The detective sat behind his desk. Clint took a chair alongside it. Around them other men sat at desks, some alone, some with people they were questioning.
“What’s this about?”
“Many of these detectives are working on a case involving counterfeit hundred-dollar bills,” Donnelly said. “Some of them are looking for the men who are passing them. Still others are looking for whoever’s making them.”
“But you have a different idea.”
“Yes, I do.”
“How does that involve me?”
“There’s a man in town who says he knows you.”
“Who?”
“He says his name is Joshua Jones.”
“I don’t know any Joshua Jones.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s his real name,” Donnelly said.
“Who do you think he is?”
“I don’t know,” Donnelly said. “Maybe somebody who can help me.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“I want you to tell me who Joshua Jones really is.”
“How would I know?”
“Well,” Donnelly said, “he says he knows you. Maybe you know him. All you have to do is see him.”
Clint thought about the request. It seemed simple enough.
“Okay,” Clint said, “trot him on out here and I’ll take a look at him.”
“Well, he’s not right here, in this building,” Donnelly said, “but I can take you to him.”
“Is he far from here?”
“Not far,” Donnelly said. “He’s in the hospital.”
FOUR
Detective Donnelly got them a one-horse buggy and a uniformed police driver to take them to the hospital.
“Wait here,” he told the man when they got out.
“Yes, sir.”
Donnelly led Clint into the hospital, down a hallway to a set of stairs, and up to the second floor. Along the way, they walked past white-clad doctors and nurses, patients walking in the halls, and even some visitors.
“This room here,” Donnelly said, pointing to a closed door. There was another uniformed officer seated in a chair alongside it. He nodded to Donnelly.
“Should I go in alone?”
“Why?”
“Well,” Clint said, “if you think he’s not giving you his real name, why would that change if you walk in there with me now?”
“Hmm, I see what you mean. All right, then, Mr. Adams, go on in and see what you can find out,” Donnelly said. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
“Okay, Detective.”
Clint turned to go in, but Donnelly called out to him again.
“Adams?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe I should hold on to your gun.”
“Detective,” Clint said, “if that’s a condition of me going in, then we might as well forget it now.”
“Mr. Adams—”
“I don’t give up my gun, Detective,” Clint said. “Not under any circumstances.”
“But—”
“If you know who I am,” Clint went on, “then you’ll understand why.”
Donnelly stood there for a moment, thinking, then said, “Well, okay, then. Go on in.”
Clint turned to the door and opened it. When he entered, the man in the bed, who was sitting up, staring out the window, turned to look at him.
“Clint.”
“Hello, Jeremy.”
Jeremy Pike had a bandage across his chest and down one arm. He had another on his head, but Clint was certainly able to recognize the man who was a member of the President’s Secret Service.
“How’d you find out I was here?” Pike asked.
Clint approached the bed.
“The law,” Clint said. “In fact, they’re outside the door right now.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said.
“Well, you apparently mentioned me to someone. Detective Donnelly?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And he asked the sheriff to find me, which he did. I went to see Donnelly and he asked me to come and see you. So are you supposed to be Joshua Jones?”
“Ah, yes . . .”
“Why the phony name?”
“I’m working,” Pike said.
“Under the name ‘Joshua Jones,’” Clint said. “So that’s not just a name you gave the police.”
“No,” he said. “That’s my cover name.”
“So okay,” Clint said. “You came to Saint Louis as Joshua Jones to work on an assignment.”
“Right.”
“Obviously, something went wrong.”
“Right again.”
“And you ended up here,” Clint said. “What happened?”
“I got jumped, and beat up, and kind of . . . shot.”
“Kind of?”
“Well, okay, shot.”
“In the chest?”
“Yeah,” Pike said, “high up on the left side. They left me for dead.”
“But you didn’t die.”
“No, somebody got me here in time.”
“Who?”
“I’m not sure.”
“When did this happen?”
“A few days ago.”
“Why not tell the police what’s going on?”
“I don’t know who I can trust in the police department,” Pike said.
“Donnelly seems like a decent young man.”
“Yeah, well, he doesn’t have much authority,” Pike said. “In fact, I’m surprised he got you here. He was ordered not to bother.”
“Is that right?” Clint asked. “Seems not very good at taking orders, then.”
“Well,” Pike said, “he’s got that in his favor anyway.”
“So tell me,” Clint said, “how did you even know I was in Saint Louis?”
“That’s kind of a story.”
Clint sat on the edge of the bed and said, “It’s my guess that’s why I’m here.”
