by JR Roberts
“You don’t expect to find him there, do you?”
“No,” he said. “If he figures we have his three men, then he’s gone to ground.”
“Or gone to find Tate.”
Clint nodded.
When they got to Atwater’s place, Clint forced the front door. The place was empty.
“Last time we were here, I didn’t notice how messy this place was,” she said.
The bed was a mess, bedclothes on the floor, some shirts and underwear there as well.
“Let’s look around.”
“For what?”
“For whatever we can find. I’ll take this room, you take the other room and the kitchen.”
She nodded, grateful that he was taking the messy bedroom.
Atwater entered the saloon down near the waterfront, the same one Clint and Molly had been asking questions in.
As he passed the bar, the bartender looked at him and nodded. Atwater went to a door in the back wall and entered.
“You’re not supposed to come here,” Colonel Frederick Tate said.
“I think Clint Adams has taken Bellows and his men out of the play,” Atwater said.
Tate, dressed like a longshoreman, said, “That was to be expected.”
“So what do we do now?” Atwater asked. “Where’s Collins?”
“Collins is out doing his job,” Tate said.
“Is he going to get rid of Adams?”
“If it becomes necessary to dispose of Clint Adams, I’ll make that decision when the time comes,” Tate said. “For now just stay away from him.”
“How do I do that?”
“Easy. Don’t go to work, and don’t go home.”
“Were do I go?”
“Anywhere,” Tate said. “You know San Francisco better than I do. Do you have a woman?”
“No,” Atwater said, “no woman.”
“Well, find someplace. Go to ground somewhere until it’s all over.”
“How will I know when it’s over?”
“You’ll hear about it, believe me.”
“What about Wirz?”
“Don’t worry about Wirz,” Tate said.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Atwater said, shaking his head.
“You were never meant to, Dorence,” Tate said. “You were simply meant to be a good soldier—something you’ve been wanting since Andersonville, right?”
Atwater nodded.
“You weren’t a good soldier then, but you are now,” Tate said. “You only need be for a couple of more days.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now go, and use the back door,” Tate said.
Atwater walked past the seated man, moving to the back door.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to—” he started.
“I’ve told you what I need from you, soldier,” Tate said.
Atwater nodded and went out the back door.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Clint and Molly did a thorough search of Atwater’s rooms. Clint came out of the bedroom as Molly was finishing up in the kitchen.
“Did you look at this little desk in the corner?” Clint asked.
“Yeah, I did.”
Clint walked over to it. If Atwater did any of his work at home, it would be at that desk.
“You won’t mind if I look, too?”
“Help yourself,” she said. “Maybe you’ll find something I missed, but don’t expect me to go into that bedroom.”
Clint laughed and opened the desk drawer. He sat down and stuck his hand into the desk, feeling around the sides and the back. He was rewarded when he felt a piece of paper at the back. He grabbed it and pulled it out as Molly came walking over.
“You found something?”
“Stuck to the back of the drawer, apparently,” Clint said, taking it out.
“What is it?”
Clint held the slip of paper up so they could both see it.
“It’s an address.”
“On Drumm Street?” she asked. “Isn’t that where we were?”
“Yup,” Clint said. “This is the address of that dockworkers’ saloon we went into.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“So Atwater had a meeting there. What does that tell us?”
“He wrote it down so he wouldn’t forget it,” Clint said. “That means it was an important meeting.”
“You think he met Bellows and his men there?” she asked. “Or are you thinking about Tate?”
“I’m thinking,” he said, “that maybe we should go down there again.”
“We weren’t very welcome the last time,” she reminded him.
“And we probably won’t be very welcome this time either.” Clint said. “That’s not going to stop us from going.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
They decided to go and get something to eat and discuss further what their next move should be. After walking a few blocks and not finding a likely place, they decided to go back to their hotel to eat in the dining room.
“Mr. Adams!” the clerk, Cal, called.
“Yeah?”
“This came for you while you were out,” the clerk said, handing Clint a telegram.
“Thanks.”
Cal gave Molly a long look, but she totally ignored him. She and Clint went into the dining room and got a table, which was easy because it was between mealtimes.
“Who’s it from?” she asked.
He opened it and looked at the name at the bottom.
“Jim West.”
“Why would he send it to you and not to me?” she wondered.
“You can ask him next time you see him.”
Clint read the telegram.
“Well.”
“He’s back in Washington, and he’s confirmed something for us.”
“What?”
“Tate is not a colonel anymore,” he said, handing her the telegram.
Molly read the telegram and put it down on the table.
“That’s what it says, but it doesn’t say why.”
“I’m sure Jim wanted to keep the telegram short,” Clint said. “And it really doesn’t matter what the reason is. The fact is that Tate lied to me to get me here.”
