“You want to work for the Secret Service?”
“Why not? You know people there. You could get me an interview.”
“Charlie—”
“Unless you think they’re corrupt, too?”
“There’s probably a certain amount of corruption no matter where you go,” Clint said, “but I think the Service is probably one of the cleaner law enforcement agencies.”
“Then what do you say?” Callahan asked. “Can you arrange that for me?”
“Charlie, why don’t we wait until we’re done here?” Clint suggested. “Let’s finish what we started, and then we’ll go from there.”
“Well . . . I suppose you’re right. I guess I should finish. But then we’ll talk about the Secret Service?”
“Yes,” Clint said, “then we’ll talk about it.”
FORTY-ONE
“Don’t you think he’ll be suspicious?” O’Donnell asked.
“Yes,” Amanda said, “of course he will . . . but he’ll come anyway.”
“You’re sure?”
“Dead sure.”
“Yer an amazin’ woman, Amanda,” O’Donnell said.
“I’m just hoping that you’re an amazing man,” Amanda said. “Do you know somebody who can deliver this note to his hotel?”
“Jus’ leave it with me, darlin’,” the killer said, “I’ll take care of it.”
In the harsh light of morning Amanda could see that O’Donnell’s shack was a pigsty. Amanda decided she’d have to take him out of there once the job was done. If she was going to be seen with him, he’d have to be cleaned up, too. And she’d have to buy him some new clothes.
“Now remember, dear,” she said to the Irishman, “he’s the Gunsmith. He’s very good with a gun.”
“Well,” O’Donnell said, “so am I.”
“I thought your weapon was a knife.”
“Knife, gun, baling hook,” O’Donnell said. “I can use them all. Don’t you worry.”
She stood up from the pallet and looked down at her new man and lover. A bath wouldn’t have hurt him, either. And maybe a haircut and a shave.
“I’ll see you tonight then,” she said.
“You’re sure you want to be there?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she said. She leaned down and kissed him. As she started away, he grabbed her arm and held on.
“Aren’t ya forgettin’ somethin’, lass?”
She stared at him.
“The second part of my payment,” he said. “I might have to hire on a couple of lads, you know. Just in case he brings a friend?”
“Actually,” she said, “he might have a policeman with him.”
“Whoa, there,” he said. “That might cost extra.”
She took his chin in her hand and said, “I think we can think up something extra for you.”
“I meant money,” he said. “Gelt, coin?”
“I have money,” she said. She opened her bag, took out a sheaf of bills and passed it over.
“You got lots of this?” he asked, after a whistle.
“Lots.”
“Well,” he said, “make sure you bring some tonight. We’ll pay off the boys I use and then celebrate. Eh?”
“Celebrating sounds good,” she said.
After she left, he sat back and counted the money she’d handed him, his eyes growing wide, a warmth spreading through his body.
Clint and Callahan decided there was nothing better for them to do than wait around the hotel for the reply to the telegram. They sat together on chairs out in front of the hotel.
Clint told Callahan what Washington, D.C., was like, as the young man had asked. Clint didn’t know if Callahan was Secret Service material, but he saw no harm in telling him about the wonders of the nation’s capital.
“Are there pretty women there?” Callahan asked.
“There are pretty women here, Charlie. I’ve seen them.”
“I’ve heard that women from the East are prettier than women from the West.”
“Well, I’ve been both places and in between, and I’m here to tell you there are pretty women all over.”
They talked a bit more about places Clint had been, and then they spotted the telegraph operator coming their way.
“Here’s that reply you wanted, Mr. Adams.” The clerk held it out and then quickly turned and walked away when Clint accepted it.
“What’s it say?”
“It says a few things,” Clint said, “and none of them help.”
“Like what?”
Clint folded it and tucked it into his pocket.
“There are no Secret Service agents in this area,” Clint said. “There haven’t been for months.”
“And what else?”
“This is the one that really doesn’t help me.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“According to my friend Jim,” Clint said, “Ted Singleton died several years ago.”
“What?”
“That’s right,” Clint said, “so he couldn’t have sent me a telegram asking me to meet him here.”
“Then who did?”
“That’s the question.”
FORTY-TWO
They were still sitting there, contemplating the latest information, when a man dressed in dirty street clothes, not wearing a gun, approached.
“One of you Clint Adams?” he asked.
“That’s me.”
“I got somethin’ for ya.” The man took out a piece of paper, but didn’t hand it over. “Lady said you’d gimme the price of a drink if I delivered it.”
