Deadly Election (9781101619223) (11 page)

They took their positions in the coach, with Heck again up front.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“Home,” Clint said.

“The Capitol Building,” Gryder said.

“What for?” Clint asked.

“We’ve got some meetings,” Gryder said.

“More?” Clint asked.

Gryder sat back and nodded.

After his guests had left, the congressman continued to devour chicken, leaving many clean bones in his wake.

Lewis entered the room and stood by, waiting.

“What did you think of our guests, Lewis?” Turner asked.

“Impressive, sir,” Lewis said, then added, “if we were in a gunfight.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Turner said, “before I met the man. Now I’m not so sure.”

“Sir?”

“I think I need to see Mr. Chapman.”

“Yes, sir.”

Henry Chapman was the congressman’s dirty tricks man. When the time came to be underhanded, nobody was better at it than Chapman.

“And bring out some more chicken breasts,” Turner said.

“Yes, sir.”

It was a day of meetings, and talking about his plans for Texas should Clint be elected.

The next day it would be time to ride out to some towns outside of Austin.

On the way back to the house, Gryder told Clint, “We have to be at the train station at eight a.m. and we’ll be on the road for about a week, hitting a different town each day.”

“Each day?”

“That’s right.”

Heck turned in his shotgun seat and gave Clint a look. They were thinking the same thing. On the road would be a good time for somebody to try for him.

“Yeah, they call it a whistle-stop tour,” Gryder explained. “You’ll be addressing people from the rear platform of the train, and spending the nights in a special car.”

“Will Carla be along for that?” Clint asked.

“I’ll be there,” Carla said. “I go where you go. That’s what an assistant does.”

That wasn’t all an assistant did, Clint thought.

Andy George waited in the Bloody Rose Saloon for his boss to arrive. A message the day before had set up the meeting.

He stood at the bar with a beer, wondering if it was finally time for him and his partners to do the job.

As his boss entered the saloon, George ordered two more beers from the bartender, then carried them to the table the other man had sat down at.

George pushed a beer toward the man.

“How are your men?” he asked.

“Impatient.”

“Well, that is about to end.”

“It’s time?”

The man nodded.

“Adams is starting a whistle-stop tour tomorrow,” he said. “He’ll be on the rails for a week, sleeping at night in a private car.” The man leaned forward. “We do not want him coming back to Austin.”

“How do you want it done?”

“Obviously.”

“What?”

“Bloody,” the man said. “As bloody as possible.”

“You don’t want us to make it look like an accident?”

“We don’t want anything fancy. Just kill him,” the man said. “Do not mess this up.”

“Okay,” George said. “Okay, we can do that. What about the others?”

“Heck Thomas is a deputy in Judge Parker’s court,”
the man said. “Do not touch him. We don’t care about any of the others.”

“And the woman?”

“Do whatever you want to do with her,” the man said. “You have a free hand this time, Mr. George, but don’t get used t it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. He pushed it across the table to Andy George.

“You’ll get another like this when you return,” he said. “We will meet here eight days from now.”

“Eight days,” George said. “Got it.”

The man stood up and left without having touched his beer. George pulled it back across the table to his side. He’d finish these two and then go and talk to the others.

That night Henry Chapman knocked on the door of Congressman Big Ben Turner’s house. Lewis opened the door to admit him.

“He’s in the solarium,” he said.

Chapman nodded. He knew where the solarium was.

As he entered, he saw Turner sitting in a plush armchair, wearing a purple dressing gown.

“Ah, Henry, my boy,” Turner said. “Sit, I’ll have Lewis bring you a whiskey.”

“Fine.”

Chapman didn’t see the big man move at all, but moments later the butler came in and handed him a whiskey.

“Thanks.”

“I have some work for you,” Turner said.

“I figured.”

“It will take you on the road.”

Chapman made a face.

“I hate the road.”

“I know,” Turner said, “and this is why I will pay you a lot of money. To make up for it.”

“Fine,” Chapman said. “What’s the job?”

“You have, of course, heard of Clint Adams…”

Early the next morning Clint and Carla woke with their limbs entwined, still damp from the exertions of the night.

“Oh,” she said, rolling away from him, their skin parting reluctantly because of the dampness. “I can use a bath.”

