Virgil Earp, Private Detective

by J. R. Roberts

  “I don’t understand that.”

  “You don’t have to,” Virgil told her. “You just have to go someplace and be safe.”

  “Virgil—”

  “James,” Clint said, “walk her out.”

  “Come on, Kate,” James said. “You’re not gonna win with these two.”

  “If you get killed, I won’t have anything else to do with any of the three of you,” she said, as James ushered her out.

  When James returned, Clint said, “Show us their rooms, James. Let’s see what we can find out.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  James took them up to the two rooms the three men were inhabiting. Saddlebags were all they found, and not much in them besides an extra shirt and, in one case, a knife and an extra gun.

  “Nothin’ to identify them,” Virgil said. “Don’t most men carry a letter or somethin’ with their name on it?”

  “Do you, when you’re on the trail?” James asked.

  “No,” Virgil said.

  “Neither do I,” James said.

  “Me, neither.”

  James walked over to stand by the window.

  “James!” Virgil snapped. “Move away from the window!”

  “You think somebody’s gonna take a shot at me?” James asked.

  “Maybe not,” Virgil said, “but somebody might see you.”

  “Gotcha,” James said, and moved away—but, of course, it was too late.

  Link Holman was coming back to the boardinghouse, if for no other reason than to get away from his brother Dave and Derek Morrell bickering all the time. He wanted some quiet, but as he approached the house he looked up and saw someone standing in the window.

  The window of his room.

  He turned and started back the way he had come.

  “Shut up!” Link told Dave and Morrell.

  They were right on the street corner where he had left them, still arguing like a married couple—complete with the hate.

  “Shut the hell up, you two!”

  They both stopped and looked at him.

  “Hell,” Link said, “one of you should just shoot the other and get it over with.”

  “What the hell is eatin’ you?” Dave asked,

  “I went back to the house and saw somebody in the window of my room.”

  “What?” Morrell asked.

  “You heard me. It looked like James Earp, and I don’t think he was alone.”

  “What was he doing in your room?” Dave asked.

  “I don’t know,” Link said, “but if he was in mine, I’ll bet he was in yours, too.”

  “I heard somethin’ about the Earps bein’ crooks,” Morrell said, “but I don’t have anythin’ for them to steal.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “Then why would they be in our rooms?” Link wondered. “What are they lookin’ for?”

  “Maybe they’re just curious,” Dave said. “Maybe they do that with everybody who stays there.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Link said, “or maybe you did somethin’ stupid.”

  “Me? Why me?” Dave demanded.

  “Who else has a history of doin’ somethin’ stupid, Dave?” Link asked.

  “Why don’t we just go back and ask ‘em what they want,” Morrell said.

  “No,” Link said, “we have to go get a drink. It’s time I told you boys why we came here. Maybe this is just what we needed.”

  “Needed for what?” Dave asked.

  “Let’s go find a place that serves beer and we’ll talk about it.”

  “I heard the Gem serves liquor,” Dave said.

  “Fine,” Link said, “we’ll go there.”

  They went to the Gem Saloon, and because it was afternoon, they easily found a table that gave them some privacy. Link sent Dave to the bar for three beers, and quickly talked to Morrell.

  “What’s Dave been up to, Derek?” he asked.

  “Well, you know as well as I do. He’s been seein’ that nigger girl who cooks at the boardinghouse.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “That’s all I know,” Morrell said. “He ain’t my brother, he’s yours.”

  “Yeah, I know. And what have you been up to since we got here, Derek?”

  Before he could answer, Dave came over with the three beers and set them all down without spilling a drop.

  “You know what I heard from the bartender?” he asked.

  “What?” Link asked.

  “There was a murder last night,” Dave said. “A young girl at the hotel had her throat cut.”

  “A young girl?” Link asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What was her name?” Morrell asked.

  “I dunno, but it’s supposed to be in the newspaper today.”

  “Dave, go see if you can get a newspaper from the bartender,” Link said.

  “Okay,” Dave said, picking up his beer, “first just let me—”

  “Go now, Dave!”

  “Okay!”

  Dave put down his beer and went back to the bar. He returned with a copy of the Colton Chronicle.

  “Gimme that.”

  Link read the story on the front page. It said that a woman named Sally Quest, who was visiting the city of Colton, had been killed in her room the night before.

  “Damn it!”

  Link slapped the newspaper down.

  “What’s wrong?” Dave asked.

  Morrell picked up the paper and looked at it.

  “She was supposed to pay us to kill Virgil and James Earp,” Link said.

  “Both of them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you get any money from her up-front?”

  “Some,” Link said, “but not much.”

  “Well . . . who killed her?” Dave asked.

  “It doesn’t say,” Morrell said, putting the newspaper down.

  “Link, where did you meet this girl?” Dave asked.

  “Ouray,” Link said, “when we passed through there. She said the Earps killed her father.”

  “All of them?” Dave asked. “Wyatt, too?”

  “She said they all had to die,” Link said.

  “Well,” Dave said, “she’s dead now. She ain’t payin’ us. Let’s just get out of town.”