“Why?”
“He’s either going to use me to pin the senator’s assassination on Dorence Atwater,” Clint said, “or he’s planning on pinning it on me.”
“So why don’t you just leave town, like you said you might?” she asked.
“I’m not going to leave you alone,” he said, “and I’m not going to let Tate get away with assassinating a United States senator.”
“I’m touched.”
The waiter came with their food.
“And I’m hungry,” Clint said. “Let’s eat.”
By the time they had finished their food, Clint had decided to check out the address they’d found in Atwater’s desk that night.
They were walking out into the lobby when Duke Farrell appeared.
“I’ve got somethin’ you should know,” he said to Clint.
“What is it?”
“Come back to the office.”
Clint looked at Molly and they followed Farrell back to the office.
“I’ve been doin’ some snooping,” Farrell said, sitting behind his desk.
“And?”
“There’s a guy in town,” Farrell said, “he’s known as ‘Poca Muerte’.”
“Little Death?” Clint asked. “Why?”
“He’s a killer,” Farrell said. “For hire.”
“Well, that explains ‘Muerte’.” Molly said. “What about ‘Poca’?”
“Well, apparently,” Farrell said, “as deadly as he is, he’s not a very big man. But he is dangerous.”
“And you think he’s in town because of Clint?” she asked.
“I think it’s too much of a coincidence,” Farrell said. He looked at Clint. “Do you think a hired killer being in San Francisco could have anything to do with why you’re here?”<
br />
“Oh, yeah,” Clint said.
“You think he could be here to kill the senator?” Farrell asked.
“Seems likely to me,” Clint said. “You have any idea where he is?”
“That I can’t tell you,” Farrell said. “I’ve got eyes and ears out, but haven’t been able to locate him.”
“That’s okay, Duke,” Clint said. “I think we might have an idea about that.”
“We are going to check it out tonight,” Molly said.
“Think you’ll need somebody to watch your back?” Farrell asked. “I mean, I can have a couple of good boys—”
“I appreciate it, Duke,” Clint said, “but Molly’s got my back and I’ve got hers. I think this Poca Muerte is going to be alone.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the word I get on him,” Farrell said. “He works alone.”
“Thanks for the information,” Clint said. “It’s helpful to know who we may be dealing with.”
“If I get any more information, I’ll let you know,” Farrell said, then added, “both of you.”
“Thanks,” Clint said.
“We appreciate it,” Molly said.
They left Farrell sitting behind his desk, shaking his head at their refusal of help from his boys.
“I appreciated that, Clint,” Molly said.
“Well, you’re my partner in this, Molly.”
“We probably could’ve used some of the help he was offering us, though.”
“Well, even if they were Duke’s boys,” Clint said, “I wouldn’t have been able to trust them completely. I’m having a few trust issues lately.”
“I can’t blame you for that,” she said, “not after Tate lied to you.”
“Looks like it’s going to be dark soon,” Clint said. “Let’s go outside and find a cab to take us down to Drumm Street.”
“I thought we were going to wait until they were closed?” she said.
“After dark would be just as good,” he said. “We’ll go in the back. And maybe we can get the bartender to answer some questions.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“I told you before, no,” Clint said, “I’m just making it up—”
“As we go along,” she said. “I know.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
By the time they’d reached the back of the dockworkers’ saloon on Drumm Street, it was dark. Molly still wasn’t convinced they were doing the right thing, though.
“I tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you stay out here and keep watch. I’ll go in and see what I can find.”
“What if you walk in there and Tate and Collins are there?”
“That would mean we found them,” Clint said.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “Poca Muerte? Collins is not a big man, right? I mean, you’d almost say he was a small man.”
“Or a little man,” Clint said.
“So you’ve been thinking that since Duke told us about him?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”
“So wait,” she said. “Tate’s out of the Army and hiring a professional killer?”
“Looks like it.”
“You know,” she said, “I understand this whole thing less and less.”
“Me, too,” he said. “That’s why I want to find Tate. So I can ask him what the hell he’s been doing.”
“Well, I’m going in with you, then,” she said.
“Okay,” Clint said. “Remember, no shooting until I start.”
“Remember me?” she asked. “I start shooting when I get nervous.”
“Well, not this time,” he said. “Okay?”
“Sure.”
He tried the back door and found it open.
“See,” she said, “I haven’t been in the Secret Service very long, but to me that’s a bad sign.”
He put his finger to his lips and opened the door. When she was sure he couldn’t see her, she drew her gun and followed him in.
The inside was dark, and they could hear voices from inside the saloon. Clint motioned to Molly to close the door behind them.
