Town of Two Women (9781101612125) (9 page)

TWENTY-EIGHT

It was a short walk to town, so he didn't bother saddling Eclipse.

“I told you I'd pick that up,” Amy said when Clint entered the kitchen.

“You've got a lot of customers out there,” he said, putting the tray aside. “I thought I'd save you the trouble.”

“Well, thanks.”

The cook gave Clint a dirty look. He was a young guy in a white apron, and from the way he looked at Amy, Clint knew why he was getting those looks.

“I'll see you later,” he told Amy. “I'm going to see about getting Mary a horse.”

“Are you leaving today?”

“She says she feels good,” Clint said, “but it will be up to the doc when she leaves. I just want to be ready.”

She accepted two plates from the cook then said to Clint, “Come back later and I'll have your lunch ready.”

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks.”

He left the café, stopped a moment to take a look at the street. He doubted the town drunk would be watching him again, but the sheriff or Locksley might have sent somebody more reliable. At the moment, however, he didn't see anyone.

He headed for the livery stable.

*   *   *

Wes Tolbert left his hotel, thinking at that moment only of breakfast. But there had also been a message waiting for him at the front desk from Eric Locksley. Undoubtedly, Locksley had a job for him, but Tolbert never discussed business on an empty stomach.

He was walking on one side of the street, a particular restaurant in mind as his goal, when he saw a man walking on the other side. He stopped and looked. He had no doubt that the man was Clint Adams. It was in the way he walked, and the way people on the street turned to look at him.

Tolbert didn't move. If he did, he was sure he'd attract the Gunsmith's attention. He stood where he was and watched Clint Adams for as long as possible. By the time Adams had faded from view, Tolbert was able to guess that his destination was the livery stable.

With Adams gone, he was now free to move. He continued on to the restaurant, where he planned to have his breakfast.

He could have braced Clint Adams there and then, but just as he did not discuss business on an empty stomach, he did not kill on an empty one either.

*   *   *

Eric Locksley sat behind his desk, waiting impatiently for Wes Tolbert to show up. Tolbert was the man he'd hired to do all of his dirty work for him. Getting rid of the Gunsmith and Mary Connelly certainly qualified as dirty work.

It never occurred to Locksley that this all could have been avoided if he had not taken up with Mary. What occurred to him was that this was all her fault, and he had to get rid of her. He thought he'd done that when he got the town to send her away on horseback, but she had come back. Now the tension he normally felt in his house between himself and his wife had become palpable. The only way to fix the situation this time was to get rid of Mary Connelly permanently. And with the Gunsmith championing her, he had to go as well.

Hence the call out to Wes Tolbert. Locksley checked the time. He knew the hired gunman would make him wait until after he had breakfast to appear. He had to put up with that because he feared Tolbert. But as long as he had the money to employ the man, Locksley was able to convince himself that he was in control.

Money meant control, and he had the money.

*   *   *

When Clint reached the livery, he had the liveryman show him a selection of horses, so he could pick one out for Mary.

“A man like you deserves better horses than these,” the man told him. “I have other, more spirited mounts I can show you—”

“That's not necessary,” Clint said. “I have a horse I'm very satisfied with. This horse is for someone else.”

“Ah.”

“A woman.”

“Ahhh!”

Clint looked over the group in the corral, and his eye fell on a dappled gray mare about five years of age.

“I'll take that one.”

“As you like,” the man said. “When would you like it ready?”

“As soon as possible,” Clint said. “I'll need a decent saddle, too.”

“I got some inside,” the man said. “Come on in and we can palaver over a jug.”

“Palavering” over a price was the part of buying a horse Clint hated.

TWENTY-NINE

Clint was on his way back from the livery, having successfully purchased a horse and saddle that would suit Mary, when he saw a man walking on the other side of the street. He stopped short. He knew men like this from the way they walked, the way they wore a gun, the way people moved aside for them. He watched the man until he reached City Hall and went inside. Since he was obviously not a clerk, certainly not an alderman or a member of the town council—such men didn't wear a gun that way—he had to be going into that building for one reason, and one reason only.

