Chapter 6

When Malik answered the knock at the coach door, he was met by a mustachioed man in semi-dress range wear -- spiffed-up work clothes and a collared shirt sporting a string tie -- and he wore a Texas Ranger star on his coat.

“Can I help you?”

“Ah’m lookin’ fer Emil Malik,” the man drawled.

Malik stepped out on the platform.

“I am United States Marshal Emil Malik. What is your business?”

“We have a federal warrant for your arrest. You’re comin’ with us.”

“Now just hold on a minute,” Malik said, as he pushed the coach door closed. “The federal warrant and the state warrant have both been quashed by federal and Texas State appeals courts months ago.”

“So you say. I have a warrant dated six days ago. Step down on the ground or I’ll shoot you down.” The man brought a revolver around from where he’d concealed it behind his back.

Malik shook his head in exasperation, then raised his hands and stepped carefully down to where another man, also aiming a pistol, waited. He was dressed in similar fashion to his companion, but his only facial hair were sideburns and a small patch of whiskers centered beneath his lower lip. He also wore a Ranger star.

Just then, the coach door opened and Wayne DeWitt made to step out. Instead, he was warned off by Mustachio. “Get back in there,” he snarled. “This man is under arrest for murdering Texas Rangers. Close the door or you’ll be shot.” As DeWitt assessed the scene, the Ranger slammed the door in his face.

On the ground, Malik said, “Let me guess: the warrant’s out of the federal district court in Galveston?”

“What of it? It’s a federal warrant, that’s all you need to know,” said Sideburns.

“Why are you serving this warrant, rather than a federal marshal?”

Sideburns growled, “Because you murdered a Texas Ranger captain, you cocksucker.” He kept the barrel of his revolver trained on Malik’s midsection. Meanwhile, Mustachio had stepped down to where he could watch both Malik and the coach door.

Sideburns shoved Malik toward the horses, where the Ranger immediately retrieved some shackles from a saddlebag. Turning Malik to face him, Sideburns said to Mustachio, “Keep your gun on ‘im,” adding, “Gimme your hands,” to Malik.

Malik extended his hands toward Sideburns as Mustachio trained his pistol on Malik. Sideburns put his pistol in its holster and took the shackles in both hands. With an open cuff in each hand, he extended them toward Malik’s wrists.

At that point, Malik looked up toward the coach door and said, “No, go back inside.”

As Mustachio swung to cover the still-closed coach door, Malik grabbed the shackles’ chain with his right hand, yanking the restraints downward and out of Sideburn’s hands. At the same time, he used his left hand to push hard against the Ranger’s chest. Sideburns tumbled backward onto the ballast, falling against the coach steps. Malik brought his downward force on the shackles full circle, swinging the heavy cuffs up, around, and down, again, onto Mustachio’s wrist as he was turning his gun back toward Malik. The Ranger’s pistol clattered to the ground and he leaned down to scrabble after it.

Then Malik threw the shackles, catching the side of Sideburn’s head, who yelled in pain and surprise. Malik turned, and, on a zig-zag course, ran off into the shadows of the rail yard. Sideburns shouted, “Stop,” pulled his pistol, and shot twice toward Malik’s receding figure.

Mustachio lifted his revolver from the gravel and fired twice more, shouting his own epithet. By that point, obscured by the dark and the Rangers’ gun smoke, Malik had dropped to the ground and rolled under a flatcar, emerging on the other side where he repeated the maneuver at the next track. Emerging in the space between the second and third tracks, both of which were lined with cars, he begin running again. But he ran back in the direction he’d just come, his moccasins largely quiet on the rail ballast. In the interim, the Ranger’s night vision had been hindered and their hearing impaired by the flash and loud reports of the discharges from their revolvers.

After several minutes, Malik located a hopper loaded with coal. He climbed aboard and, darkening his hands and face with the dust, he loosely buried himself in the coal. An hour later, when no one had approached the hopper, he dug himself in deeper, with only his face and hands near the surface and, despite the cold carbon chunks pressing against him fell asleep.

(Thursday, October 9, 1890)

Friday, October 10, 1890

When the Rangers, now reinforced by three of their fellows, searched the yard at first light, they did not find their quarry. Their lack of success was due, in some degree, to their expectation that Malik had fled the vicinity and their consequent desultory probe of the several dozen freight cars in the yard.

