The University Showdown

by J. R. Roberts

  “You know,” he said, “you were going to tell me what’s going on in town? And the county?”

  “Was I?”

  “I thought you were.”

  She folded her arms and regarded him across the table.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t think you’re passing through,” she said, “and I don’t think you’re as clueless as you make out.”

  She stood up.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I have things to do,” she said, “but we’ll see each other again. Count on it.”

  “Cynthia—”

  “You’re meeting someone in town,” she said. “Somebody who sent for you. They’re going to tell you all you need to know.”

  “Will they tell me about you and your husband?” he asked.

  She laughed, leaned over, and said in a low voice, “All you need to know, Mr. Adams.”

  THREE

  After he’d finished his meal, Clint left the café and took a walk around town. Cynthia Bodeen—whoever she was—had piqued his interest. Apparently she thought something was going on in town that his presence would affect. His 6 p.m. meeting would probably supply all the answers he needed, but he decided to have a couple of drinks, visit different saloons, keep his ears open, and see what he could find out for himself.

  He stopped in a small saloon called The Haven Saloon, nursed a beer, but didn’t get much in the way of conversation. Most of the patrons there seemed interested in drinking and little else.

  When he got to a larger saloon, called Hanigan’s Saloon, the men were more talkative, but all he got was bragging, threats, and comments about some of the town’s women.

  He finished his beer, though, and was about to leave when he heard the name “Bodeen.” Two men standing at the end of the bar were talking.

  “Now there’s a woman I’d like to get to know,” one man said.

  “Not much chance of that, Tim,” another man said. “She’s way out of your league.”

  “You think so,” the man called Tim asked. “Believe me, from what I hear, she ain’t that much of a lady.”

  “She’s married to one of the richest men in the county,” his friend said.

  Tim laughed. “And that makes her a lady? Them two is so different it’s amazin’ they’re still married.”

  “He ain’t about to let a woman like that go,” the other man said. “Not a woman like her.”

  Tim stared at his friend.

  “Are you tryin’ ta make me think that you been with her?”

  “Not me,” the other man said, “but I know a man who was. He says she’s a animal. Tore his back to ribbons with her nails.”

  “Yeah? That’s the kinda woman I like.”

  “Yeah, right,” the other man said. “You get a scratch and you’re runnin’ to the doc.”

  From that point on, they just seemed to be insulting each other’s manhood, so Clint left and headed back to his hotel.

  He went back up to his room to wash his face and hands, but then went back down to the lobby to wait for his friend to arrive. By six thirty, he started to worry, and by seven, he figured he was going to have to start asking questions—even though he’d been asked not to.

  He took the telegrams out and read them again. The first asked for help. When he answered that one, the second set up the meeting at the hotel on this day—and it asked him not to talk to anyone ahead of time.

  He refolded them and put them away. Now what should he do? He needed to look for his friend, but who should he ask? Bartenders and desk clerks, or the police? Given his friend’s position in town, maybe the police were the best bet.

  He hadn’t taken the time to stop into the police station before, so maybe that was the way to go now. Drop in, introduce himself, and when they inevitably asked him what he was doing there, drop his friend’s name and see what the reaction was.

  He left the hotel and headed for the police station.

  FOUR

  “And your name is what again?” the sergeant behind the desk asked.

  “Clint Adams.”

  “And you want to see the chief?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I’ve never met him.”

  “Then why do you want to see him?”

  “Just to let him know that I’m in town.”

  The young sergeant frowned at Clint and asked him, “Why would he want to know you’re in town, sir?”

  Clint studied the man. After all these years of maybe wanting to meet someone who had no idea who he was, had he just done it? At the wrong time?

  “Look, Sergeant,” he said, “if you’ll just tell your chief I’m here, I’m sure he’ll want—”

  “I can’t bother the chief right now, sir,” the sergeant said. “If you’ll tell me what your problem is, I can have the right person talk to you.”

  “You’re not from here, are you?” Clint asked.

  “And by here, you mean…”

  “The West?”

  “No, sir,” the man young man said. “I’ve only just come out from back East to take this job.”

  “I see.”

  The sergeant waited, and then said, “So? The problem? You want to report something?”

  “Actually,” Clint said, “no. I’d just like you to write down my name and the fact that I was here. Then I’ll be on my way.”

  “Well…all right.” The man looked as if he was writing. Actually, he could have just been doodling to appease Clint. “Adams, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay, sir,” he said, “I have it down.”

  Clint considered telling the sergeant that he wanted to report a missing person, but he didn’t know for sure his friend was missing. He was simply a little more than an hour overdue for a meeting.

  “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said. “I’m pleased to have helped.”

  Clint turned and left the police station.

  He walked around town, wondering if he should simply have demanded to see the chief. Or at least, someone in authority. But the fact of the matter was, he had been at the police station trying to report his own arrival in town, and the policeman at the front desk had not had the slightest interest. Was that his fault? No.

