by JR Roberts
He had to go to Bellows and admit that he had screwed up.
“Okay,” Clint said, “he’s moving. Let’s follow.”
“If he stops a cab, we’re dead,” she said.
“Haven’t you noticed? There aren’t many cabs around here. He’ll go on foot for as long as he can. Hopefully, that’ll be enough.”
When Fester entered the saloon, he saw Edwards sitting with Bellows. Those two always seemed to be drinking when he was out doing the work.
“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Bellows demanded. “You’re supposed to be watching for Adams and the girl.”
“They showed up,” Fester said. “Went upstairs to see Atwater.”
“And you figured you’d come here and tell us that?” Edwards demanded.
“No,” Fester said, “I ain’t that stupid.”
“What did you do, Fester?” Bellows asked. “Just how stupid are you?”
“I followed them.”
“And?”
Fester looked down.
“You lost them,” Bellows said.
Fester nodded.
“Goddamnit!” Bellows said.
“I couldn’t help it,” Fester said. “It was like they lost me on purpose.”
“On purpose?” Bellows said. “Oh, crap.”
Clint and Molly stopped as the man went into the small, run-down saloon.
“Just getting a drink because he’s frustrated?” Molly asked. “Or meeting somebody?”
“I’ll go with meeting,” Clint said. “Stand right here.”
“I’ll get out of sight.”
“No,” he said, “just stand here.”
“But they might know me on sight—” she started to argue.
He smiled at her.
“I’m counting on that.”
“Check the door,” Bellows told Edwards.
The man got up and walked to the front door.
“She’s out there,” he said, “standing across the street.”
“Shit!”
“What do we do?” Fester asked. “Go out and get her?”
“No, stupid,” Bellows said. “She’s the bait.”
There were three other men in the place, and the bartender. They were watching Bellows, Edwards, and Fester simply because they had nothing better to do.
“They want us to come out there?” Edwards said.
“Right,” Bellows said. “They followed Fester, but they don’t know us.”
“You guys ain’t gonna leave me here, are ya?” Fester asked.
“We should,” Bellows said, “but we ain’t.” He stood up. “Come on.”
“Where we goin’?” Edwards asked.
“Out the back door,” Bellows said. “Let them stand out there for hours if they want to.”
He headed to the back of the room, then through a storeroom to the back door. Fester and Edwards followed.
When they got to the back door, Bellows opened it and rushed through it. He stopped short when Clint stuck his gun in the man’s face.
“Where you going, boys?” he asked. “We haven’t had a chance to talk, have we?”
Chapter Fifty
Clint forced Bellows, Edwards, and Fester back into the saloon. The other men came to their feet, unsure about what to do. The bartender froze. Clint figured the place was either always this empty, or it was empty because it was Sunday.
“I need some help,” Clint said. “I need one of you to take the gentlemen’s guns from them. I need another to go across the street and ask the lovely red-haired lady to come in.”
Nobody moved.
“After that, you can all leave.”
That galvanized everyone into action. One man left, went across the street to tell Molly to come in, and then kept going.
The other two took the guns from Bellows, Edwards, and Fester and laid them on the bar top.
“You two can go,” Clint said.
They ran out the door, almost trampling Molly in the progress.
“Are you okay?” she asked Clint.
“Yes,” Clint said. “Cover these gents, will you?”
She took out her Colt and said, “Gladly.”
He walked to the bar.
“You know these men?” Clint asked.
“They come in here to drink,” the man said, “but I don’t know ‘em.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “unload their guns and put them behind the bar, and then you can go.”
“Are you gonna bust up my place?” the man asked.
“I don’t have any intention of busting up your place,” Clint said. “I only came here to talk to these men.”
“If you don’t mind,” the bartender said, “I’ll stay. It ain’t much, but this place is all I have.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “unload the guns and stow them behind the bar.”
“Yes, sir. Um, would you or the lady like a drink?” he asked.
“I’d love a beer,” Molly said.
“Actually, so would I,” Clint said.
“Comin’ up,” the man said.
“After you’ve finished with the guns.”
“Right.”
Clint turned to look at the three men, who were watching the gun in Molly’s hand.
“She’s the nervous type,” Clint said. “She shoots people by accident sometimes.”
“One time,” Molly said, playing along, “I shot one person one time and everybody remembers it.”
The three men exchanged glances.
“If I were you, I’d have a seat,” Clint said. “Now.”
They all sat down. The bartender put two beers on the bar. Molly walked over, picked hers up with her left hand while keeping her gun trained on the men.
“What’s going on?” Bellows demanded.
“What’s your name?” Clint asked.
“Bellows.”
“And them?”
“Edwards and Fester.”
The fact that Bellows answered for them pretty much meant that he was in charge.
“We followed Mr. Fester here from the offices of the Reporter,” Clint said. “Dorence Atwater’s office.”
“Atwater?” Bellows said. “Don’t know him.”
