CHAPTER SIXTEEN
H UDDLED IN THE FRIGID SECOND-CLASS CAR , R UBY RODE THE EAST-BOUND Northern Pacific train as far as Glendive. By the time the morning sky had begun to pale, she’d made up her mind that she was traveling in the wrong direction.
There might be safety in the East. But how could she leave Mason to risk his life avenging her father’s murder? She knew that she couldn’t go inside the prison. But at least she could stay close by in case he needed her.
After leaving the train, she checked the schedule posted next to the ticket window. The westbound train wouldn’t be coming through until late this afternoon. Until then, she’d have a few hours to rest and make plans.
In a drab café across from the station, she treated herself to coffee, toast, and scrambled eggs. Mason had given her several hundred dollars, enough to give her a new start anywhere she wanted to go. But when she imagined him walking defenseless into that prison, dressed in the ugly black-and-white prison garb, and meeting his old enemies face-to-face, a shudder of dread passed through her body. Her father had been murdered in that place. Mason could easily meet the same fate.
She couldn’t just disappear and leave him there.
But if she went back, her life would be in danger, too. Mason’s prison boss had ordered her killed. Colucci could be looking for her, as well. And she couldn’t count on any help from the two government agents. They’d be just as likely to put her behind bars.
The waitress stopped by the table and refilled her thick porcelain coffee cup. As Ruby sipped the hot, black liquid, a plan sprouted in her mind. By the time the cup was empty, she’d thought it through and made her decision.
That afternoon, as the westbound train pulled into the station, a changed figure waited on the platform. Only the duffel and sturdy work boots were the same as before. The shorn hair, the workman’s clothes, purchased in a secondhand shop, the cap that shaded a beardless face, and the warm sheepskin coat, painted a convincing picture of a boy in his teens.
Ruby’s transformation had been as complete as she could make it. She had abandoned her purse for a wallet. Even her underclothes and the extra things in her duffel were made for a male. Only her voice, and furtive visits to the women’s restroom, threatened her disguise.
She had bought a ticket for Miles City. From there, she could transfer to the Milwaukee Road, which would take her directly to Deer Lodge.
Boarding the train, she found an empty seat at the back of the car, pulled her cap down to conceal her eyes from above, and pretended to sleep.
She lost track of the times the train stopped to deliver passengers and cargo and take on more. It was night once again when the train pulled into Miles City. This was the most dangerous part of her journey. There could be people looking for her here. No one would have expected her to be on this train, especially in disguise. But she couldn’t be too careful.
After checking in both directions, she made her way to the smaller Milwaukee Road station house, which was closed. A lone bench stood against one outer wall. Turning up the collar of her coat, she huddled in the shadows to wait for the morning train to Deer Lodge.
The snow was gone, but the night was cold. A stray dog, its ribs outlined through its brindled hide, padded along the platform, looking for tidbits. It sniffed at Ruby’s shoe, then moved on to gobble a discarded sandwich crust.
Ruby was tired, but she was too nervous to sleep. When a big man in a ragged Mackinaw meandered past her, slowing his step for a closer look, she shrank into her coat. Why hadn’t she bought some kind of weapon—a knife or even the gun she’d been forced to leave in her hotel room? When the man moved on, she began to breathe normally again. But danger was everywhere, and she was as defenseless as that poor, hungry dog.
By morning, other passengers had gathered to buy tickets and wait for the train. Ruby joined the line. Many of the passengers, she noticed, were sad-looking women, a few with older children. Maybe it was visiting day at the prison.
When the train came in, gliding under the power of overhead electric wires, she found a seat. A middle-aged woman in a shabby coat sat down beside her. Ruby gazed out of the side window, hoping to be ignored, but that wasn’t to be.
“Who are you going to visit, young man? Your pa?”
Ruby nodded, not wanting to use her voice.
“Johnny, my boy, isn’t much older than you,” the woman said. “He got locked up for stealing a watch to sell. Three years just for that. And him in there with those awful men. What kind of deviltry will they be teaching him? It breaks my heart, I tell you.” She dabbed at her eyes with a wadded handkerchief. “I tell him to say his prayers every night. I only hope God can hear him through those thick prison walls.”