“Listen, you—”
“It’s okay, Charlie,” Clint said. He took out a couple of coins. “Here you go, friend. Get two drinks.”
“Wow! Thanks.” The man handed over the note and then took off running to the nearest saloon.
“Take a look,” Clint said, after reading it.
Callahan read it, then looked at Clint.
“This is the docks,” he said. “You know this is a trap.”
“Sure it is.”
“She’s setting you up to be killed.”
“And you can arrest her for it,” Clint said.
“It says come ‘alone.’ ”
“Well,” Clint said, “going with you, I consider that alone.”
“Gee, thanks.”
The appointment to meet Amanda Tate was not until after dark. Even further indication that it was a trap. Clint and Callahan talked about getting some men to back them up, but the inspector told Clint that the captain was determined not to give them any help.
“Then we’ll go it alone,” Clint said. “Let’s put it to rest tonight.”
Clint went down to the docks alone, confident that Callahan would find a way to be there. What he wasn’t sure about was whether Amanda would be there or not.
But she was. She was standing at the end of the dock, wrapped in some kind of a cape. He wondered if she’d have a gun of her own, or if she’d leave it to others to do the dirty deed.
“Clint,” she said, “you came.”
“That’s right, Amanda,” he said. “I want it all to end here.”
“So do I,” she said. “I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be.”
“Tell me why you killed Julie Silver.”
She shrugged. “She was in my way. Ben had fallen for her, and I wasn’t done with him yet.”
“Did she really know Ted Singleton?” he asked. “Or a man who claimed to be Singleton?”
“I told you,” she said. “I never knew Singleton. I just told you that. I needed to know what you were doing in Sacramento.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a man with a rep,” she said. “If someone here hired you, I needed to know. I have people in all the hotels feeding me information. When I heard you were there, I came.”
“You mentioned Singleton.”
“No, you did,” she said, “when you mentioned Julie.”
Damn it, he couldn’t
remember. Was she still lying, even though she intended to kill him?
“And what was everyone chasing, Amanda?” he asked. “What was the ‘it’ you and Julie asked me about?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know that, either,” she said. “I don’t think there was anything. I think somebody fed Julie a line and she fell for it.”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “You fed her that line. You made her think there was something of value—”
“I don’t have time for this, Clint.”
“What about Barrett?”
“Oh, you know I killed him,” she said. “I had to get rid of him.”
Clint hoped Callahan was close enough to hear.
“What now, Amanda?”
“I’m sorry, Clint,” she said. “You’re a delicious man, but no sex tonight. Only dying.”
Suddenly, he heard a sound behind him, and turned to see four men coming toward him. They were carrying clubs and knives. He didn’t see a gun.
“Oh, goddamn it!” Amanda snapped.
Obviously, this wasn’t what she had been expecting, but Clint didn’t have time to see what she was doing. The men were advancing on him with bad intentions.
He drew his gun and they stopped.
“What the fuck—” one of them said. “There wasn’t supposed to be no gun.”
“What do we do?” another asked.
“Let’s get ’im anyway,” a third said, harshly. “He can’t shoot all of us.”
Quickly, Clint shot that man in the knee. He howled and went down, clutching his bloodied leg.
“Hold it!” someone shouted from the dark.
Just as suddenly as the four toughs had appeared, Callahan was there with his friend, Lieutenant Powell. Both had guns in their hands.
“Drop your weapons!” Powell shouted, and the men obeyed.
Clint turned quickly to see where Amanda was, but she was gone. Had she gone into the water? He hadn’t heard a splash. A boat? Maybe.
He turned as Callahan reached him.
“You all right?” the inspector asked.
“I’m fine. Did you hear her confess? To killing them both?”
Callahan looked sheepish. “I didn’t get here in time. I managed to convince Lieutenant Powell to come along, but we got here too late. I’m sorry, Clint. I didn’t hear her.”
Clint ejected the spent shell from his gun, reloaded and holstered it.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s see who sent these fellas after me.”
FORTY-THREE
When Amanda got to O’Donnell’s shack, she barged in without knocking. He was there, on the bed with a skinny blond whore.
“What the hell—” she said. “Where were you?”
He rolled over and looked at her without concern.
“Whataya mean?”
“You were supposed to be on the dock. You were supposed to kill Clint Adams.”
“I was supposed to see to it that he died,” O’Donnell said. “I never said I was gonna do it meself, ya daft woman. You got the rest of me money?”
