Five Points

by J. R. Roberts

  “I’m definitely free,” he said, “for anyone who has an idea how to spend the whole night.”

  “Well, if you’re not put off by forward-thinking women,” she said, “I definitely have an idea . . .”

  FOUR

  They debated briefly about whose room to go back to, and then they chose hers simply because it was the closest to the lobby.

  When they were in her room, she released the shawl and let it fall to the floor. She’d kept it around her the entire night, tantalizing him with an occasional peek at her shadowy cleavage. Now he could see the slopes of her full breasts clearly, but he wanted to see more. He went to her and slid the gown off her shoulders so that it fell first to her waist and then to the floor. She had some wispy underthings on, and once he got rid of those, she was standing in front of him naked and confident. She smiled, pushed her chest against him, and kissed him slowly, deeply. He slid his hands down her back so he could cup her buttocks and pull her closer. She moaned into his mouth and writhed against him, then backed away from him so she could undress him. When she found the little New Line Colt he used as a hideaway gun, he took it from her and placed it on the table next to the bed.

  “Can’t be too careful, huh?” she asked.

  “Never,” he said.

  She continued to undress him, helped him with his boots and his pants, and then they fell onto her bed together. She was tall and slender, yet full-breasted. He took her in his arms, kissed her lips, her neck, her breasts, all the while stroking her between her legs with his fingertips, causing her to catch her breath.

  “God,” she said, “your touch is so light.”

  “We’re just getting started,” he told her. “I get rougher as we go on.”

  She laughed deep in her throat and said, “Promise?”

  He continued to stroke her until she was very wet, and then kissed his way down her body, saying, “I want to taste you.”

  “Taste me?” she asked, putting her hands on his head. “I want you to devour me.”

  When he touched his tongue to her, she jumped as if she’d been struck by lightning, then she sighed and relaxed as his lips and tongue went to work.

  “Oh, you’re very, very good at this,” she whispered.

  This time he laughed and said, “I know. You’re so sweet, though, I don’t want to waste time talking . . .” and went back to work. He licked and sucked her, kissed her, stroked her, pushed his fingers inside of her, inciting her to become more and more excited. Finally, when she could hardly stand it anymore, he moved up over her and slowly entered her until the length of him was enveloped in her warmth.

  “Ah, yes,” she said as he began to move in and out. “Yes, yes, this is what I was thinking about during that show.”

  “Really?” he said against her ear. “You mean we wasted all that time watching that terrible show?”

  They both laughed.

  “Well,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist, “we’re not wasting any more, are we?”

  She pulled his head down and thrust her tongue deeply into his mouth . . .

  They lay together later, regaining their breath, her head on his shoulders, their naked bodies still pressed together.

  “You were right,” he said. “That was a good idea.”

  “And the night’s not over yet,” she told him.

  “No,” he said, “not by a long shot.”

  When Ben opened the door to their hotel room and entered, he shouted, “Bethany!”

  “I’m here,” she said from the bed. She was fully dressed and had been reading a book. “How did it go?”

  “It was no fun, believe me,” he said, taking off his jacket and throwing it down.

  “Oh, come on,” Bethany said. “She’s not that bad-lookin’. ”

  “She’s old,” Ben said. “Her skin was . . . like leather.”

  She put her arms around him from behind and hugged.

  “There, there,” she said. “My brave boy.”

  “I’m not a boy,” he said. “I’m twenty-two.”

  “I know,” she said. “Are we all set for tomorrow?”

  He put his hand in his pocket and came out with the key to Mrs. Wellington’s house. Bethany snatched it from his hand.

  “Finally!”

  “You try sleepin’ with some fifty-year-old man and see how fast you get it done,” he said.

  “I’m proud of you, Ben,” she said, “and your mama is gonna be proud, too.”