“Better make it quick,” Clint said.

“Do you think Julius will prepare it for me?” she asked.

Clint swung his feet to the floor and said, “I’ll ask him.”

“He’s your butler,” she said. “Don’t you tell him what to do?”

“I’m not used to having a butler,” Clint said. “I feel better asking than telling.”

“You’d never be able to live as a rich man, would you?” she asked.

“Not if I had to wear yellow robes or purple suits, like Congressman Turner.”

“Oh God,” she said, “that would be funny.”

“I noticed you managed to avoid getting your butt pinched,” Clint said.

“I stayed away from him,” she said, “because I knew I’d slap him if he did it.”

“I would like to have seen that.” Clint pulled on a pair of trousers. “I’ll go and have Julius prepare a bath for you.”

“What about you?” she asked, posing so that her breasts were thrust out at him. “Want to join me?”

“Like I said,” he replied, “you’ll have to be quick…”

Clint used the pitcher and basin method he was accustomed to and cleaned himself up. He knew if he’d gotten into the bathtub with Carla, they would have been late.

He was dressed when she came back into the room from her bath, covered only by a towel.

“Wait, wait,” he said, “don’t take that towel off ’til I’m gone, or we’ll never get out of this room.”

“Oops,” she said, dropping the towel to the floor, “too late.”

Clint fled…

Downstairs he found that Julius had already admitted Gryder to the house. Heck was seated at the dining room table with a cup of coffee Mrs. Bigelow had given him.

“Coffee?” Heck asked. “Mrs. Bigelow’s got a big pot on.”

“I’ll have one,” Clint said, and at that moment the
cook came out of the kitchen and handed him a cup. “Thank you, Mrs. Bigelow.”

“Yes, sir.”

She gave Gryder a pointed look, as if daring him to ask for a cup. He did not. She returned to the kitchen.

“Ready to go?” Gryder asked.

“I got a bag upstairs, and Carla’s just about ready.”

At that moment Julius came down the stairs with Clint’s bag. He wondered how the butler had gotten it from the bedroom without disturbing Carla.

“Thank you, Julius.”

“Sir.”

Clint couldn’t imagine anyone having a more efficient butler or cook.

“What’s taking her so long?” Gryder asked.

“Come on, Will,” Clint said. “She’s a woman.”

“And we still need to catch a train.”

“Isn’t it our train?” Clint asked. “It won’t leave ’til we get there, right?”

“I still have a schedule.”

“Well, your schedule is not Carla’s schedule,” Clint said. “Take it easy.”

“Yeah, well…easy for you to say.”

“What’s got you so keyed up?”

“Oh, it’s that old man.”

“Turner?”

Gryder nodded.

“That funny old man in the bright-colored clothes?” Heck asked.

“That funny old man is also a brilliant politician,” Gryder said. “And he wasn’t kidding about knowing all the dirty tricks.”

“So you’re worried he’ll try something?” Clint asked.

“No,” Gryder said, “I know he’ll try something. I’m just worried about when.”

“On this trip?” Heck asked, standing and bringing his cup into the entry foyer.

“Maybe,” Gryder said. “We just have to keep our eyes open.”

“What am I lookin’ for?” Heck asked. “You think the congressman would have somebody take a shot at Clint?”

“No, no,” Gryder said, “you’re thinking about this all wrong. When I talk about dirty tricks, it’s got nothing to do with guns.”

“Oh,” Heck said, “then we’re not talkin’ about the same dirty.”

“No, we’re not,” Gryder said. “Turner might do something to try and smear Clint’s name, but he won’t try to have him killed.”

“How do you smear somebody with a reputation like Clint’s?” Heck asked, and then added, “Or for that matter, mine. People already think we’re killers.”

“Believe me,” Gryder said, “that fact only makes Clint romantic to these voters. It also makes him the type of man who will do what he has to do.”

“So he’s a threat to Congressman Turner,” Heck said.

“Oh yeah.”

“Even though he’s ahead in the polls,” Clint said.

“That doesn’t matter,” Gryder said. “What matters is who’s ahead on election day.”

