“Let’s go, love,” Irving said, taking her arm.
* * *
Clint declined a front row seat, chose instead to watch from backstage, where he could also watch the audience. He didn’t pay much attention to Irving and Terry’s performances, but enough to be impressed by their delivery. Also, by their ability to remember all the scenes from different plays.
Most of his attention was on the audience, just in case there was a shooter there. However, by the end of the night, it was obvious by the standing ovation they received that everyone in the audience enjoyed them.
Terry came off the stage first and said bitterly, “I kept waiting for someone to shoot me!”
“It didn’t show,” Clint said. “You were very good.”
She glared at him and demanded, “How would you know?”
“You also look very beautiful tonight.”
That stopped her. She stared at him silently for a few moments, then turned and stalked off toward her dressing room.
Henry Irving took extra bows—he was, after all, the star—and then came off, smiling at Clint.
“How did it go for you?” Irving asked.
“Fine,” Clint said. “My part was a success. Nobody shot at you. How about your part?”
“It went very well,” he said.
There was an odd shuffling noise in the air, and Clint realized it was the sound of the crowd filing out.
“We will be ready to go back to the hotel shortly,” Irving told him. “Over dinner we can discuss our travel plans.”
“That’s fine,” Clint said. “I’ll stay back here until you come out.”
Irving touched Clint’s arm and said, “Thank you,” then turned and went to his own dressing room.
Clint peered out at the thinning crowd again.
* * *
At the back of the theater one man stopped as the rest of the crowd filed past him. He watched the stage carefully, keeping his eyes to the right, and was finally rewarded when he saw Clint Adams’s face for just a moment. He and his group hadn’t expected that someone like Clint Adams would be the one escorting Irving and Terry around. Adams had moved very quickly earlier that evening, after the shot. He would not be an easy obstacle to overcome.
They were going to need help to get the job done. A lot of help.
* * *
Clint kept watching the crowd as they filed out. He was about to withdraw when he thought he saw something. Or someone. A man, standing at the back of the theater, just watching. Then, suddenly, he was gone.
Clint couldn’t afford the time to run to the front of the theater. Besides, the man would probably be gone by then, or swallowed up by the departing crowd.
When the theater was empty, he withdrew and walked to where Irving and Terry’s dressing rooms were.
EIGHTEEN
Clint decided the safest thing to do was eat in the Gotham’s dining room. The cab ride back was quiet, but Ellen Terry was tense the whole time.
When they got out of the cab, Irving asked, “Do you want to go to your room, my dear?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone. And I am hungry.”
“So am I,” Irving said. He looked at Clint. “I am always famished after a performance.”
They went into the hotel, crossed the lobby to the dining room, and were seated. Clint and Irving ordered steak, Ellen Terry chicken.
“So, what did you think?” Irving asked Clint.
“You were very impressive,” Clint said. “The both of you.”
“You weren’t even paying attention,” Ellen Terry pointed out.
“I was,” Clint said, “part of the time. Most of the time I was watching the audience.”
“Which was, of course, more important,” Irving said to Terry.
“And what did you see?” Terry asked. “While you were looking at the audience?”
“I saw a lot of people who were being entertained,” Clint said, “and, I think, one person who was entertained for a different reason.”
“What does that mean?”
“The man who shot at us today?” Irving asked.
“Or somebody working with him.”
“So there are two men after us?” Terry asked. “But why?”
“Because,” Clint said, “there are men in both our countries who would benefit from some sort of international incident.”
“Politicians, most likely,” Irving said.
Ellen Terry looked at him.
“You knew this would happen?”
“Let’s just say I am not surprised,” Irving said.
Clint thought Terry had more to say to the actor, but she was probably going to wait until they were alone.
The waiter came with their meals and they all began to eat with gusto.
* * *
“I suggest we leave for Boston tomorrow afternoon,” Henry Irving said over dessert. “Would you be able to make those arrangements?”
Clint didn’t know when he accepted this assignment to be their bodyguard that he’d also have to play nursemaid and even make the travel arrangements, but he said, “Sure, why not?”
“Not too early, please,” Ellen Terry requested.
“Noon should suffice,” Irving said.
“Okay. I suppose you’ll be taking all your luggage?” he said.
“Why would I leave any of it here?” Terry asked.
That was a good question.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll make arrangements to have it all picked up and taken to the train. I’ll pick both of you up for breakfast, and then we’ll go to the train station.”
“Maybe,” Ellen Terry said, “we could have some policemen on hand to protect us?”
“My dear,” Henry said, “that is what we have Clint for. Besides, we don’t want to attract too much attention to ourselves.”
“We should be okay,” Clint said. “Come on. I’ll walk you both to your rooms.”