After a moment their eyes adjusted and he could see the chairs, the cot. It looked like a smaller version of the warehouse.
“They’ve been sleeping here, too?” she whispered.
“Looks like.”
He held up a finger to her to wait, then walked to the doorway that led to the saloon. There were three men there, including the bartender. Neither of the other two were Tate or Collins. For a saloon so close to the docks, it didn’t seem to do much business.
“Only three men,” Clint said.
“Should we brace them?” she asked.
“You watch the door,” he said. “I want to look around a bit back here.”
She nodded, moved to the door so she could see the men.
He moved back into the storeroom and lit a match. By the light he searched the cots, looked underneath, but found nothing. Not even any extra clothes. Obviously, Tate and Collins—who may have been Poca Muerte—were moving around, never staying in one place for very long.
He moved to Molly and stood behind her.
“What should we do?” she asked.
“Let’s wait for the customers to leave,” he said. “Then we’ll talk to the bartender.”
“We could take them now.”
“I know we could, but if they’re just customers, I don’t want to involve them.”
“That didn’t bother you in the last place,” she said, “and we let them go.”
“We don’t need these two running out of here, attracting attention.”
“What kind of attention?” she asked. “There’s nobody around here.”
“Let’s just do this my way, Molly,” he said. “Let’s wait.”
She shrugged.
“Okay, we wait.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
It took about an hour but finally the two customers left together.
“Okay,” Clint said as the bartender turned the lock on the door.
He and Molly entered the saloon as the bartender turned away from the door. He froze when he saw them.
“What the—”
“Remember us?” Clint asked.
The man frowned, squinted, then said, “Yeah, yeah, I remember. Whataya want?”
“Just a few answers to a few questions,” Clint said, “then we’ll be out of your hair.”
The barman—who stood at least six three and had huge forearms—folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to one side.
“What questions?”
“Well,” Clint said, “for one, where’s the colonel? Or does he ever call himself that anymore? That’s two questions, but feel free to answer just the first one.”
“What colonel?”
“That was the wrong answer,” Clint said. He looked at Molly. “Shoot him.”
“What?” she asked.
“What?” the man said.
“Shoot … him,” Clint said.
Molly looked him in the eyes and got it. She turned toward the bartender.
“Where?” she asked.
“Take your pick,” he said. “In the knee, the elbow … the head.”
Molly cocked the Paterson.
“Wait!” the man said, holding up both hands. “I don’t know where the colonel is, I swear. He was here until last night. H-He’s movin’ around.”
“Where do you know him from?” Clint asked.
“I served under him during the war.”
“Were you in Andersonville?”
“No,” the man said. “I, uh, missed that.”
“But when he came to you for some help, you said yes,” Clint said.
“Why not?” the man said. “All he wanted was a place to stay.”
“So you gave him your back room.”
“For a while.”
“Did he come here when he left the warehouse?” Molly asked.
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t know
where he went from here?” Clint asked.
“No.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “let’s try something else.”
“What?”
“The man who was with him.”
“W-What man?”
Clint looked at Molly.
“Shoot him”
“Where?” she said again.
“Okay, okay, wait!” the bartender said, putting his hands out again. “You mean … Collins?”
“Is that his name, or the one he’s going by?” Clint asked. “It’s the only name I know,” the bartender said, “but it ain’t his real name.”
“I figured that,” Clint said. “Have you heard the name ‘Poca Muerte’?”
The man wanted to say no, but he looked at Molly, who was still pointing her gun at him.
“Okay, yeah,” he said, “that’s the name Collins goes by.”
“Did you know Collins in the war?”
“No,” she said, “h-he was too young.”
Clint figured that, but wanted to see if the man would lie.
“What’s your name?”
“Ray Donnen.”
“Well, Ray,” Clint said, “I’m going to need you to make a couple of guesses about where you think the colonel might be.”
“Look,” Donnen said, “I don’t know why he’s here, or where he went I can’t even guess.”
“Why not?”
“Because all I am is a saloon owner,” the man said with a shrug. “That’s all. He came in, asked if he could use the back room, stayed a few days, and left.”
“You didn’t know he was in town until he walked in your door?”
“Not a clue.”
Clint looked at Molly, who shrugged.
“Look, I’m staying at the Farrell House. If you see him again, you send word to me. You may be loyal to the man, but he’s going to commit murder and he has to be stopped.”
“Murder?”
“That’s right,” Clint said. “I have to stop him, and I’d prefer to do it without having to kill him.”
Donnen stared at him, then said, “Yeah, okay.”
“Let’s go,” Clint said to Molly.
“That’s it?” she asked.
“That’s it.”
They walked to the front door. As Clint put his hand on the doorknob, Donnen called out from behind.
