“Okay. Okay. I caught him walking out of a brothel drunk the other night. He was headed to the outhouse, and I waited a minute or so then trapped him inside. He had no pistol and no place to go. So he gave up,” I said, covered in a wave of embarrassment.
The other men erupted into laughter. I was unsure whether it was because of how I caught Paco or because of his bad English. The two deputies cuffed the prisoner and led him away. The sheriff remained where he stood. The older man glared off into the distance and began to play with the tips of his mustache. Eventually, he pushed out a deep sigh and looked at me. “I reckon you want your reward,” he said.
“Yeah, I reckon so, sheriff,” I said. I had a gut feeling this tubby bastard didn‘t have no money to begin with. “Then I can be on my way.”
“Well, son, you can follow me into town and I can issue a bank note for ya troubles. But, ole Sullivan won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Who’s Sullivan, Sheriff,” I asked. I knew this backwards town had no money. I came all that way for nothing. I should have traveled the extra distance and taken Paco to Tombstone.
“Ole Sullivan is Fairbanks’ banker, son. Hell, he owns the whole town. If ya want we can go see his boy, Wallace. He’s the Mayor in these here parts,” the Sheriff said, with an unpleasant expression.
I pondered my options for a few moments. “All right Sheriff; let’s go pay Mayor Wallace a visit.”
I smirked inwardly. I surely hoped that the expression from the Sheriff was an indication that I would get my money.