Deadly Election (9781101619223) (7 page)

“Look at all these people,” he said, taking in the room with a wave of his hand. “They’re all trying to look at you without really looking. They’re all looking at your gun. They’ve never seen a politician who wears a gun.”

“I doubt they’ll let me wear it in Washington, D.C., if I get there.”

“Well, that’s okay,” the governor said. “By then you’ll already be in office and it won’t matter.”

“I hope you’re right,” Clint said, even though he would have hated to be elected. In fact, he hated this party, and his boots were killing his feet.

“Ah, here comes the lovely lady with your champagne,” the governor said.

Clint saw Carla approaching them with two glasses.

“Hello, Carla,” the governor said.

“Governor,” she said. “How nice to see you.” She handed Clint a glass. “Governor?” she asked, holding the other drink out.

“No, no,” the man said, “I hate champagne. You drink that one, my dear, and take Clint around to meet some of the people.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

“Clint, we’ll talk again.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They shook hands and the man strolled away.

“Are you happy?” Carla asked Clint.

“About what?”

“You know what,” she said. “You disappeared with that…woman.”

“Our hostess?” Clint asked. “She wanted to talk with me about my campaign.”

“Oh, please,” she said. “You expect me to believe you were talking?”

“We even talked about you.”

“What?”

“She said you were a lovely girl.”

Carla glared at him and said, “She did not.”

“She did.”

“I wonder what her tone of voice was when she said it,” she said. “And I wonder what you two were doing at the time.”

“Discussing my campaign.”

“Fine,” Carla said, “have it your way.”

“She’s determined to help me get elected,” Clint said. “Oh, by the way, that’s what you’re supposed to be doing as well.”

“Don’t you worry about me,” she said. “I’ll do my job.”

“Fine,” Clint said. “Then let’s start now. Suppose you take me around and introduce me.”

He held his arm out for her to take. Reluctantly she did.

“And try to look happy doing it,” he said.

Clint spent the rest of the evening making small talk with potential contributors to his campaign. By the end of the night his feet were throbbing, his head was aching, and he knew why he hated politicians. Most of the men he spoke to were obvious phonies and blowhards. None of them would have lasted an hour on the trail, or in a poker game.

Late in the evening Clint was standing off to the side, holding a glass of whiskey rather than another glass of champagne. He was hoping to be left alone for a while, but that didn’t seem to be in the offing as a tall man in a suit and a tan hat came walking toward him, his head down. As the man approached, however, the man raised his head and Clint smiled.

“Well,” he said, “as I live and breathe, Deputy Marshal Heck Thomas.”

The badge on Thomas’s vest caught the light in the room as Heck smiled and stuck out his hand.

“Hello, Clint. Or should I say, Congressman?”

“Please don’t.”

“That doesn’t sound like somebody who wants to get elected.”

“I don’t.”

Thomas frowned.

“But you’re runnin’, right?”

“I am,” Clint said, “like I said in my telegram.”

Clint had sent a telegram to Fort Smith even before he arrived in Austin. Thomas was wearing a badge for Judge Parker’s court, but despite that had come in response to Clint’s call for help.

“How long can you stay?” Clint asked.

“Long enough to keep you alive, I guess.”

“You tell the Judge what you were doing?”

“Of course I did,” Thomas said. “I told him I was trackin’ a dangerous desperado into Texas.”

Both men laughed.

“Come on,” Clint said, “let’s go to the bar and I’ll get you a drink.”

“You gonna fill me in on what’s goin’ on?” Thomas asked. “You coulda knocked me over with a feather when I heard you was runnin’ for office.”

“I will tell you,” Clint said, “but not here. This shindig is about to break up. I’ll tell you the whole story in a little while, when we get away from here.”

“Good,” Thomas said. “I could use a drink.”

“Do you have a place to stay?” Clint asked as they approached the bar.

“No,” Heck said, “I just got here.”

“You’ll stay with me.”

“With you?”

“They’ve given me a house, with a lot of rooms and a great cook,” Clint said.

“Sounds like an offer I can’t turn down.”

“Whiskey?” Clint asked as they reached the bar. “Or champagne?”

“Whiskey,” Heck said. “Champagne is swill.”

