Chapter 3: The Sly Norm

The next man on Stella’s list was Norman Vail, though almost nobody in the territories called him by his proper name. He was known as Sly Norm, and the name suited him so well that even men who disliked him admitted there was something almost elegant about it. He was not large, not particularly strong, and not frightening at first glance. He was a medium-sized man with a narrow face, carefully combed brown hair, a neat dark coat, and pale restless eyes that seemed to examine everything around him without ever appearing to stare. He had been accused of robbery, fraud, and murder, and there were enough witnesses to make the reward of seven hundred dollars seem reasonable, but Stella had learned that the most dangerous men were not always the largest ones. Some were dangerous because they noticed things.

She found him in a small bar in Dry Creek on a warm afternoon when the town seemed half asleep beneath the pale western sun. The building was little more than a long wooden room with a counter, several tables, a few dusty bottles behind the bartender, and windows so clouded with age that the outside world looked blurred and distant through them. Stella entered without attracting much attention, which was exactly how she preferred it, and crossed the room with her usual quiet confidence, her small figure almost delicate beneath her travel-stained coat. She took the table nearest the wall, where she could see the door and most of the room, and ordered a glass of water. The bartender looked at her with mild curiosity before placing it in front of her, and Stella thanked him softly, lowered her eyes, and took a slow sip as though she were simply another young woman passing through town.

Norm sat three tables away, playing cards by himself.

At first he did not appear to notice her, but Stella knew better than to trust appearances. His fingers continued to move over the cards, yet his eyes occasionally lifted toward the mirror behind the bar, and each time they did, they caught a different part of the room. Stella watched him through the reflection rather than looking directly at him. She studied the way he sat, the way his right elbow remained slightly away from his body, the way his coat fell over the holster beneath it, and the way his gaze returned again and again to the entrance.

He was suspicious by nature.

That made him troublesome.

Stella took another sip of water and allowed herself a faint smile. She had killed men who were stronger than Norm, faster than Norm, and far more violent than Norm. Yet she had learned that violence itself was not the problem. Violence could be anticipated. Suspicion was different. Suspicion made a man look twice.

Norm finally turned his head toward her.

His pale eyes met hers in the mirror.

Stella looked down immediately, letting a strand of dark hair fall partly across her cheek. She knew what men saw when they looked at her. A small woman. A fragile woman. Someone who did not belong in a place where men carried guns beneath their coats and settled disagreements with their fists. She had cultivated that impression carefully, because people rarely guarded themselves against what they considered harmless.

After several minutes, Norm spoke.

“You traveling alone?”

Stella lifted her eyes.

“Yes.”

There was nothing defensive in her voice. She made it sound almost apologetic, as if the answer were something she wished were different.

Norm studied her for another moment.

“That can be dangerous.”

“So I’ve heard.”

A faint smile touched his mouth, but it disappeared almost immediately. He put down his cards and leaned back in his chair.