Showdown in Desperation

by J. R. Roberts

  “You think you can back Johnny down if you face him alone?” Barrett asked.

  “Maybe,” Clint said. “The kid’s pretty full of himself. But I’d have to get him away from his daddy to try.”

  Barrett looked at Cox and said, “Maybe the sheriff and I can help in that department.”

  “How?”

  “Sheriff Barrett and I can figure that out,” Cox said.

  “Okay,” Clint said, “get Jimmy out of the way, and I’ll brace Johnny. But if he draws on me—”

  “We know,” Barrett said, “but that’s going to be up to him, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Go to your hotel and wait,” Barrett suggested. “Stay off the street so you and Jimmy don’t run into each other. We’ll send word when we’ve got him.”

  “You going to put him in a cell?” Clint asked.

  “Maybe,” Barrett said, “maybe we won’t have to. But we’ll get him out of the way.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “but make it today, huh?”

  “Quick as we can,” Barrett said. “Sheriff Cox and I will figure out a way.”

  “What about your deputies, and the posse?” Clint asked.

  “They’ll stay out of the way,” Cox said. “I might bring my tracker, Ed Ballard, in on it, but the rest of them will be out of it.”

  “Good,” Clint said. “We don’t want anybody getting killed who doesn’t have to.”

  “Agreed,” Barrett said.

  Clint walked to the door, put his hand on the knob, then looked at the two lawmen.

  “Make it quick, huh?” he said. “This town is starting to feel like a powder keg to me.”

  FORTY-TWO

  Clint went to his hotel, didn’t run into anyone along the way, luckily. The plan sounded good to him. Let the two lawmen deal with Jimmy Creed, and then he could take care of Johnny.

  He looked out his window, saw Jimmy Creed across the street, watching his hotel. Johnny wasn’t with him. That was good.

  He sat in the bed, took from his saddlebags the Dickens he was working his way through, and opened it.

  • • •

  The two lawmen decided the direct approach was the best. They left the office and walked until they spotted Jimmy Creed across the street from Clint’s hotel.

  “He’s making it easy,” Cox said.

  “Let’s see how easy,” Barrett said.

  Jimmy was lounging against a pole. As the two lawmen approached, he straightened up and smiled crookedly.

  “Gents.”

  “Jimmy,” Barrett said, “wonder if you’d mind coming with us. We’d like to talk to you.”

  “I ain’t wanted in Arizona, that I know.”

  “That’s true,” Barrett said. “But we just want to talk.”

  Jimmy looked from lawman to lawman.

  “Him, too?”

  Cox smiled.

  “I’m just along for the ride.”

  Jimmy looked at the older lawman from New Mexico, as if measuring him, then looked back at Barrett. Both sheriffs could see his mind working. Was it worth resisting?

  “Whataya say, Jimmy?” Barrett asked. “Just a talk.”

  “Sure,” Jimmy said. “why not?” He did the back-and-forth look again. “Which one of you tin men is gonna try to take my gun?”

  “Neither one,” Barrett said. “Like we said, we only wanna have a talk.”

  “Okay,” Jimmy said. “Let’s go.”

  As they started to walk, Barrett took the lead, Cox dropped in behind Jimmy. Creed stopped.

  “You mind walkin’ ahead of me?” he asked. “I don’t like havin’ anybody behind me.”

  “Sure, Jimmy,” Cox said. “I don’t mind.”

  “Thanks.”

  The two lawmen led the way to the sheriff’s office.

  • • •

  Barrett had instructed a man named Owens to watch the office. When they walked in with Jimmy Creed, he was supposed to go across to the hotel and let Clint Adams know.

  Owens ran across and knocked on Clint’s door. When Clint opened it, Owens said. “Sheriff sent me, said you was in the clear.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “You know what that means?” Owens asked.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Owens shrugged and ran back down the hall.

  • • •

  Clint put his book back in his saddlebags and left the room.

