The Gunsmith 387
Page 4
They stopped just inside the door and looked around. The place was almost empty, so it was easy to see that Rydell’s man wasn’t there.
“What if he don’t come?” Chance asked.
“We’ll wait,” Rydell said. “He’ll be here.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I am,” Rydell said. “That’s all you need to know. Come on.”
Rydell led his partner to the bar and ordered them two beers.
With a mug in his hand, Chance turned and looked around the place. There were no girls on the floor. That suited Rydell, but not Chance.
“What kinda place has no girls?” he complained.
“Just relax,” Rydell said. “I’m serious. We don’t want no trouble this time.”
“Hey,” Chance said, “I ain’t one who goes lookin’ for trouble.”
“No, I know that, Chance,” Rydell said. “I know that.”
* * *
They were working on their second beers when the batwing doors opened and a man stepped in. He looked around, spotted Rydell, and came walking over.
“Rydell,” he said.
“Oates. Beer?”
“Oh, yeah. Who’s this?”
“Lyle Oates, meet Hal Chance.”
Oates and Chance nodded to each other, and Oates gratefully accepted a beer from the bartender. He immediately drank half of it down. He was in his thirties, with long, lank hair and sunken eyes.
“Ahhhh, that’s good. Been ridin’ for a while.”
“You got somethin’ for me, Oates?” Rydell asked.
“Yeah, I got somethin’,” Oates said. “Your man’s holed up in a beach town down south called Laguna Niguel.”
“How far away?” Chance asked.
“Coupla days.”
“But we’re already near the water.”
“It’s still a coupla days away,” Oates said. “The ocean’s pretty big, pardner.”
Chance looked at Rydell, who nodded.
“Pretty big,” he agreed.
“Damn!” Chance said.
“You wanna ride with us?” Rydell asked Oates.
“What’s in it for me?” Oates asked.
“Ride with us a while,” Rydell suggested. “I think you’ll like what you hear.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll pay you the same again, and you can be on your way,” Rydell said. “But I think you’ll want to come along.”
Oates looked at Chance, and while he wasn’t looking for any kind of affirmation, Chance nodded.
“Yeah, okay,” Oates said, “but can we get somethin’ to eat first?”
“Definitely,” Rydell said, “but we’ll be ridin’ out as soon as we’re done.”
“No bed?” Oates asked.
“No girls?” Chance asked.
“Just food,” Rydell said, “and then we’ll be on our way.”
* * *
They sat at a back table and had some burritos and beer.
“You see him?” Rydell asked.
“Huh?” Oates said with his mouth full.
“Did you see him in this town?”
“No, I didn’t see him myself,” Oates said. “Somebody else saw him.”
“Who?”
“That don’t matter,” Oates said. “Just somebody I know.”
“Can you trust him?”
“Huh?”
“Trust. Can you trust him?”
“Whataya talkin’ about, trust? Men like us, trust don’t ever come into what we do. Can you trust him?” he asked, pointing at Chance. “Can he trust you? Can I trust you?”
“Okay, okay,” Rydell said. “Can you depend on his information?”
“Yeah, I can depend on his information.”
“What about the local law?”
“He’s no pushover, but his deputies are a waste.”
“Okay,” Rydell said, “okay, it sounds good.”
“What about the guy?” Chance asked.
“What about him?”
“He got anybody around him?”
“Nobody we have to worry about,” Oates said. “He’s a sittin’ duck.”
Chance picked up his beer and said, “Here’s to sittin’ ducks.”
TWELVE
Oates got up to leave the cantina first. He went to the batwings, looked outside, then turned and came back.
“I got bad news,” he said.
“What?” Rydell asked.
“There are Mexican lawmen waitin’ outside.
“How did that happen?” Rydell said. “How’d they know we were here?”
“They don’t know you’re here.”
“Then what?” Chance asked.
“Well, they, uh, followed me here.”
“They what?”
“Followed me.”
“What for?”
“Well, I had some trouble on my way here.”
“So you led them here?”
Oates shrugged and said, “I figured you’d help me out, you know? I mean, you want me to go with ya, right?”
“You’re a sonofabitch, you know that, Oates?” Chance said.
“Yeah, I know that.”
“All right,” Rydell said, “so how many are out there?”
“Maybe half a dozen.”
“We handled half a dozen in that little shit town,” Chance reminded Rydell.
“Yeah, half a dozen storekeepers. This is different. These are—what kind of lawmen are they?” he asked Oates.
“Federales.”
“Great,” Rydell said. “Now we’re gonna be on the hook for killin’ a bunch of Federales.”
“Look,” Oates said, “we take care of these fellas, we go and get your guy, and then we hightail it back to the States. Easy as pie.”
“Yeah, right,” Rydell said. “Okay, look, Oates. You’re gonna have to go out the front door.”
“We’re all goin’ out the front, ain’t we?”
