Frank Lafferty hurried to the hitch rail. He was grinning as might a kid who had just been given a long-sought present.
“You are lighting a shuck already?”
“If I want to make the next edition.” Lafferty swung up with all the grace of a lump of clay. He had to try twice to slide his other foot into the stirrup. “The paper will sell out.”
“It is nice to see you so broken up that two people have been killed,” Seamus said.
“Spare me your sarcasm, if you please,” the journalist replied. “I merely report events.”
“Report them? Or revel in them?” was Seamus’s rejoinder.
Lafferty was in too good a mood to let the criticism affect him. He hauled on the reins and slapped his legs and headed south in a swirl of dust.
“There are days I hate this world and everyone in it,” Seamus remarked. Suddenly he wanted out of there. He wanted to shed the whole sick, twisted affair. But he was not quite done. He went back in.
Club Caine was gingerly sliding into his shirt, with Adolphina’s help. The bandage she had applied bulged white against Club’s skin. “Still wearing that sour face, I see?”
“You would wear one too if you were in my boots,” Seamus said. “You don’t realize what you have done.”
“I have defended my honor and I feel wonderful,” Club declared.
“An innocent woman died, or doesn’t she count?”
“Since when do you care so much about worn-out hags? She was not much to look at, you must admit.”
“Club, I have always liked you,” Seamus said. “But that was cruel.” The devil of it was, though, Seamus knew the man was right. He never much cared what happened to others, and he did not much care about the whore. What he did care about, what bothered him most, was the fact that his tidy, orderly life had been disrupted, with the very real possibility of a lot worse to come.
“Suit yourself, Yank,” Club said. “Me, I am riding back to Dodge to find Harriet so we can celebrate.”
“The sheriff will want to talk to you. You might be called before a grand jury.”
“Whatever is required. No charges will be filed. Not under the circumstances.” Club rose and turned to Chester and Adolphina. “I believe I owe you some money.”
“Blood money,” Seamus remarked.
“Coffin Varnish officially thanks you,” Chester said as he accepted. Adolphina immediately took it from him.
“Who is going to pay for Sally’s burial?” Winifred asked. “I wouldn’t mind, her being my friend and all, but I wasn’t the one who shot her.”
“Already taken care of, my friend,” Chester said, and winked. “I went through the pockets of the deceased. He had more than enough.”
Seamus could not stop himself. “You people sicken me.” He walked out and forked leather and rode off without a backward glance. If he never saw Coffin Varnish again, it would be too soon, but he doubted he would be so lucky.
He was in no hurry to reach Dodge City. Hinkle would be furious, and he couldn’t blame him. A whirlwind had been unleashed, a tornado that could sweep all of them up in a vortex of unending violence. No, he told himself, not unending. There had to be a way to put a stop to it, to nip the stupidity in the bud. The county commissioners could weigh in. The governor should be notified. Before another month went by, a political deluge would rain on Coffin Varnish, rain on the heads of that butterball of a mayor and his bull of a wife.
Seamus couldn’t wait.
It was everything Lafferty hoped it would be.
The shooting was the talk of the town. The
Lafferty’s boss was immensely pleased. “Keep this up and you will be the next Edison Farnsworth.”
That was fine, but Lafferty had higher aspirations. He was thinking of London, or maybe Paris.
The world was Lafferty’s journalistic oyster, provided Coffin Varnish went on inviting would-be killers to buck each other out in gore. The way Lafferty saw it, his career and Coffin Varnish’s notoriety were inextricably linked. With that in mind, he did not slant the story as he had told Glickman he would; he did not heap scorn and ridicule on Coffin Varnish. Instead, he discreetly implied that maybe, just maybe, Coffin Varnish was doing Ford County, and Kansas, a favor by offering itself as a killing ground. Lafferty wrote in his concluding paragraph:
After all, the more badmen and shootists who flock to Coffin Varnish, the fewer shootings Dodge and other cities and towns must contend with. Brave Coffin Varnish is doing the rest of us a favor by drawing to herself all those who make our streets unsafe. Instead of condemning her, might it not be better to praise her civic leaders for having the courage to do what no one else ever has? Instead of demanding they cease and desist, might it not be wiser to let them continue in their admittedly bizarre but nonetheless beneficial practice? Wise or folly, my fellow citizens, which is it?
Lafferty thought that last a nice touch.