The woman chatted on. She didn’t seem to care whether Ruby replied. But her description of prison life brought home the enormity of Mason’s sacrifice. He could have left her to face the two agents on her own. If he had, he would be free.
He had done that for her.
The woman stopped talking as the train slowed for Deer Lodge and stopped at the station. The visitors filed out of the car, wearing their badges. Ruby followed, keeping to the rear of the procession.
The prison wasn’t far. Of course, there’d be no way she could get inside to see Mason. Even if she could, making her presence known could get them both killed. She could only stand across the street and gaze at the enormous structure, seething with cold hatred. Her father had died here. And as long as Mason was inside, he was in danger every minute.
Built by convict labor more than fifty years earlier, the thick red brick walls, fortified with stone and rising out of a deep trench, were bounded at all four corners by massive turreted towers where armed guards kept constant watch. Heavy iron bars covered every window. Looking from an angle, she glimpsed more structures built onto the back of the main building, all of them fortified and guarded.
Escape from such a place would be unthinkable. Privacy would be rare and hard to come by. Yet one clever, ruthless man had found a way to run an entire smuggling operation from inside the prison. And that same man had found a way to murder her father.
Staring up at the looming structure, Ruby was overcome by a sense of helplessness. What happened inside these walls was beyond her control. Mason would be on his own, and there was nothing she could do to help him.
All she could do was keep herself safe and be there for him when he got out of prison. Her most useful refuge would be a place where Mason had friends and family, a place where he could find her once he was finally free.
She turned away from the prison and walked down the main street, looking for someplace to buy a cheap car. She needed a way to Blue Moon.
* * *
Mason faced his old mentor in the prison exercise yard. He’d been gone for just a few months, but Julius Taviani appeared to have shriveled with the passing of time. The old man had to be seventy, at least, and it showed. Even so, he exuded power and an evil aura that Mason could feel like the touch of an icy hand.
Taviani’s new bodyguard stood behind him, a hulk of a man with the physique of a gone-to-seed professional fighter. He was as tall as Mason, with shoulders like a barn door and huge hands that looked strong enough to bend iron bars . . . or snap the neck of a slight man like Art Murchison.
His eyes narrowed to a squint as he took Mason’s measure. Clearly the big man saw him as a threat. Without a word spoken, Mason sensed that he’d already made a dangerous enemy. But it was Taviani who wielded the power here—Taviani whose word would be obeyed.
The old man scowled up at Mason. “Well, you didn’t waste much time getting back here,” he said. “What the hell happened?”
Mason shrugged. “I got busted by the feds. The woman already had them tailing me.”
“So, did you do what I asked you to?”
“I didn’t have time. The woman’s gone. The feds told me she left the state for parts unknown. So you can call off your hounds if they’re out there. She won’t be back, and she can’t do you any more damage.”
Taviani swore, his breath hissing out through a gap in his yellowed front teeth. “What about Colucci?”
“I thought you were going to take care of him.”
“I was. But thanks to your screw-up, I’ll have to keep him around until I can figure out a replacement. Meanwhile, with his pilot gone, he’ll be about as much use as tits on a boar. I can’t send more product unless he’s got the means to deliver it.” He hawked and spat on the gravel. “This whole airplane delivery thing has been a bust. Maybe I should go back to using trucks. They had their problems, but at least they didn’t crash.”
Falling silent, the old man surveyed the prison yard. The area was surrounded by high stone walls, with guards at all stations. The guards on the wall had high-powered rifles. The ones on the ground were armed with clubs. The prisoners, dressed like Mason in humiliating black-and-white striped pajamas, jogged the inside perimeter, tossed a half-deflated ball, or stood around watching and chatting. Some smoked.
Now and again a prisoner would glance toward Taviani, then quickly look away. Everyone knew who the old man was. It was rumored that even the warden feared him.
Mason moved casually among the men, taking stock of who was gone, who was new, and which of them were hanging together. He hadn’t expected Taviani to be pleased with him, but the old man had been downright cold. It might take time to get back into his confidence. At least Ruby had made a safe escape. Now he had to stop thinking about her and do the job he’d come for.
