All Men Fear Me by Donis Casey Page B

question, though he dreaded hearing the answer. The Working Class Union had started out a few years ago as an affiliate of the I.W.W., but since most of its members were tenant farmers and not wage earners, the W.C.U. had gone off on its own. The Industrial Workers of the World were unbending in their beliefs, but the W.C.U. was downright radical. Not that they didn’t have plenty of cause. Tenant farmers were often little more than serfs and indentured servants with no hope of improving their lot. Their demand for an end to rent and the charging of interest on loans was too extreme for even Scott’s easygoing philosophy of live and let live. In other parts of the state, some of the more hot-blooded members of the brotherhood had taken to night-riding and vandalism, even bank robbery.
    Pip didn’t answer, which was answer enough for Scott. “How many of you are there? I won’t stand for no trouble, you hear me?”
    â€œI’m not here to make trouble, Mister. We…I just come to town to meet with somebody. I don’t aim to be any trouble, I promise.”
    â€œWell, if it’s your plan not to make trouble, you’ve already done a real bad job of it. You’d better hope your socialist pals don’t come by for a visit or make themselves known to me at all, because I’ll arrest them faster than you can blink twice. Now sit down and shut up. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”
    When he finally made it home, Scott’s wife, Hattie, met him at the door with a mug of hot tea. “I warmed you up some stew,” she said. “You shouldn’t go to bed on an empty stomach. Go wash up…I declare! You’ve got blood all over your sleeve! What happened tonight?”
    â€œMe and Trent had to break up a fight. I think we’ve got a bunch of anti-draft yahoos in town, honey. I’ve got one of them in jail, but I’m too tired to shake him down tonight. I don’t know if they’re planning something on Friday or not. He’ll lie to me, anyway. Win Avey was the other combatant, but he got away. Probably ran back to his shack. I’ll try to pick him up in the morning. Him and his Secret Service friends have lethal objections to draft-dodgers. I’m going to have to deputize half the men in town for the durn Liberty Sing next week. I wish they’d just call it off and let everybody get his draft notice in the mail like God intended.” Scott shook his head. “I’ll tell you, Hattie, sometimes I despair of humankind.”
    ***
    The moon was down. It was early in the morning, but no light had yet appeared on the horizon. The night was dark and still uncomfortably hot. The last dim yellow light disappeared from Rose’s back window, but Nick did not move. He was in no hurry. Endless patience was one of the requirements for his line of work. He’d wait however long it took before he made contact.
    He had been recognized, but he wasn’t yet sure that his services were required. He had only caught a scent of lingering fury. A whiff of desire for something evil. He didn’t know if what he was smelling was desire for revenge, a vendetta, jealousy, or simply a need to make a statement. It didn’t matter why. Someone wanted to deal death, and that was enough for him.
    A dark figure walked around the side of the house, into the yard, and stopped, back to the man under the tree. Sure he couldn’t be seen, Nick observed his subject for a few moments, looking for any sign of nervousness or fear. But there was none. The dark figure stood still and straight, waiting. Nick sensed the heat of determination.
    He made his move. He straightened his bowler hat and slid up behind his summoner. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible, smooth as silk. “You know who I am.”
    His contact straightened, but didn’t seem surprised. “Yes.”
    Nick leaned in close. “Give me a name.”

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