Free Preacher's Peace by William W. Johnstone Page B

brute’s own weight caused the blade to open him up, spilling blood and steaming intestines. Art pulled the knife out. Shardeen fell face down on the floor, flopped a couple of times like a fish out of water, and then was still.
    â€œIs he dead?” Carla asked. She had fled, in terror, to the back corner of the room, but peeked out.
    â€œI reckon he is,” Art said, pouring beer on his hand to rinse away the blood.
    â€œGet him out of here,” LaBarge said.
    â€œHold it!” a voice called from the front. The order came from a member of the St. Louis Constabulary, the militia group that Mayor Lane depended upon to maintain order in the city. “You people just leave him right where he is until I find out what happened here.”
    â€œShardeen got hisself kilt, that’s what happened,” LaBarge said. “And if truth be told, there ain’t nobody in St. Louis likely to shed a tear over the sonofabitch.”
    â€œI agree that if anybody in this town needed killin’ it was Shardeen,” the constable said. “But just bein’ downright mean don’t give someone the right to kill him. Who did it?”
    â€œI did,” Art said.
    â€œAnd who might you be?”
    â€œArt.”
    â€œArt? Art what?”
    â€œArt’s enough.”
    â€œNo it ain’t enough, mister. Not when murder’s concerned.”
    â€œOh hell, John,” LaBarge said to the constable. “Art didn’t murder Shardeen. He killed him in self-defense. Ever’one in here will testify to that.”
    â€œThat’s right, Constable,” one of the customers said. “Shardeen come in here a-blazin’ away at this young fella.”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œThe name is Matthews. Joe Matthews.”
    â€œYou’re saying Shardeen shot first?”
    â€œHe didn’t shoot first,” Matthews started, but he was interrupted by the constable.
    â€œWell if Shardeen didn’t shoot first, how can it be self-defense?”
    â€œYou didn’t let me finish. He didn’t shoot first. He was the only one who shot.”
    â€œThat’s right,” LaBarge said. “And if you’ll take a look over there, you’ll see where them two bullets went. One into the wall and the other one into my stovepipe. Which, incidentally, I’m going to have to replace before next winter, so if ol’ Shardeen has any money in his pocket, by rights it should come to me.”
    â€œHow’d you kill him if you didn’t shoot him?”
    â€œWith a knife,” Art replied.
    â€œAfter Shardeen come at him with a knife,” Matthews added quickly.
    â€œAll right, maybe you’d better come with me,” the constable said. As the constable started toward Art, LaBarge put his hand out to stop him.
    â€œNow, hold on there, John. I done told you it was self-defense, and there ain’t a man present but won’t back me up. You got no call to be takin’ him in.”
    â€œHear, hear!” some of the others shouted.
    â€œI got Mayor Lane to worry about,” the constable said. “I’ve got to answer to him.”
    â€œAll you got to do is tell him that you investigated it and found it to be self-defense, pure and simple,” LaBarge said. “Besides which, the mayor is so tied up with this here General Lafayette fella comin’ to town, that he don’t want to be bothered with somethin’ like this, and you damn well know it.”
    The constable stroked his jaw for a moment as he considered LaBarge’s words. Everyone in the saloon stared at him, waiting for his answer. Finally, he nodded in resignation.
    â€œI reckon you’re right,” he said. “A jury is sure to find him innocent, so why go to the bother? Ain’t goin’ to be no charge here.”
    Every patron in the saloon erupted in a loud cheer.
    â€œNow,” LaBarge said, pointing to Shardeen’s body.