The Regulator, chapter 16
“Ese hombre” Guerra asked, “¿lo mataste?” That man. Did you kill him?
Charlie’s cover passes muster.
by Frank A. Spring
“What do you make of Calvin and our guest down there jawing away?” Dal asked Billy as he was closing up the shop for the night.
“I make nothing of it,” said Billy. “You?”
“Don’t much care for it,” said Dal. “Not knowing him any better than we do.”
“This change your mind at all?” asked Billy, holding out a slip of paper. “Came this afternoon.”
Dal read the telegram: C JOHNSON FRIEND REPEAT FRIEND. PLS SEND HIM ON. ROSE
“Guess she finally learned what ‘urgent’ means,” said Dal.
“And the value of a nickel, by the length of it,” said Billy. “Better late than never, and more than I can say for Bee, the family novelist.”
“Oh, piss on you,” said Bee, who was sweeping in a corner.
“We ain’t going to kill him, then,” said Dal.
“Guess not,” said Billy.
“Why don’t you let him up, then?” Said Dal.
“Because I wanted some time to think,” said Billy. “We need someone to bring us our share from the last job they pulled. I ain’t waiting on Violet to remember, not after last time.”
“Ain’t that right,” said Dal.
Billy nodded. “I’m thinking of letting our boy downstairs do it, seeing as how he and Violet are thick as thieves and he’s appropriately afraid of both Davy and us.”
“Why wouldn’t we send him?” asked Bee.
“Because I’d rather send someone that I know,” said Billy, “like a smart person would, Bee. Like a goddamned smart person. Which is why I didn’t ask you shit.
“But,” Billy went on to Dal, “it’ll be a few more days before we can get someone and, long a ride as it is, they should get started.”
“Why not one of us?” said Bee. “Shit, I’ll do it.”
“What did I just say about smart people, Bee?” retorted Billy. “Was one thing when they were just rolling asshole agents for bank notes on small deals. No one minded too much about that. But this last job…I’m starting to wonder if it was such a good idea. That kind of thing tends to bring a lot of eyes, and I ain’t too keen on any of us being seen with Davy and them right now. More we’re seen around here, in fact, the better. Thinking of throwing a big whoop-tee-doo, even, really call attention to the fact that we’re right here going about our business but I’m worried it’d make us look like we’ve got too much cash to throw around.”
“We ain’t going to kill him, then,” said Dal.
“Guess not,” said Billy.
“Goddamn what a fucking headache,” said Dal.
“Yeah,” said Billy. “If I’d known it was going to be like this we’d have stayed on the level.”
“You might not say that when you see our end of this last one.”
“Which is exactly my point,” said Billy. “I’m down here talking about killing the golden goddamned goose exactly because we don’t have our cut. Brings us back to the problem.”
“And the solution downstairs,” said Dal.
“So we’re trusting to Violet’s idea of a friend?” said Billy.
“Seems so.”
“God help us,” said Billy. “Bee, get him up here.”
**
Charlie was almost a full day out of Pawnee when Efrain Guerra caught up to him. Charlie had traveled slowly, loitering extravagantly and leaving an obvious trail. Guerra and Thorn would have seen him leave, but they’d stagger their departures and ride out in different directions, hooking around to intercept him. If he kept a straight course and didn’t go too fast, it would be easy enough to find him, and so it had proved.
They exchanged greetings and Guerra fell in beside Charlie, explaining that Thorn was behind them, making periodic sweeps to make sure they weren’t followed, and would catch up in his own time.
“I assume you commandeered the telegraph office?” Charlie asked, and Guerra told him how they’d managed it, and that they’d sent telegrams to the Pinkertons in Denver and the Governor in Santa Fe apprising them of the situation.
“Your man McParland cabled back that he could have a posse outside of McCroom in two days if you give the word,” said Guerra.
“Marshals sending anyone else?” asked Charlie.
“I hope so,” Guerra replied. “I need someone to clean my suit.” dusting off his shoulder. “What happened in there?”
“What happened is one of the Roann brothers talked more than he should,” said Charlie, and when he was finished with his brief account Guerra was laughing out loud.
“A la verga,” he chuckled. “There’s always one idiot can’t keep his mouth shut. How do you want to play this?”
“Present myself in McCroom as the Roanns’ errand boy,” said Charlie. “See what’s what. We don’t know if the whole gang is there or just Violet and Davy, or who.”
“If they’re all there?”
“I’ll telegraph McParland and we’ll kick down some doors. That work for you?”
Guerra nodded. “Long as Salt Lick and the O’Connells end up in jail or the ground, the Governor’s happy.”
“I reckon we can give him something to smile about.”
“Shit,” said Guerra, “anyone with a bottle of whiskey can do that.”
For the second time in a week Charlie Antrim and Efrain Guerra found themselves at a campfire together. They were staying out of settlements, at least until they’d put some real distance between themselves and Pawnee, and though Charlie’s back objected to the hard ground beneath his bedroll he found he preferred it to the sagging mattresses that so many boarding houses inflicted on their visitors.
The silence in which they sat gazing into the fire was the same one in which they’d pitched their simple camp and eaten their simple meal. Guerra had removed a pack of small cigars and wordlessly offered one to Charlie; their smoke mixed with the fire’s, climbing into the darkness and disappearing amongst the stars.
“I reckon we can give him something to smile about.”
“Shit,” said Guerra, “anyone with a bottle of whiskey can do that.”
“Antrim.” Guerra said the word quietly. “That your mother’s name?”
“Grandmother’s,” said Charlie, “but yeah, on my mother’s side.”
“I remember her,” Guerra said. “Pretty lady.”
Charlie took a long moment. Well, shit.
“She was at that,” he finally said.
Guerra turned to him. “I don’t blame you. Going by Antrim now.”
In the dark, a coyote.
Guerra grunted. “Didn’t Bonney go by that for a while?”
“He did,” Charlie said. “His father - stepfather - and my mother were cousins. We saw them off and on. I remember chunking rocks with him -“
“With Billy?”
“ - yeah, he was Henry then - and his brother Joseph one time over in Silver. But I didn’t know them especially well.” Charlie sighed. “Still…”
“Didn’t help.”
“No,” said Charlie. “No it did not.”
Silence.
“Ese hombre” Guerra asked, “¿lo mataste?” That man. Did you kill him?
Charlie nodded, slowly.
Subscribe to The Experiment to keep up with future chapters of Regulator. Check out Frank Spring’s previous contributions to The Experiment which include “Neither Gone Nor Forgotten,” “Oh, DaveBro,” and “In Praise of Gold Leaf.” For legal reasons, I want to make clear that Frank Spring owns the rights to Regulator, free and clear. Follow him on Twitter at @frankspring.
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