NINETEEN
The man approached the heavy oak door and knocked on it. A small window slid open and a pair of eyes looked out. The man held up his hand to exhibit the ring he wore. The window closed, and the door opened.
“Hello, Brother.”
“Hello.”
“They’ve gathered in the dining room.”
“Thank you.”
He knew the way, having been there many times before. He walked down a long hall until he came to a room with an arched ceiling. In the center of the room was a long wooden table with eleven men seated at it. When this man walked to an empty chair and sat down, he made it an even dozen.
The man at the head of the table looked at him and the twelfth man nodded an apology for being late. Actually, he knew he wasn’t late at all; he was simply the last to have arrived. Still, an apology was expected.
“Very well,” the man at the head of the table said, “we’re all here. Let’s get started. Henry Irving and Ellen Terry have arrived in New York. They have already performed this evening.”
“Why were they allowed to perform?” one man asked. “That was not the plan.”
“Plans change,” said the man at the head of the table. “Mr. Gray?”
The man who had arrived late—and whose name was not “Mr. Gray”—said, “The United States government has assigned them a bodyguard.”
“That was expected,” someone said.
“In fact,” another man said, “it was assumed.”
“Mr. White and Mr. Green are both correct,” Mr. Gray said. “However, there was no way we could anticipate who that person would be.”
“We assumed they would want to assign their best man,” the man at the head of the table said. “We took steps to have James West assigned elsewhere.”
“A
ccording to plan,” Mr. Green pointed out.
“Yes, but what happened next was not according to plan,” Mr. Gray said.
“Well,” Mr. Red said, “don’t keep us in suspense. Who is the bodyguard?”
“His name is Clint Adams,” Mr. Gray said.
Silence fell over the table as the men exchanged glances.
“The Gunsmith,” Mr. Yellow said.
“Indeed,” said Mr. Blue.
Mr. Gray, who was the man who had been standing at the rear of the theater earlier, said, “They have performed and will now be moving on.”
“Do we know their schedule?” Mr. Orange asked.
“We assume,” Mr. Gray said, “they will be going to Philadelphia, Washington, and Boston, but we don’t know the correct order.”
“Boston first,” Mr. Blue offered. “It makes sense. North first, and then south to Philadelphia and Washington.”
“And then where?” Mr. Yellow asked.
“West,” Mr. Gray said.
“Perhaps,” the man at the head of the table offered, “it would be better to wait until they are there to take action again.”
“Yes, of course,” Mr. Green said. “Everyone knows how uncivilized the West still is.”
“The law of the gun, and all that,” Mr. White said.
“And with the Gunsmith along,” Mr. Silver said, “no one would be surprised by anything that happened.”
“What about our man in New York?” Mr. Red asked.
“He missed,” the man at the head of the table said. “He will be dealt with.”
“So no one else will be assigned until they go west?” Mr. Gold asked.
“No,” said the man at the head of the table. “But Mr. Gray will accompany them along the way. He will keep in touch with us by telegraph.”
Mr. Gray simply nodded.
“Don’t you think someone should go with him?” Mr. Brown asked.
“I don’t need any help,” Mr. Gray said.
“Not for help,” Mr. Brown said. “For backup.”
“Mr. Gray?” the head man asked.
“No,” Mr. Gray said. “I am fine. If I believe I need help, I will send a request.”
“All right?” the head man asked, looking up and down the table.
The others in attendance simply nodded.
“Very well,” the head man said. “We’re adjourned. Mr. Gray, please stay behind for a moment.”
Mr. Gray nodded and remained in his seat while the others stood and filed out.
The head man looked down the table at him.
“We need to find someone who is at home in the West,” he said. “Someone of Mr. Adams’s ilk, who will be able to deal with him.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Stay in close contact with me,” the other man said. “Find out when the actor and actress are leaving New York and let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And let me know as soon as you find someone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may go.”
Mr. Gray got up and started for the door.
“One more thing.”
Mr. Gray turned back.
“Yes, sir?”
“In the event you do need help,” the other man said, “whom would you prefer I send?”
Mr. Gray thought a moment, then said, “I would prefer Mr. Gold or Mr. Brown.”
“Very well,” the man at the head of the table said, “Mr. Gold and Mr. Brown. I will be keeping them on standby.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right,” the man said. “You may go.”
* * *
Mr. Gray walked back down the hall to the front door, where the man who had allowed him to enter opened the door for him. He stepped outside, and paused to button his coat.
He’d gotten things his way without too much fuss. Now he just had to make sure that things came out the way the group wanted.
The way he wanted.
TWENTY
Clint rose early the next morning and made the travel arrangements for the three of them to Boston. He then sent a telegram to Washington, asking Allan Trehearn to take care of their travel and lodging plans for the remainder of their time in the East. That way, he would no longer have to deal with those tasks.