  “No,” Link said.

  “Why not?”

  “They’re lookin’ for us,” Morrell said. “Besides, there’s still the Gunsmith.”

  “You want to try him, don’t you?” Dave asked.

  “Don’t you?” Morrell asked.

  “Not me,” Dave said. “I’m no gunman.”

  “Link?” Morrell asked.

  “I’d still like to know who killed the girl,” Link said. “She was gonna pay us a lot of money.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “They’re not comin’ back,” James said, hours later.

  “Their gear is here,” Virgil said.

  “What gear?” Clint asked. “There’s nothing in that room that can’t be replaced.”

  “So you think they figured out we’re lookin’ for them and left town?” James asked.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Clint said. “If one of them killed that girl, he had a reason.”

  “Maybe,” James said, “he just killed her for her money.”

  “She was here for a reason,” Clint said. “I think she got killed for more of a reason than just her money.”

  “Then where are they?” James asked. “What are they up to now?”

  “That’s what Virgil and I are going to find out,” Clint said.

  “You can go back to your paperwork, little brother,” Virgil said. “Clint and I are going back out on the streets.”

  “I could come with you—”

  “No,” Virgil said, “this is my job.”

  “And what am I supposed to do if they do come back here?” James asked.

  “They won’t,” Clint said. “If they do, just stay away from them.”

  Clint and Virgil left the house and started walking back toward Ph
iladelphia Street.

  “What do you think happened?” Virgil asked.

  “I think one of them spotted your brother in the window,” Clint said.

  “That’s what I think,” Virgil said. “So where are they now?”

  “I think,” Clint said, “we better assume they’re around every corner.”

  For want of a better place to go, Clint and Virgil returned to the scene of the crime, the Hotel Colton. Virgil grabbed a couple of wooden chairs from the lobby, and they sat down just outside the door.

  “Think this is a good idea, puttin’ ourselves on display like this?” Virgil asked.

  “It’s my guess one of these three killed Sally Quest,” Clint said. “It’s also my guess they want to come after us—or, to be more specific, you.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “When they came to town, they had no idea I was here,” Clint said. “And you’re an Earp. And a pretty famous one, to boot.”

  “Wyatt’s the famous one,” Virgil said.

  “Well, you’re more famous than your other brother or your father,” Clint said. “I think they came here looking for you.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Clint said, “but it’s got something to do with Sally Quest coming here and lying to you.”

  “What could that young girl have had against me?” Virgil wondered.

  “I don’t know,” Clint said, “and we may never find out.”

  “Well,” Virgil said, “all your guesses could also be wrong.”

  “True,” Clint said, “but do you have any better guesses?”

  “At the moment,” Virgil said, “no, I don’t.”

  “Then I suggest we just sit here for now.”

  “Okay,” Virgil said, “but bein’ on display like this is givin’ me an awful itch.”

  From down the street Link Holman watched as Clint Adams and Virgil Earp sat themselves down in front of the hotel. He backed off then, a few hundred feet down a side street, where his brother Dave and Derek Morrell were waiting.

  “What are they doin’?” Dave asked.

  “They’re just sittin’ in front of the hotel,” Link said.

  “They’re just tryin’ to draw us out,” Morrell said.

  “We ain’t gonna face ‘em on the street, are we?” Dave asked.

  “Whatsa matter, boy?” Morrell asked. “Lost your nerve? Oh wait, that’s right, you never had any.”

  “Derek, damn it—”

  “Shut up, the both of you,” Link said. “Derek, can you take Adams?”

  “How the hell do I know if I can take him?” Morrell asked. “But I’m willin’ to try.”

  “Dave, you and me can take Earp.”

  “That’s Wyatt Earp’s brother, Link,” Dave said.

  “I thought that didn’t bother you,” Link said. “Wasn’t that you sayin’ how Wyatt Earp had Doc Holliday?”

  “Yeah, and you and Derek pointed out we’re dealin’ with the Gunsmith.”

  “Derek will deal with the Gunsmith,” Link said. “You and me, we’re takin’ care of Virgil Earp.”

  “For a dead girl who didn’t pay us?” Dave asked. “This is crazy.”

  “You want out, Dave?” Link asked. “You gonna turn on your own blood?”

  “I ain’t turnin’ on ya, Link,” Dave said. “I just think there’s gotta be a better way. Why face ‘em fair and square?”

  “Because that’s the only way you get a rep,” Morrell said. “And since we’re not gettin’ paid, we might as well come out of this with a reputation.”

  “What for?” Dave asked. “What good’s a reputation with a gun when we’re movin’ into a new century, where gunmen are gonna be a thing of the past?”

  Morrell got in Dave’s face.

  “You sayin’ I’m a thing of the past, boy?”

  “Derek, goddamnit,” Dave said, “we’re all gonna be a thing of the past soon.”

  “That’s enough, Dave,” Link said. “If we’re gonna do this, we might as well do it now.”

  Link started down Philadelphia Street, followed willingly by Derek Morrell, and reluctantly by Dave Holman.

