“Have a seat. You’re gonna love the food. Carl does things with eggs nobody else can.”
“I’m sure. Could we get to the discussion at hand?”
“Hmm? Oh, you mean what we talked about last night.”
“Right. The Baron.”
Rigger scratched underneath his chin and looked like he was concentrating on something.
“Yeah, I guess I could give you some idea of where to look. I can’t say he’s there, mind you, but you could start looking.”
“Where?”
“Up north. Montana.”
“Montana? Why would he be holed up in Montana?”
Rigger shrugged and said, “He likes the cold. Is it cold in Russia?”
“I don’t know,” Decker said.
“Well, the way I hear it, when he’s between jobs he goes up Montana way.”
“Where? Does he have a spread up there?”
Rigger shrugged and said, “Beats me. I guess you’ll have to go up there and find out.”
“I guess I’ll have to.”
“Montana’s a big place.”
“It’s a place to start.”
Decker stood up just as the door opened and Carl entered with breakfast.
“You ain’t leaving before you eat, are you?” Rigger asked.
That had been Decker’s intention, but suddenly he was hungry. Must have had something to do with the smell of bacon and eggs and biscuits and fried potatoes.
“After Carl went to all this trouble?” he asked. “Hell no.”
“Good!” Rigger said. “Set it right down, Carl. You got a couple of hungry hombres here.”
Over breakfast they talked about anything but the Baron. Rigger spoke about El Segundo and why he liked it there.
“It’s peaceful,” he said. “I make my living with my gun, Deck, but I’m pretty sure I ain’t gonna have to use it here.”
“Isn’t it a little dangerous?” Decker asked.
“What?”
“Having one place where you stay between jobs. You here in Texas, the Baron in Montana.”
Rigger shrugged.
“Not many people know where to find me,” he said.
“I knew.”
“You’re in the business.”
“Not your business.”
“Well, then, you know me. You don’t know the Baron, that’s why you had to come to me.”
“It still sounds dangerous, always returning to the same place.”
“Everybody’s got to have a place to stay, Decker,” Rigger said. “A place to relax, let down their guard.” Rigger leaned forward and said, “Don’t you have a place, Decker?”
Decker stood up and shook his head.
“I never let my guard down, Joe. Thanks for the breakfast, and the information.”
“I’m glad we got our old…argument cleared up, Deck. I’d like to think of you as a friend.”
“Why’s that?”
Rigger smiled and said, “I never kill friends.”
“I guess I should find that encouraging. Give Carl my compliments.”
“I’m almost tempted to come along with you,” Rigger said to Decker’s retreating back.
“Why don’t you?”
Rigger thought a moment, then shook his head.
“It wouldn’t do. Word might get out that I went after the Baron because of—”
“Jealousy?” Decker asked.
Rigger shrugged.
As Decker turned to walk to the door, Rigger called out, “Hey, Deck!”
“Yeah?” Decker said, turning with his hand on the doorknob.
“Um, anything I tell you stays between you and me, right?”
“Sure.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t want it to get around that I told you where the Baron was.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about. Besides, when you get right down to it, you really haven’t told me where he is, have you?”
Rigger smiled. “Try a town in Wyoming called Douglas, near the North Platte River. Look for a man named Calder.”
“Calder? Who’s he?”
“He’s the man you go to see when you want to hire the Baron.”
Surprised at the information—and that Rigger would be willing to give it—Decker gave the other man a small salute and left the room.
Downstairs Decker didn’t see Carl, but he did see the girl, Viola. She was dressed for work, even though it was early. She wore a silver dress with a deep, plunging neckline and probably thought she looked sexy as all hell. Decker still thought she was a little too innocent-looking for this line of work.
“Are you and Joe finished?” she asked.
“All done,” Decker said. “He’s all yours.”
“Not yet,” she said, cocking one hip, “but he will be.”
“Good luck, honey—you’ll need it.”
Joe Rigger didn’t love anybody but Joe Rigger. Viola was going to have to learn that the hard way.
Chapter Five
Douglas was a fair-sized town about forty miles east of the larger town of Casper, Wyoming, and about eighty miles west of the Nebraska border. It was almost three hundred miles south of Montana. It had everything a town should have if you were going to use it for a base: a hotel and a telegraph office.
Decker put his horse up in the livery and then carried his rifle and saddlebags to the hotel.
“Will you be staying long, sir?” the clerk asked him. He was a dapper man with slicked-down hair, and he smelled of cheap cologne.
“That depends,” Decker said, signing the register.
“On what, sir?”
“On how long it takes me to find a man named Calder.”
“Who, sir?”
“Calder,” Decker said. He put the pen down and stared at the clerk. “You don’t know anyone by that name?”
The clerk thought a moment, then shook his head and said, “No, sir. Does the gentleman have a first name?”
“I’m sure he does,” Decker said. “Can I have my key, please?”
“Of course, sir,” the man said. “Room 7. It overlooks the street.”
“What does Room 8 overlook?”
“Just the alley.”
“Is there a roof or ledge outside the window?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll take that one.”
“As you wish, sir.”
The clerk replaced the key to number 7 and handed him the key to number 8.
“If there’s anything else—”
“I’ll let you know,” Decker said. “Thanks.”
He picked up his rifle and saddlebags and ascended the stairs to the second floor. Once in the room he dropped his gear on the bed and walked to the window. Sure enough, it overlooked an alley. Across from him was a blank wall. There was no way of telling what kind of building it belonged to. Its roof, however, extended another floor above his window. There was no access there. He was satisfied that the room was fairly secure from outside entry—except for the door. He fixed that by taking the one straight-backed wooden chair in the room and jamming it under the doorknob.
He had ridden all day and was tired, even more than he was hungry or thirsty. He took off his boots, reclined on the bed, and fell as deeply asleep as his instincts would let him. At the slightest sound, he’d be instantly awake and alert. Left alone, he’d be able to sleep for about an hour, then go in search of a drink and a meal.
The drink was a shot of whiskey at the saloon, followed by a beer.
“Maybe you can help me,” Decker said to the bartender after he swallowed the last of the beer.
“I just did, friend,” the man said. He was a sloppy fat man with huge forearms that looked as if they might once have held some muscle. Maybe there still was some beneath the surface. His face was a mass of bumps, dominated by a lumpy nose. He had either been a wrestler or a bare-knuckled boxer.
“I need to find a man.”