As Clint handed Heck his drink, Gryder and Carla came walking up.

“We’ve been looking for you,” Gryder said.

“Well, here I am. This is my friend, Deputy Marshal Heck Thomas.”

“Deputy?” Gryder asked.

“In Judge Parker’s court in Fort Smith,” Heck said.

“And what are you doing here, Deputy Thomas?” Carla asked.

“Right now I’m lookin’ at a beautiful gal,” Heck said.

“Heck, this is Carla Beckett. She’s my…assistant. And this young fella is Will Gryder, my campaign manager.”

Gryder nodded and said, “You didn’t answer Carla’s question, Deputy. What brings you here?”

“Keeping my friend alive, I hope,” Heck said.

“I don’t understand,” Gryder said.

“I sent Heck a telegram and asked him to come here and watch my back during the campaign.”

“Watch your back?” Gryder asked. “You expect somebody in Austin to try and kill you?”

“Will, I expect somebody to try and kill me every day of the week.”

“Well…yes, of course, I mean…being who you are, I suppose…”

“It’s only natural,” Carla said.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“Heck will be staying at the house with me,” Clint said. “In fact, we’re headed there as soon as we finish these drinks.”

“That’s fine,” Gryder said. “This shebang is just about over. But you better say good-bye to our hostess.”

“Yes,” Carla said, “I’m sure she’ll be terribly upset if you don’t.”

“I’ll do that right now,” Clint said. “Why don’t you two keep Heck company, and then we’ll all go to my house for a nightcap.”

As he walked away, Carla said, “Nightcap. Already he’s talking like a politician.”

Clint made sure he said good-bye to Laura Linquist while she was surrounded by a good number of her other guests. He shook her hand and looked her in the eye. She squeezed his hand and said, “We’ll talk again, Mr. Adams, soon.”

“Yes, we will,” he agreed.

He went and found Gryder, Carla, and Heck Thomas, and they all went back to his house.

The three men who had been standing together the whole night watched as Clint approached Laura Linquist and said good-bye.

“When are we supposed to try for him?” one of them asked.

“I haven’t got word yet,” the leader said. “Don’t worry, it’ll be soon.”

“Maybe they want him to get deep into the campaign first,” the third man said.

“That’s a possibility,” the leader said.

“Who’s gonna pull the trigger?” the second man asked.

“We’ll see,” the leader said. “It’ll all be in the orders.”

“He’s leavin’,” the second man said.

“Let him go,” the leader said. “The time will come. Don’t worry.”

“His” house.

Clint was surprised to find himself thinking of it that way. Getting too comfortable in that house would be a mistake.

He unlocked the front door and allowed the others to enter ahead of him. Gryder turned up some of the lamps.

“Wow,” Heck said, “this place is impressive.”

Clint walked over to a sideboard that had been fully stocked with whiskey and brandy.

“What’s your pleasure?” he asked.

“Brandy for me,” Carla said.

“And me,” Gryder said.

“To tell you the truth,” Heck said, “I’d really like a cup of coffee.”

“I don’t know if Mrs. Bigelow is awake,” Clint said. In fact, he didn’t even know if the cook lived in or not. But as if in answer to a prayer, Mrs. Bigelow came walking into the room, fully dressed and alert.

“Sir, can I get anything for anyone?” she asked.

“Mrs. Bigelow, good evening,” Clint said. “I think our guests might like some coffee.”

“Of course, sir,” she said. “Right away.”

She turned and left the room.

“You’re a miracle worker,” Gryder said.

“In what way?”

“That woman,” he said. “I’ve never seen her so…amenable. I think she loves you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Clint said, “but I think I love her.”

“Well then,” Heck said, “if it’s not too much trouble, I could use something to eat.”

“That’s fine,” Clint said. “Carla, could you go and ask Mrs. Bigelow if she has anything she can prepare for Heck?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m not going in her kitchen,” Carla said. “She’ll kill me. She doesn’t love
me
.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “I’ll do it. Carla, keep Marshal Thomas entertained.”

He left the room, noticing as he went that none of the three people were speaking.

He entered the kitchen, being careful to knock first.

“Mrs. Bigelow,” he said, “did we wake you when we came in?”