Clint crossed the street, went through the City Hall door only moments behind the man. He was in time to see the gunman going up the stairs to the second floor.

Eric Locksley's floor.

He left the building and hurried back to Amy's small house, where he had left Mary and where, hopefully, she still was.

*   *   *

Mary was sitting in a chair out in front of the house.

“This is not a good idea,” Clint said.

“It's musty inside.”

“Well, somebody could see you out here. Come on, let's go inside.”

She got up, and he picked up the chair and followed her inside.

“I got you a horse and a saddle,” Clint said. “Was Doc here?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “I think after he comes, we should be on the move.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I saw somebody in town.” He told her about seeing the gunman. “He went upstairs, to Locksley's floor. What else is up there?”

“Nothing,” she said. “He has the whole floor. That's where we used to meet . . . sometimes.”

“Okay, so it looks like he's hiring a gun probably to take care of me.”

“And me, I bet,” she said.

They heard something outside, a buggy approaching.

“Amy?” she asked.

“Amy's busy,” he said. “Maybe Doc. Go in the other room.”

She went in and closed the door. Clint went to the front door, cracked it open, and looked out.

“It's okay,” he called out. “It's Doc.”

He went outside to meet the sawbones.

Doc got down from his buggy, carrying his bag.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, Doc.”

“How is she?”

“Better,” Clint said. “She's showing quite an appetite.”

The two men went into the house. Mary came out of the other room.

“Hey, Doc.”

“You look better,” he said. “Let me take a look at you. In there.”

“Sure,” she said, and went back into the room with him.

Clint made a pot of coffee while he waited for them. He heard the sounds of voices droning on behind the closed door. When they came out, he was sitting at the table, drinking coffee.

“How's she doing?” Clint asked.

“She's good,” Doc said.

“Can she ride?”

“I'd still give it a couple of days.”

“We may not have a couple of days.”

“She told me about the gunman you saw,” Doc said. Mary poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him. She didn't take one for herself.

“Describe him,” Doc said.

“Tall, black clothes, carries the right shoulder lower than the left—”

“Stop,” Doc said. “That's Wes Tolbert.”

“You know him?”

“I've taken a bullet or two out of him,” Doc said. “He's good.”

“Is he for hire?”

Doc nodded.

“That's what he does. He kills for money.”

“Great.”

“You're going to have to go up against him, Clint,” Doc said. “If he's been hired, he won't quit. You can't just leave town. He'll track you. Then he'll kill you. And once you're dead, Mary.”

“Okay, Doc,” Clint said. “I get it.”

Doc turned and looked at Mary.

“Looks like the time to just leave town is over.”

“Thanks for everything, Doc,” she said.

Mathis nodded and Clint walked him out.

“Doc, you think Tolbert will come after you?”

“He will if Locksley tells him to,” Mathis said. “But this town needs a doctor, so I think I'm safe.”

“Okay,” Clint said.

Doc got into his buggy.

“I've got some other stops to make, and then I'll be in town. Give me a few hours.”

“For what?”

“I want to be available when you take on Tolbert,” Mathis said. “I might have to take a bullet or two out of you.”

“Or him,” Clint said.

“I'm hoping it won't go either of those ways, Clint,” Doc Mathis said.

He turned his buggy and headed back to town. Clint watched until he was gone, then went back into the house.

THIRTY

When Tolbert walked into Locksley's office, the man said, “Have a seat.”

Tolbert walked slowly to a chair and sat in it.

“How was breakfast?” Locksley asked.

“Ham and eggs,” Tolbert said. “Real nice biscuits. It was good.”

“Good, I'm glad you're well fed,” Locksley said. “I know how you hate to kill on an empty stomach.”

“Am I gonna be killin' somebody?”

“A man and a woman,” Locksley said. “Have you got a problem with killing a woman?”

“Not if the money's right.”

“Don't worry, the money will be right. The woman is Mary Connelly. You know her?”

“I thought you knew her pretty well.”

“Never mind that,” Locksley said. “You're going to kill her.”

“I thought you got rid of her.”

“She came back, and brought a man with her,” Locksley said. “I want them both killed.”

“You care how?”

“That's your job.”

“Okay, then. The only thing we have to talk about is money.”

