Preacher's Fire Read online

  He understood Beaumont’s motives a little better once the carriage reached Luella’s house a hour later. Beaumont called from inside the vehicle, “Give me a hand here, Jim.”

  The poor woman was as drunk as she could be, Preacher saw as he helped Beaumont lift her from the carriage. “Take her inside,” Beaumont ordered. “I’m in no mood for her usual games tonight.”

  “That’s why you kept pourin’ that brandy down her throat?”

  Beaumont’s face hardened. “Why I do things is none of your business.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Preacher said. “Sorry, boss.” He got an arm around Luella’s waist and helped her make her unsteady way up the walk.

  “Gonna . . . gonna make you so happy, Shad,” she mumbled. “You’ll see . . . do anything you want . . . you can have me . . . any way you like.”

  She leaned heavily against him so that her breasts rubbed on his arm. Preacher gritted his teeth. He had never cared for drunken, sloppy women.

  “I ain’t Mr. Beaumont,” he told her as they reached the door. “You go on inside, Mrs. Hobson, and get some sleep. You need it.”

  She was going to be sick as a dog come morning, no matter what she did now, Preacher knew. Damn, but he hated this place! He needed to be back in the mountains, where folks didn’t carry on like this, and if you had enemies, you fought them out in the open.

  “You got a housekeeper?” he asked.

  “Housekeeper? What do you need . . . a housekeeper for?”

  Preacher knew he wasn’t going to be able to get a straight answer out of her. He pounded on the door instead of trying to ask her anything else. After a few minutes, someone jerked open the door, and a heavy-set black woman carrying a lantern peered out.

  “What in heaven’s name—Oh, lawsy mercy, what’s wrong with Miz Hobson?”

  “She’s had too much to drink,” Preacher said. “You work for her?”

  “Reckon you could say that, since her husband done bought me five years ago afore he died.”

  Preacher practically shoved Luella into the slave’s arms. “Well, you know how to look after her, then. Good night.”

  “Wait just a minute! Is that Mr. Beaumont’s carriage I see parked there in the road?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You tell him he ought to leave poor Miz Luella alone. She just a poor, lonely woman since her husband up and died, and he takin’ advantage o’ her.”

  “Sure,” Preacher said. “I’ll tell him.”

  The woman looked at him and sighed. “No, you won’t. I know better.”

  “You just take good care of her. Maybe things’ll get better.”

  “Not as long as that Shad Beaumont around. And you can tell him I said so!”

  A look of fear came over the woman’s face, though, as soon as the defiant words were out of her mouth.

  “Don’t worry,” Preacher said. “I ain’t gonna tell him that, either.”

  He went back to the carriage and swung up onto the driver’s seat next to Lorenzo. Beaumont leaned out the window and asked, “Any problems?”

  “None to speak of,” Preacher said.

  “Fine. Lorenzo, drive to Jessie’s Place.”

  It looked like Cleve had been right about Beaumont going to Jessie’s later. Preacher’s gut told him this might not be good.

  The carriage drew up in front of the big house a short time later. Beaumont climbed out of the vehicle as Preacher jumped down from the driver’s box. “Keep your eyes open tonight,” Beaumont warned as they went up the walk to the door. “That trouble this afternoon tells me that my enemies are getting bolder. They’re not afraid to move against me now. We may be in for a war, Jim. Are you up for that?”

  “I’m up for whatever I need to be up for,” Preacher said.

  “I hope so. Because even though they’ve started the war—whoever they are—I intend to finish it.”

  Brutus met them at the door. “Mr. Beaumont! Good to see you as always, sir.” He turned his head and gave Preacher a curt nod. “Donnelly.”

  The freedman was treating him the same way he always had, and that was good, Preacher thought. He didn’t know how much Jessie and Cleve had told Brutus about what was going on. It seemed likely, though, that Brutus was part of their campaign against Beaumont.

  As he handed his hat and cape to Brutus, Beaumont said, “Tell Miss Jessie I’m here, will you?”