“Dollarhide, I thought that was you.” Mason wheeled at the sound of a cocky voice behind him. Wallace Timbo, a rat-faced little man doing time for forgery, wasn’t exactly a friend. There were no real friends in this place where the rule was every man for himself; but Timbo could be counted on as a source of the latest prison gossip.
“Nobody expected you to be back, especially so soon,” Timbo said. “What happened?”
“Maybe I missed your ugly face,” Mason said.
Timbo chuckled, then nodded toward Taviani and the big man who stood behind him. “It looks like somebody stepped into your old job. And something tells me he won’t be moving aside for you.”
“That’s what I figured,” Mason said. “Tell me what you know about him.”
“Everybody calls him Piston. Don’t know what his real name is, but he’s doing twenty to life for second-degree murder. Killed a guy with his bare hands in a fight over a woman.”
“Murder? Why isn’t he in solitary?”
Timbo shrugged. “Taviani wanted him. And what Taviani wants, Taviani gets. The big guy doesn’t say much. I get the impression he’s not the sharpest nail in the keg. But he’s got Taviani to do his thinking for him. All he has to do is take orders.”
Timbo glanced around, then leaned closer. “You can thank me for this later, Dollarhide. You made some enemies while you were working for the old man. They’ll be out for payback, and this time, Taviani won’t protect you. So be ready.”
With another glance over his shoulder, Timbo scuttled away like the little rat he was. Looking across the compound, Mason could see a group of three husky men. He recognized all of them. Two he’d punished with his fists, just because Taviani had told him to do it. The other man had probably resented his being Taviani’s right-hand man and welcomed the chance to take him down.
Mason watched as they moved toward him. He knew how the fight would go. The guards on the ground would look the other way during the worst of it. Only when the melee was slowing down, and after the target had taken a brutal beating would they wade in with their clubs, march the combatants back to their cells and, if need be, drag the loser to the infirmary.
Mason knew something else as he met Taviani’s stony gaze. Timbo had been right. The old man would not step in to save him.
Mason prepared to fight. He could have taken on any one of them, maybe even two. But with three coming at him, he was about to be beaten senseless. The best he could hope for was to do some damage before he went down.
They were coming closer, like wolves circling their prey, hatred blazing in their eyes. The crowd of prisoners opened a path, then closed behind them, forming a ring of watchers. Mason stood his ground, facing his enemies. Taviani, flanked by Piston, stood a few yards behind him.
As the trio closed in, Mason dropped to a slight crouch, shifting on the balls of his feet as he waited for the attack.
It never came.
The leering hostility faded from the faces of the three men as they backed into the crowd. Mason turned to find Piston standing like a brick wall behind him.
For an instant he almost believed he’d been saved from a pounding. Only when he saw the reptilian smile on Taviani’s face did he understand what was about to happen. Piston would be defending his job. Mason would be given a fighting chance to take it from him. The loser of the brawl would be stripped of all respect and become the target of any bully in the prison.
The ring of watchers widened as the two men faced each other. Even the guards had become spectators—all of them probably expecting to see Mason crushed. Piston outweighed him by a good thirty pounds. The brute had a roll of belly fat, but the extra weight was mostly muscle. And his fists were like wrecking balls.
This man had, in all likelihood, killed Ruby’s father. And behind him was the evil mastermind of it all. Mason used that thought to fuel his anger as he aimed the first strike—a hard punch to Piston’s gut.
The big man grunted, but his body was as solid as a sack of cement. Mason felt the pain shoot up his arm all the way to his shoulder. He recovered in time to dodge the swinging hammer of Piston’s left hand and step back. The big man was powerful but slow—that would give Mason a slight advantage. But if Piston landed the right punch, the match could be over except for the mauling that would likely continue until the guards had seen enough.
In prison fights, there were no rules. Biting, gouging, stomping, and kicking brought cheers from the crowd. Sizing up the man who faced him, Mason knew he couldn’t rule out anything. For all he knew, Piston had orders to destroy him.
As Piston lumbered toward him, Mason went for the most vulnerable part of him—his face. He flung everything he had into a punch that delivered a crunching blow to the big man’s nose. Blood spurted. Roaring in pain and rage, Piston waded into the fight, head down like a charging bull. Mason dodged the impact and countered with an uppercut to the brute’s ironlike jaw. The blow landed hard, but the force of the collision threw Mason off balance. He reeled, struggling to stay upright.
