Way with a Gun

Table of Contents

 

 

“Of course I've had sex,” she told him. “But we're not talking about me. We're talking about your reputation with the ladies.”

“I didn't know I had a reputation with the ladies,” he said.

“You think all people talk about is how fast the Gunsmith is with a gun?” she asked. “Then you haven't heard your own stories, have you?”

“To tell you the truth, I try not to listen to them,” he told her.

“Well, believe me,” she said, “that reputation is considerable.” She leaned forward, placed her elbows on the table, and lowered her voice. “In fact, that's the one I'm interested in right now.”

“Are you telling me that's what you want to interview me about?” he asked.

“Actually,” she said, touching the back of his hand, “I was thinking about . . . research.”

Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him . . . the Gunsmith.

The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.

Today's longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.

An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill's Raiders.

Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex . . .

The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!

Meet J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous— manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he's the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0745, Auckland, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,
South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

WAY WITH A GUN

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / October 2007

Copyright © 2007 by Robert J. Randisi.

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form
without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in
violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ISBN: 978-0-515-14361-4

JOVE®
Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
JOVE is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The “J” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

Tell Barlow stared across the table at his two colleagues. Jerry Corbett was in his early thirties, the youngest of the three men. He somehow always managed to look like he was fresh-shaven. Newly Yates was the oldest, in his early forties, and always had a dark stubble growing around a toothpick.

Tell was thirty-five, dressed better than the other two, who always seemed to be in trail clothes—Corbett's clean, Newly's dirty. The other two were like night and day, with Tell somewhere in the middle. The one thing they all had in common was that they made their way with a gun. There were no two ways about it, these men were killers. They did it well, and for money.

But they had something else in common too.

They were bored with their lives.

They were in the Five Aces saloon in Selkirk, Arizona. There was no one else in the place except for the bartender. That was because these three men, just by their presence, scared away other patrons, who preferred to drink somewhere else while they were in town.

Tell, Newly, and Corbett were playing poker and talking about how bored they were.

“Let's raise the stakes,” Newly said.

“What for?” Tell asked. “We all charge a lot for our services. We should all have enough money put away that we wouldn't even have to work if we didn't want to.”

Newly and Corbett looked at each other.

“Well,
I
do,” Tell said. “Raising the stakes of a god-damned poker game ain't gonna make no difference to me.”

“Then what will?” Corbett asked.

“I don't know.” Tell threw his cards down on the table. “Somethin' that'll make a difference.”

“Like what?” Newly asked.

Tell slid his chair back angrily and said, “Jesus, can't you fellas come up with anything but questions? I'm gettin' another beer.”

“Can I get one?” Newly asked.

“Me too,” Corbett said.

“Jesus . . .”

Tell went to the bar and told the bartender to let him have three more beers.

“And make these cold ones,” he added.

“Yessir.”

Tell was disgusted with his life. His last half-dozen jobs had been so easy it was laughable. He wanted to feel challenged. All he had to do was figure out how.

When he got back to the table, Newly was cackling, have just taken a hand from Corbett. Tell pushed their beers at them, spilling some of each on the table.

“Hey!” Newly said. He grabbed the cards before they could get soaked with beer.

“Think of somethin', damn it!” Tell said.

“Jesus, Tell,” Corbett said, “what the hell . . .”

“How good are you with a gun, Newly?”

“Damned good.”

“Fast?”

“Not fast, but I hit what I aim at.”

“I'm fast,” Corbett said.

“How fast?” Tell asked.

“Faster than you.”

“You sure?”

Corbett hesitated, then said, “Yeah,” in a less-than-confident voice.

“Sure enough to bet?”

“Bet what?”

“That you can outdraw me.”

“I mean, what are we bettin'?”

“Whatever,” Tell said. “Money? Horses? How about your life?”

“My life?” Corbett asked.

“Our lives,” Tell said. “You against me. Winner takes all. Loser dies.”

“That's crazy, Tell,” Newly said.

“It'd be interestin',” Tell said.

“Crazy interestin',” Newly said. “Why don't you find some other way to find out who's faster?”

“Like what?” Tell asked. “What other way?”

“Pick somebody else,” Newly said. “Somebody you can both face. No, wait, you still die if you lose—”

“Wait,” Tell said. “Wait, wait, you've got a good idea here.”

“What'd I say?”

“Here's what we do,” Tell said. “We pick somebody and make a bet. Whoever kills him wins the money.”

“How much money?” Newly asked, interested now.

“Yeah, how much?” Corbett echoed.

“I don't know,” Tell said. “We can come up with a figure.”

“If it's enough,” Newly said, “I'll want in—as long as we ain't facin' each other.”

“No,” Tell said, “not each other. Somebody else.”

“Who?” Corbett asked.

Tell smiled. “That's the part that's gonna make it interestin'.”

Clint Adams slid his hands beneath the woman's naked buttocks, lifted her up, and pressed her against the wall. She gasped as he pushed deeper into her, wrapping her legs around his waist, taking some of her weight out of his hands. Not that she was heavy. Angela Desmond was only about five feet four and, for the most part, slender, except for an impressive butt. Her breasts were small and round, like ripe peaches, and if anything her weight was pleasant.

“Oh, God,” she said as he drove into her, pressing her flat against the wall, the hard surface giving him the maximum penetration that a mattress would not have offered.

They had been in this room at the Blanchard Hotel in Virginia City, Montana, for two days, and had made love on every surface imaginable. This was the first time, however, that he had pinned her against the wall next to the window that overlooked the muddy main street. They had been taking their meals inside, going out only for short walks to stretch their legs, and then it was right back into the room again.