It seemed like there was no one in this town he could truly trust, so Fargo did the only thing he could. He stood up, trying to appear casual, and stretched. “It sounds like maybe you’ve got a plan.”
McKenna or Horn or whoever he was nodded. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll take the money down and put it in the bank to be wired to Chicago—confiscated funds.”
“What then?” Fargo asked.
“Then I’ll—” was all the man managed to say before the butt end of Fargo’s Colt slammed into his head, knocking him unconscious.
“Take a nap,” he finished for him. “A good long one.”
“At least you didn’t shoot this one,” H.D. said, looking at the prone form of McKenna on his office floor. “So you found Horn?”
The office was dark and quiet, but morning wasn’t all that far off. Fargo shrugged. “Horn, maybe. He told me he was really a Pinkerton agent.”
“Christ, Fargo, you clubbed a Pinkerton man? Do you want to be chased from here all the way into the Indian nations?”
“Something about his story didn’t ring quite true,” he said. He filled H.D. in on what McKenna had told him.
“Burn the city down?” H.D. said. “I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t either,” Fargo said. “But who knows what the real truth is? For now, we’ve got to get him out of town.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Can you and your men truss him up and get him on a northbound train?” he asked. “Maybe in a freight car where they won’t find him for a while? By the time he gets back, we can hopefully have the rest of this sorted out.”
H.D. nodded. “Yeah, I can manage that. But there’s something I’ve got to tell you, Fargo.”
“Go ahead.”
“I had to let Hattie Hamilton go,” H.D. said. “The county attorney showed up about an hour ago. Parker got him out of bed and forced him to come down here. He told me to cut her loose for a ‘lack of evidence.’ ”
“Damn,” Fargo said. “I was hoping you’d be able to hold her for at least another couple of days.”
“Me, too,” he said, “but he was right. We didn’t have much in the way of evidence and Parker verified her story.”
“Where’d she go?” he asked. “She didn’t come back to the Blue Emporium. That’s where I’ve been most of the night.”
“Parker’s place, I imagine,” H.D. said. “Why?”
“Because I’ve got the feeling that she really is at the center of all this.” He nudged the man on the floor. “Tell you what,” he said. “Just lock him up for now and when he comes around, why don’t you see if you can get some sort of verification of his story?”
“What are you going to do?” H.D. asked.
“What I always do,” Fargo said, turning back to the doorway.
“Do you know who you’re after?” H.D. called after him.
“Just about everyone,” he replied. “But first things first. I’m going to take that money to the only man I can trust with it.”
“You’ve got the money? Why didn’t you say so?”
“Because, my old friend,” Fargo said, his voice sounding tired even to himself, “I can’t trust you with it.”
“What? Why not?”
Fargo stopped in the doorway, not bothering to turn around. “You’re sleeping with her, too, aren’t you, H.D.?”
The silence behind him was answer enough and he sighed. “You should have stayed out west, H.D. This place isn’t good for you.”
“Are you . . . you’re not going to tell my wife, are you?” he asked. “She’d be heartbroken.”
“No, H.D., not unless I find out that you’re in this with her. My advice to you is to find a way to get yourself clear of this place. It’s no good.” He paused, then said, “She’s no good.”
“I know,” H.D. said. “I just . . . I don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, you do,” Fargo said as he stepped out the door and back into the night. “Or at least you used to.”
He listened, but his old friend didn’t say anything else, and Fargo realized that more than likely H.D. wasn’t someone he could call a friend anymore.
Worse, he might just be an enemy.
Still, he would deal with that when the time came. For now, he had to see a man about holding on to a very large sum of money.
Fargo only hoped that his instincts would prove accurate this time. Any kind of game played in this place was dangerous. But he’d managed to find one that was especially so. He remembered something an old friend of his named Cheyenne had told him once: “There’re two things a man’ll kill you for right off. Money and a woman. He’ll kill you faster for the woman but he’ll kill you slower for the money.” Fargo reckoned that that was the kind of good advice that would never go out of style. He’d found it true too many times to doubt it.
And without doubt Cheyenne’s words applied to a place like this.
13
Fargo headed for Anderson’s Café and wasn’t all that surprised to find both father and son still awake and discussing the events of the night. The door was locked and he could see them sitting at a table, an oil lamp burning low between them.
He tapped lightly on the door, then stepped away from it. There was no sense in crowding the space and risk getting shot for his trouble. Tommy peered through the window, saw who it was, and opened the door. “Skye Fargo,” he said, smiling. “What brings you here at this god-awful hour of the day?”
“Can I come inside for a moment?” Fargo asked.
“Sure, sure,” Tommy said. He turned back to where his father was still sitting. “Dad, it’s Fargo.”
“I heard, boy,” Anderson said. “Don’t keep him standing in the doorway. Let him in.”
Tommy moved aside, then shut and locked the door behind him. “Can’t be too careful right now,” he said. “Things are a bit unsettled.”
Fargo chuckled and crossed over to where Anderson was sitting. “Unsettled is putting it a bit mildly.”
“He’s got a gift for understatement,” Anderson said. “Yet that same mouth lands him in so much trouble.”
“He’ll grow out of it,” Fargo said. “Probably.”
“Sit down, Fargo,” the man said. “Can I get you something?”
“No, I’m fine,” he replied, taking a seat across from the mayor. “But I’ve come to ask a favor.”
Anderson laughed. “I’m on my way to being the mayor of nowhere and you want a favor? All right, why not? What can I do for you?”
Fargo pulled his saddlebags off his shoulder and tossed them on the table. “I need you to hold these for me, keep them safe until all of this gets figured out.”
“What’s in them?” Anderson asked.
“About three hundred thousand dollars,” Fargo said. “The money from the poker game.”
“Thank God!” he exclaimed. “How did you find it? Did you catch Horn? What happened?”
“For a man who didn’t seem all that concerned about money during the game, you seem awfully excited to have that money back,” Fargo said.
Anderson nodded. “I was bluffing. Even if I get every damn dime I’m owed by people, I wouldn’t have enough to rebuild what I’ve got here. I was laying it all on the line in that game.”
“I thought so. You’re either really brave or incredibly stupid, Anderson. The game was a setup from the beginning.”
“I figured as much, but what else was I going to do except try to win?” the man asked. “Parker and Beares had me cornered.”
“Beares is dead,” Fargo said evenly, “which gives you one less enemy to deal with. As for Parker, I’m not sure what his role in all this is just yet, but I’ll know sooner rather than later.”
“What happened to Horn?” the younger Anderson asked.
“He’s over in the jail,” he replied. “H.D.’s got him locked up nice and tight.”