The Lady Doctor's Alibi

by J. R. Roberts

  “She doesn’t care,” Rufus said. “Neither do I, and you shouldn’t either.”

  “Will I be paid enough not to care?”

  “You’ll be paid plenty,” Rufus said, “and any help you need will be paid, too.”

  “Help?”

  “The woman has a deputy guarding her,” Rufus said, “and there’s a nurse.”

  “The lady doctor, she is the gringa, es verdad? The one they call ‘Doc Veracruz’?”

  “That’s right.”

  “She does a lot of good down here on the docks,” Franco said. “I will not be very popular if anyone finds out I killed her.”

  “Nobody will find out.”

  “And the nurse? Also a gringa?”

  “No,” Rufus said, “the nurse is a Mexican.”

  “I am to kill a Mexican girl? Why?”

  “That’s what the lady wants,” Rufus said. “The girl was her husband’s nurse and she fired her, now she’s back.”

  Franco thought a moment, then said, “No, I will not kill her. She has done nothing.”

  “There is a lot of money—”

  “You do it.”

  “What?”

  “You kill the girl,” Franco said, “I will kill the Gunsmith, and the gringa doctor.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You can keep the money for the girl,” Franco said, “and you can have the girl to do what you want with first.”

  Rufus hesitated.

  “Come on,” Franco said, “you have been with this ugly gringa too long. What about a nice, pretty Mexican girl? She is pretty, no?”

  “She is.”

  “Then you will do it?”

  Rufus felt that Franco either didn’t want to do it himself, or he had some reason for wanting Rufus to do it. Maybe he wanted Rufus to be in it as deeply as he was.

  And the little nurse was pretty. Rufus usually had to pay for pretty girls.

  “All right,” he said finally.

  “You will do it?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Bueno,” Franco said. “Then let us talk about money . . .”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Clint went from Auntie’s to Josephina’s. He needed a little more information about the Cajun lady.

  “Hungry already?” Josephina asked as he entered. Her place was half full, and would continue to fill.

  “I’m not here to eat, Josephina,” he said. “Can I come into the kitchen?”

  “Clint,” she said, “I am busy. I do not have time for—” she started.

  “It’s not that,” he said. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to take a chance on either of us getting burned. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  “All right,” she said, “but I must keep working.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll try not to get in your way.”

  She took him into the kitchen, where there were pots and pans on the stove steaming and bubbling.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I want to know about Auntie.”

  “What about her?”

  “Can I trust her?”

  “To do what?”

  Clint hesitated. Maybe Josephina didn’t know that men like Rufus and Franco were also customers of Auntie’s, acquaintances and, in some cases, maybe even friends. If Josephina was Auntie’s “girl,” maybe Rufus and Franco were two of her “boys.”

  “To deliver a message for me.”

  “A message?” Josephina repeated while stirring something in a pot. “Oh yes, she does that for many people.”

  “She does?”

  Josephina nodded.

  “She knows so many people that many come to her when they are looking for someone,” Josephina said. “Auntie knows almost everyone in Veracruz.”

  “Did she know Dr. Graham and his wife?”

  Josephina paused in her stirring.

  “If she did, I am not aware,” she said. “I should have said Auntie knows most of—how would you say it?—el común.”

  Clint thought a moment, then said, “Common?”

  “Sí, yes,” Josephina said, “the common people.”

  “So she didn’t rub elbows with the wealthier people in town?”

  Josephina laughed.

  “No,” she said, “Auntie lives and works down here with us, and also she is black and Cajun. There are not so many in the white community in Veracruz, and they do not come down here.”

  “Except for men like Rufus.”

  “Yes, Rufus,” she said. “Men like him, for hire. How do you say—mercenario?”

  “Mercenary,” he said. “Mercenaries.”

  “Sí.”

  “And they eat at Auntie’s?”

  “Here, Auntie’s,” she said. “We both feed the sailors, the dockworkers, the laborers . . .”

  “The common people.”

  “Sí.”

  “Josephina, do you also take messages and pass them on?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Like for Franco, if somebody’s looking for him?”

  “Sí.”

  “I asked Auntie to pass a message to him for me. Will she do it?”

  “Yes, she will.” She released the spoon she’d been using to stir and turned to face him. “But what message?”

  “That I’m looking for him.”

  “When she tells him that—who you are and that you are lookin’ for him—he will come to find you.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  “And he will kill you.”

  “He’ll try.”

  She grabbed his arm, took a fistful of his shirt.

  “You must know that he will not come alone,” she told him.

  “I figure he’ll bring Rufus, and some others.”

  “Ah,” she said, releasing his shirt, “you are loco en la cabeza.” She tapped her head to indicate she thought he was crazy in the head.

  “That may be,” he said, “but don’t worry, I won’t be alone either.”

  “I hope not,” she said. She pointed her finger at him. “If you get killed, I will never forgive you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Now, get out,” she said. “I have work.”