“No, me and Chance are goin’ out the back.”
“And then what?”
“Chance and I will go around and come at them from both sides.”
“What do I do?”
“Just go out the front and make like you’re gonna surrender,” Rydell said.
“Surrender?”
“Yeah, you know. Hands up? Then you draw your gun, and we’ll be right there with ya.”
Oates stared at Rydell.
“Cord . . . I can trust you on this, right?”
“Right,” Rydell said. “We’ll get this done and then you’ll take us to—what’s that town?”
“Laguna Niguel.”
“Right, Laguna Niguel. Now go.”
“Thanks, Cord.”
Oates headed for the front door.
* * *
As the batwing doors opened, Capitan Huerta lifted his arm and told his men, “Get ready, hombres.”
They raised their rifles.
The gringo came out the doors with his hands up.
“I’m surrenderin’!” he yelled. “See? My hands are up.”
“Drop your weapon to the ground, gringo!” Huerta shouted.
“Yeah, okay,” Oates said, and drew his gun.
Huerta dropped his arms and his men fired, riddling Oates with bullets. His bloody body fell to the boardwalk, blood soaking into the wood.
* * *
“What about our horses?” Chance asked Rydell.
They were behind the cantina, waiting for the shooting to be done.
“Don’t worry,” Rydell said, “we’ll pick them up after they move the body.”
“You sure that’s all they’ll do?” Chance asked. “They won’t come lookin’ for us?”
“They followed Oates her
e,” Rydell said. “They ain’t after us.”
“I thought you here really gonna help him.”
“Are you kiddin’?” Rydell said. “That idiot brought the Federales with him. We don’t need that kind of trouble, Chance.”
“Are you sure you know where Laguna Niguel is?” Chance asked.
“Don’t worry. We didn’t need Oates for anythin’ else.”
“I guess he was right.”
“About what?”
“Not bein’ able to trust each other.”
“As long as you do what you’re supposed to do,” Rydell said, “don’t worry about trust, Chance.”
“I know,” Chance said, “that ain’t for guys like us.”
THIRTEEN
When Clint came out of his hotel the next morning, he found Sheriff Vazquez waiting for him.
“Amigo,” Vazquez asked, “have you had breakfast?”
“Not yet.”
“Excellent,” the lawman said, “we will have it together.”
“Why?”
Vazquez smiled broadly, spread his arms, and asked, “Why not? I am inviting you to eat with me.” He pointed to his chest. “My treat.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” Clint said, “lead the way.”
“Come, amigo, I will take you to a special place.”
Clint stepped down from the boardwalk and followed the sheriff, who chattered amiably the entire way. Finally, they reached a small restaurant Clint had not yet been to, and didn’t even know existed. It was on a small side street. As they entered, he saw that there were only five tables in the place.
“Jefe,” a small, older waiter exclaimed. He embraced Vazquez warmly.
“Alberto,” Vazquez said, “I have brought a friend to sample your food.”
“Wonderful! Any friend of yours is welcome.”
“Clint, this Alberto Del Rio, my friend,” Vazquez said. “Alberto, this is Clint Adams.”
“A pleasure to meet you, señor. Please, both of you, have a seat. I will bring coffee, no?”
“I say coffee, yes,” Clint said. “And strong.”
Alberto smiled and said, “The stronger the better, es verdad?”
“That’s very true,” Clint said. “Gracias.”
The two men sat while Alberto rushed to his kitchen.
“Alberto prepares the best breakfast in town,” Vazquez said, “Mexican or American.”
“That’s good to know,” Clint said. “I’ve been eating as Rosa’s.”
“Ah, Rosa’s is very good as well,” Vazquez said, “but, Dios, that woman in ugly.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
Albert returned with a coffeepot and two cups, then said, “What will you have, my friend?”
“I will have my usual,” Vazquez said.
“A full Mexican breakfast,” Alberto said happily. “And you, señor?”
“Well, I usually prefer steak and eggs, but since I’m a visitor here, I’ll also have a full Mexican breakfast.”
“Excellent! I will prepare it with great care.”
Alberto went back to the kitchen.
“While he’s preparing breakfast with great care,” Clint said, “why don’t you tell me what this breakfast invitation is all about.”
“I thought perhaps it would help to solidify our friendship.”
“Do we have a friendship?”
“Well, a budding friendship, then.”
“So you want to be my friend.”
“I would like to be your friend, yes,” Vazquez said. “And would like you to be mine.”
“And does this new friendship have anything to do with this big trouble you’re expecting?”
“Perhaps,” Vazquez said. “Or perhaps I am just a friendly person, eh? Ask Alberto.”
“Ask me what?” Alberto asked. He appeared at the table carrying a basket of tortillas.
“Am I a friendly man, Alberto?”
“Oh, sí, Jefe, very friendly,” the smaller man said. He returned to the kitchen. There were no other customers in the small café.