  “Of course, sir. I—”

  “Shad!” Brutus didn’t have to tell Jessie, because she was coming along the hall toward them, a brilliant smile on her face. Preacher looked at her and wondered how a woman so beautiful could order the cold-blooded murder of approximately two dozen men, then reminded himself that evil sometimes came in pretty packages. Jessie went on to Beaumont, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

  “I had a . . . business reversal this afternoon, and I thought spending some time here might be just the thing to lift my spirits,” he said.

  Jessie stepped up to him and ran her hand up and down his upper arm. She hadn’t glanced even once in Preacher’s direction. She was an icy-nerved gal, he had to give her credit for that.

  “I’m sure we can find something pleasant to do that will make you forget all about any business problems, Shad,” she murmured.

  Beaumont shook his head. “No offense, Jessie. You know how I feel about you. But I think your charms aren’t exactly what I need tonight.”

  “No?” she asked with a look of surprise. Her tongue came out of her mouth and ran enticingly along her full upper lip. “Are you sure? You know I’m . . . very good at what I do.”

  “Yes, but I had something else in mind. Someone else.” Beaumont’s right hand slowly clenched into a fist. “I thought I’d go up and see Cassandra. I had such a lovely evening with her the last time.”

  Chapter 23

  Preacher was standing behind and to one side of Beaumont. When Beaumont said Casey’s name, Preacher felt a wave of cold hatred go through him. The hell with this, he thought. His hand moved toward the pistol tucked behind his belt.

  Jessie’s eyes widened in apprehension as they flicked toward Preacher. He saw pleading in them, pleading for him not to give the game away. Beaumont must have been too caught up in the evil thoughts filling his head to notice Jessie’s reaction, because he didn’t look around at Preacher.

  With a supreme effort of will, Preacher pulled his hand away from his gun before he ever touched the butt of the pistol. He felt the muscles in his arm tremble from the suppressed urge to kill Beaumont.

  He wasn’t made this way. The whole plan had been a mistake. He could see that now, but unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one involved. The lives of Jessie and Cleve might well depend on him carrying on with the masquerade.

  Relief shone in Jessie’s eyes as she saw that he wasn’t going to kill Beaumont right here and now.

  “That’s not a good idea, Shad,” she said. “Cassandra is . . . indisposed.”

  “Oh? I’m disappointed.” Beaumont sounded like he could barely comprehend the idea that someone would dare to disappoint him.

  “It’ll be better if you come upstairs with me,” Jessie went on as she rested her hand on Beaumont’s arm again.

  “I suppose.” Beaumont turned to look at Preacher. “We’ll be here for a while, Donnelly. You can feel free to amuse yourself. After the day you’ve had, I’m sure you can use some diversion.”

  “Sure, boss,” Preacher said.

  Jessie moved to link her arm with Beaumont’s, and for a second, he couldn’t see her face but Preacher could. She mouthed the words thank you at him, then turned to go arm in arm toward the stairs with Beaumont.

  Preacher heard laughter and talking from the parlor and knew he could go in there and pick any of the girls who were available to take upstairs. Right now, however, that wasn’t what he wanted. He waited until Jessie and Beaumont had disappeared up the elegant, curving staircase, then turned to look for Brutus.

  He didn’t have to sear
ch. The big man must have been somewhere close by, waiting for his opportunity. He was already there in the hallway. He rumbled, “Mr. Cleve wants to talk to you.”

  “And I want to talk to him,” Preacher said.

  “He’s in one of the card rooms. This way.”

  Brutus led Preacher to one of the small rooms that opened off the corridor. Inside was a round table covered with green felt, lit by a lamp that hung from the ceiling above its center. The light was concentrated on the table and the chairs around it, leaving the rest of the room cloaked in shadows.

  Only one of the chairs was occupied at the moment. Cleve sat at the table laying out a hand of solitaire. As Preacher and Brutus came in, he used his hands to sweep the cards together and left them in an untidy pile in front of him.

  “I told you Beaumont would come here,” Cleve said with a smile as he looked up at Preacher.

  Brutus closed the door and remained in the room, leaning against the panel and crossing his arms over his massive chest. That was one more indication that he was aware of the plans Jessie and Cleve had made, as well as Preacher’s involvement in them. Cleve wouldn’t have allowed him to stay, otherwise.

