Clint Adams the Gunsmith 15

by JR Roberts

  “Look behind the desk,” Clint said. “I’ll check outside.”

  Clint went outside and looked both ways. The men following them were across the street, trying to look inconspicuous. He decided it couldn’t have been them in the rooms. They had been following him and Molly most of the day.

  When he went back inside, she was coming out from the curtained doorway behind the desk.

  “There’s an office back there. Nobody in it.”

  “So he just walked away from his job?” Clint said. “Away from you, probably,” she said. “If he knows who you are—”

  “We signed in under a phony name,” he said.

  “Maybe somebody told him. If so, he’d be afraid you were going to kill him.”

  “Then why let somebody into the rooms?”

  “Maybe,” she said, “somebody gave him more than a dollar.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Can we go shopping?”

  “It’s late,” he said. “Stores will be closed.”

  “It’s not dark yet.”

  “It will be soon.”

  “So what do we do?” she asked. “Just stay in one of our rooms?”

  “No,” he said.

  He walked behind the desk, looked at the pegs the room keys were hanging on. Only theirs and two others were missing. The hotel was practically empty.

  He collected all the rest of the keys, then turned and looked at Molly.

  “We have our pick,” he said. “One room for each of us.”

  “Separate rooms?”

  He nodded.

  “We need to keep alert,” he said. “In a room together that would be … hard.”

  “What about the two outside?” she asked.

  “They’re just following us,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll let them watch us shop.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then we’ll surprise them and ask some questions.”

  “Okay, so how do we choose a room?”

  He smiled, held his hand out with a bunch of keys in his palm.

  “Pick one.”

  Outside, Fester and Edwards watched impatiently.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Edwards asked. “Why’d he come back out, and then go back in?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  They crossed the street, approached the hotel carefully. When they peered inside, they saw that the lobby was empty. There was no one behind the desk.

  They entered and walked to the desk.

  “Look,” Edwards said.

  “What?”

  “No keys.”

  “So they took all the keys, so what? What’s that mean?” Bellows asked.

  “We better tell Bellows,” Edwards said. “Maybe he can figure out what it means.”

  “He said to watch them.”

  “Okay,” Edwards said, “you keep watching the hotel, I’ll go and talk to Bellows.”

  “Why do I have to stay?”

  “One of us has to,” Edwards said. “I’ll be back. Don’t worry.”

  They went back outside.

  “Go back across the street,” Edwards said. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “You better be.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “Yeah,” Fester said. “What if they see me?”

  “Don’t let ‘em,” Edwards said.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Clint chose a room that did not look out on the street. That way the men who were following him couldn’t see his light. But he went into a room across the hall so he could look out a front window. It took him a moment, but he located a doorway with the lighted tip of a cigarette in it. It was almost dark, but he thought he could see one man there. Maybe the other one went for instructions. If he’d known that was going to happen, he would have followed him.

  He went back across the hall to his room and found Molly lying on the bed with her boots off.

  “I thought we said separate rooms,” he said.

  “Yeah, I thought about that,” she said. “But if they don’t know what room we’re in, what does it matter?”

  “They can see the light in the window, or under the door.”

  “That’s why I lit the lamps in half a dozen rooms. They’d have to go through all of them to get to us.”

  “Unless they pick this one first.”

  “Damn you,” she said. “I never thought of that.”

  “But I don’t think they will.”

  “Why not?”

  “One of them is gone,” he said. “Probably went to report to whoever sent them .”

  “Damn,” she said again, “we could have followed him, found out who that is.”

  “We’ll do that tomorrow,” he said.

  “What about Atwater?” she asked. “Should we talk to him again?”

  “I think when we talk to him,” Clint said, “that’s when he starts to drink.”

  “So are we just going to stay around here until the senator shows up?”

  “Tomorrow we’ll see what information our telegrams bring.”

  “But even if we find out Tate is acting alone, on his own authority, we can’t leave Atwater here to kill the senator.”

  “I don’t think he will,” Clint said. “I don’t think he’d be able to. He hasn’t changed that much.”

  She sat up on the bed and asked, “What if he has help?”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe those two that were following us all day. Maybe they’re also from Andersonville. Maybe Atwater found somebody who feels the same way he does.”

  “Well,” he said, “there were almost forty-five thousand prisoners in Andersonville over the years.”

  “Jesus,” she said. “That many? And how many of them died there?”

  “About twelve thousand.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “But you’ve got a pretty good idea now,” he said. “If Atwater knew he’d never have the nerve to kill the senator, he’d get help.”

  “All he’d have to do is find somebody else from Andersonville who hated Wirz.”

  “And convince them that Winston is Wirz.”

  She lay back down on the bed, her hands folded over her stomach.