FIVE
Jeremy Pike had arrived in Saint Louis by train, traveling under the name “Joshua Jones.” He’d registered at a hotel down near the docks, and started doing his drinking in the Blue Owl Saloon. The reason was that the file Jenks had given him said that the dead counterfeiter—or the man who was working for the counterfeiter—did his drinking there.
“For a few days all I did was drink, and listen,” Pike said. “Eventually, I wasn’t considered a stranger in the place, and patrons went back to talking. I managed to identify two men I thought would get me what I wanted.”
“The counterfeiters.”
“Yeah,” Pike said, “these two weren’t smart enough to make the bills, but they were dumb enough to do the grunt work and talk about it. And flash the money they were being paid.”
“The money they were paid with?” Clint asked.
“You guessed it,” Pike said. “Counterfeit. They weren’t even smart enough to know that.”
“You got hold of one of the bills?”
Pike nodded.
“When the bartender wasn’t looking,” Pike said. “So I started tailing them.”
“And?”
“They led me to another man.”
“One of the counterfeiters?”
“The paymaster,” Pike said. “His name is Tom Colby. He’s the one who pays the other two to do their work.”
“Which is?”
“To pass the bills,” Pike said, “get them into circulation.”
“And what’s Colby doing when he’s not the paymaster?” Clint asked.
“He has a store,” Pike said. “Sells farming equipment. He also sits on the city council.”
“That’s handy.”
“Once I pinpointed him, I started watching him and
forgot about the other two. That was my mistake.”
“They’re the ones who shot you?”
Pike nodded.
“They’re pretty dumb, but apparently they know how to do their job.”
“Apparently not,” Clint said.
“How so?”
“Well,” Clint said, “you’re still alive.”
“True,” Pike said.
“So how did the police get onto you?”
“I’m not sure,” Pike said. “When I woke up, I was here, the police were here, and they were asking me who I am.”
“And they know about the counterfeiting.”
“Obviously,” Pike said.
“So what do you want me to do?” Clint asked. “Intervene on your behalf? I don’t have any leverage here.”
“No, not that,” Pike said. “I want you to pick up where I left off.”
“You want me to do your job?”
Pike winced.
“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds bad,” he said, “but yeah.”
“You don’t have a partner for this assignment?” Clint asked. “West? Gordon? O’Grady?”
“They’re on other assignments,” Pike said. “I was sent in alone, but I was approved to recruit any help that I need. So I’m recruiting you.”
“Are you going to wave the flag at me, Pike?”
“Hell, Clint,” Pike said, “I’ll wrap you up in it if I have to.”
Clint didn’t reply.
“Look,” Pike said, “I’m going to be laid up for a while. I could call in and get somebody to replace me, but they’d have to start from scratch. You’re already here, and in place at the Blue Owl. Also, I don’t relish calling my boss and telling him I messed this up.”
“You never told me how you knew I was here.”
“Simple,” Pike said, “I saw you at the Blue Owl.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
“I never saw you.”
“That’s because I’m normally good at my job,” the Secret Service man said. “I just happened to slip up once.”
“And almost got killed for it.”
Pike put his right hand to his head and then his shoulder, and said, “Too damn close.”
“So you want me to go in and finish this up alone,” Clint said.
“I’ll give you the same approval they gave me—recruit anybody you want to help you, just make sure it’s somebody you can trust.”
“I can think of a couple of people,” Clint said, “but it would take them a while to get here.”
“Nobody local?”
“I haven’t been here long enough to meet somebody I’d trust that much,” Clint said.
“Clint,” Pike said, “I need your help on this.”
“How long are you going to be laid up exactly?” Clint asked. “Do you know?”
“Not exactly,” Pike said, “but I might be able to get out in time to help you.”
There was a knock on the door and Detective Donnelly called out, “Everything okay in there?”
“Fine,” Clint called. “I’ll be right out.” He looked at Pike. “What do I tell him?”
“Do you trust him?”
“I just met him,” Clint said, “so no.”
“Then we can’t tell him who I really am.”
“Who do we tell him you are,” Clint said, “and how do we tell him you know me? And what you wanted with me?”
“I’ve been lying here thinking about that,” Pike said, “just in case they did get you here.”
“And?”
“Well,” Pike said, “I haven’t exactly come up with a good cover story for us. Yet.”
“Yet?”
“I’m still working on it.”
“In that case,” Clint said, looking over at the door, “I suggest you come up with something pretty quick.”
SIX
When Clint came walking out of the room, both Detective Donnelly and the uniformed policeman looked at him expectantly.
“Well?” Donnelly asked.
“Well,” Clint said, “he knew who I was.”
“Yes,” Donnelly said, “but do you know him?”
