The Silverberg Business by Robert Freeman Wexler

Author:Robert Freeman Wexler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Small Beer Press
Published: 2022-04-21T15:07:03+00:00

The marshal sat on a bench outside a barber’s. He was on the opposite side of the street from Highwater’s, but not directly across. It was a location I approved of—a man leaving the saloon wouldn’t spot him right off and likely wouldn’t think he was watching the place.

Nebel walked toward him; I stopped to roll a cigarette, then approached. “Hey mister, got something I can light this with?”

Griffin handed me a match and said he hadn’t seen anyone leave who looked like our man. He suggested I go in. “We could take off our badges, but chances are someone will know us. You could find things out a lot easier.”

I said that sounded like a good idea and crossed to the other side. I had been to Highwater’s when checking poker games for Stephens’s activity, but I was sure no one had thought I was any kind of lawman. The interior was dim and smoky; I filled a bowl from a pot of beans and ordered a beer. I’d just had lunch, but beans gave me an excuse to linger. A drummer sat a couple of stools over, sample case of barbed wire open on the bar. He polished a strand, spread the cloth over the samples, and closed it.

“Lots of customers for that around here, I reckon,” I said. He said that he had made out pretty well and was waiting for a train to Tulsa to see what things were like there.

“Been to Tulsa once,” I said. “Not sure of anything that would take me back there.”

At a table, three men played cards. None of them were John Murray or Stephens. The bartender brought my beer. He was a youngster with long blond hair and a missing front tooth. He hadn’t been here on my previous visit.

“Got a minute?” I fished out two shiny new Morgan dollars and stood them between the fingers of my left hand, which I had flat on the bar.

“Sure, mister, what do you need?” He didn’t look at my face. The coins were too pretty.

“Looking for a friend.” I described Murray, relying more on what Dupree had said rather than the wanted flyer. “He told me about a good job, said to meet him here.”

“How do I know you’re his friend?”

I wanted to laugh at his would-be tough talk, but that wouldn’t help get me what I needed. I slid my left hand and the coins off the bar, toward my lap. The bartender tilted his head in the direction the coins went. I cupped my palm, letting the coins make a nice clinking sound, then brought them back up to the bar and opened my palm.

The bartender was ready to tell me things. “That man was here. He said he needed a good horse. I told him to go to Meacham’s. You know where that is?”

I said I did, thanked him, and slid the coins toward him. Outside Highwater’s, I turned left. On the next corner, I let Griffin and Nebel catch up and told them where we were going.

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