  “Not much we can do about it tonight,” she said. “What do we do about the missing clerk? Who’s going to accept our telegrams?”

  “The owner’s got to realize his clerk is gone and replace him,” Clint said. “I mean, at some point.”

  “That leaves the question of what we do tonight,” she said. “Sleep in separate rooms?”

  “Or sleep at all?” he asked.

  She was wearing the same dress she’d worn the day before, although they had both given their clothes a less-than-half-decent wash the night before, using the pitcher and basin in the room. They really did need to buy some new clothes.

  She pulled the dress up to her waist, revealing her nude patch.

  “Like I said in Atlanta,” she said, “we could keep each other awake.”

  Her Colt Paterson was on the table next to the bed. He hadn’t asked her where she carried it when they were on the street.

  He grabbed the wooden chair in the room, stuck the back of it under the doorknob, then removed his gun belt and hung it on the bed post.

  “Does this mean I’ve convinced you?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, sliding his hand down into her tangled patch, but this does ...”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Bellows and Atwater were sitting at a table in a small saloon they used to meet.

  “You’re gettin’ drunk too much,” Bellows said.

  “What do you care?”

  “I care because drunk, you might tell Clint Adams somethin’ you’re not supposed to.”

  “I’m not going to tell him anything I don’t want to tell him,” Atwater said.

  “I hope not,” Bellows said. “You could end up blowin’ our whole plan.”

  “Our plan?” the newspaperman asked.

&
nbsp; “Okay, your plan,” Bellows said. “Whatever. I just don’t want you ruinin’ it.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Atwater said, “we’re going to kill Henry Wirz.”

  “As soon as you convince me this Senator Winston is Wirz,” Bellows added.

  “You’ll see,” Atwater said. “You’ll see for yourselves. You’ll know him when you see him.”

  They were having another drink when Edwards entered the saloon. For Bellows it was his second beer. As far as Atwater was concerned, they had both lost count.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Bellows demanded.

  “Don’t worry,” Edwards said. “Fester is watching them. Adams and the girl are at their hotel.”

  “Where?” Atwater asked.

  “The Bucket of Blood.”

  “Where is that?” the newspaperman asked.

  “The Barbary Coast,” Edwards said.

  “What are they doing there?”

  “Hidin’ out,” Bellows said. He looked at Edwards. “Why are you here?”

  “The hotel lobby is empty,” Edwards said. “There’s no clerk, and there are no room keys.”

  “Is the hotel full?” Atwater asked.

  “No,” Edwards said. “We checked earlier. Adams and the girl have their own rooms. Other than them, there are only two other rooms occupied.”

  Atwater started to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Bellow demanded.

  “They spotted you.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “They’ve taken all the keys so you won’t know what room they’re in.”

  “And the clerk?” Edwards asked. “Did they kill him?”

  “No,” Atwater said. “He probably did something stupid and ran, afraid that Adams would kill him.”

  “Somethin’ stupid?” Bellows asked. “Like what?”

  “Maybe he looked the other way while somebody went into their rooms,” Atwater said. “Or worse, he let them in.”

  “For what reason?”

  Atwater shrugged.

  “To rob them?” He looked at Edwards. “Did you and Fester go into their rooms?”

  “No!”

  “Tell the truth,” Bellows said. “You try in’ to make some extra money by robbin’ their rooms?”

  “I said no,” Edward said. “We been followin’ them all day.”

  Bellows looked at Atwater.

  “So somebody else went through their rooms?”

  “Maybe,” Atwater said. “It’s not important. Pull your men off them.”

  “Why?”

  “They’ll probably grab them and make them talk,” he said. “I don’t need Adams to know I’m having him followed and watched.”

  Bellows looked at Edwards.

  “Do it!”

  “Yeah, okay,” Edwards said. “Okay if I get a drink first?”

  “No,” Bellows said. “You can drink after you’ve done what I told you.”

  Edwards looked like he was going to argue, but in the end he turned and left the place.

  “Clint is smart,” Atwater said. “He was always smart.”

  “I guess we better hope he’s not smarter than you,” Bellows said.

  “He thinks I’m the same man I was in Andersonville,” Atwater said. “By the time he finds out how wrong he is, it’ll be too late.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Clint took Molly’s dress off, then removed his own clothes. They made love with both of their guns nearby.

  Clint kept her on her back, determined to make her feel more than she ever had before. He knew most men were selfish lovers, so he was determined to show her that he was not like most men.

  “Clint—” she started, trying to sit up.

  “Shh,” he said, “just lie still. I’ll do all the work.”

  “B-But why?”

  “Because I want to.”

  She settled onto her back.

  “I never had a man say that to me before,” she admitted.

  “Time for a new experience, then,” he said, kneading the muscles in her thighs.

  “Oooh my,” she said, “that feels soooo good.”