  FIVE

  The next morning Clint woke, got out of bed without waking Laura, and went back to his own room. He slept another two hours there, then had a bath and dressed for the day. There had been nothing said about meeting the next day, so he decided to leave it to chance. Besides, this was the day he had put aside to find a poker game. He was to meet Bat for lunch at one of his favorite restaurants, Del Frisco’s.

  Because he knew his lunch with Bat would be sumptuous, he decided to have a light breakfast, just coffee and biscuits, so he went right into the Denver House’s dining room. He ordered food, the Denver Post, and the newspaper that Bat had mentioned, George’s Weekly.

  He spent some leisure time getting refills on the coffee and reading through both newspapers. Roper, notorious for being in the papers, was not mentioned in either. Neither was Bat. Clint figured his two friends had been keeping their heads down lately and staying out of trouble.

  Which, of course, wasn’t their way. Sooner or later they’d find trouble—or trouble would find them—just as it would happen to him. There was no way any of them could avoid it.

  But he couldn’t get into trouble just sitting here reading the newspapers, could he?

  Ben and Bethany met Willie O’Donnell on the corner near their hotel, down the street from the Denver House. Ben’s mother had given them enough money to stay in style.

  “Got it?” O’Donnell asked.

  Bethany held the key out to him.

  “Thanks, little darlin’,” he said, giving her an ugly smile. “I guess that means our boy Ben did his dirty job, huh?”

  Bethany squeezed Ben’s arm to keep him from protesting. Willie O’Donnell called him a boy to get his goat. She only did it to tease him. He didn’t like it, either way, but if he spoke up, Willie would give him a beating.

  “You got your men ready?” Bethany asked.

  “Aye,” O’Donnell said. “We’re ready to go. What about our Ben here?”

  “Ben will do his part, Willie,” Bethany said. “He’ll get the woman out of the house for hours.”

  “Good, good,” Willie said.

  “Noon, Willie,” Bethany said. “Don’t forget.”

  “Aye, lass,” Willie said. “Noon. You wouldn’t want to get together with me before then, would ye?”

  “Good-bye, Willie,” Bethany said. “See you in New York.”

  Willie grinned at them, showing gaps where teeth used to be. Each of the missing teeth had been knocked out in some fight or another, some on the streets of New York, others in places like Sing Sing Prison.

  “I hate him,” Ben said as Willie walked away.

  “Yeah, but your mama doesn’t.”

  “I don’t know why she puts up with him.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Ben winced. “I don’t want to hear that, Bethany.”

  “You have one last job to do today, Ben,” Bethany said. “Then we’re on the train back home.”

  “I can’t wait to get home,” Ben said. “We’ve been away too long.”

  “You always wanted to see the West, Ben.”

  “The old West, Beth,” he said. “Denver is just like New York. ”

  “You mean the old West of Wild Bill Hickok, Billy the Kid, and the Gunsmith?”

  “Billy the Kid was from New York,” Ben said, “and I told you to stay away from Clint Adams.”

  “I haven’t gone anywhere near him,” she said, showing Ben her open hands. “I swear.”

  “Keep it that way,” Ben said. “We�
��re almost done here, we don’t need trouble from some relic of the old West.”

  “He doesn’t look like much of a relic,” she said.

  He shook his head.

  “I hate to leave you alone, Bethany,” he said. “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

  “I’ll be fine, Ben,” she said. “I am not gonna get myself in trouble.”

  “When did you stop saying ‘ain’t’?” he asked.

  “I haven’t said ain’t for a long time, Ben. I’ve left a lot of the street behind me.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “I know.”

  Ben started away, then stopped.

  “You can’t leave Five Points too far behind you, Bethany,” he said. “It just can’t be done.”

  She smiled.

  “You mean it just ain’t done, don’t you, Ben?”

  SIX

  At lunch, Bat said, “So, you were out with a real lady last night.”

  “You certainly weren’t at the theater,” Clint said. “You couldn’t have gone unnoticed.”

  “No, I wasn’t there.”