Piston was quick to take advantage. A ham-sized fist slammed into the side of Mason’s head. Reeling, he glimpsed Taviani’s cold smile. As he went down, the last thing he saw was the twenty-pound concrete sole of Piston’s boot, prison issue that unruly prisoners were forced to wear. The boot filled his vision. Then everything went black.
* * *
When Mason woke, it was night. He was lying on his back, a dim light shining through the bars of his cell. His left eye was swollen shut, with a tender bruise running from temple to chin. He worked his jaw, expecting it to be broken. But it was only damned sore. So, it seemed, was every joint and muscle in his body.
He struggled to sit up, then abandoned the effort because of the pain. Tomorrow would be worse—he’d traveled this road before. In a way, it was as if he’d never left this accursed place.
He forced himself to remember why he’d come here and what he had to do. He’d promised the feds he would give them Taviani. Ideally that meant getting enough evidence on the old man to end his power and have him moved to federal prison for life. It could also mean finding the secret source of his illegal whiskey. Even killing him might be a solution—but Mason would have to answer for that. It wasn’t the best idea.
“So you’re awake.” The voice was familiar. Raising his head, he could see Taviani’s diminutive silhouette standing outside the bars. “You can thank me for saving your life. Piston would have killed you before the guards got to him.”
Mason took a breath, pain stabbing his ribs. “I’ve got one question for you. Why?”
“Why did I order Piston to attack you, or why did I order him to stop?”
“Both, starting with the first question. I knew you’d be unhappy because I didn’t kill Colucci’s pilot—and because I got caught. But I didn’t expect to be beaten.”
Taviani snorted. “You should know better than that. You were seen leaving the woman’s hotel room with the feds and walking her to the train. You were even seen kissing her goodbye.”
Mason was startled into silence. Ruby had suspected that Colucci employed a maid at the hotel as a spy. But Ruby had been mistaken. The maid had been working for Taviani, not Colucci; and she’d seen everything that went on outside the room.
“I’ve seen more men ruined by love than by money,” Taviani said. “But if you think I’ll forget about your little pilot, you’re wrong. She needs to be silenced. And she can’t run fast enough or far enough to get away. As for you, Dollarhide, you’re a traitor. I wanted to make an example of you. That’s why I told Piston to give you a beating.”
“So why am I still alive?”
The silence lasted several seconds before the old man replied. “Because there’s a chance you could still be of use to me. You’ve seen what Piston can do. But he has the mind of an eight-year-old child. He belongs in an institution, not here. But he’ll do whatever I tell him—even if I order him to kill.”
A chill crept through Mason’s body. He lay frozen with horror, staring up at the frame of the empty bunk above his head. To the old man, Piston was no more than a trained dog who, without judgment, would do anything for its master.
“What about those cement soles?” Mason ventured to ask. “What did Piston do to earn those?”
“When he first came here, right after you left, he was terrified. He kept trying to run away. The staff replaced the soles of his boots with concrete to slow him down. I saw an opportunity in the boy. All it took was a bit of kindness to make him mine.”
Mason suppressed a shudder. He, too, in his own way, had been taken in by this coldly evil old man.
“Timbo told me about the reason for Piston’s arrest. I hear he killed a man. What happened?” Mason asked.
“Piston’s sister was a whore, working the streets in Billings. Piston was hanging around, looking out for her. A customer got rough, started slapping her. Piston threw him against a brick wall. I can’t imagine he meant to kill the bastard, but he did, and he wound up here.”
“What happened to the sister?”
“She was gone when the police got there. Her testimony could’ve helped her brother. But she never showed up. Neither did any of the family, if he’s even got one.”
And what about Art Murchison, old man? Did Piston kill him, too, on your order?
Mason knew better than to ask that question. But if he could get proof that Taviani had ordered the killing of Ruby’s father, that should be enough to get the old man retried and put away for murder.
Collecting evidence wouldn’t be easy—especially here, where any of the prisoners or guards, or even the warden, could be in Taviani’s pocket. Talk to the wrong person, and he’d be as good as dead.
“You mentioned that you could still use me,” he said. “How?”
