Preacher's Justice by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2015-04-08T04:00:00+00:00

Finch was working at the wagon freight yard when Preacher found him. Sitting on an overturned barrel, he was packing grease into the wheel of one of the wagons.

“Your name Finch?”

Finch grabbed a handful of grease and started shoving it into the wheel hub.

“Who wants to know?”

“I do,” Preacher said without identifying himself.

“I owe you money, mister?”

“No.”

“Have I got your sister, wife, or daughter in a family way?”

“No.”

“Did I challenge you to a duel when I was so drunk I wasn’t makin’ any sense?”

“No,” Preacher said. He laughed.

Smiling, the wagon mechanic stood up, then extended his grease-filled hand toward Preacher’s.

“Well, then, if you ain’t a’wantin’ me for none of them things, I reckon I’m the man you’re lookin’ for.”

Preacher started to take Finch’s hand, but seeing it all filled with grease, he jerked his hand back.

“I’m sorry,” Finch said, reacting to Preacher’s aversion. “When you work in grease all the time, sometimes you just forget.” He wiped his hand on his own trousers, then stuck it out for a second time. It was nearly as greasy and dirty as it had been the first time, but Preacher took it anyway.

“Now that you know who I am, what can I do for you?” Finch asked.

“Do you know Ben Caviness?”

“Caviness?” Finch’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I know the son of a bitch. Don’t tell me he is a friend of yours.”

Preacher shook his head.

“He’s no friend of mine,” he said. “But I am trying to find him. When is the last time you saw him?”

“Oh, mercy, let me see. I’d make it two or three months now, for sure.”

“Have you seen him since March?”

Finch thought for a moment, then shook his head. “You mean since he killed that girl? No, and I don’t reckon anyone else has either.”

Preacher’s eyes narrowed. “You think Caviness is the one who killed Jennie?”

“Well, folks is saying he’s the one that done it, and knowin’ the son of a bitch like I did, there ain’t nothin’ that would make me disagree with ’em.”

“What about this man Slater? I hear he and Caviness were pards?”

Finch shook his head. “Well, if either one of them was goin’ to have a pard, it would have to be each other,” he said. “Warn’t neither one of them worth a pail of warm piss. But no, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that they was pards or anything like that.”

“But last March, you and some others were seen sitting at the same table as both Caviness and Slater.”

“Sittin’ at the same table?” Finch shook his head. “No, you got me wrong, mister. I wouldn’t never sit down to dinner with either one of them sorry sons of bitches.”

“No, not a dinner table. A table over in LaBarge’s Tavern.”

“Oh. Yeah, well, I suppose I could have done that from time to time. LaBarge’s gets awful crowded sometimes, so’s that you can’t always be none too particular who it is you wind up sittin’ with.”

“Do you recall sitting at a table with both Caviness and Slater? According to one person I spoke to, they were discussing Philadelphia.

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