“I'll pay you twice your normal fee.”

Tolbert's eyebrows shot up.

“Why so generous?” he asked. “I usually have to fight for my usual fee.”

“The man,” Locksley said. “He's a special case.”

“What's so special about him?”

“His name is Clint Adams.”

Tolbert had already heard that from Angela Locksley, but he acted surprised.

“The Gunsmith,” he said. “You know, I think I saw him on the street.”

“How would you know?” Locksley asked. “Have you ever met him?”

“No, but people stepped aside for him,” Locksley said. “Usually, the folks in this town only do that for me.”

“Yeah,” Locksley said, “he's a killer, like you. Can you do it? Can you kill the Gunsmith?”

“I can,” Locksley said, “but like you said, he's a special case.”

“What's that mean?”

“Triple my usual fee.”

Locksley opened a drawer, took out a thick brown envelope, and tossed it to Tolbert, who caught it, hefted it.

“You knew I'd ask for triple,” he said. “Could I have gotten more?”

“Don't be greedy, Wes,” Locksley said. “Just get the job done. I've paid you in advance.”

Tolbert stood up, hefted the envelope.

“Okay. I'll get it done.”

“Today?” Locksley asked.

“My earliest opportunity.”

“What's that mean?”

Tolbert walked to the door, turned with his hand on the doorknob.

“It means as soon as the time is right, Mr. Locksley,” he said. “The situation has to be right.”

“Okay, okay,” Locksley said, “just get it done.”

“Oh, I'll get it done,” Tolbert said. He hefted the envelope again. “I'll get it done.”

As he left, Locksley sat back in his chair. Once Tolbert had killed Adams, and Mary, then Locksley would be free to kill Tolbert.

Wouldn't that surprise Angela?

THIRTY-ONE

Clint sat with Mary in the house.

“What are we going to do?” she asked. “It seems like Eric definitely wants us dead. Or Angela does.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, “it looks like just leaving town isn't an option anymore.”

“Can't we sneak out?”

“If Doc is right about Tolbert, he'll track us,” Clint said.

“Then what can we do?”

“I'll have to go and find him,” Clint said, “and get it over with.”

“Kill him?”

“Talk him out of wanting to kill us,” Clint said.

“Do you think you can?” she asked.

“I can try,” Clint said. “It'll depend on two things.”

“Like what?”

“How much he's getting paid,” Clint said, “and how badly he wants to be the man who kills the Gunsmith.”

“How many men have tried already?” she asked.

“Over the years,” he said, “too many to count.”

*   *   *

Angela opened her front door and was startled to see Wes Tolbert standing there.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Invite me in before somebody sees me.”

“Oh!” She stepped back to let him in, then looked around before closing the door. In the foyer she turned to face him. “Why are you here?”

“I just came from a meeting with your husband,” he said. “He wants me to kill Adams and the girl.”

“Well, so do I,” she said. “Do it!”

“He paid me in advance.”

“If you remember,” she said, “I gave you something in advance as well.”

“And that was real nice,” Tolbert said. “But he gave me money. A lot of money.”

“Wes,” she said, “I thought we had something.” She put her hands on his chest.

“We do, Angela,” Tolbert said. “We both have a love of money—yours and your husband's.”

She dropped her hands.

“So you want to be paid now?”

“Yes, please.”

“And when will you get the job done?” she asked.

“As soon as possible.”

“Very well,” she said. “Wait here.”

He knew he could follow her. She was probably going to a safe to get the money out. He could empty the entire safe.

But that could all wait until later. Better to get paid for the job, and get the job done. Then he could worry about Mr. and Mrs. Locksley.

She came back with an envelope similar to the one her husband had given him, also bulging.

“This ought to be enough,” she said, handing it to him.

He hefted it and said, “Feels like it.”

“So go and do it,” she said, folding her arms beneath her breasts. “I'll be waiting here when you get back.”

“Waiting for me?” he asked. “Or for your husband?”

“What do you think?” she asked.

He nodded, smiled, and turned toward the door.

“And Wes?”

“Yeah?”

“If a stray bullet happened to find my husband . . .”

He nodded again, and left.