He met Irving and Terry for breakfast and then had their luggage delivered to the train, which would be leaving at noon.
“What about our hotel?” Ellen Terry asked as they sat in the lobby.
“It’s being taken care of,” Clint assured her.
“Will it be better than this place?”
“Well, I don’t know, Miss Terry,” he said. “I guess we’ll just have to find out.” He looked at Irving. “I’ll get us a cab to the train station.”
“Very well,” Irving said. “We will wait for you right here, Clint.”
“Yes, right here, in this spot,” Clint said. “Don’t move.”
He went to the front entrance to talk to the doorman, all the while able to see Irving and Terry in the lobby. When he was done, he rejoined them.
“All right,” he said, “we’re ready to go.”
“I’m not so sure anymore that this whole thing was a very good idea, Henry,” Ellen Terry said.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” Irving said. “Everything will be fine, just fine.”
He took her arm and they walked out the front door and into the cab.
* * *
Mr. Gray woke that morning with a big-breasted, pale-skinned blond whore lying next to him. He pulled the sheet off her sleeping form so he could look at her. Her large butt was still red, still bore the imprint of his hand. And he could feel the scratches on his own back. Abruptly, he slapped her on the rump again, which woke her with a yelp.
“Hey!” she shouted, reaching back to rub her butt. “Didn’t you have enough last night?”
“Not nearly enough,” he said. “Turn over.”
She rolled onto her back, her big, brown-tipped breasts coming in view. Everything about this girl was big, including her nipples, which was why Mr. Gray had picked her out last night.
He straddled her and attacked her breasts and nipples like a starving man. Meanwhile, his hard cock was trapped between them. After a while he began to rub his cock over her tangle of pubic hair, which scratched his sensitive skin. And eventually, her pussy became moist and began to wet him. Finally, still biting and sucking her nipples, he poked the head of his cock into her slick pussy and drove himself deep into her. She gasped, brought her legs up to wrap them around his waist, and he rode her hard that way until he roared and exploded, then rolled off her . . .
* * *
Later, when she got dressed to leave, she commented, “The skin of my nipples is gonna be cracked for a while, from you chewin’ on me. You want a woman tonight or tomorrow, you better pick somebody else.”
“Don’t worry yourself,” he said. “I’ll be leaving town for a while. By the time I get back, you’ll be well healed.”
“I hope so,” she said. “I’m sore as hell, and I’ll be more sore later.”
“Here,” he said, handing her some extra money, “that’s for you. Maybe it’ll help you heal.”
She smiled at him and rubbed the bills over her chest.
“Yeah,” she said, “that’ll do the trick.”
* * *
Mr. Gray got to the train station in time to see Clint Adams board with Henry Irving and Ellen Terry. He waited, giving them time to get seated, then boarded the train himself, but in the car in front of theirs. Once the train started moving, there was no danger that he’d lose them. There was no place to go on a moving train.
* * *
Ellen Terry looked around the railroad car a
t the other passengers, her nose in the air.
“Was it impossible to get us a compartment?” she asked.
“We won’t be spending the night on the train,” Clint said. “We’ll arrive in Boston this evening.”
“Yes, well, still . . .”
“Ellen, my dear, you’re such a snob,” Irving said. “This is all just so wonderfully . . . American.”
“Wonderful for you,” she muttered, folding her arms and staring out the window.
* * *
As they rode the train, both Irving and Ellen Terry dozed off. Clint stayed awake, and to keep himself alert, he read the copy of the New York Herald the conductor got for him. On the front page was the story of a woman being killed on the street. She was stabbed several times and her throat was cut. There were no witnesses. The police were looking for anyone who might have information.
Clint noticed that the killing had taken place in the same neighborhood he’d followed Henry Irving to.
A coincidence?
TWENTY-ONE
The performance in Boston went off without a hitch. Irving and Terry got a standing ovation, Clint remained backstage to watch the crowd, but it was a very successful one-day trip, and they were soon on a train to Philadelphia.
They had to take an overnight train out of Boston, so Clint got compartments for both Terry and Irving, while he simply bought himself a seat. He’d slept sitting up many times in the past, and this wouldn’t be any hardship.
They ate together in the dining car, and Clint kept a wary eye on all of the other passengers.
“Are we being followed?” Irving asked.
“I don’t see anyone,” Clint said, “but I wouldn’t bet against it. If someone is following us, he’s doing a very good job of it.”
“That’s not very encouraging,” Terry said.
“What isn’t?” Clint asked.
“That we may have someone following us, and you cannot see him.”
“He’s probably very good at his job,” Clint said.
“And if his job is killing?” she asked.
“If his job was killing, I believe you would be dead by now.”
Fraternity of the Gun Page 5