Unfortunately for Malik, the car he had chosen was part of the consist that had been assembled for an eastbound Santa Fe freight train, and, soon after sunup, he was headed even deeper into the heart of Texas. On the plus side, it was a through freight, and the gathering dusk of that same day found Malik looking over the edge of the car at the northern outskirts of Fort Worth.

The train slowed as it approached Hodge Junction and Malik took the opportunity to slip over the side of the car and scurry off into the sparse brush, though his coating of coal dust made him nearly invisible to any but the most attentive observer. Once away from the rail yard he stopped to scrub himself with sand, reducing, to a small degree, the layers of dark, oily powder on his face, hands, and clothing.

Malik had taken the precaution of securing five Double Eagles into the wallet he always carried, behind a thin leather band, glued to the inside of the pocket book, along with a small, flexible knife blade. He removed one of the coins to place in his pocket. Then he began making his way toward the outskirts of Fort Worth.

He found a cantina on the north edge of town and, over a beer and a bowl of beans, he asked the tabernero (innkeeper) about overnight accommodations. The man invited him to use the hay loft in his small stable, even offering a large serape in which to wrap himself. Malik gratefully accepted, giving the man two silver dollars, about twice what the serape was worth.

The next morning, he found a nearby general store, where he purchased inexpensive, unbleached cotton trousers and overshirt, garb not uncommon among Mexican men. He also bought a modestly-sized, white, lacquered sombrero. Unlike his brother, who had their father’s light, northern European skin tone and blond hair, Malik had inherited the duskier skin tone and near-black hair of his Hispanic mother. Even so, at five foot eleven inches, he was taller than the average Mexican man, and, for that matter, taller than most men, in general.

His final purchase at the store was a used thirty-eight caliber revolver and a dozen cartridges.

Malik stuffed his dirty dungarees and shirt -- into a gunny sack, which he tied into a bundle with a length of jute, then used a strip of cotton cloth to make a sling to carry the bundle suspended from his shoulder. The pistol was hidden but quickly accessible from a slit he cut into the sack.

He stopped at another cantina for a meal, then walked into town to the train depot and bought a ticket to Galveston.

(Friday, October 10, 1890)

Saturday, October 18, 1890

Judge Horatio Regis Nestor, of the Fifth Federal Judicial Circuit, the US District Court for Eastern Texas, in Galveston, was a drunkard.

Malik had been observing Nestor during court sessions for the past week. He noted that the judge kept a glass decanter of amber fluid on the bench, within easy reach, next to a water pitcher. He mixed the fluids and emptied the glass about twice every hour while court was in session. As the day wore on, his speech would begin to slur and his behavior became more agitated and facile.

Judge Nestor was also a bigot. He routinely ruled against Mexicans and coloreds in favor of whites, even when the minorities were clearly in the right. And he refused to even hear a case involving a Chinese plaintiff, ruling for the white respondent in a summary judgment. It was also obvious the judge favored Christians over Jews and Protestants over Roman Catholics, with higher bail, fees, and penalties assigned to those who were members of his disfavored groups. He gained this knowledge by customarily demanding that parties to cases before him declare their heritage and affiliations.

Judge Nestor, not unexpectedly, created enemies on a near-daily basis. To counter those enemies, he had a special federal deputy marshal who acted as his bodyguard, and who had a room in the Judge’s large home, which fronted Galveston Island’s Gulf beach.

On Saturday afternoon, Judge Nestor had some of his cronies join him for dominoes. Malik arrived in time to see Nestor’s guests depart and to observe Nestor stagger outside his back door onto a tile-paved patio, where he urinated against the side of the house, afterward returning inside. About an hour later, the deputy marshal greeted a young Mexican woman at the back door, their embrace indicating that the woman was a personal guest of the deputy.

Malik was in his coal-darkened shirt and dungarees, his face and hands smeared with ash from a fire pit at the hobo camp where he’d spent the night. As dusk had drawn deeper, he had crept quietly through the neighborhood, shielded by the extensive landscaping and the native overgrowth. Making his way to Nestor’s rambling, single-story, beach-front home, he watched from concealment as the evening wore on.

Just before midnight, with no further indication of activity, Malik made his way to the patio door, which faced the overgrown interior, opposite the Gulf beach. He discovered that, not only was the door not locked, but it led directly into Nestor’s bedroom. He entered and stood silent and still in the deep shadow in a corner of the room, next to the double-width, glazed doors through which he had just entered.

Nestor, alone in his bed, was snoring unevenly, occasionally interrupting the breathing pattern for up to a minute, before resuming respiration with spluttering snorts. Malik moved next to the bed, unwrapping a chloroform-soaked rag from within a square of oilcloth he had carried in his pocket.

