The Hunt for Clint Adams

by J. Roberts

  “What the hell—” he said.

  “Pretty good for a non-professional, huh?” she asked.

  “Pretty damn good for the best goddamned whore in the business,” he said.

  “Let’s just call me a talented amateur.”

  She lay back down beside him and held his limp penis in her hand lovingly.

  They fell asleep that way.

  Later, true to her word, Jane arranged for food to be brought up to the room for them. She whispered to the bellman who brought it and ushered him out of the suite.

  “What did you tell him?” he asked, as they sat down to make turkey and roast beef sandwiches with big, doughy fresh rolls.

  “I told him not to tell anyone where I was,” she answered.

  “And will he?”

  “Probably.”

  “Who are you hiding from?” he asked. “Your boss?”

  “My boss, my brother,” she said. “Who knows.”

  “Tell me something,” he said.

  “Anything.”

  “You blowing the whistle on your boss’s scheme,” he said. “It was no accident, was it?”

  She laughed and said, “No, it wasn’t. I’m not that dumb. I wanted you to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I knew we’d end up here,” she said. “And I wanted to see him squirm.”

  “Are you and Orchid . . .?”

  “He thinks we are.”

  “So there was no chance he would fire you?” Clint asked.

  “Oh, he might’ve,” she admitted, “if you hadn’t spoken up. I did really want to thank you for that. You and Mr. Masterson.”

  “But you didn’t thank Bat the way you just thanked me, right?”

  “I thought we said this wasn’t a thank you,” she said, “but a hello.”

  “Okay.”

  “I didn’t say hello to Bat the way I just said hello to you, no.”

  “Good.”

  “I thought he was your friend?”

  “He is,” Clint said, “but I don’t like to share, even with my friends.”

  She smiled and said, “Good.”

  They ate for a few moments in silence, having both worked up a hell of an appetite, and then she said, “Wasn’t that last hand amazing?”

  “That’s the most money I’ve ever won with an ace high hand,” he said.

  “I thought one of you would fill in.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “You did good.”

  “You know,” she said, “I could have fixed it for you to win that last hand.”

  “Are you that good with the cards?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “But you didn’t fix it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “One of us—Bat or me—we would have noticed,” Clint said.

  “He’s better than you, you know,” she said. “If you’d gone on and kept playing head-to-head he would have eventually won.”

  “I know that,” he said. “We’ve played many times before. The only times I’ve ever beaten him have been pure, blind luck.”

  “Like this time?”

  “Like this time.”

  “And you’re dead sure I didn’t fix the game?” she teased.

  He smiled across the table at her and said, “Oh, Jane, I’m very sure.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  After they ate Clint said he had to go back to his hotel.

  “What for?” she asked.

  “A bath,” he said, “some fresh clothes, and I am paying for my room there.”

  “Check out,” she suggested. “Come back here.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Why not?” she asked, pouting. “Are you afraid of me?”

  “No,” he said, “but your boss might try something.”

  “Are you afraid of him?” she asked. “You’re not, I can tell.”

  “I wouldn’t want him to make me have to kill him,” Clint said. “And what about your brother? Dave, is it?”

  “Yes, Dave. What about him?”

  “Loyal to you? Or Orchid?”

  “Probably to Harry.”

  “Is that his real name?” Clint asked. “Orchid?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Only since he came here to Denver,” she said.

  “When was that?”

  “Almost two years ago,” she said, “but my brother knew him before that.”

  “From where?”

  “I don’t really know,” she said. “Dave used to travel a lot, but he came home several months before Harry arrived in town.”

  “Are they partners?”

  “Oh no,” she said, “Dave definitely work for Harry.”

  Clint finished getting dressed, grabbed his New Line, and tucked it into the small of his back.

  “Do you always carry a gun?”

  “Yes,” he said. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t last very long.”

  She finished putting her black trousers and white shirt back on. Having her back in her dealer persona was starting to excite Clint again, now that he knew what was underneath.

  “Changing your mind about leaving?” she asked with a smile.

  “Almost,” he said, “but not quite.”

  They left his room, pulling the door closed behind them.

  “Do you live in the hotel?” he asked.

  “I have a room,” she said, “but I don’t live here. I have a small place not far from here, two rooms, actually. It’s where I get away by myself. Care to see it?”

  “If we both went there,” he pointed out, “you wouldn’t be there by yourself, would you?”

  “With you,” she said, “I don’t think I’d mind.”

  “Maybe,” he said, as they went down the stairs, “another time.”

  Across the street, Bobby managed to force the front door of the abandoned building.

  “What are you doin’?” Tom asked.

  “I got an idea,” Bobby said. “When he comes out, I’m gonna throw a couple of shots at him, like we did in Colorado Springs. Then we get away through this building and out the back. By the time he figures out where the shots came from we’ll be gone.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Tom said.