“I think you do,” Clint said. “Wait a minute.”
“What is it?” Molly asked.
“This man looks familiar,” Clint said. “Bellows, did you say?”
“That’s right.”
Clint pointed at him.
“You were in Andersonville.”
Bellows looked as if he was going to deny it, then said, “That’s right, I was. We all were.”
Clint looked at Fester and Edwards.
“I don’t know them,” he said. “But I recognize you. You were one of the Raiders.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Sure you do,” Clint said. “You were at the trial.”
“Trial?”
“When we put a bunch of the Raiders on trial, you were there,” Clint said. “But not on trial.”
“I told you, I don’t know anything about any Raiders,” Bellows said.
“But you were at the trial,” Clint said. “You remember the Raiders and the Regulators.”
“Yes,” Bellows said, “I remember them.”
Clint looked at Edwards and Fester.
“Hey, we were just there,” Edwards said. “We weren’t with either side.”
“So you knew Atwater at Andersonville?” Clint said.
“No.”
“How could you not?”
Bellows pointed and said, “You don’t remember them. There were a lot of men in Andersonville.”
Bellows was right about that.
Chapter Fifty-One
“Here’s the way I figure it,” Clint said. “Atwater’s convinced that Senator Winston is Henry Wirz, so he convinces the three of you of that as well. Since anyone who was in Andersonville would like to kill Wirz, you all agreed to help him.”
“Except for one
thing,” Bellows said.
“What’s that?”
“Henry Wirz is dead. He was executed right after the war.”
“If you really believe that,” Clint said, “why are you helping Atwater?”
“I told you,” Bellows said. “I don’t know Atwater.”
“Then why was Fester here waiting outside Atwater’s office?”
“I don’t know,” Bellows said, “why don’t you ask him?”
That was Bellows’s first mistake. Fester was not smart enough to go along with that.
“Wha—” Fester said.
“He’s confused,” Clint said. “He needs you to tell him what to do and what to say.” Clint knew that by how long it had taken Fester to make a decision earlier in the day. He had literally been walking in circles.
Fester looked at Bellows and said, “Ted, I don’t know wha—”
“Shut up, Jake.” Bellows sat back in his chair. “Okay, Adams, all you know is that we were all in Andersonville. We three know each other. And of course, we all know who Henry Wirz was.”
“What about Lieutenant Tate?”
“What?”
“Tate,” Clint said. “Remember him from Andersonville? He’s now Colonel Tate. You’re either working for him or for Atwater.”
“Or with the colonel, or Atwater,” Molly said.
“Good point,” Clint said. “Are you working for one of them, or with one of them?”
“I’m not workin’ with or for anybody,” Bellows said. “These idiots, they work for me, but I have no idea why Fester was following you today. I suspect he might have recognized you from Andersonville—”
“Stop!” Clint said.
“That’s it,” Fester said.
Great, Clint thought. Bellows had outsmarted him and put the idea in Fester’s head.
“Molly, take Fester into the storeroom,” Clint said.
“Okay,” she said, putting down her partially finished beer. “Let’s go.”
“Easy with that gun,” Fester said as she walked him back. Clint waited until Molly and Fester were gone.
“I’m willing to bet that among the three of you,” Clint said, “Fester is the weak link. So I’m going to go back there and make him explain everything to me. Everything.”
Bellows stared at him.
“He’s bound to mess up somewhere,” Clint said, “and then I’ll get the whole story.”
“Well,” Bellows said, “in theory that sounds like a good plan.”
“In theory?”
“Yes,” Bellows said, “except for one little flaw.”
“And what’s that?” Clint asked.
Bellows leaned forward and said, “Even if there was a whole story to know, Jake Fester would not know it.”
He sat back and folded his arms.
“Well,” Clint said, afraid that the man was right again, “we’ll have to see about that.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Clint changed places with Molly and told her aloud, “Stay nervous.”
“I’ll shoot the first one who moves,” she promised.
Clint moved into the back room, where Fester was sitting on a crate looking nervous.
“I don’t know nothin’,” he said immediately.
“Oh, come on, Fester,” Clint said. “That’s a lie. What’s your first name? Jake?”
The man didn’t answer.
“I’m going to call you Jake.”
Fester shrugged.
“Listen, Jake,” Clint said, “I understand you were at Camp Sumter; I understand you suffered. We have that in common. But I don’t think you really want a part of killing a U.S. senator, do you?”
No answer.
“I mean, even if he was Henry Wirz at one time, he’s a senator now.”
“You were there!” Fester snapped. “How can you say that? If it’s Wirz, he deserves to die.”
“I agree,” Clint said calmly. “If it was Wirz, he would deserve to die, but Wirz is already dead.”
“Not according to—” Fester stopped.
“Not according to Dorence Atwater?” Clint asked. “Or did you hear it from someone else?”
Fester compressed his lips.
Clint moved closer to Fester and leaned over.