In one motion, Malik swung onto the bed, straddling Nestor, and pressed the rag over the jurist’s nose and mouth. Nestor did not struggle nor give any indication that he was aware of Malik’s assault.

Once the man had taken several breaths of the chloroform, he relaxed fully, and Malik produced a second oilcloth, this one holding a moist rag. He held the folded damp cloth tightly against Nestor’s mouth and nose until the judge stopped breathing altogether. Malik continued the gentle pressure for several minutes to be certain, then he used the damp rag to clean Nestor’s face of any residue of chloroform. After that, he climbed off the bed and arranged Nestor’s arms and legs in a relaxed pose. Malik even tweaked the hint of a smile on Nestor’s lips.

Then he slipped back out into the Texas night.

(Saturday, October 18, 1890)

Resuming his Mexican peasant disguise, Malik traveled via Southern Pacific and Cotton Belt passenger trains to St. Louis, where he transferred to the Santa Fe to return to Wichita.

Tuesday, October 21, 1890

The evening of his return, he sat up late with both Peng and Beatrice by the fireplace in Malik’s study. Castillo was there, too, on a dollar retainer, as Malik’s lawyer. Beatrice and Malik sat next to one another on a couch. Peng was on the floor, at his feet. Castillo was slumped in a club chair, opposite them, in front of the fire, a snifter of Besada el Cielo brandy resting on the broad arm of the chair. There was still a plaster bandage on his cheek.

Malik said, “I’d harbored suspicions as soon as they showed up with a warrant that charged me with killing that Ranger captain, and when I saw they’d only brought two horses, I knew I was unlikely to make it out of that rail yard alive. But those two boneheads didn’t know the truth of it, and it didn’t feel right taking it out on them,” he shrugged, “so I decided just to escape.

“I hid in a coal hopper, and I thought it was bad luck when the consist turned out to be an eastbound freight. I wanted to go west, to Arenoso. But I couldn’t get off, because those Rangers were still searching the yard. Then I got to thinking about it and I figured I might just visit Galveston, as long as I was headed that direction. Go see Judge Nestor, see if we couldn’t settle things.”

Malik described the trip to Fort Worth and then on to Galveston. Then he told of his observations of Judge Nestor.

“The man didn’t look well, plus he drank liquor all day long. I checked the decanter after the courtroom had emptied. It smelled like rye. I mean, he must have been putting away a tall glassful every hour or so, right there on the bench, in session. And he’d just get uglier as the day wore on.” Malik shook his head. “Even worse, his idea of jurisprudence was an affront to the Constitution. How he avoided being impeached is beyond me. He favored whites and Protestants, even required anyone in the witness box or at the appellants’ tables to identify their religious affiliation -- lawyers included. I watched him send two colored men to prison for life, in two separate trials, on the flimsiest of evidence.”

Malik shook his head, then looked up. “I never did get a chance to talk to him. I heard he died in his sleep.” Malik made pointed eye-contact with Peng. He winked at her, unseen by the others, then said, “Not that it was any loss to the federal judiciary. I’m happy to say, good riddance.”

He looked at Castillo and pointed at his own cheek, to the spot corresponding to his friend’s wound, then bobbed his chin in a gesture of inquiry.

Castillo said, “I do not know why, but, as I sat there with that Texas Ranger aiming his pistol at me, I had an urge to laugh. I was unable to restrain a smile, and I fear he took offense.” He touched the bandage on his cheek.

Peng said, “Laughter or smiling is a common reaction to intense stress when one is confronted by an authority figure. It is the reason children often smile while being scolded. It is not a sign of amusement or disrespect, but one of a confused emotional state with strong elements of fear and embarrassment.”

“Dawn of Justice Society wisdom?” Malik asked.

“Just so, Master.”

He looked back to Castillo. “Raul, I wonder if you could contact that attorney in Galveston to get that warrant quashed again? This is just so ridiculous, not in the least because that Ranger captain was killed by another Ranger, one of his own men. Do you still have the statements made by those Rangers who had been at Micah Spring? With all that’s going on, I don’t need to have the killing of a Texas Ranger captain hanging over me. It’s bad enough I’ve stymied the Ranger missions twice, now.”

“Dixie has the complete file, including transcripts. We were just waiting for your return to proceed.”

Malik shook his head. “Maybe we should put that whole division up for sale. I’ll feel like I’m taking my life in my hands every time I cross the Texas state line.”