  “You figured he was so mad over what happened on the river he’d have to let it out by thrashin’ some poor whore?” Preacher said.

  “That’s right. Who did he choose? Not Cassandra again, I hope. She’s just now getting back to something approaching normal.”

  Preacher pulled out one of the chairs and sat down at the table without waiting for an invitation. “That’s who he picked,” he said, “but Jessie wouldn’t allow it. She went with him herself.”

  Cleve had been idly straightening the cards. At Preacher’s words, he stopped and frowned. “Jessie?” he murmured. He started to get up from his chair, then sank back down and went on, “Nothing to worry about. She won’t let him get away with any ugly behavior.”

  “How’s she gonna stop him if he loses control of himself ?”

  “She’ll kill him,” Cleve replied with a shrug. “We’d rather keep him alive, of course, so that we can ruin a few more of his plans and steal some more profits out from under him, but if she has to, she’ll cut his throat, or perhaps blow his balls off with that little pistol she carries. That would be most appropriate. The one thing she won’t do . . . is let him hurt her again.”

  “So he did whale on her before, the way he did on Cassandra?”

  “That’s right. What do you think turned her against him?”

  “I don’t know. Greed?”

  Cleve shook his head. “Jessie’s not a greedy person. Me, on the other hand . . .” His voice trailed off into a laugh.

  “What does she want, then, if it’s not the money?”

  “Revenge? Power? Simply to be free of Beaumont, which she knows she never truly will be as long as he’s alive?” Cleve went back to straightening the cards, picking up the deck in his long, slender fingers and tapping it on the table to even the edges. “I’d say that all of those things play a part in her actions.”

  “That’s why she was willin’ to have that riverboat crew murdered so they couldn’t tell anybody about me double-crossin’ Beaumont?”

  “You found out about that?” Cleve seemed surprised. “The men we hired weren’t supposed to take care of that part of the job until after you were gone.”

  “They didn’t wait quite long enough,” Preacher said in a grim, flinty voice. “I heard the shots and went back, saw the riverboat burnin’.”

  Cleve shrugged again. “Well, you have to admit, it was effective.”

  “Was the fire Jessie’s idea?”

  “What?” Cleve shook his head. “Jessie didn’t know anything about that, Preacher. It was all my idea.”

  Preacher felt relief go through him. He hadn’t wanted to believe that Jessie was capable of such a thing, but truly, he didn’t really know.

  “You didn’t think Jessie came up with that, did you?” Cleve went on. The gambler shook his head. “Even if it had occurred to her that your secret needed to be protected, she wouldn’t have given the order for those riverboat men to be killed.”

  “Then why did you?” Preacher asked.

  Cleve sat up straighter. “Because someone had to! When I threw in with Jessie on this, I knew I might have to make some of the difficult decisions that she couldn’t make.”

  “Like murderin’ innocent men?”

  “Beaumont has murdered innocent men. At least, he’s been responsible for it, many times. And you saw what he did to Cassandra. A man like that is worse than an animal, because he knows what he’s doing. He just doesn’t care.”

  Preacher couldn’t argue with any of that. He knew Cleve was right about how bad Shad Beaumont was. He still wasn’t sure that justified sinking to Beaumont’s level.

  There was no way to go back and change things now though. He just said, “I don’t like it,” and left it at that.

  Cleve chuckled. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not in charge here, isn’t it?”

  Preacher let that go, although it wasn’t easy, and said, “What’s next?”

  “Jessie and I haven’t decided yet. We were thinking that some of Beaumont’s warehouses might just happen to burn down.”

  Preacher shook his head. “You do somethin’ like that, you’ll risk burnin’ down the whole town, includin’ this place. You don’t want to take that chance. You’d be better off cleanin’ out those warehouses instead and movin’ the goods somewhere else.”

  “That would involve killing the guards. I thought you were opposed to that much bloodshed.”

  “I ain’t gonna lose any sleep over somebody who takes money from Beaumont, knowin’ the sort of varmint he is,” Preacher said. “Anyway, you wouldn’t have to kill the guards, just knock ’em out.”