  He crossed the street and entered the other hotel. The clerk looked up at him.

  “Help ya?”

  “Yes,” Clint said, “what number is Jimmy Creed in?”

  “Oh,” the man said, “um . . .”

  “I know,” Clint said, “he told you not to tell anyone. Well, I’m telling you it’s okay. What room?”

  “H-He’s gonna be mad,” the clerk said. “He’ll ask me who I told.”

  “You tell him Clint Adams.”

  “The Gunsmith?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Yes, sir,” the clerk said, straightening his back. “He’s in Room 7.”

  “Johnny Creed in there now?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Thanks.”

  Clint went up to the second floor, knocked on the door of Room 7.

  “Who is it?” Johnny called.

  “Desk clerk.”

  When Johnny opened the door, Clint put his hand against the young man’s chest and shoved him back. Johnny staggered backward, hit the bed, and fell over it.

  Clint entered the room and slammed the door. He reached Johnny as he was getting to his feet. The boy was wearing his gun, but before he could go for it, Clint plucked it from his holster, shoved him again. This time he landed on the bed, bouncing.

  “What the hell—” Johnny shouted. “You can’t do this.”

  “Why not?” Clint asked. He tucked Johnny’s gun into his belt.

  “You ain’t got a badge.”

  “I don’t need one. I’m not arresting you.”

  Johnny stared up at him from the bed.

  “You gonna kill me?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Can I get up?”

  “Why not?”

  Johnny got to his feet.

  “My pa ain’t gonna like this.”

  “You and your pa close, Johnny?” Clint asked. “The way I heard it, you hadn’t seen him in years until lately.”

  “So?”

  “So why are you letting him make your decisions for you?”

  “I ain’t.”

  “Yeah, you are,” Clint said. “Otherwise, why are you hiding in this room?”

  “I ain’t hidin’!”

  “Yeah, you are,” Clint said. “You’re hiding here because he told you to.”

  “That’s a lie!”

  “Well, never mind that,” Clint said. “I want to ask you something else.”

  “What?”

  “Why’d you kill Lanigan?”

  Johnny didn’t answer. His eyes darted around the room.

  “Come on, Johnny,” Clint said. “It’s like you just said, I’m not a lawman. It’s just you and me here. You kill him because you lost at poker?”

  Johnny didn’t answer.

  “If that was the reason, why didn’t you try to kill me?” Clint asked. “After all, I beat you at poker, too.”

  Johnny wiped his hand with his mouth.

  “Of course, a lot of men have beat you at poker,” Clint said. “You’re easy to beat. You’re a bad, bad poker player.”

  “I ain’t.”

  “Yeah, you are,” Clint said. “So I figure the reason you didn’t kill me is because you wanted me to take the blame for killing Lanigan. Only that isn’t going to happen.”

 
“It ain’t?”

  “No,” Clint said, “the sheriff knows I didn’t do it.”

  “Oh yeah? Then how come him and his posse is here lookin’ for you?”

  “They’re not,” Clint said. “They’re looking for you.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Yer lyin’.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “They can’t take me.”

  “Why not?”

  “They—they can’t prove I did it.”

  “Maybe they can,” Clint said. “Maybe there was a witness.”

  “There can’t be.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I made sure there was—”

  Johnny stopped short.

  “You made sure there wasn’t any when you killed him,” Clint finished.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yeah,” Clint said, “you almost did.”

  “Get outta my room! And gimme back my gun!”

  “What will you do with it if I give it back, Johnny?” Clint asked.

  “I’ll kill you with it, that’s what I’ll do!”

  “Johnny,” Clint said. “the posse’s taking you back to El Legado.”

  “My pa won’t let ’em.”

  “Your pa can’t stop them.”

  “Then I’ll kill you first, before they take me!”

  “You want to kill me?” Clint took the gun from his belt and tossed it to the boy. “Be my guest, I’ll be outside on the street.”