“No, sir,” she said without elaborating on what she might have been doing. Clint could already smell the coffee brewing.

“One of my guests is Deputy Marshal Thomas,” he said. “He’s going to be staying with us for a while.” He’d already decided what tack to take with her. “I kind of want to show you off. Do you have anything you could make for him to eat? He only just arrived in town a couple of hours ago.”

“I have some leftovers I can heat up,” she said. “Actually, enough for everyone.”

“That’s great,” he said. “Heat it all up and whoever wants it can eat some.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bigelow.”

“You’re very welcome, sir.”

Clint thought that as long as he showed the woman respect, they’d get along just fine.

They ended up all sitting around the dining room table, eating some leftover stew that Mrs. Bigelow must have prepared even before Clint arrived.

“This is great!” Heck said enthusiastically. “You got yourself a helluva cook there, Clint.”

“I know it.”

Gryder and Carla were eating in silence, even though Clint felt his campaign manager had a lot he wanted to talk about.

Heck had brought one carpetbag of belongings with him, and it was on the floor by the front door. They were finishing up their feast when Julius, the butler, walked in.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived, sir—” he started, but Clint cut him off.

“That’s all right, Julius,” Clint said. “This is Deputy Marshal Heck Thomas. He’s going to be staying with us for a while. Get him settled in a comfortable room. His bag is by the front door.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Hey, wait a second there, pardner,” Heck said, standing up. “I’ll come along with ya.” He looked at Clint. “I’m kinda tired. Guess I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

“Okay, Heck. Good night.”

He nodded and said, “Night, folks,” to Carla and Gryder.

“Good night,” Carla said.

Gryder just nodded.

Heck left the room with Julius. They heard them talking in the front room, Heck telling Julius he’d carry his own bag. And then they went upstairs.

“We need to talk about tonight,” Gryder said.

“You could’ve talked in front of Heck.”

“Clint, I don’t even want to talk in front of Carla.”

“That’s my cue to leave,” she said, standing up. “Gentlemen, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Let me see you home, Carla,” Clint said.

“That’s okay,” Gryder said. “There’s a coach and driver waiting out front to take her.”

She waggled her fingers at them and walked out. They heard the door open and close, and then the sound of a horse pulling away.

Mrs. Bigelow came out of the kitchen.

“I have to clean up.”

“Can you do that later, Mrs. Bigelow?” Gryder asked.

“I cannot,” she said. “Later I’ll have to make breakfast. I won’t have time to clean up.”

“Let’s go in the other room, Will,” Clint said, “and let the lady clean up.”

“Yeah, okay.”

They stood up and walked into the living room.

“You want another brandy?” Clint asked.

“Sure.”

Clint poured him one and handed it to him.

“None for you?”

“I hate that stuff. What’d you want to talk about?”

“Some of the people you met tonight.”

“Like who?”

“Let’s sit down and go through them.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “but I’ve got to warn you, I don’t remember too many of them.”

“I’ll remind you of the ones you should remember,” Gryder said. “Why don’t we start with Laura?”

“I think I can safely say,” Clint replied, “Laura’s taken care of.”

Gryder recited a litany of names, only a few of which Clint could remember. But when Gryder went into more detail, they began to take form in his memory.

“This is all about strategy, Clint,” Gryder finished. “You’ve got to know who the players are.”

“Yeah, okay,” Clint said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And speaking of players, tell me about this Heck Thomas.”

“Nothing to tell,” Clint said. “He’s a deputy marshal, and he’s my friend. I asked him to come watch my back.”

“And you do that wherever you go?” Gryder asked. “Have somebody watch your back?”

“If I can.”

“This Thomas, he’ll watch his manners?”

“His manners?” Clint repeated. “I didn’t ask him to come here for his manners.”

“No, I guess not.” Gryder had been seated on the sofa. Now he stood up. “I better be going.”

“In the morning for Mrs. Bigelow’s breakfast?”

“Of course. See you then.”

Clint walked Gryder to the door. As he closed it behind him, he heard Heck coming down the stairs. The tread was too heavy for Julius.

“That’s some butler you got,” Heck said as Clint turned to face him. Heck was wearing a gun in a shoulder holster, something he’d started doing when he was a railroad detective.