When they reached the train yard, Clint was impressed. The special caboose reminded him of the train his friend Jim West sometimes used. The inside was broken up into two areas, one of which was for sleeping. The other area, which they were relaxing in, was a sitting room with a sofa and chairs.

“How do we eat?” Carla asked.

“The next car up has a kitchen and a dining car,” Gryder said.

“This is really something,” Heck said. “I think I need to turn in my badge and get a federal one.”

“Judge Parker won’t like that,” Clint said.

“Who cares?” Heck asked. “It don’t matter what he offers, it can’t match this.”

“Marshal,” Gryder said, “you’ll have to sleep up front in a passenger car.”

Heck looked at the sofa.

“That’ll do nicely for me,” he said.

“But you can’t—” Gryder started.

“If I’m gonna keep Clint alive, I’m gonna have to be close by,” Heck said.

“He has a point, Will,” Clint said.

“Fine,” Gryder said. “The sofa is yours. I’ll be in the passenger car.”

He looked at Carla, who gave him a look back. They both knew where she was going to be sleeping.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m going to go and tell the crew to get under way.”

When Gryder was gone, Clint looked around and said, “This isn’t going to be too bad.”

Andy George waited for the last of his men to enter the saloon. Chris Ritter and Brian Castle were already there, each having a beer for breakfast.

“Do we know his schedule?” Ritter asked. “I mean, what stops he’s gonna be makin’ along the way?”

“Yeah, we know,” George said.

“So where are we gonna do it?” Castle asked.

“We’re gonna have to watch his first few stops, see what their routine is,” George said. “Once we got that figured out, we’ll hit ’em.”

“What about the lawman?” Ritter asked.

“We don’t kill him unless we have to.”

“I don’t wanna kill no deputy,” Castle said. “’specially not one of Judge Parker’s.”

“Well, we won’t,” George said. “If we don’t have to.”

A couple of men entered, and since Ritter had recruited them, he went over to greet them, and brief them on the plan.

“What about the woman?” Castle asked.

“We’ll talk about that,” George said. “Let’s keep that between us.”

“Yeah, okay,” Castle said. “She’s good-lookin’, though.”

“Yeah, she is,” George said.

Another man entered, recruited by Castle, who walked over to him.

George waited for all the men to get a beer in their hands, and then turned to address them…

Henry Chapman watched as Clint Adams entered the train with his team. The only one who worried him was the lawman, Heck Thomas. The manager and the girl wouldn’t be a problem.

This job was a little different from the others he’d done for the congressman. The old boy must’ve really been worried this time, because he’d taken the shackles off Chapman.

“Do whatever you have to do,” he’d been told.

He turned to mount his horse.

Their first stop, later that day, was a town called Round Rock.

“Last election Turner barely took Round Rock,” Gryder explained to Clint. “So we have a good chance here.”

“What do I say?” Clint asked.

“Whatever you say,” Gryder answered, “say it loud, and firm.”

“But…exactly what do I tell them?”

“You’ve been doing well so far,” Carla said. “Just do what you’ve been doing, Clint.”

“To tell you the truth,” Clint said, “half the time I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

“That’s okay,” Will Gryder said. “Half of the people out there won’t even be able to hear you. Clint, you’re the Gunsmith. They just want to be able to say they saw you.”

“Well…okay.”

“Marshal,” Gryder said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d
step out onto the platform with Clint, and stand just behind him.”

“That’s what I’ll do,” Heck said, “and I’m a deputy.”

“Yes, fine. Carla, you just stand next to Clint and do what you’ve been doing.”

“Which is what, to your mind, Will?” she asked.

“Stare at him adoringly.”

“I’ve been doing more than—”

“He knows that, Carla,” Clint said. “Where are you going to be, Will?”

“I’ll be out in the crowd, listening to them,” Gryder said. “I want to hear what the people are saying.”

“And after Round Rock?”

“Georgetown, Belton, Waco, and a few others,” Gryder said. “Next week we’ll take the train in the other direction.”

“And what’s Turner doing?” Clint asked. “I don’t ever hear about him going to meetings, or lunches, or making speeches.”

“He’s the incumbent,” Gryder said. “He expects to win with just a few appearances.”

“He’s going to find out that’s a mistake,” Carla predicted.