  Johnny fumbled for the gun, dropped it on the floor.

  “Don’t pick it up until I leave,” Clint told him. “Then come outside. Let’s get this thing over with. I’ve got a life to live and I’ve wasted enough time on you.”

  As Clint left, Johnny yelled, “You ain’t got a life to live, Adams, because I’m gonna kill you. You hear me? I’m gonna kill you!”

  “You’ll have your chance,” Clint called back.

  FORTY-THREE

  “What’s this about?” Jimmy asked. He was sitting in front of Barrett’s desk, Cox standing off to one side.

  “We were just wondering how long you and your boy were plannin’ on stayin’ in town, Jimmy,” Barrett said.

  “I dunno,” Jimmy said. “Maybe a day or two more.”

  “Well, the sheriff here wants to take Johnny back to El Legado,” Barrett said.

  “What for?”

  “To face charges.”

  Jimmy looked at Cox, then at Barrett.

  “He ain’t got no whatayacallit, jurisdiction.”

  “That’s okay,” Barrett said, “I’m gonna let him do it.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s got a murder to solve.”

  “I thought the Gunsmith did that.”

  “No,” Cox said, “he didn’t. Your boy did.”

  “You can’t prove that.”

  “Maybe,” Cox said, “maybe not.”

  Jimmy sat quiet for a minute, then said, “What’s this about? Why are you—” Suddenly Jimmy seemed to get it. He turned his head and looked at the window. “What’s goin’ on?”

  • • •

  Clint stood outside the hotel, in the street, waiting for Johnny to come out—if he came out. There was always the chance he’d go out the back door.

  Traffic got thin on the street. It was clear what was going to happen, and people were getting out of the way. Clint looked over at the sheriff’s office, half expecting to see Jimmy Creed come running out.

  Clint hoped the boy would come out ready to go back to New Mexico. He didn’t want to have to kill him.

  • • •

  After Clint Adams left his room, Johnny Creed picked up his gun and jammed it into his holster. This was his chance, then. His chance to show his pa he was his own man, his chance to take care of the Gunsmith, his chance to make his own reputation.

  So why was he so scared?

  • • •

  “Sit own, Jimmy,” Barrett said as Jimmy started to get up.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Jimmy asked again, sitting back down. “Why are you tryin’ to keep me here?” He looked at Cox. “Your posse—nah, your posse wouldn’t try it. It’s Adams, ain’t it? He’s goin’ for my boy.”

  Jimmy started to get up again.

  “Sit down!” Barrett said.

  Jimmy stood straight and said, “Make me!” He glared at both lawmen. “Which one of you is gonna go for his gun first?”

  That was a question neither lawman knew the answer to. They were still trying to figure it out when Jimmy went out the door.

  • • •

  Johnny came out of the hotel, saw Clint Adams waiting for him in the empty street.

  “I’m gonna kill you!” he swore.

  “Bad move, Johnny,” Clint said. “You’d do better to drop your gun in the street. Then I’ll get Sheriff Cox and you can start back to New Mexico. Maybe they can’t prove you did it. Maybe they’ll have to let you go.”

  “I ain’t goin’ back,” Johnny said. He dried his palms in his thighs. “I’m gonna kill you.”

  “Then come ahead, boy,” Clint said. “I’ve got other things to do.”

  “I killed three men at one time,” Johnny said. “They never cleared leather.”

  “They were probably all crippled.”

  “They was not!”

  “Then come on. Step into the street. Let’s see what you got . . . boy.”

  Johnny Creed licked his lips, stepped into the street.

  FORTY-FOUR

  When Jimmy Creed came out of the sheriff’s office, he saw Clint Adams standing in the street. He stopped to see what was going on, saw Johnny come out of the hotel. He took a step, intending to run, then stopped. What if the kid could do it? What if he was faster than the Gunsmith? He figured the two of them together could take Clint Adams. He even figured he could do it alone, but what if the kid could do it? It would save him the trouble.