“Money? I’m not giving you any more money. In fact, I want my money back. And what are you doing with her?”
“What’s it look like I’m doin’, ya stupid whore? I’m fookin’ ’er.”
“You’re supposed to be with me.”
“Ya think one roll in me sheets means ya own me? Yer stupider than I thought.”
“Give me back my money, you bastard!” she snapped.
“Pay me what you owe me, ya whore!”
Suddenly, her hand went into her bag so quickly he knew it wasn’t for money. He sprang naked off the bed and got to her before she could get the small gun out. He slapped her, took her bag and knocked her down, then he dug the gun out. The skinny whore, flat-chested but with great big brown nipples, watched from the bed with wide eyes.
“Stupid woman,” he said. “You were gonna shoot me with this?” He dug into her bag again, then came out with another sheaf of money like the first one. He’d paid those four dockworkers twenty dollars each to kill Clint Adams, not caring if they got the job done or not, and kept the remainder of the money. Now he had the same amount again. He was rich. Time to leave.
“You can’t—” Amanda said from the floor. She was furious. “You belong with me. We were going to—”
He pointed the little gun at her, and before she could say another word, he shot her between the eyes. She died with a look of amazement on her face.
“Oh my God!” the whore on the bed said.
O’Donnell turned and looked at her.
“I won’t say nothin’, Kevin,” the girl said. “I promise.”
He walked to the bed and pointed the gun at her.
“I can’t leave ya behind, Belinda, darlin’,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Take me with you,” she said, in a flash of clarity. “I need to get away from here. So do you. I’ll be good to you, Kevin. I don’t want your money. Just get me out of here.”
He cocked the gun, studied her young, pretty face. Younger by far than that stupid cow on the floor. She thought after one fuck he was going to be in her thrall? Not Kevin O’Donnell, no sir.
He eased the hammer back down on the gun.
“Okay, then,” he said to the whore, Belinda. “Get dressed, darlin’. We’re away!”
A couple of hours later, when Clint Adams, Inspector Callahan and Lieutenant Powell entered the shack and found Amanda on the floor, O’Donnell was long gone.
“Looks like our missing friend didn’t honor his part of the deal,” Powell said.
Clint picked up her bag and went through it. For the most part it was empty. On the bed was a small gun that would have fit in the bag.
“Gun on the bed,” he said.
Callahan picked it up.
“Been fired.”
“Probably the one that did the job,” Powell said. “Looks like your case is solved, kid.”
“She killed Julie Silver and Victor Barrett,” Clint said. “I’ll sign a statement to that effect.”
“I’ll get some men in here to clean up,” Powell said, and left.
“So it’s over?” Callahan asked.
“It’s over.”
“But it doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “None of it.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense all the time, Charlie,” Clint said.
“B-but . . . Singleton . . . the telegram . . . whatever they were all after . . .”
“Unanswered questions,” Clint said.
“But . . . no answers?”
“Okay, try this,” Clint said. “Somebody knew that I was friends with Ted Singleton a long time ago. They also knew the police department here was corrupt. Maybe Singleton told that somebody a while ago that I was a good man to have on his side. So this somebody sends me a telegram, signs Ted’s name, figuring I’ll come to the aid of a friend. And while I’m here, I help clean some things up.”
“Like what?”
“Barrett, Amanda,” Clint said.
“We still got Avery,” Callahan said. “And we still have corrupt policemen.”
“You have to go a step at a time, Charlie.”
“What about that other thing we were talking about?” Callahan asked.
“The Secret Service?” Clint asked. “I can talk to somebody, Charlie, but do you really want to leave here? With a job half-done?”
“What can I do to clean it all up?”
“You alone? Maybe nothing. But somebody sent me that telegram. You’ve got somebody here who cares. Maybe your friend Powell?”
“You think he sent the telegram?”
“I’m just saying somebody did,” Clint said, “which means you’re not alone.”
Callahan scratched his head.
“I guess you’re right.”
“Keep doing your job, Charlie,” Clint said. “I’ll talk to somebody in Washington, and one day you may get the call. But until then, just keep being the best policeman you can be.”
“And what are you gonna do?”
“Same thing I always do,” Clint said. “I’ll go on being the best me I can be. See, that’s a job I do well.”
Watch for
SHADOW WALKER
304th novel in the exciting GUNSMITH series from Jove
Coming in April!
Two for Trouble Page 11