Standoff in Santa Fe

by J. R. Roberts

  He jerked his head up and looked at her.

  “Forget it,” she said. “Probably some drunk cowboys. Let the law handle it.”

  “The problem is,” he said, grabbing his shirt, “for the time being, I am the law.”

  As he put his shirt on, she saw the light glint off the badge pinned to it.

  “Oh,” she said.

  He pulled on his boots, grabbed his gun belt, and said, “If you’re here when I get back, we can continue.”

  “Well, okay—”

  But Clint was out the door.

  * * *

  When Clint hit the street, he saw people running toward the Crystal. It didn’t surprise him that the large saloon was the source of the shooting. He only hoped Alicia was right, and it was just drunk cowboys.

  When he got to the saloon, he had his gun belt strapped on, and his shirt buttoned. He entered through the batwing doors and the occupants of the saloon turned to look at him.

  “In the back,” somebody said, and a few men pointed the way.

  “It’s the storeroom,” a saloon girl said.

  Of course it is, Clint thought.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Clint reached the inner door to the storeroom, which was wide open. Inside was a coffin, with the lid on it, and four men wearing some sort of uniform. On the floor were three other men, bleeding profusely, and dead.

  “Hold it!” a man said to him.

  Clint turned to the man. He was in his forties, broad shoulders, dressed in the same dark clothes as the other guards, but while they wore silver badges, he wore a gold one.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Trench,” the man said. “Head of security. These are my men.”

  “Did you shoot these men?” Clint asked.

  “We did.”

  “Why?”

  “They forced the door and attempted to enter,” Trench said. “We have orders to keep anyone from coming inside.”

  “By killing them?”

  “By any means necessary.”

  Clint heard someone behind him, turned, and saw Bass Reeves coming toward him, followed by Deputy Billy, and finally, Sheriff Burle himself.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Burle demanded.

  “Your security men killed these three men,” Clint said, pointing, “because they tried to enter this room.”

  “Which was locked and off-limits to customers,” Trench added.

  “Any witnesses?” Burle asked.

  “Just me and my men,” Trench said.

  “Well,” Burle said, “I’m going to need you and your men to hand over your guns and come to my office with me and my deputies.”

  “That’s not a problem—” Trench started.

  “Good. Let’s—”

  “As long as we wait until I can get some more of my men down here to guard this room.”

  “You have more men?” Burle asked.

  “I do.”

  Burle looked at Clint, then at Reeves, who shrugged.

  “I say no,” Clint said. “Let’s take them in now.”

  “I can’t allow that,” Trench said.

  “You’d resist?” Burle asked.

  “Forcefully,” Trench assured him.

  Burle looked at Clint.

  “We don’t need another shooting in this hallway,” he said. “We’ll wait for him to get some more men down here.”

  “Fine,” Clint said.

  “Meanwhile,” Burle said, “Billy? Go out into the saloon and get some men to carry these men over to the undertaker’s.”

  “I’d like to come along,” Clint said.

  Burle looked at him.

  “To the undertaker’s,” Clint added.

  “Why?”

  “I have some questions for the undertaker,” Clint said, “who seems to be missing.”

  “Missing?” Burle asked. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I’ll find out. What’s the undertaker’s name?”

  “Driscoll,” Burle said. “Henry Driscoll.”

  “Billy,” Clint said, “let’s get those men to carry these bodies.”

  “Yessir.”

  “I’ll stay here with the sheriff,” Reeves said.

  Clint nodded. As he and Billy walked away, he heard Burle say, “All right, Mr. Trench—”

  “Captain Trench.”

  “Let’s have those weapons and then you can fetch your other men.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Clint followed the townsmen who were carrying the three dead bodies to the undertaker’s office. When they got there, the men looked at him and he stepped forward to pound on the man’s locked door. He had to knock again before a light appeared inside.

  “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” a man shouted.

  The door opened and a man appeared.

  “Are you the undertaker?” Clint asked.

  “Yeah, that’s him!” one of the townsmen said. “The sheriff tol’ us to bring these bodies here.”

  “Okay, okay,” the man said. “Bring ’em in.”

  He stepped aside and the men carried the bodies inside. The undertaker was in his sixties, tall with snow white air. His eyes were watery, probably because they had jarred him from a deep sleep.

  “Take ’em in the back.”

  The man turned and looked at Clint.

  “New deputy?” he asked.

  “Temporary,” Clint said. “Are you Henry Driscoll?”

  “That’s me,” the undertaker said. “And you?”

  “Clint Adams.”

  “The Gunsmith? That Clint Adams?”

  “That’s right. Listen, there are a lot of people waiting for the wake to take place.”

  “The wake?”

  “At the Crystal Queen.”

  “Why tell me?”

  “Well, Mr. Conlon told me the wake was being held up by you,” Clint said. “That he can’t put the body on display until you clear it.”