  As he was walking, he realized he was across the street from the sheriff’s office. Since there was still a sheriff, he figured why not stop in there. At the very least the man might know where his friend was.

  He crossed the street, and entered.

  “Sheriff?” he asked the man at the desk.

  The desk was pushed up against the wall, and the seated man had to turn around to see him. He looked like a storekeeper, or an accountant, but was wearing a sheriff’s badge pinned to his vest. Beneath the vest he was wearing a white shirt, and a bow tie. His hair was sparse and fair, and he had a bushy mustache that hid his mouth—and his age. Clint thought he could be thirty, or fifty.

  “Yes?”

  “You are the sheriff?” Clint asked.

  “That’s right. Sheriff Leland. What can I do for you, friend?”

  “Sheriff, my name is Clint Adams, and I’ve come to town to see a friend of mine, Ted Fitzgerald.”

  “Fitzgerald.”

  “That’s right. Do you know him?”

  “I know you, sir.”

  “Well, that’s good, I suppose,” Clint said. “I went over to the police station and they didn’t seem to have any idea who I am.”

  “Is that a fact?” That seemed to amuse the sheriff. He stood up, revealing himself to be no more than five feet six or so. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I’ve had my breakfast.”

  “Who did you talk to at the police department?”

  “A young sergeant, I didn’t get his name. He was at the front desk.”

  “Ah, so you didn’t get to see
the chief?”

  “No, the sergeant didn’t see any reason to let me see him.”

  “Do you still want to?” Leland asked. “I could introduce you.”

  Clint could see that the sheriff was very anxious for him to say yes. He thought if he allowed the sheriff to take him over to the police station, it might give him some idea of the dynamic that existed between the police and Sheriff Leland.

  “Sure,” Clint said, “why not? It might be interesting to go back there.”

  “I think it’ll be very interesting.”

  FIVE

  On the way back to the police station, Clint told Leland that he was supposed to meet Ted Fitzgerald in the hotel lobby at six.

  “Do you have some business with him?” Leland asked.

  “We’re friends,” Clint said. “I sent a telegram that I was passing through, and he agreed to meet me in the hotel.”

  “He did not appear?”

  “He did not.”

  “Is that why you were going to the police?”

  “It was one reason,” Clint said. “I don’t think I can report him missing, but I thought they might be able to tell me where to find him.”

  “I can tell you that,” Leland said, “but let’s wait until after we see the chief.”

  When they reached the police station, they entered and stopped just inside the door.

  “Is that the sergeant you were talking to?” Leland asked.

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “Come on.”

  They approached the desk and the young sergeant looked at them, then at the badge on the sheriff’s vest. He didn’t seem to notice that Clint was back again.

  “Sergeant, I’d like to see Chief Coleman, please.”

  “Do you have an appointment, Sheriff?” the sergeant asked.

  “No, but if you tell him I’m here, I’m sure he’ll see me.”

  “Sir, I can’t just interrupt the chief—”

  “That’s what he told me, too,” Clint said, cutting the man off.

  Now the sergeant looked at Clint and realized that he had seen him before.

  “Oh, you’re back.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I see,” the sergeant said. “Did you think that by returning here with the sheriff, I would be forced to let you see the chief?”

  “Not at all,” Clint said. “In fact, it wasn’t even my idea to come back here.”

  “I insisted on bringing Mr. Adams over here to introduce him to the chief,” Sheriff Leland said.

  “Mr. Adams?” Clint was now sure the man had never written down his name.

  “Yes, Clint Adams,” Leland said. “Sergeant, are you going to try to tell me you don’t know who this man is?”

  The sergeant blinked, looked at Clint and Leland in turn. It was starting to dawn on him that maybe he had made an error in judgment somewhere along the way.

  “I’m sorry, but no…”

  “Well, if you had told your chief he was here,” Leland said, “he would have told you who he was.”

  “My job is to—”

  “So if you’ll tell the chief now that I’m here, with Clint Adams, I’m sure he’ll see us.”

  “Well…just wait here a minute.”

  The sergeant went into the bowels of the building while Clint and the sheriff waited.

  “There are more and more of these buildings going up in the West,” Clint said, “and they all seem to be the same.”

  “I agree.”

  “I’ll bet I could even find my way to the chief’s office.”

  Suddenly, from somewhere inside the building, they heard a man shouting.

  “I don’t think you’ll have to do that, Mr. Adams,” Leland said.

  Moments later the sergeant reappeared, his face red, as if he were having a heart attack.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “if you’ll follow me? The chief will see you now.”

  SIX

  The young sergeant led them through the building to the chief’s office. As they passed other police officers, they all turned their heads away and would not look at the sergeant.

  When they reached the office, the sergeant said, “Chief, Sheriff Leland and Mr…. Mr. Adams.”

  “Chief,” Leland said as he entered.

  “Sheriff,” Chief Coleman said, “I’m sorry you were kept waiting.”