  “Well, I do,” Bobby said. “At least we’ll be doin’ somethin’ to remind him that somebody’s watchin’. Ain’t that Tarver wants?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Okay, then,” Bobby said, checking his gun, “if you don’t wanna do this, you can start running before I fire the shots.”

  “Naw,” Tom said, checking his own weapon. “If you’re gonna do it, I might as well go along.”

  “He’s gotta come out sometime,” Bobby said. “He ain’t checked out of his other hotel.”

  “Let’s hope he comes out,” Tom said. He didn’t say it, but he was getting as impatient as his partner.

  Clint and Jane reached the lobby.

  “You don’t want to use the elevator?” she asked.

  “Don’t like ’em,” he said. “Being cooped up in a little moving room that may or may not get stuck.”

  “My my, don’t we sound set in our ways,” she said. “You strike me as a man who embraces progress.”

  “No,” he said, “I’m not looking forward to the end of what the West used to be. I’m afraid I’m not yet done with the old ways.”

  “ ‘ Old ways,’ ” she repeated. “You sound like an Indian.”

  “Well, the Indians had to go through it, and now we do,” Clint said. “I can’t say I’m any happier about it than they were.”

  They headed for the front door.

  “Are you leaving, too?”

  She nodded.

  “Going back to my place,” she said. “Now that the game is over I really need to get some rest—especially after last night.”

  “I know how you feel.”

  They went out the front door and Clint immediately heard the first shot, even
before it shattered glass in front of the hotel. He pushed Jane one way and he ducked the other, coming up with his New Line before he realized it wouldn’t do much good at a distance.

  There was a second, third and fourth shot, more glass breaking. He could hear the difference and knew that two guns were being fired: both handguns.

  A few people started to stick their heads out from the lobby of the hotel but changed their minds. The doorman had already ducked inside.

  When the shots ceased, Clint got to his feet and went to check on Jane.

  “Are you all right?”

  “What happened?”

  He stood up, stared across the street. Empty doorways, boarded-up windows. He looked up at the rooftops. Nothing.

  “Does this happen to you a lot?” she asked.

  He looked at her and said, “All the time.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Before they could say anything else, both Harry Orchid and Jane’s brother, Dave, came running out.

  “Are you all right?” Dave demanded, grabbing her by the arms. “What the hell happened?” He turned and glared at Clint. “Are you endangering my sister’s life?”

  “Relax, Dave,” Orchid said. “Jane looks fine, and I’m sure Mr. Adams did not get her shot at on purpose.”

  “It’s me somebody was shooting at,” Clint said, tucking his New Line behind his back. “Jane just happened to be leaving the building at the same time.”

  “Clint pushed me down,” she told Dave. “He saved my life.”

  “There, you see, Dave?” Orchid said. “We owe Jane’s life to him.”

  Dave stammered, finally said, “Well, yeah, uh, okay, thanks.”

  “I don’t know if anyone has sent for the law yet,” Orchid said. “Would you like me to take care of that?”

  “Not on my account,” Clint said. “But I think I’d like to check that building across the street. Do you know who owns it?”

  “I sure do,” Orchid said. “I do. I was thinking about turning it into a hotel, also. I have the key right here. Shall I let you in?”

  “That would be fine,” Clint said. “It seems like a likely place for the shots to have come from.”

  “Dave, why don’t you take your sister home?” Orchid suggested. “I’ll go across the street with Clint and see what we can find.”

  “Uh, okay, sure.”

  “See you later, Jane,” Orchid said.

  “Sure,” Jane said, and exchanged a glance with Clint behind the backs of both Orchid and her brother.

  Clint and Orchid walked across the street and approached the building.

  “Wait,” Clint said, stopping Orchid from stepping into the doorway.

  “What is it?”

  “Boot prints in the dust, there,” Clint said. “I want to take a look.”

  Clint crouched down, examined the boot prints. Both had run-down heels and would be easy to identify.

  “Okay,” Clint said, “but step over them.”

  “Sure.”

  Orchid approached the door with his key, but soon realized it was already unlocked.

  “Looks like they forced it,” he said.

  “Let me go in first,” Clint said. “I’m armed.”

  “So am I,” Orchid said, “but be my guest.”

  Clint took the lead and entered, gun in hand. He doubted the shooters would still be in the building, but there was no harm in being cautious.

  The inside had high ceilings and wide spaces, and had obviously been some sort of a warehouse at one time. The boot prints were also evident on the floor, and he began to follow them, with Harry in tow. The prints led to the back of the building and out a back door.

  “They used the building as their escape,” Clint said, “rather than be seen running down the street.”

  “Same tracks?” Orchid asked.

  “Oh, yeah . . .” Clint said, pointing. “See the run-down heel?”

  “I’m not much of a tracker,” Orchid admitted, “but yes, I do see it.”

  They looked around the inside a little longer, and finally went back out the front door.

  “So this was an attempt on your life?” Orchid asked. “Which happens a lot, I imagine?”