“I’ve been nice and calm so far, Fester,” Clint said. “But you know my rep. I could stand back, draw, and shoot off an ear with no problem. Then another ear. Is killing the senator worth both your ears?”
Fester put one hand to an ear, then put it down quickly. Clint looked around, spotted a supply cabinet, and walked over to it.
“Look at this,” he said. “Candles.”
He took out two white wax candles that were about six inches long.
“Here,” he said. “Hold one of these in each hand.”
Fester frowned, but did as he was told. Clint took out a lucifer and lit each wick. Fester was now holding two lighted candles.
“Hold them up,” Clint said. “If I miss, I don’t want to hit you.”
“Wha—”
Clint drew and fired twice in quick succession.
“What the hell—” Bellows snapped at the sound of shots.
“Uh-uh,” Molly said. “Don’t move.”
Bellows stared at the barrel of her gun, then sat back in his chair. Edwards looked as if he was going to piss his pants.
“Clint’s just questioning him, that’s all,” she said. “Or shooting off some fingers. Maybe when he’s done with him, he’ll start on … you.”
She turned her gun to point at Edwards, who jumped, as if she’d pulled the trigger.
Fester closed his eyes as Clint fired, then opened them and looked at the candles. Clint had put out both flames without hitting the candles. Fester dropped both candles as if they were hot.
Clint reloaded and holstered his gun.
“Your ears are next, Jake,” Clint said.
“Whataya wanna know?” Fester asked.
“What are we going to do with them for two days?” Molly asked.
They had all three men in the storeroom now, with their hands and feet tied.
“The police?” she asked.
“No,” Clint said. “You’re going to have to send a telegram to Washington. We need somebody to pick them up.”
“What about until then?” she asked.
“If we give the bartender enough money, he’ll close and hold them here until they’re picked up.”
“And who do we tell him will be picking them up?” she asked.
“We’ll just say the government,” Clint said.
“You can’t do this,” Bellows said. “You’ll be lettin’ Wirz get away.”
“Fester said Atwater wants to kill him,” Clint said. “Don’t you believe in him?”
“You knew Atwater in Andersonville,” Bellows said. “He ain’t changed. He’ll never be able to pull the trigger.”
“You didn’t kill Larry Gates, right?”
“I told you that,” Bellows said.
After Fester had spilled the beans that they had all been contacted by Atwater, who recruited them to kill Henry Wirz, Bellows had opened up as well. Clint believed them. All they knew was that Atwater had recognized Senator Winston as Henry Wirz, and they wanted him dead.
“If you didn’t kill Gates, then somebody else is out there gunning for the senator. So one way or another, he’ll probably get killed.”
“Unless you save him.”
“That’s right.”
“But you won’t,” Bellows said.
“Why not?”
“Because when you see him, you’ll know he’s Henry Wirz,” Bellows said.
“I doubt it.”
“Well,” Bellows said, “if he’s not, then it’s all been for nothin’ anyway. You won’t be able to charge us with anythin’.”
“I don’t care about charging you,” Clint said. “I just want to keep you out of the way until Tuesday.”
“Let us go,” Bellows said, “and we’ll stay out of
the way.”
“Good try,” Clint said, “but I don’t think so.”
Molly gagged the three men, so they couldn’t cry out, and then they went back into the saloon to make their deal with the bartender.
Chapter Fifty-Three
What Clint and Molly did not know was that Atwater had been watching from a window as Jake Fester followed them away from the building. Atwater shook his head. Fester was terrible at it, and they were sure to see him.
Atwater knew he could not count on Bellows and his men now. Clint was sure to get Fester to take him to the others.
Atwater collected his jacket from the back of his chair and left the building. He had people to see.
Clint and Molly returned to the offices of the Reporter to find Atwater gone. No one knew where he had gone. There was a window near Atwater’s desk. Clint walked to it and looked out.
“Look here,” he said to Molly. “Clear view of the front of the building.”
“So?”
“If he was looking out when Fester tried to follow us, he’d figure that we were going to see him.”
“And grab him?”
“And make him take us to Bellows and Edwards.”
“So he’s got to figure he’s on his own now.”
“But is he?” Clint asked.
“You mean Tate and Collins?”
“My memory of Tate has always been as a smart man,” Clint said. “If he’s in town, as we suspect, maybe he’s running Atwater.”
“If the senator is not Henry Wirz, then Tate wants him dead for another reason.”
Clint nodded.
“And I’m not knowledgeable enough of politics to know what his agenda is.”
“But if Tate wants him so bad he’s willing to give up his commission ...”
“And he’s not Wirz ...”
They both stopped, because they didn’t know where they were going.
“So what do we do?”
“We’ve been sending telegrams and nobody seems to be able to help us,” Clint said. “Nobody knows anything about the senator.”
“Or about Tate.”
Clint shook his head.
“Let’s check out Atwater’s home,” he said finally.
