Cavalry Man: The Killing Machine by Ed Gorman

Author:Ed Gorman [Gorman, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I returned to town without anything to show for the trip, except for losing a little money to Wylie Hobbins. The first place I went was the hospital. I wanted to see if Fairbain had come to yet or if he was still in a coma. I wanted to talk to Jane, too, but she was busy helping a very old lady walk down the first floor corridor. My morning’s bad luck held fast. Fairbain was still unconscious. I supposed it was even worse luck for him.

He was waiting for me outside. At first I didn’t recognize him in the ten-gallon hat. On him it was comical. A New York cowboy, as they were known.

“Had any lunch, Mr. Ford?”

“Oh, it’s you. I just went to see your friend, Wayland.”

“Oh, c’mon now, if you mean Fairbain, he’s no friend of mine. He’s no friend of anybody’s. And neither am I. Not anybody who’s in my business, anyway. We’re competitors and nothing more and nothing less. Now, how about some lunch?”

Two good reasons to take up his offer: I wondered what he wanted and I was hungry. “All right.”

“Up for something fancy?” That was when I realized he’d had a few drinks. He was acting a little tougher than usual.

“Chili’s about as fancy as I feel right now.”

“Cold day, hot chili. Let’s try that café over there.”

A couple of merchants were putting election signs in their windows. Just in case you don’t think the Wild West is dead and gone—if it ever really existed—the signs would convince you otherwise. A man named McLaren was running on three issues: a better school, better garbage collection, and better care of the streets. You can bet that the likes of Wild Bill Hickok and Jesse James never once gave a thought to any of these matters.

The chili was advertised as “Texas chili,” and while it wasn’t as hot as all that, it did make your esophagus plead for mercy at least a couple of times.

“You’re showing me the sights, Mr. Ford.”

“How would that be?”

“Place like this.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Look around. Salt of the earth. Working men. Sleeves rolled up. Heavy clothes so they can work outdoors in chilly weather. Grateful that they’ve got a job. They’re the backbone of this country.”

“You’re an arrogant sonofabitch.”

His head jerked back a bit, as if something had just bit him. “What’s that supposed to mean? Salt of the earth? Backbone of this country? What’s wrong with that?”

“You make them sound stupid. Like pack mules. Do their jobs, salute the flag, give thanks to all millionaires who don’t pay them enough for the work they do or the chances they take.”

His smirk didn’t surprise me. “I wonder if the Army knows that they have a labor agitator on the payroll.”

“Don’t fool yourself. A lot of people who don’t have anything to do with labor think the way I do. We just saw the last part of the railroad west being built. All the men who died building it so the rich men could get richer.

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