“Why,” Clint asked, “do I get the feeling Alberto is afraid of you?”
“I prefer to think of it as respect,” Vazquez said.
FOURTEEN
Alberto brought out platters of huevos rancheros, chorizos, burritos, enchiladas, jalapeño corn cakes, and more coffee.
Over breakfast, Clint said, “All right, tell me about this trouble that’s coming.”
“I do not know anything specific,” Vazquez said. “It has been my experience that when it is too quiet, something is coming.”
“That sounds more like a superstition than a feeling.”
“Whatever you would like to call it, it is coming,” Vazquez said.
“Are you getting your deputies ready?”
“I have talked to them, warned them to be ready.”
“Are they practicing with their guns?”
“I hope so.”
“You should be making sure they do, instead of spending time trying to recruit me.”
“Perhaps you could help me with them.”
Clint laughed, picked up a burrito.
“That would mean I let you recruit me.”
Vazquez shrugged, picked up a corn cake, and popped it into his mouth.
“You cannot blame me for trying,” he said. “I am only trying to keep my town safe by using all the resources at my disposal.”
“I’m not a resource, Sheriff,” Clint said.
“So you have said,” Vazquez said. “But I have the feeling if trouble starts, you will not stand by and watch.”
“I could just leave town.”
“You’re not ready to leave.”
Clint picked up a tortilla, filled it with eggs and meat, and rolled it.
“Not when the food’s this good.”
* * *
When the table was cleared and they were both stuffed, Alberto brought out some more coffee, and some tequila.
“Just to top it all off,” he said. He poured the coffee into their cups, and a shot of tequila for each of them.
“Gracias, Alberto.”
They both downed their tequila, then Clint sipped some coffee.
“Why do you go to see the gringo in the house on the beach?” Vazquez asked. “Señor Castle.”
“He’s an old friend of mine.”
“So you came here to see him?”
“I came there to get away from the U.S. for a while,” Clint said. “That he was here was a happy coincidence.”
“And you were seen talking to the padre,” Vazquez said.
“I might join his flock.”
“You are a religious man?”
“Not so far in my life, but who knows?” Clint asked. “And I suppose you know about the waitress?”
“Ah, your friend, Carmen, from Rosa’s,” Vazquez said. “Yes, I know about her.”
“So you know I have two friends and one acquaintance in town.”
“I am just doing my job,” Vazquez said.
“Well, I have to admit, you know more than I thought you did.”
“I know that Señor Avery Castle is more than he seems,” Vazquez said. “The fact that he is your friend supports that. I also know that Father Flynn is more than he appears to be.”
“Really? What do you think he is?”
“I do not know,” Vazquez said, “but I keep my eyes on him.”
“You’ve got to have a lot of eyes if you’re watching me, Avery, and Father Flynn. And the town.”
“I do,” Vazquez said, “I have many, many eyes at my disposal.”
“Then why do you think you also need my help?” Clint asked him.
“Because, señor,” Vazquez said, “I have many eyes, bu
t no guns.”
* * *
As they stood up to leave, Clint noticed that Vazquez did not pay for their food. When he started to put money down, Vazquez said, “Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Alberto and I have an arrangement,” he said. “To change it now would . . . confuse him.”
Clint gave in, and they left.
Outside, Clint said, “Thank you for breakfast.”
“We are better friends now, yes?” Vazquez asked.
“We’re friendly,” Clint said, “but we’re not quite there yet.”
Vazquez laughed.
“For now I will accept that, señor,” Vazquez said. “I must go to work. What about you?”
“Me?” Clint said. “I think maybe I’ll go to the beach.”
FIFTEEN
As Clint walked up the beach to his friend’s house, he saw Avery sitting on the deck with Lita. When they spotted him, they both waved.
As he mounted the stairs to the house, Avery laughed and said, “Back for more breakfast?”
“Oh, no,” Clint said, “today I’m very full. A full Mexican breakfast, compliments of Sheriff Vazquez.”
“The sheriff,” Avery said. “What did he want?”
“He’s trying to recruit me.”
“For what?”
“To help him with some big trouble he’s expecting.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“That he doesn’t know,” Clint said. “He just says it’s been too quiet for too long.”
“Clint, will you have coffee?” Lita asked.
“I will always have coffee,” Clint said to her, “especially yours.”
She smiled and went into the house.
“Sit,” Avery said, “tell me about your talk with the sheriff.”
“He was trying to make friends,” Clint said, taking a seat.
“To recruit you.”
“And trying to impress me with his ability to do his job.”
“How?”
“By telling me certain things about you, and Father Flynn,” Clint said.
Avery sat up straight, was about to speak when Lita came out with the fresh coffee.
“Uh-oh,” she said, “the men have stopped talking when the pregnant lady came out.” She put the coffee down on the table. “I will leave you to talk about your secrets.”
Avery waited until his wife was out of earshot.