Clint hesitated.
“Well?”
“Yes . . . and no.”
“What’s that mean?”
Clint looked around.
“Why don’t we get out of the hall and talk about it?” he asked.
Donnelly looked around, then said, “There’s a saloon around the corner that the doctors and nurses use.”
“That sounds good.”
Donnelly looked at the policeman.
“Keep your eye on that door!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come on,” Donnelly said to Clint.
* * *
Around the corner they got two beers at the bar and then grabbed a table. The customers in the small saloon were mostly doctors and nurses.
“Okay,” Donnelly said, “so tell me about Joshua Jones.”
“I met Jones a few years ago,” Clint said.
Donnelly waited, and when nothing else was forthcoming, he said. “And?”
“That’s it,” Clint said. “We met. I’m not even exactly sure how. Might have been at a poker table.”
“Then why did he ask for you?” Donnelly asked. “How did he know you were in town?”
“He said he saw me on the street a few days ago,” Clint said.
“And what does he want from you?”
“Well, for some reason he thinks I have some influence with the law,” Clint said. “He wants me to get you to let him go.”
“He’s not going anywhere for a while,” Donnelly said. “At least, not until he heals.”
“I’m sure he meant after that.”
“Did he say anything to you about counterfeiting?” the detective asked.
“No, and I didn’t mention it,” Clint said. “Wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”
“Quite right,” Donnelly said. He sat back, played with his beer mug. “So this is a bust.”
“I guess so,” Clint said. “I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
“Did Jones say where he saw you? On what street?”
“Somewhere down by the docks.”
“What’s a man like you doing down by the docks?”
“Where should a man like me be?”
“Someplace a little higher class.”
“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, Detective,” Clint said, “but I’m very comfortable drinking down on the docks.”
“Drinking where?”
“The Blue Owl.”
“That’s kind of a rough place,” Donnelly said. “What else are you doing there?”
“Playing poker.”
“And where are you staying?” Donnelly asked.
“The Mayflower.”
“Oh,” Donnelly said.
“What?”
“That’s more like it.”
“I said I liked drinking and playing poker down near the docks,” Clint said. “I didn’t say I wanted to sleep there.”
SEVEN
Clint and Donnelly left the saloon together.
“I told Jones I’d bring him some things,” Clint said. “A razor, some food . . . is that okay?”
“Yes,” Donnelly said. “I’ll tell the men at the door to allow you inside.”
“Thanks.”
“Why would you do that for him?”
“Why not?” Clint asked. “Who else has he got in town?”
Donnelly shrugged.
“If I need you, I know where to find you.”
“I’ll help you in any way I can, Detective.”
“Thank you.”
/> “By the way,” Clint said as the detective started to leave.
“Yes?”
“How did you find out about the counterfeiting? And do you know who’s doing it?”
“That’s not something I can discuss with you, Mr. Adams,” the young detective said.
“I see.”
“Good day.”
Donnelly walked to the buggy and told the driver to take him back to Police Headquarters.
* * *
Clint went to his hotel, got cleaned up, then went out and bought a razor and some food for “Joshua Jones.” That much was true. But Pike wanted him to come back so they could talk more about the assignment, without the detective right outside the door.
“At that time,” Pike had said, “you can tell me your final decision.”
It was a few hours before he returned. By then there was a different policeman at the door.
“Clint Adams,” he said to the man. He raised the bag he was holding. “I brought some things for the patient.”
“Okay,” the policeman said, “you can go in.”
Clint entered the room. Once again Pike looked away from the window at him.
“Is that what I think it is?” he asked.
“A steak sandwich.”
“Oh, that’s great!” Pike exclaimed.
Clint crossed to the bed and handed the bag to Pike.
“Be careful sticking your hand in there,” he said. “There’s also a straight-edged razor.”
While Pike hauled out the steak sandwich and tucked into it, Clint pulled a chair over.
“Did the detective tell you anything?” Pike asked.
“No,” Clint said. “He said he wasn’t able to discuss the counterfeiting case with me.”
Pike nodded and chewed.
“Did the Treasury Department know that the Saint Louis Police were working on the case?”
“No,” Pike said, “I had no idea when I got here. In fact, I had no idea until I woke up here and the police started interrogating me.”
“How wide has the distribution of the bills gone?” Clint asked.
“Not sure,” Pike said. “We know it started here. It’s probably moved on to all the adjoining states.”
“Anyone working there?”
“No,” Pike said, “it really is just me working on this.”
Clint nodded.
“Unless you’ve decided to come aboard?”
The Counterfeit Gunsmith Page 2