  “Then how do you know who I was with?”

  “I have eyes and ears,” Bat said, “all over town.”

  “Why would you need to have Denver that well covered?” Clint asked.

  “I’m thinkin’ about puttin’ down roots here,” Bat said. “Emma likes it.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I like it fine.”

  “Not going to happen, Bat.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you can’t put down roots,” Clint said. “It just isn’t in you.”

  “What makes you think you know me so damned well?” Bat demanded.

  Clint smiled. “Years of experience.”

  Bat maintained a sullen silence for a good five minutes, then said, “There are plenty of poker games here.”

  “You need a challenge.”

  “I could do very well here,” Bat said. “I could start writin’.”

  “Writing?”

  “For George’s Weekly,” Bat said. “They want me to do a sports column.”

  “What do you know about writing?”

  “How hard could it be?” Bat asked. “You dip a pen in some ink, you start writin’. Have you read the newspapers here? There’s a bunch of idiots writin’ columns.”

  “So you think you’d fit right in?”

  “Ha-ha,” Bat said. “I’d be head and shoulders above a lot of ’em.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “if that’s what you want to do, I’m all for it. Go to it. Enjoy it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “While it lasts.”

  “You gotta have the last word, don’t you?”

  Clint put his knife and fork down, looked across the table at his friend, and said, “Yes.”

  Bat gave Clint the location of a likely poker game as they left the restaurant.

  “Not your newspaper cronies?” Clint asked.

  “No,” Bat said, “gamblers. Bankers, publishers, politicians—and you.”

  “Not you?”

  “Not tonight,” Bat said, “but you’ve been introduced. Just asked for Bill Finch.”

  “Bill Finch.”

  Bat nodded.

  “He’ll let you in. You got the location?”

  “I’ve got it. What are you up to tonight?”

  “There’s a prizefight I’m gonna attend,” Bat said, “and then I’m gonna try writin’ about it.”

  “Who’s fighting?”

  “Nobody,” Bat said. “This is just for practice. You’ve got a lot of time before the game. What’re you gonna be doin’?”

  “Well, after that meal—thank you very much, by the way—I think I’ll take a walk.”

  “You’re heeled, I take it,” Bat said, “so that should be okay.”

  Clint took the New Line out from behind his back, showed it to Bat, and put it back.

  “Should get yourself a shoulder rig if you’re gonna stay around long,” Bat said. “It’d fit under that jacket just fine.”

  “I’ve been using this New Line as a holdout gun for a long time,” Clint said. “It’ll do.”

  “Suit yourself,” Bat said. “You always do. I’ll check in with you at your hotel tomorrow to see how you did.”

  “Come by for breakfast.”

  “Not gonna be havin’ breakfast with your new conquest? ” Bat asked.

  “Don’t know how that’s going,” Clint said, “but even if she’s there, I’m sure she’d love to meet you. She seems to think the old West has passed us all by.”

  “Guess she’s not far wrong,” Bat said. “Sounds like a smart gal.”

  “Smart’s the least of her appeal.”

  “Knowin’ you, I expect her to be a beauty. Okay, breakfast it is.”

  The two friends shook hands and went their separate ways.

  SEVEN

  Later that night Willie O’Donnell met with Ben and Bethany in their hotel room.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” Bethany said to Willie. “Are you stupid?”

  “Careful, little girl,” Willie said.

  “Don’t threaten her,” Ben said.

  Willie turned his murderous gaze on Ben. Bethany was not afraid of Willie for herself, but she knew the crazy Irishman would kill Ben in the wink of an eye.

  “Never mind,” Bethany said. “We have to get out of Denver tomorrow.”

  “I’m still sticking to the plan,” Willie said. “My boys and I are leavin’ tomorrow.”

  “Good,” Bethany said. “Ben and I will be on a train in the morning.”

  “So it’s over,” Willie said. “We did it.”