  “I’ve got nothin’ to do with Mr. Conlon’s business,” Driscoll said. “If he told you that, he’s lyin’ to you.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Clint said. “Okay, Mr. Driscoll, thanks.”

  “Hey,” Driscoll said, “where were these men killed?’

  “At the Crystal.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  * * *

  Now convinced that there was no good reason for the holdup of the wake, Clint headed back to the Crystal. But when he arrived there, he found the place locked up tight. He wondered how they’d managed to get everyone out so quickly.

  He changed direction and walked to the sheriff’s office.

  When he entered the office, he found Sheriff Burle behind his desk, with Billy on one side and Bass Reeves on the other. The other deputy, Thad, was nowhere to be seen.

  Sitting in front of the desk were Trench and one of his men. The other two men were standing behind them.

  “You get the bodies taken care of?” Burle asked Clint.

  “Yeah, we got them stowed away for the night.”

  “And the undertaker? Driscoll?” Burle asked. “Is he missing?”

  “Nope,” Clint said, “he was there—and he doesn’t know anything about the wake or why it hasn’t started.”

  “Then Conlon’s been lyin’ to us,” Reeves said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Clint said. “And I’m going to ask him about it tomorrow.”

  “Well, before we get to that,” Burle said, “let’s finish up with tonight.”

  “Fine,” Clint said. “I was surprised to find the Crystal closed when I got back.”

  “I didn’t want anybody else gettin’ shot tonight,” Burle said. He looked at Trench. “I want to know what exactly yo
ur job is, Trench.”

  “Security,” Trench said.

  “Can you be a little more specific?”

  “You’d have to ask Mr. Conlon about that,” Trench said. “He told me I’m in charge of security.”

  “And what does that mean to you?”

  “That I can do whatever I want to keep Mr. Conlon, his employees, and his saloon safe and secure.”

  “And is that what you feel you did tonight?” Burle asked him.

  “Definitely,” Trench said. “Mr. Conlon especially wants that room to stay secure until the wake starts.”

  “And when will that be?” Burle asked.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Trench said.

  “Well, why haven’t I seen you in town before?” Burle asked. “Or know about your job at the Crystal?”

  “Again,” Trench said, “you’d have to ask Mr. Conlon about that.”

  “Don’t worry,” Burle said, “I intend to.”

  “Can me and my men go?” Trench asked.

  “You can leave this office,” Burle said, “but don’t leave town.”

  “Why would we do that?” Trench asked, standing up. “We’ve got a job to do.”

  Trench stood up and turned, found himself face-to-face with Clint, who didn’t move. The tension was thick as all the other men in the room watched them. They stood that way for a few seconds, and then Trench stepped around him.

  Trench’s men followed him out the door.

  “Wasn’t there any way you could hold them responsible for what they did?”

  “Marshal?” Burle said to Bass Reeves. “You want to explain it?”

  “They tried to enter a section of the saloon that was off-limits to customers,” Reeves said. “And they forced a locked door.”

  “But they had the right to kill them?” Clint asked.

  “They were armed,” Reeves said, “and according to Trench, they drew their guns.”

  “You have to take his word for it?”

  “His men backed his story,” Burle said, “and there were no other witnesses. But don’t worry. I’m gonna have a talk with Conlon tomorrow.”

  “That makes two of us,” Clint said.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Clint went back to his hotel and found that Alicia had not waited for him. It was just as well. He undressed and went to bed.

  The next morning, he joined Bat for breakfast in the hotel dining room and told him about the events of the night before.

  “I must be gettin’ old if I slept through that,” Bat complained.

  “I think if I’d been asleep, I might not have heard it myself,” Clint said.

  “What were you doin’ instead of sleepin’?”

  Clint hesitated, then said, “Reading.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Clint explained about the undertaker, and about Trench and his men, how the sheriff knew nothing about this apparent security force that Conlon had.

  “I’m amazed we’ve only had two shooting incidents in the past two days,” Bat said.

  “Five dead men,” Clint said. “That’s plenty for me.”

  “So what do you want to do today?” Bat asked. “Time to get out of town?”

  “You can leave if you want,” Clint said. “I came here for a wake, and I’m going to get one.”

  “That means talking to Conlon.”

  “Burle’s going to talk to him today,” Clint said, “and so am I.”

  “Well,” Bat said, “I’ll come along to see that.”

  “Aren’t you still afraid you’ll want to shoot him?” Clint asked.

  “Well, sure,” Bat said, “but you won’t let me.”

  “I just may stop you,” Clint said, “by shooting him myself.”

  Bat laughed and said, “Now that I’d pay to see!”

  They continued their breakfast and the conversation turned to Craddock.

  “Is he even still around?” Bat asked.