  “Turn over,” he said, and she obeyed. He continued to knead her thighs from the back, then worked his hands up to her buttocks.

  “Oh God,” she said, “could it be that this is even better than sex?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You’ll have to tell me … later.”

  “Where did you learn how to do this?” she asked.

  “I think the origin is China,” Clint said, “but I had it done a couple of times when I was in New York.”

  “Oooh, it’s wonderful.”

  He continued up to her back, rubbed her shoulders and neck, then worked his way back down again. He went all the way to her feet, rubbed them, digging his thumbs into her soles.

  “Mmmmmm,” Molly moaned.

  Clint worked his way back up her thighs to her buttocks again, then spread her legs so he could slide his hands between her thighs. He reached beneath her, found her pussy, which was wet and already soaking the sheet. When he touched her there, she started and said, “Oh!”

  “Sorry,” he said, “were you asleep?”

  “Oh no,” she said as he slid the tip of one finger up and down her moist slit, “and I definitely am not asleep now. And you know what?”

  “What?” Slowly, he slipped a finger inside her.

  “As wonderful as that was, I can tell it’s definitely not better than sex.”

  He smiled, slapped her bare ass with one hand.

  When Edwards returned to Fester across the street from the hotel, Fester said, “It’s about time.”

  “Let’s go,” Edwards said.

  “Whataya mean?”

  “We’re done.”

  “For tonight?”

  “For good, I think,” Edwards said. “Bellows and Atwater think we been spotted. They don’t want Adams comin’ after us.”

  “Well, hell,” Fester said, “neither do I. Let’s get the hell out of here!”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Because she was so wet and ready, Clint decided not to waste any more time. He got on the bed with Molly, slid his penis between her thighs. She lifted her belly off the bed to give him access and he slid right up into her. She got to her knees and moaned as he started moving in and out of her, holding her by the hips. She caught his rhythm and began to bump back into him as he came forward.

  They moved slowly, almost languidly, just enjoying each other. She was so slick and hot, and he moved so easily in and out of her, that at one point he decided to try to find some more friction. He withdrew, spread her ass cheeks, and pressed the swollen head of his slickened penis to her little butt hole. If she’d resisted, he would have stopped, but she did not protest at all. He pressed forward, allowed the head of his penis to pop in, and then slowly slid the length of his penis into her.

  When he started to move this time, he felt the friction he had been looking for. She groaned out loud, sought his rhythm again, found it, and started moving with him. He took her by the hips again, then slid one hand beneath her, touched her belly, then found her wet pussy again and began to stroke her as he fucked her from behind. Her breath began to come in ragged gasps, and he then felt her entire body begin to tremble beneath him. When she exploded, she bucked wildly and he tried his best to stay with her...

  “Jesus,” she said later, still lying on her stomach, “first you relax every muscle in my body, and then you do that!”

  “I was just trying to give you something you’d remember,” he said. He got off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just across the hall.”

  He pulled on his pants, grabbed his gun, and went to the room across from them. In the dark he made his way to the window. He waited for his eyes to get used to the dark then looked across the street where the two men had been watching from. After a few minutes he was convinced they were no lo
nger there.

  They were either in the hotel, or they had simply left.

  He hoped it was the latter.

  When he returned to the room, she had rolled over onto her back. She had one leg bent, knee up, so he could see her pussy, and she was absently stroking one of her own breasts, teasing the nipple—and him.

  “So?”

  “They’re not there.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Either gone,” he said, “or on their way up here.”

  She abandoned her teasing position and sat up.

  “Do you think?” she asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Damn it.”

  She started to get out of bed, grabbed for her gun.

  “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll take a look.”

  “But Clint—”

  “Stay,” he said. “No point in you getting dressed if they’re gone. And if that’s the case, we might be able to relax a little.”

  “Jesus,” she said, sitting back down, “if you relaxed me any more ...”

  He slipped out of the room again and down the hall toward the stairs. He listened intently, heard nothing. He crept halfway down the stairs and saw that the lobby was empty. Still no clerk. He went back upstairs.

  He slipped back into the room and said, “Unless they’re hiding in one of the other rooms, they’re gone.”

  “We have all the keys.”

  “That’s right,” Clint said. “To get into a room, they would have had to force the door.”

  “And we would’ve heard them.”

  He nodded.

  “So they’re gone?” she asked. “Why would they decide to stop watching now?”

  “Maybe they’re going to get some sleep and come back in the morning.”

  He walked to the bed and slid his gun back in its holster. He sat down on the bed. She came up behind him, crushed her breasts against his back. The nipples were pleasantly hard. “So what do we do now?” she asked.

  “Like I said,” he replied, “relax for a while.”

  “I think,” she said, dragging him down onto his back, “it’s time for you to relax ...”