  “It’s not me, so much as Mr. Adams, here,” Leland said. “Clint Adams, meet Chief Robert Coleman.”

  “Mr. Adams,” Coleman said, “a pleasure.”

  Leland and Coleman looked like they had been plucked out of the same litter. It wasn’t so much that they resembled each other—the chief was taller, huskier—but they seemed to be two sides of the same coin. Clint wondered if they were hired at the same time. Leland didn’t seem to have the demeanor of a longtime sheriff who was being replaced by a modern police department.

  “Chief.” The two men shook hands.

  “My sergeant’s an idiot,” the chief said. “The town council made me hire some men from the East, and they don’t know their asses from a donkey. Please, both of you. Have a seat.”

  They sat down.

  “What brings you to Tucson, Mr. Adams?”

  “I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

  “Oh? Who’s that?”

  “Ted Fitzgerald.”

  He saw the chief look at the sheriff.

  “Mr. Adams was supposed to meet Mr. Fitzgerald in his hotel lobby at six p.m., but Mr. Fitzgerald never appeared.”

  “Is that right?”

  “What do you two gentlemen know that I don’t?” Clint asked. “Where is Ted?”

  “Mr. Adams,” Chief Coleman said, “do you know what your friend Mr. Fitzgerald does here in Tucson?”

  “No,” Clint said. “That’s one of the things I was going to find out. I know, in the past, he’s been in charge of running some business. His talent seems to be in management.”

  “Exactly,” Coleman said. “Mr. Fitzgerald is in charge of building the new university outside of town.”

  “The University of Arizona,” Sheriff Leland said. “He probably got held up by one of the problems that have been popping up.”

  “Wait,” Clint said. “University? Problems?”

  “You see, Tucson was awarded twenty-five thousand dollars to build the University of Arizona.”

  “While Phoenix,” Leland said, “was awarded a hundred thousand dollars to build a new insane asylum.”

  Clint stared at both of them and said, “That hardly seems fair.”

  “That is what some people in town seem to think,” Coleman said.

  “So there have been problems out there,” Leland said. “Fires, damage…everybody’s waiting for the big boom.”

  “Boom?” Clint asked.

  “So much has been happening the only thing left is to…blow it up.”

  Clint looked at Chief Coleman.

  “Is this for real?”

  “Well…not really,” Coleman said, “and then…maybe.”

  “And what are you doing about it?” Clint asked.

  “I’ve got my best man working on it,” Coleman said. “He’s a top detective. We were lucky to get him to come here.”

  “From where?” Clint asked.

  “Back East. Philadelphia.”

  “You’ve got a Philadelphia detective working on this?” Clint asked.

  “The difference between the East and the West is not as big as it once was, Mr. Adams,” Coleman said. There are many towns and cities out here with modern police departments, using modern techniques.”

  “And how have your modern techniques done so far?” Clint asked.

  Coleman sat back in his chair and said, “We’re still working on it.”

  Clint looked at Leland.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m not an Old West sheriff. I’m a politician here. I’ve got little to say about how the law gets enforced. That’s all up to Chief Coleman here.”

  “Okay, we
ll, I’m only concerned with finding Ted Fitzgerald.”

  “I can take you to him,” Leland said. “If he didn’t come in to meet you, then he’s out there.”

  “Out there?”

  “At the site,” Leland said, “where they’re building the university.”

  “How far?”

  “Couple of hours.”

  “It’ll be dark by then,” Clint said.

  “I know the way,” Leland said, “and it’s all main road.”

  Clint looked at the wall clock. It was seven thirty.

  “I want to check my hotel again first,” he said. “Maybe he’s late. Maybe I overreacted.”

  “Sure, check the hotel again,” Leland said. “Wait till tomorrow, even. I can take you out there, or give you directions.”

  Clint looked at Coleman.

  “These incidents of fires, damage,” he asked, “had anyone been hurt?”

  “No,” Coleman said, then added, “not yet.”

  Clint got to his feet.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” he said, “both of you. I think I’ll take my chances here in town tonight. If I have to, I’ll ride out there tomorrow. Main road, you say?”

  “Due east,” Leland said. “You can’t miss it.”

  Clint nodded and left.

  SEVEN

  When Clint got back to his hotel, he found Ted Fitzgerald waiting in the lobby.

  “The desk clerk told me you were here,” Fitzgerald said as they shook hands.

  “Well, you’ve always been so punctual, I panicked when you didn’t show up at six.”

  Fitzgerald laughed.

  “I’ve never seen you panic about anything. Where’ve you been?”

  “The sheriff’s office, the police station.”

  “Did you meet the chief?”

  “I did.”

  “Then they told you what’s been going on.”

  “Some.”

  “Okay, well,” Fitzgerald, said, “I’ll fill you in the rest of the way. Let’s get a drink.”

  They went into the hotel’s saloon, which was small and basically just used by guests. There were too many other saloons in town for it to attract much local business. But it would do for them.