“Are you serious?” Castillo asked.

“No ... no,” Malik said, shaking his head. “We’ve got a good, productive branch down there, even if we do sell off some of it. I just need to get this criminal mess cleared up. Maybe, now that Nestor’s not going to be around, I can get it sorted out.”

He looked at Castillo and touched his own cheek, again. “Will there be much of a scar?”

Castillo nodded, “It was a jagged tear, and some of the skin was torn away, so the edges do not come together neatly. But Rita promises that it will make me looked distinguished, a battle scar that I should wear proudly.” Castillo chuckled ruefully.

Malik said, “You’ll need a better story, then. You’ll have to say that, when the Rangers drew their guns, you sneered at them in defiance, despite the fact you were unarmed.”

“That is almost true. I believe I can eventually convince myself that is exactly what happened,” Castillo said, with a self-effacing smile.

“Nah. You’re too literal minded. You might tell the story that way, but you’ll never believe it.”

“Maybe you can convince me, my friend.”

After Castillo left, Malik sat with Beatrice and Peng.

Peng asked, “How did you do it?”

Malik looked at Beatrice. “Are you sure you want to hear about this, to know about it?”

Beatrice replied, “That man has been trying to imprison or hang you, for years, for having to kill his son in defense of your own home. And, now, he was setting you up to be murdered.” She shook her head, then looked back at him. “No, I don’t want to just hear about it. I want to savor it.”

“Then listen to me very carefully. You, too, Peng. This isn’t China. Vendettas and vigilantism are not a justification for killing, in this country. If it were known that I may have killed someone, I could be charged with murder. If that person were a federal judge, then it’s likely that Connor Lonegan would come to arrest me. The repercussions for our family, for our friends, for the railroad, would be disastrous.

“The more people that possess the secret, the greater the danger of the secret becoming known. Right now, only one person knows the truth -- me. I am about to triple my risk.”

He looked slowly from one to the other. “One last thing: We should never speak of this again, unless we have first made special preparations to assure our complete privacy, including from the children. And it should never, ever be brought up in casual conversation, even in total privacy; it is not a casual topic. Do you both understand the seriousness of that responsibility?”

Peng, still at his feet, wrapped her arms around his legs. “I do, Master.’

Beatrice leaned closer and grasped his hands and said, “I assure you, I do, Emil.”

Malik sighed, and closed his eyes, momentarily. Then he touched Beatrice’s cheek and stroked Peng’s hair, and said, “Once I heard him on the bench, I knew there’d be no reasoning with him. He lived in a world of hatred and bigotry. It’s possible there might have been some justice in his rulings, but, if there was, it was only by coincidence.” He was shaking his head. “I realized he’d keep sending men after me. If not lawmen, then it was only a matter of time until he’d trade with some desperate person before his bench -- their freedom for my death.

“But, even as depraved as he was, he was still a federal judge. He even had a deputy marshal as a bodyguard. His death would have to be made to look like an accident or from natural causes. Seeing the man, watching him guzzle the whiskey, natural causes seemed the obvious choice. He looked like death warmed over, as it was.

“I waited ‘til Saturday night, figuring his drinking would be even less restrained and that the deputy would be more relaxed. I was right on both counts. He had some of his pals over in the afternoon and for supper. I could hear laughter and the slap of dominoes; it’s likely they drank all afternoon. By early evening the visitors had left and he was staggering. After he went to bed, the bodyguard had a woman in.

“The neighborhood was large lots and big houses, with plenty of shrubs, and trees, and hedges, lots of natural growth. Nestor’s place was all on a single floor, though it stretched out quite a ways. His bedroom was at one end with a double-width doorway opening toward the overgrown yard, the doors having multiple panes of glass their full height.”

Beatrice said, “They call that style of door French windows.”

“Well, they don’t appear to be a very secure door style. But that didn’t matter, because the doors weren’t even locked. It was late and the house was quiet. I simply opened the door and slipped into his bedroom.

“I’d soaked a rag in chloroform, then wrapped it tightly in some oilcloth. He was asleep, breathing ragged, and I climbed on top of him and pressed the rag to his face. He made no struggle and I doubt he was even aware of me. After his body relaxed, I switched to another rag, damp from water. I held that tightly over his nose and mouth for a count of six minutes. Then I used the damp rag to wipe down his face. I even pushed down on his belly to expel any chloroform smell from his lungs. I arranged him to look comfortable, pulled his eyelids shut, even put a little smile on his lips. Then I left.