“The same as before—passing on messages, collecting debts, keeping me informed. I’d keep Piston as my bodyguard and enforcer. You’d pick up the slack. It would be a demotion, but you’ve lost the right to be choosy. All right?”
“I guess it’s better than nothing.”
“One more thing.” His tone hardened. “Cross me again, and I’ll turn Piston loose on you—and next time I won’t call him off. I’ll see you in the yard after breakfast.”
The old man’s footsteps faded down the hall. Mason heard the door of his cell open and close. He could probably get out anytime he wanted.
Mason closed his eyes. He was too sore to sleep but he had to try. In the darkness, he could hear the snores and muttered curses of men in their cells, the flushing of a toilet, and the faint jingle of keys as the guard patrolled the floor. The old smells of sweat and tobacco were familiar. It was almost as if he’d never been away.
He thought about Ruby, and how they’d made love. He was doing this for her, Mason reminded himself. But not just for her. He wanted to make a clean break with the past, and this was the only way.
Ruby was the future he wanted. It worried him that Taviani was still determined to find her. He could only hope that she’d found a safe refuge.
* * *
Ruby, still dressed as a boy, had bought a cheap two-seater from a used auto lot in Deer Lodge. It had a crumpled fender, and the front seat was worn through, but the engine started on the first try, a good sign.
After gassing it up, she took the back roads south, cutting around Miles City. She had seen the countryside from the air, so she knew her way. Approaching Blue Moon at sunset, she had a decision to make. Mason had given her the name of his sister, the doctor, whom she could find in town by asking. But it was getting late. The doctor wouldn’t be in her office at this hour. And Ruby had no idea how to find the ranch where she lived with her husband and children. In any case, Ruby wouldn’t want to expose an innocent family to the danger of armed mobsters who might still be looking for her.
She had made deliveries to Mason’s ranch, which lay south of the town. She knew how to find the airstrip and the cave, but she’d never been inside the house or met the elderly mother he’d mentioned in passing.
She could hide in the cave. That struck her as a good idea until she remembered that she would have no water, no food, no heat, and no bathroom facilities. She wouldn’t last more than a few miserable days. She would have to take her chances at the house.
She was still disguised as a boy. Maybe she could ask for work. She didn’t know much about ranching. But she was a good mechanic. Asking to earn her keep would be better than begging for shelter.
Blue Moon was quiet except for the two-story building that appeared to be some kind of restaurant. Lights were on inside. Autos and buggies were pulled up outside. The aromas that drifted on the air made Ruby’s mouth water. She had barely eaten all day. But even though she had money for a meal, stopping could be a dangerous idea. There was no telling who might be inside that place.
She kept driving, switching on the car’s headlamps as the twilight deepened. The countryside had begun to look familiar. She remembered Mason driving her after the plane crash, the dim impression of a hedge surrounding a stately brick house. Ahead, to the left of the road, she could see lighted windows and a broad front porch. This had to be the place.
As she switched off the engine and climbed out of the Model T, a wave of fatigue swept over her. She hadn’t had a decent meal since that breakfast in Glendive, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d slept well. She was exhausted. Her vision blurred slightly as she stumbled up the front walk. She cleared her throat, hoping she could make herself sound like a boy.
As she knocked on the door, a hellacious barking came from the other side. Ruby liked dogs, but this one sounded like a monster, waiting to attack and tear her to pieces as soon as the door was opened. But she was too far gone to give up and leave.
Hand shaking, she knocked again. Through the door, she heard a woman’s sharp voice. The barking faded. The door opened.
A white-haired man in a threadbare tuxedo, tall but stoop-shouldered, stood before her. He looked as ancient as a gnarled oak tree. His blue eyes were all but lost in wrinkles, but Ruby recognized a spark of kindness in them.
The room behind him was dimly lit. Ruby glimpsed a woman in a high-backed chair, one hand on the collar of a huge mastiff. She looked too frail to control the dog, but the creature was making no effort to pull away and attack.
The old man spoke in a formal voice. “Kindly state your business, young man.”
Ruby blinked the room into focus. “I’m a friend of Mason’s,” she said. “He told me that if I came here, I could find work. I’m—”
The words died in her throat. Her legs folded beneath her. The world went black as she collapsed across the threshold.