  “I’m going.”

  He turned, but she snapped, “Wait!”

  He turned and she threw her arms around his neck and held on tightly, then released him.

  “Now go!”

  He left.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  They chose a small saloon right on the docks. Franco decided he’d need four men. Rufus told him they’d have to pay them very little to make the money stretch.

  “I thought your ugly gringa had much money.”

  “She will,” he said, “after she buries her husband. Right now she’s on kind of a budget.”

  “We will pay them little,” Franco said, “but my friend, there will be much more for us after she buries him, eh?”

  “Yes,” Rufus said. But he thought, Much more for me, maybe.

  They sat at a back table and interviewed the men as they came in. They were all muscle for hire, but Rufus and Franco were looking for men who would kill for a nickel. Many of those would come off the boats, looking for a quick dollar before they got back on and shipped out. They could commit murder and get away with it—and they also would not come back for more money.

  Rufus sat with Franco but had no say while the Mexican chose his men. There were one or two men who Rufus knew and thought would be useful, but Franco disregarded them.

  Rufus also noticed that Franco was not telling anyone about the Gunsmith—not yet anyway.

  “Angel,” Franco said to a tall, thin man who stepped up. “You are back?”

  “For a day or two,” Angel said. “Will that be enough time, amigo?”

  “Plenty of time,” Franco said. “Get yourself a drink, amigo.”

  Franco picked out four men, all Mexicans, had them go to the bar for a drink, and sent the rest home. It was getting dark out by the time h
e gathered the men at a table to tell them what they were in for.

  “First,” he said, “we have to kill a woman. Who has a problem with that?”

  “A Mexican woman?” Angel asked.

  Franco shook his head.

  “A gringa doctor.” He didn’t tell them that Rufus would be killing a Mexican woman.

  Angel shrugged, as did the others. No one had a problem with that.

  “There might also be a deputy,” Franco said.

  “A Mexican deputy?” Angel asked.

  “No,” Franco said, “both the deputy and the sheriff are gringos.”

  “How can that be?” Angel asked.

  Franco shrugged.

  “I have no trouble killing lawmen,” Angel said. The others agreed.

  “Very well,” Franco said, “then there is our main target.”

  “And who is that, amigo?” Angel asked.

  “A gringo named Clint Adams.”

  There was silence and then one of the men said, “The Gunsmith?”

  “That is right.”

  The men exchanged glances. None of them were gun-men. In fact, three of them killed with knives.

  “I will kill the Gunsmith,” Franco said, “with the aid of Angel. The rest of you will take care of the woman and the deputy.”

  The men seemed to heave a sigh of relief.

  “Angel will be paid more for this reason,” Franco said.

  The other men didn’t like that, until Franco said, “Any of you who wants to face the Gunsmith will be paid more as well. So?”

  So . . . none of them volunteered.

  “Very well,” Franco said, “this is what will happen . . .”

  Once the hired men were sent away, Franco and Rufus opened a bottle of whiskey.

  “We do this tomorrow?” Franco said. “Will that satisfy your ugly gringa?”

  “Would you stop saying that?”

  “But she is ugly.”

  “I know it,” Rufus said. “I don’t have to be told every five minutes.”

  “How much longer will you stay with her?” Franco asked.

  “Until this is over,” Rufus said. “Until she buries her husband and takes possession of the house and the money.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t want the house,” Rufus said, “but I want that money.”

  “How will you take it from her?”

  “Get her to go to the bank and take it out,” Rufus said.

  “And how will you convince her to do that?”

  “I have this woman wrapped around . . . my finger,” Rufus said. “Don’t worry, I can do it.”

  “And then will you want to hire me to kill her?”

  “I think,” Rufus said, “that’s one murder I’ll be able to take care of myself.”

  They had a drink on it.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Clint went back to Dr. Graham’s to let Deputy Boone, Lissa, and Marietta know that they could sleep peacefully that night.

  “No one’s going to come looking for us until at least tomorrow.”

  “How do you know that?” the deputy asked.

  “I planted a seed today,” Clint said. “I passed the word that I was looking for Rufus Holmes and his hired killer, who most likely is Franco.”

  “So how do you know they won’t come tonight?” Lissa asked.

  “They have to collect some more men,” Clint said. “They won’t come alone, and they won’t come until they’re sure I’m here as well. So that means that we have time.”

  “Time for what?” Boone asked.

  “Time to move everybody out of here.”

  “Move them?” Lissa asked.

  “Can they be moved without hurting them?” he asked.

  “Well, yes . . . all but little Katrina.”

  “The girl with the injured leg?”

  “That’s right.”

  Clint frowned.

  “No chance we can move her?”

  “She can’t be jostled right now,” Lissa said. “Can you guarantee you’ll move her without jostling her?”

  “No.”

  “Then she stays.”

  “Okay, but the rest of them have to go,” Clint said, “and so do you.”

