Lord of Order Brett Riley (best books under 200 pages .TXT) 📖

I ought to knock their noggins together. They don’t do nothin but talk, and you can only take so much jabber about that goddam wall or how bad somebody’s constipated.

He drank from a demijohn of whiskey, one shot at a time, the liquor amber and fiery in the morning sunlight. Like Hobbes, he had stored plenty of contraband under his floorboards, all of which he would have to haul like a pack mule when the fight finally started. He had also hidden enough whiskey for ten men. He did not intend to spend his confinement brooding or scratching out his memoirs with a goose quill. No, he would stay good and drunk, because once the shooting started, he might not have the chance again this side of heaven. He might catch a bullet five feet from his own door.

He set his shot glass down without draining it and closed his eyes. Lord, watch over Gabriel and Jack. Please deliver Gordy from whatever’s eatin him. And if you got any patience left for an ornery old bastard like me, help me stand tall one more time. I wanna die on my feet. After he said his amens, he picked up the glass and drank. The whiskey settled in his gut, as hot and comfortable as ever.

Someone rapped on the door, hard and steady. He cursed, got up, and answered it, the whiskey sloshing inside him.

LaShanda Long stood on his porch, a half-dozen armed Crusaders backing her. She smiled. Hey, Ernie. Get your boots on.

Long rode beside Tetweiller, the guards flanking them. The old man had not spoken since mounting up. His worn pistols hung in their cracked holsters like wilted flowers in the buttonhole of a tattered and emaciated groom. Anger and the smell of whiskey radiated off him, but Long sensed no fear. He rode with his head high. He heard about how I wounded Gabriel. Maybe he even hates me. But he wasn’t there. He didn’t see everybody watchin us. If every shot missed, then me and Santonio would be dead or stuck in our houses or out in the bayous with the Troublers.

They reached Jack Hobbes’s house and dismounted and handed their reins to the guards. The old man refused to look at her, but he followed her to the porch. She knocked, the same rapid hammering she had unleashed on Tetweiller’s door.

When Hobbes answered it, he looked them over, his face noncommittal. Huh. Nice to see you, Ernie. LaShanda.

He turned and walked back into the house. They followed, Long shutting the door behind them. They sat in the stifling den. Hobbes brought them water. For a while, no one said anything.

Then Tetweiller turned on Long. You ain’t told em about us. That’s clear. But you shot Gabe and took his office. What the hell you playin at?

Long sighed. I didn’t want any of this, Ernie.

Hobbes drank some water and put his glass on the side table. Reckon he’s scared. Me too. We’re leaves in the wind. For all we know, Gabe’s dead.

And if he is, it’s on you, Tetweiller said.

Long looked Hobbes in the eye. We all did what we had to do. Gabriel included. As for the office, Santonio turned it down, and when they gave it to me, they didn’t bother to ask if I wanted it.

So you shot Gabe with love, Tetweiller scoffed. I reckon you ain’t even thought about bowin down to Rook and Royster and lettin the city die.

Of course I have, she said. I’m torn up inside and scared to death. But I didn’t give y’all up. Neither did Santonio. I recruited up until I couldn’t go nowhere without guards. Don’t that say somethin?

They sipped water and sweated and shuffled in their chairs. The heat settled onto their skins, greasy as ointment rubbed on a wound.

Private talk with traitors, Hobbes said. Must have been tough to manage.

Long smiled. They can’t call me lord of order without givin me somethin.

Maybe, said Tetweiller. But I ain’t sure we should trust you any further than I could throw the river bridge.

Dang it all, Ernie. You’re as stubborn as a mule.

Reckon we’ll need a little more than your word, said Hobbes.

She sighed. Fine. Let me tell you what Santonio and me have done and what we’re about to do.

Hobbes watched her for a moment. Then he nodded. Tetweiller said nothing.

She told them everything.

Long and Tetweiller left that afternoon. The guards followed, asking no questions. The sinking sun was a blood orange on the horizon, the warm breeze refreshing after the sweat-lodge atmosphere of the house. It had smelled dank and sour, like sweaty underarms and damp crotches. Hobbes had looked twenty pounds lighter.

Tetweiller had softened. He and Hobbes still had reservations and probably would until she and Ford started gunning down Crusaders in the streets. But the three of them had found some common ground.

Long addressed the guards. Take Mr. Tetweiller home. Until he’s inside, don’t let him outta your sight, not even to make water.

The guards saluted. Tetweiller rode away without a word. Judging by the sun, it had to be around four o’clock, an hour before Long’s meeting with Ford near Loyola. Needing to think, she let her horse amble for half an hour. Then she turned it toward the park.

She arrived twenty minutes later than she meant to, having stopped every ten feet to reassure someone of their safety. She had never noticed how much time Troy spent doffing his hat and shaking hands and listening to folks’ troubles. Long had little patience for it. She was a warrior first and a diplomat second, or perhaps fifth, since she was also the chief weaponsmith and a loader of bullets and a pretty good hunter when Ford needed extra hands, just as he had worked well at her forges when she and her people fell behind.

We’ve always helped each other, but so many of us don’t even know anything’s wrong.

She passed Tommy Gautreaux and Laura Derosier, who