  “It ain’t over,” Ben said. “Ma’s gonna be mad at you, Willie.”

  “I ain’t afraid of your ma, little man,” Willie said. “And it ain’t my fault you came back too early and let her go in the house.”

  Bethany stared at Willie and wondered, if Ben had gone into the house with Libby Wellington, would Willie have killed him, too?

  “With the woman dead the police are gonna be lookin’ for a killer, not just a swindler,” Bethany said. “I think Ma is gonna be mad at all of us.”

  “Maybe,” Willie said, “until I get there with the merchandise.” Willie pointed a finger at Ben. “You and Bethany will get to New York before I do. Don’t be bad-mouthin’ me to your old lady, ya hear?”

  “I’m just gonna tell her what happened,” Ben said, “that’s all.”

  “That better be all, boyo,” Willie said.

  “That’s enough,” Bethany said. “Get out now, Willie. We’ll see you in New York. ”

  “I’m goin’,” Willie said, but he pointed at Ben one last time. “Remember, boyo.”

  Willie left.

  “I told you he’s crazy,” Ben said. “He didn’t have to kill Libby.”

  “It’s done, Ben,” Bethany said. “It’s over. We have to leave. We’ll go to the station and get on the first train.”

  He sat down on the bed with his hands clasped between his knees. For a moment she thought he was going to fall forward.

  She sat next to him, put her arm around his shoulders.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “She wanted to come back early,” he said. “I tried to talk her out of it, but I couldn’t.” He shook his head. “I should’ve gone in with her.”

  “I’m afraid if you had, Willie might have killed you, too.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I’ll tell your mama is wasn’t your fault.”

  “It ain’t that,” he said. “She was a nice lady, that’s all. She didn’t deserve to die.”

  “I know,” Bethany said. “I know.”

  He put his head on her shoulder and she held him that way. Later, she put him in his bed, hoping he’d fall asleep.

  She went to the window and looked out. They had to flee Denver now, and she’d never get a chance at the Gunsmith. She blamed Willie and hi
s stupidity for that.

  Tal Roper got out of the carriage and stopped in front of the house. Captain Leo Delaney came walking over to him.

  “Sorry, Tal,” he said. “I knew she was a client of yours, that’s why I sent word.”

  “She was a client, yes,” Roper said. She’d hired him months ago to find some of her relatives, but he had come up empty. Apparently, Libby Wellington was alone in the world.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Seems she came home and surprised a burglar,” Delaney said. “Bashed her head in with a lamp.”

  “Burglar?”

  “Well, thieves, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Looks like they got in with a key and were cleaning out the place. Did she have a lot of expensive things?”

  “Yes,” Roper said. “That’s about all she had. Paintings, furniture, silverware—everything she had was valuable.”

  “Well then, that explains why everything is gone.”

  “Everything?”

  “A lot of it,” Delaney said. “The walls are bare, with markings where frames used to hang. Sofa’s gone, some lamps, silverware . . . The whole house looks looted.”

  “And with a key?” Roper asked. “The door wasn’t jimmied? Or the lock picked?”

  Delaney shook his head.

  “Opened with a key. Whoever did it was slick, figured out a way to get a key.”

  “Talk to the neighbors?”

  “Yeah, looks like she was getting visits from a man—a young man.”

  “Ah, Jesus,” Roper said. “She was lonely, Leo. Some young buck probably conned her.”

  “It happens.”

  “You got a description of this young fella?”

  “Thought you’d ask,” Delaney said. He handed Roper a slip of paper.

  “This kind of job,” Roper said, “they’re going to need a fence for the merchandise.”

  “Nobody in this town will touch it.”

  “No,” Roper said, “this kind of job would need a fence from somewhere like . . . oh, New York, maybe.”

  “Funny you should mention that.”

  “Why?”

  “One neighbor said she heard the young fella talkin’ to Mrs. Wellington one day. She said he sounded like he was from New York. ”