  “No, if Katrina stays, I stay,” Lissa said. “You can put the others somewhere else and Marietta will go with them.”

  Clint opened his mouth to argue but Lissa cut him off and said, “You’ll be wasting your time and breath if you argue, Clint.”

  Clint looked at Deputy Boone, who asked, “Where are we puttin’ them?”

  “Somewhere close,” Clint said. “Somewhere they all fit, and where they can be made comfortable.”

  “Hotel across the street,” Boone said. “The rooms are expensive, but I’ll talk to the sheriff. Can we do this in the mornin’?”

  “No, tonight, under the cover of darkness,” Clint said.

  “All right,” Boone said. “I’ll go talk to Sheriff Brown and we’ll arrange it. Can we bring back some help?”

  “If you can trust them.”

  “We’ll see,” Boone said. “Ma’am, I’ll be back.”

  “Thank you, Deputy Boone,” Lissa said, “for everything.”

  “I haven’t really done anythin’ yet, ma’am.”

  “You’ve been here all this time with us, and Marietta and I appreciate it.”

  Boone actually blushed, stammered, and left.

  “I better tell Marietta,” Lissa said. “We can start getting the patients ready.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Not ’til it’s time to move them.” She started for the other room, then stopped and turned. “You really think they’ll come here?”

  “This is where I’ll be, so they’ll come here,” he said. “Also, if I’m right and Lillian Graham is behind this, they’ll probably be looking to kill both you and Marietta as well.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Change your mind about staying?”

  “No,” she said. “The child will need me. But I’ll get the rest of them ready to go.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  It took over an hour, but Sheriff Brown, Deputy Boone, and Clint managed to move the patients to a hotel not across the street, but just down the street from the doctor’s office. They were able to use the back doors of both buildings so that, from the street, everything seemed quiet.

  “That the last one?” the sheriff asked.

  “Yes,” Clint said.

  “What about the doctor?”

  “She’s staying because of the little girl with the injured leg.”

  “Does she know what she’s in for?”

  “I told her,” Clint said, “and she’s staying.”

  “You want Boone back, right?” Brown asked.

  “If he’ll come,” Clint said. “If you’ll let him.”

  “He’ll have to take off his badge,” Brown said.

  “Why?”

  “Because my office can’t have anything to do with this,” Brown said. “You’re setting this up to be a massacre.”

  “I’m not looking to massacre anybody,” Clint said.

  “Well, they’re gonna massacre you,” Brown said, “and that lady doctor.”

  “They’re going to try.”

  “Well,” Brown said, “you’re on your own, Adams, unless Boone wants to quit and help you.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “I got the word from the mayor,” Brown said. “If I want to keep my job, I keep my nose out of it.”

  “And arrest whoever’s left, right?” Clint asked. “Maybe charge them with Graham’s murder?”

  “I’m just doin’ my job, Adams,” Brown said.

  “You tell Boone I’ll understand if he doesn’t come back,” Clint said.

  “I’ll tell him.”

  The sheriff left the way he came in, the back door.

  When he was gone, Lissa came in.

  “Was he serious?” she asked. “He’s not going to help you?
”

  “He was serious.”

  “What kind of lawman is he?”

  “The kind who wants to stay alive.”

  “What about Deputy Boone?” she asked. “He’ll come and help you, won’t he?”

  “That’ll be up to him,” Clint said. “If I had to guess, I’d say no.”

  Clint walked over to Dr. Graham’s desk and sat behind it. He had brought with him his rifle and his saddlebags. In the saddlebags he had shells for his modified Colt, the rifle, and the Colt New Line he’d given to Lissa.

  “I’ll make some coffee,” she said.

  “Don’t you have to watch the girl?”

  “She’s asleep,” she said. “She’ll probably sleep through the night.”

  “Then you could have left with the others,” he said as she prepared the coffee.

  “I said she’ll probably sleep through the night,” Lissa said. “If not, I have to be here.”

  “I understand.”

  He put his rifle and pistol on top of the desk.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to clean my weapons and make sure they’re in proper working order,” Clint said. “The last thing I want to do is go into a gunfight with guns that won’t fire.”

  “Do you, uh, want this one?” She took the New Line from her pocket.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll clean that one first.”

  She took it to the desk and set it down among the others.

  “There’s going to be lots of killing tomorrow, isn’t there?”

  “There’s going to be shooting,” Clint said. “How much killing gets done will be up to them.”

  “And this is all because of some silly woman who wanted her husband dead?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Why didn’t she just leave him?”

  “Because then she wouldn’t get his money, and the house, and his practice.”

  “What will she do with his practice?” Lissa asked.

  “I have no idea,” he said. “Could she sell it to another doctor?”

  “I suppose so,” Lissa said. “Although that would be like . . . buying his patients, wouldn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  He started cleaning the New Line. She went to check on the girl. By the time she came back, the gun was clean, and the coffee was ready.

  “This hasn’t gone the way you planned, has it?” she asked.