  Cleve looked across the table at him. “Do you know anyone stealthy enough to accomplish something like that?”

  “I might,” Preacher said. “I just might.”

  Cleve thought about it for a moment and then began to nod. “I’ll talk it over with Jessie, but it’s not a bad idea. That way the merchandise isn’t destroyed. The profits from it go into our coffers instead. Which makes me wonder . . . just how big a share are you expecting out of all this, Preacher?”

  “I ain’t all that interested in the money, either. I’m after a different payoff.”

  “Making Shad Beaumont’s life a living hell and then killing him?” Cleve guessed.

  Putting it like that made it sound even worse, Preacher thought, and yet that was exactly the goal that had brought him to St. Louis. Never again, he vowed. From here on out, whenever he had a score to settle with a man, he would do it right out in the open.

  “Let’s just figure out which of those warehouses you want to clean out first,” he said.

  Three nights later, in the dark of the moon, Preacher stole through an alley near the riverfront. He had a bandanna tied over the lower half of his face like a damned highwayman, which he didn’t like, but it was necessary to conceal his identity because it was possible someone might see him and recognize him if he didn’t wear it.

  His destination was a warehouse full of stolen goods supplied by a ring of thieves working for Beaumont. Jessie had agreed with the plan Preacher and Cleve hatched, and now Preacher was carrying out his part of it.

  He had waited until after midnight to slip out of his quarters at Beaumont’s house and make his way here. According to what Jessie had been able to find out, there were two guards outside the warehouse and two more inside. She knew this because Beaumont’s men sometimes patronized her house when they had been lucky at cards and were particularly flush. A whore could always find a way to make a man talk and never even realize just how much information he was spilling.

  Evidently things had gone well three nights earlier when Jessie took Beaumont upstairs. Preacher didn’t like to think too much about that, but clearly Beaumont hadn’t given in to his rage while he was with her, and that was the importa
nt thing. Since the ambush during the attempted riverboat robbery, Beaumont had resumed his normal routine for the most part, although he spent some of the time asking questions in waterfront dives, trying to find out who was behind what had happened. Preacher accompanied him on those trips and saw firsthand how Beaumont wasn’t having any luck with his investigation. Jessie and Cleve had done a good job of covering their tracks.

  For a man who had crawled into Indian camps and slit the throats of several warriors without any of the other Indians knowing a thing about it until morning, sneaking up on these warehouse guards didn’t pose much of a challenge for Preacher. Even though it was late, raucous laughter and the scraping notes of a fiddle came from a nearby tavern, helping to cover up any sounds he might make as he approached the big double doors of the warehouse. Two men sat on kegs near the doors, one on either side, and while they might be tough gents, their senses didn’t come anywhere near being as keen as those of a Blackfoot or Crow warrior. Preacher slipped along the brick wall of the building until he was close enough to reach out and touch the nearer of the two guards.

  He struck swiftly and without warning, his left arm shooting out to loop around the guard’s neck and jerk the man to his feet. Preacher’s arm closed so tightly that the guard couldn’t let out a yell, couldn’t even croak. The sound of the keg overturning alerted the other guard, though, so Preacher didn’t waste any time. He rushed the guard he held across the twenty or so feet separating him from the second of Beaumont’s men and rammed the first guard into the second one as that man leaped to his feet. Their heads cracked together, and both men went limp and slumped to the ground.

  That left the two inside. Preacher knew the doors were barred on the inside, so he had to get the other two guards to open up. He left the two he had knocked out lying on the ground and used his fist to pound on one of the doors.

  When he heard footsteps approaching inside the warehouse and saw the glow of lantern light seeping through the narrow crack between the doors, he bent and hoisted one of the unconscious men to his feet. He knew their names were Tompkins and Rice. There was a viewing slot cut into the warehouse door, and when it was thrust back and a bar of light shone through it, Preacher stood halfway behind the man he held, so that the guard inside the warehouse couldn’t get a good look at him. He saw the gray-shot beard jutting out from the chin of the unconscious man and knew this was Rice he held.