  “I haven’t seen him leave,” Clint said, “but then I haven’t seen him since he went upstairs with one of the girls.”

  “Well, add him into the mix with all of us—plus this fella Trench—and I don’t think we’ve seen nothin’ yet.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  * * *

  Clint’s first stop was the sheriff’s office.

  “Just wanted to check and see if you talked to Conlon yet about last night.”

  “Not yet,” Burle said. “Why?”

  “We’re going over there to talk to him about the wake,” Clint said. “We want to get some answers about why it hasn’t happened yet. And why he lied about the reasons.”

  “Knowing Conlon,” Burle said, “he just sees a way to make money.”

  “You do know him well, then,” Bat said.

  “Well enough. All right,” Burle said. “I’ll hold off so I don’t interrupt you.”

  “Good enough,” Clint said.

  “Let me know what happens.”

  “Will do.”

  Clint and Bat left the office.

  * * *

  They found the front doors of the Crystal open as they approached.

  “I thought we’d have to bang on the doors to get in,” Bat said.

  “He might be trying to make up for the business he lost last night when he had to close.”

  They stepped up onto the boardwalk and entered through the batwing doors. The bartender—working on the bar with a damp rag—looked up at them.

  “Mornin’, gents,” he said. “What’ll it be?”

  “Your boss,” Clint said.

  “Mr. Conlon is up in his office.”

  “Is he awake?”

  “I think so,” the man said. “I saw him earlier this mornin’ when I got here. Boy, was he mad about havin’ to close last night,”

  “But not upset that his men had to kill three other men, huh?” Clint asked.

  The bartender shrugged. “I dunno about that. We didn’t talk about it.”

  “Well, we’ll just go up and see how upset he is,” Clint said.

  The bartender knew who they both were, so he offered neither advice nor resistance.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Clint and Bat went up the stairs and knocked on Conlon’s office door. The man opened the door, dressed in his rumpled black suit.

  “Well, well,” Conlon said, “to what do I owe this visit so early?”

  Clint poked Conlon in the chest, driving him back a few steps, then stepped inside, followed by Bat.

  “You’ve been lying,” Clint said.

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” Conlon said. “I lie about a lot of things.”

  “This so-called wake,” Clint said. “I talked to Driscoll, the undertaker. He says he doesn’t know anything about it. He’s not holding things up.”

  “Why would he?” Conlon asked.

  “You said you couldn’t show the body until you got the okay from the undertaker.”

  “I said that?”

  “You did.”

  Conlon frowned.

  “That’s funny,” he said. “I could’ve sworn I said the doctor.”

  “You said undertaker.”

  “I thought I said doctor,” Conlon said again. “In fact, that’s what I meant.”

  “Or is that just another lie?”

  Conlon shrugged.

  “All I know is I can’t display the body . . . yet. Especially not after last night.”

  “That’s something else,” Clint said. “How long has Trench worked for you?”

  “Why is that your business?”

  “Because he killed three men last night,” Clint said, “and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing a badge.”

  “I did notice,” Conlon
said. “Congratulations. Will you be settling here in Santa Fe?”

  “No, this is temporary.”

  “Too bad,” Conlon said. “You wearing a badge, too, Bat?”

  Bat opened his jacket to show that he was not wearing a badge.

  “You still haven’t answered my question, Conlon,” Clint said.

  “I still don’t think it’s any of your business, but I’ll answer you anyway,” Conlon said. “Trench has been working for me for a couple of months. He’s in charge of security for my saloon.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just what it sounds like,” Conlon said. “Just what he did last night.”

  “Well, you’ll have to explain to the sheriff about last night,” Clint said.

  “That’s fine,” Conlon said. “I expect to have to defend the actions of my men, and I’ll do so. Can I do anything else for you?”

  “Yes,” Clint said, “you better get the wake under way unless you want more incidents like last night.”

  “Is that an order?”

  “It’s a suggestion,” Clint said. “You can take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll give it some thought, Adams,” Conlon said. “Is that all?”

  “That’s all,” Clint said, “for now.”

  “You can see yourselves out,” Conlon said. “Nice to see you, Bat.”

  Bat didn’t say a word as he and Clint went to the door and left.

  * * *

  Outside the door, Bat looked at Clint and said, “You should’ve shot him.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Clint said. He walked to the railing and looked down. A few customers had straggled in and were standing at the bar. Bat moved up alongside him and also looked down.

  “He’s playing with us all, and we’re letting him.”

  “All the more reason to give it up and just leave town,” Bat said.

  “I’m tempted,” Clint said, “but I can’t walk out on Burle so soon after he gave me this badge. He’s relying on Bass and me to back his play.”

  “I understand that,” Bat said.

  “You can go, though.”

  “Nah,” Bat said. “I’ll stick around as long as you and Luke are here. Maybe I can keep you boys out of trouble.”