  They were walking toward the hotel, when Link suddenly said, “Wait! Ain’t that—” He squinted. “That policeman is walkin’ over to them. Quick.”

  Link stepped into a doorway, leaving both Morrell and Dave to find their own.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Inspector James crossed the street and approached the hotel.

  “Not who I expected to see,” Clint said to Virgil as the policeman came up to them.

  “What’s he want?” Virgil wondered.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” the inspector said.

  “Inspector,” Virgil said. “What brings you here?”

  “You two, actually,” the inspector said.

  “Why is that?” Clint asked.

  “I believe you two know more than you’re telling me,” the policeman said.

  “I don’t understand, Inspector,” Virgil said. “We’ve cooperated with you all day.”

  “Yes,” James said, “you’ve been too cooperative.”

  “We’re just sitting here, minding our own business, Inspector,” Clint said. “And staying our of your way, as we said we would. What makes you think we’re doing anything different?”

  “You each have too much of a reputation to just sit out here, putting yourselves on display, unless you have something up your sleeves.”

  “I’ve got nothing up my sleeve,” Clint said. “Do you, Virgil?”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” Virgil said. “Is that some Eastern sayin’?”

  “Come on, gents,” the inspector said, “we can help each other. Tell me why the girl was killed.”

  “We don’t know why she was killed, Inspector,” Clint said. “All we know is that she wanted Virgil to find her missing sister.”

  “She never had a sister,” the inspector said.

  “Yeah, we found that out, later,” Virgil said.

  “So then why was she paying you to find one, when she didn’t exist?” Inspector James asked.

  “We don’t have any idea,” Virgil said, “and that’s the truth.”

  “Why would we tell you anything but the truth, Inspector?” Clint asked.

  “I’ve been a policeman in many different cities, Mr. Adams,” the inspector said. “Would you like to know what I learned along the way?”

  “I’d love to know what you learned along the way,” Clint said.

  “Everybody lies to a policeman,” the inspector said. “Even if they don’t particularly have anything to hide. It’s just something that people do.”

  “Makes somebody wonder why someone would want to be a policeman,” Virgil said.

  “Not just policemen,” the inspector said. “Lawmen. Come on, you’ve both worn a badge. Didn’t you find people lying to you for no good reason?”

  “If I thought someone was lying to me,” Virgil said, “I made sure it didn’t go on very long.”

  “I think it was a little different in Dodge and Tombstone than it is here, Mr. Earp,” the inspector said. “I don’t have your brother Wyatt, or Doc Holliday, to back me up. I do, however, have the two of you.”

  “You have a whole police department,” Clint said.

  “Made up of inexperienced young men,” the inspector pointed out.

  “Hire older men,” Clint suggested.

  “I’m not in charge of the hiring,” James said. “But I am in charge of finding out who killed this young woman, and I need your help.”

  Clint and Virgil exchanged a glance.

  “Yes, I know, I asked you to stay out of it, but I don’t believe for a moment that you have done that. So I’m asking you both, what have you found out?”

  Clint looked again at Virgil, who shrugged.

  “Inspector,” Clint said, “why don’t you go inside and grab a chair?”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Clint wasn’t sure how much he and
Virgil were actually going to tell the inspector, but Virgil seemed to leave the decision up to him, so he told the man everything.

  “You don’t have guests check in when they come to stay at the boardinghouse?” the inspector asked, looking at Virgil.

  “First, it’s not my boardinghouse, it’s my brother’s,” Virgil said, “so I have nothin’ to do with any decisions. Second, it’s not a hotel, where guests are required to check in with their full names and addresses. I think all they ever get is a first name—oh, and the money.”

  “So what names did they get?”

  “Link, Dave, and . . .” Virgil said.

  “Derek,” Clint finished.

  “So you believe one of these men killed Sally Quest,” Inspector James said.

  “Whichever one has the scar on his face,” Clint said.

  “And you think they came to Colton specifically to come after Mr. Earp here? Why?”

  “Either because his name is Earp,” Clint said, “or because Sally Quest hired them.”

  “And why would she do that?” the inspector asked.

  “We don’t know,” Clint said.

  “So now you plan to stay out here until the three men come after you?”

  “It seems like our best course of action,” Clint replied.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” James said. “We don’t really want a shoot-out in the street, do we?”

  “Where would you prefer we do it?” Virgil asked. “In a corral? You know, the so called O.K. Corral didn’t even take place in a—”

  “What Virgil’s trying to say is,” Clint said, cutting his friend off, “we’ll try to do it as safely as possible, but that’s pretty much going to be up to the three men. If we leave the place to them, though, they might just decide to do it in a crowd.”

  “I can send some men over—”

  “Not a good idea,” Clint said.

  “Why not?”

  “If they see your men, they might just give it up and leave town. You’ll never get your killer that way.”

  James shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “Tell me again,” he said, “why they don’t just leave town now?”

  Virgil finally joined in, and between him and Clint they convinced Inspector James not to bring in a dozen of his men to back them up.