  “It does happen a lot, but I don’t think this was a serious attempt,” Clint said. “Somebody’s been trying to throw a scare into me lately.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Any decent marksman could have hit me easy,” Clint said. “This was as if they were aiming at the windows behind me.”

  “My windows,” Orchid said. “I’ll have to get those replaced today.”

  He looked at Clint as if he’d offer to pay the damages, but he did not. It wasn’t his fault.

  “Well, Clint,” Orchid said. “I’d like to invite you to come back, but maybe it could wait until you find out who’s been shooting at you.”

  “Yes, maybe it could.”

  Orchid smiled and went into his hotel, shaking his head at all the broken glass on the floor, inside and out.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  When Clint got back to the Denver House, he took a bath and changed into fresh clothes. He put the New Line away and put on his gun belt. If there was going to be more shooting, he wanted to be ready.

  He was strapping the gun on when there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, Talbot Roper was standing there, hat in hand.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  Clint closed the door and turned to face his friend.

  “Heard about your game,” the detective said. “I made a bundle betting on you.”

  “I would’ve bet against me,” Clint said. “Glad you came out ahead.”

  “Big time,” Roper said. “The odds were really high that you could beat Bat.”

  “Yeah, okay, thanks,” Clint said. “Don’t rub my nose in it.”

  “I could split my winnings with you, if it makes you feel better,” Roper said.

  “Not necessary,” Clint said. “I’ll be putting my winnings in the bank today.”

  “How did Bat feel about losing?”

  “Bat never likes losing,” Clint said, “but he’s a gentleman no matter what.”

  “You ready for a celebration drink?”

  “On you?” Clint asked. “Always.”

  They went down to the bar and Roper bought two beers. It was early and they were the only two in the place, which suited them both.

  “I heard about the shooting,” Roper said as they sat down.

  “Bad news travels fast.”

  “I have contacts all over the city,” Roper said. “I wouldn’t be much good at my job if I didn’t. Know who it was?”

  “Not for sure.”

  “Tarver?”

  “Or somebody working for him,” Clint said.

  “Trying to spook you.”

  “I’m just glad they didn’t actually shoot anybody else, this time.”

  “Did you see anything helpful?”

  Clint told Roper about the boot prints in the dust of the abandoned building across the street.

  “You’d know the tracks if you saw them again?”

  “Probably.”

  “What about Bat? What’s he up to next?”

  “I don’t know,” Clint said. “He left this morning on a train. On to his next game.”

  “And you?”

  “I was going to leave today,” Clint today. “Maybe I better stick to that plan before somebody else does get shot.”

  “If you stay maybe I can help,” Roper said.

  “I think if I go I’ll take the trouble with me,” Clint said. “If this is Tarver, and he’s hunting me, eventually he’ll show up.”

  “And what if he doesn’t show up alone?”

  Clint shrugged. “I’ll take care of that when the time comes,” he said.

  “Well, keep in touch,” Roper said. “Wherever the showdown happens, let me know if you need help. I’ll be there.”

  “I know you will, Tal,” Clint
said. “I appreciate it.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Tarver, Dexter, and the others were in a town called Castle Rock when they got word that Clint Adams was leaving Denver. Castle Rock was between Denver and Colorado Springs.

  At breakfast Dexter said, “Unless he wants to go over the mountains or head for California, he’ll have to come this way.”

  “And what if he goes north, into Montana?” Tarver asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dexter said. “What if he does? This is your hunt, not mine. Do we wait for him, or chase him?”

  “Relax,” Tarver said. “Your boys said in the telegram he was headin’ south.”

  “So what’re we gonna do?” Dexter asked.

  Tarver pushed his plate of now-cold eggs away and sat back. The others continued to eat. They didn’t particularly care what the outcome of the conversation between Tarver and Dexter was; they were getting paid either way.

  “I think,” Tarver said, “we’ve kept Mr. Adams waitin’ long enough. Time to put an end to his little hunt.”

  It didn’t feel like a hunt to Dexter; it felt more like a waste of time. But they had been lining their pockets pretty good since Tarver got out of Yuma. He had put away enough money to last a while—though not as much as he would’ve made if Tarver hadn’t botched that last job that got him sent to prison in the first place. Dexter had stood to make twenty grand, which he was sure Tarver was on his way to stealing when he’d been caught by Adams.

  Time for both of their hunts to end.

  Clint rode out of Denver the next day. He was sorry he didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Jane, but he didn’t want to endanger her any further. He decided when he got near a telegraph office he’d send her a telegram explaining. He hoped she would understand. Besides, their one night together was never meant to be anything more than that—one night.

  He’d decided to head south, down through Colorado Springs, on to Trinidad, and then into New Mexico.

  Castle Rock was on the way.

  “Trinidad?” Dexter asked. “Why Trinidad?”

  “Word will get around from there,” Tarver said. “In Castle Rock it’ll just get buried.”

  “What’s wrong with Colorado Springs?” Dexter asked.

  “I don’t like Colorado Springs,” Tarver said. “It don’t feel right to me.”