilled his glass and took a healthy swig. “All this jabbering made me thirsty.”
“I am surrounded by idiots,” Club Caine said. “But very well. Let us repair to your establishment.” He started toward the batwings.
Chester turned to follow, promising, “The delay will be short, I can assure you.”
“Jabber, jabber, jabber,” Paunch Stevens said. He set down his empty glass and winked at Winifred Curry. As he winked he drew the Smith & Wesson. Win opened his mouth to shout, but Paunch pointed the gun at him, put a finger to his lips, and shook his head. Then, grinning, he extended the revolver in the direction of Club Caine. “It is a good thing you are so short, Mr. Mayor.”
“What did you say?” Chester had not been paying attention. He glanced over his shoulder and very nearly screamed. The Smith & Wesson’s muzzle seemed to be pointed right at him. “No!” he bleated.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Paunch Stevens said.
Thunder boomed, and a leaden bee buzzed past Chester’s ear. In pure reflex he fell to the floor, squawking in terror.
Club Caine was knocked violently forward. He stumbled, recovered, and sank to one knee. Unlimbering the Webley, he pivoted, a look of intense concentration on his face.
Paunch Stevens laughed. “That will teach you to steal my woman.” He took a step, swaying slightly, and sighted down the barrel. Again his revolver spewed smoke and lead.
The slug missed.
Club Caine gripped the Webley with both hands and was taking deliberate aim. Beads of sweat had broken out on his face. “Back shooter!” he rasped.