  He started walking . . .

  • • •

  As Johnny stepped into the street, Clint started moving to his left. Johnny, in turn, moved right. Beyond Johnny, Clint could see Jimmy come running out of the sheriff’s office and stop. The two lawmen had not been able to hold him back long enough, but it didn’t look like the man was going to do anything. He was going to watch, and see if his son could do it.

  “Johnny,” Clint said, “your daddy’s watching.”

  “You’re lyin’.”

  “He’s right behind you.”

  “You just want me to turn around so you can backshoot me.”

  “No, not me. That’s your father’s rep.”

  “Never mind,” Johnny said. “It don’t even matter if he’s watchin’ or not.”

  “So you’re really going to do this?”

  “Stop talkin’!”

  “Take your chances in New Mexico, Johnny,” Clint said, “because you’ve got no chance here.”

  “Sonofa—” Johnny said, going for his gun.

  • • •

  The two lawmen came out of the office together, saw Jimmy Creed standing there. Down the street Clint Adams was in the street, facing Johnny Creed.

  “They’re gonna do it,” Barrett said.

  “Johnny’ll kill ’im,” Jimmy said. He looked over his shoulder at them. “You was tryin’ to keep me busy, but I get to see this.”

  “Jimmy—” Cox said.

  The sound of the shot cut him off.

  • • •

  Clint drew and fired. Johnny was fast. He got his hand on his gun before the bullet punched him in the chest. Clint thought about trying to shoot to wound, but he didn’t know what Jimmy would be doing. And he couldn’t take the chance that Johnny would still get a shot off. When a man drew his gun, he had
to shoot to kill. It was the safest course of action.

  Clint saw Johnny gasp, his eyes go wide in surprise, and then he fell onto his face. He realized that he knew Johnny had killed Lanigan, but he couldn’t prove it.

  He holstered his gun, looked down the street, saw Jimmy Creed step down off the boardwalk.

  • • •

  “Jimmy—” Barrett said as Johnny fell.

  “This is what you wanted, ain’t it?” Jimmy asked. “To have us take care of each other? Then you don’t have to do a thing.”

  “That’s not—” Cox started, but Jimmy waved away their words and stepped into the street.

  • • •

  Clint watched Jimmy Creed approach. The man walked slowly, so Clint just stood there and waited. Finally, Jimmy reached the point where his son was lying facedown in the dirt.

  “I told him not to do it, Jimmy,” Clint said.

  “Sure you did,” Jimmy said. “You knew if you told him that, he’d do it.”

  “All he had to do was go back with Sheriff Cox,” Clint said. “Maybe they wouldn’t have been able to prove he killed the gambler.”

  “It don’t matter,” Jimmy said. “Don’t matter now if he did it or not.”

  The two lawmen came walking down the street, stopped just far enough away to be able to hear the conversation.

  “He did it, Jimmy,” Clint said. “Didn’t he tell you he did it? He just about said as much to me.”

  “Sure he did it,” Jimmy said. “So what?”

  Clint looked over at Cox, who nodded, indicating he’d heard the secondhand confession.

  “So what now, Jimmy?” Clint asked. “You want to bury your son?”

  “Naw,” Jimmy said, “I wanna bury you, Adams.”

  “Not a good idea, Jimmy,” Clint said. “You’re not wanted in Arizona. Just bury your son and move on.”

  “Can’t do that.”

  “Why? Because he was your son? When did you become a good father?”

  “Naw, it ain’t that,” Jimmy said. “You’re the Gunsmith. When will I get this chance again?”

  “So it’s all about reputation, huh?”

  “How would you like to be known as a backshooter?” Jimmy asked. “This’ll change that.”

  “Jimmy, you can’t—”

  Jimmy Creed went for his gun. Clint realized the father was not even as fast as the son had been. Clint had his gun out and had pulled the trigger before Jimmy could even touch his gun.