Copper Canyon Killers

by J. R. Roberts

“Then let’s go.”

  The boy nodded, and started walking.

  “Wait,” Clint said.

  “What?” Jason turned.

  “My hotel first.”

  “Why?’

  “I have to get something.”

  They changed directions.

  * * *

  Sheriff Gordon Brown walked to Mary Choate’s café, took a quick look inside through the window. He did not spot Stephanie Kitten, Tony Black, or Andy Choate. Mary was bustling about in her apron, serving her customers.

  Brown walked across the street and took up position in the doorway of an abandoned store. He folded his arms across his chest and settled down to wait.

  * * *

  Jason Henry led Clint outside of town in a direction Clint had not yet gone. Up ahead it looked like heavy brush.

  “Jason, are you sure you’re heading in the right direction?” he asked.

  “We have to go through those bushes,” he said.

  It only occurred to Clint that the boy might be leading him into a trap because of past experience. It had served him well over the years to suspect everyone. However, he was fairly certain that this boy was exactly what he appeared to be—innocent, and simpleminded.

  Jason pushed through the brush and Clint followed.

  * * *

  In their house, Stephanie Kitten sat across from Tom and Andy and said, “I’ve decided to let Clint Adams come to us.”

  “What makes you think he’ll do that?”

  “I got word from Thayer that Adams was at his house, saying he knew who the killers were.”

  “Did he mention us by name?” Andy asked.

  “No.”

  “Then what makes you think he knows it’s us?” Andy asked.

  “Or that he’ll find us?” Tony added.

  “The boy,” Stephanie said.

  “Jason?” Andy asked.

  “He knows where we live.”

  “How? Nobody knows about this house. It was abandoned years ago. Nobody knows we found it and fixed it up.”

  “He does,” she said.

  “How?” Andy asked.

  “He followed me here once.”

  “What? And you didn’t tell us?”

  “I thought he was just a sweet, simpleminded boy with a crush,” she said. “I didn’t think he’d tell anybody.”

  “And now you do?” Tony asked.

  “This is a different situation,” she said. “I’m sure Adams will explore every possibility to find us.”

  “Like questioning the boy?” Tony asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Damn it,” Andy said, looking around. “You mean they might be on their way here right now?”

  “If Thayer was right,” she said, “yes. He was headed back to town to find us.”

  “If he brings the law—” Tony started.

  “The judge will take care of that.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Because Thayer will see to it,” she told him. “And the judge wants to put that boy on trial.”

  “If that kid comes here,” Tony said, “I’ll kill him.”

  “That wouldn’t be a good idea, Tony,” she said. “We still need him to take the fall.”

  “This sounds to me like everything is fallin’ apart,” Andy said.

  “Don’t you fall apart on me now, Andy. I need you.” She reached out and stroked his hair.

  “Yeah, Steph,” he said, leaning into her touch. “Okay.”

  “Tony?” she said. “Can I count on you?”

  “You know you can always count on me, Steph.”

  “Then let’s get into position before Clint Adams gets here,” she told them.

  “And what if he doesn’t show up?”

  “He’s gonna find us, Andy,” she said. “We just have to make sure that when he does, we make him sorry.”

  FORTY-TWO

  “There,” Jason said, pointing.

  Clint saw the house. It was in bad shape, even though it was obvious somebody had tried to fix it up.

  “I can go to the door and knock—”

  “No,” Clint said, keeping his voice down. “You stay right here and don’t move. Understand?”

  “I understand.”

  Clint looked around. It was quiet . . . too quiet.

  “I’m going to circle around to the back,” he told Jason. “Stay right here like I told you, Jason. Don’t move.”

  “I won’t.”

  Clint hoped Jason was telling the truth. And if he was, he hoped the boy would not be tempted to move.

  Or run.

  He circled around to come at the house from the back. The work that had been done to shore up the house was more evident from the rear. It was amateurish, but effective.

  He didn’t rush, and hoped Jason would stay patient.

  * * *

  As soon as Clint left Jason alone, the boy became frightened. He looked around him, as if he expected someone to come after him. He was out of jail, and he wanted desperately to stay out. The only person he thought could help him to do that would be his father.

  He had promised Clint Adams that he wouldn’t move, and wouldn’t run, but he couldn’t keep that promise. He had to get to his father.

  He turned to run, but ran right into someone.

  * * *

  Clint waited.

  What if Stephanie Kitten was as smart as she was pretty? What if Thayer had told her and her boys to get rid of him? How would they go about it? Call him out? Not likely? Bushwhack him? Much more likely.

  He wondered if Thayer had had time to warn them since he’d seen him this morning. If so, they had either cleared out, or were waiting for him.

  At that point Clint saw some movement through a window. A figure with long blond hair. If the girl was inside alone . . .

  “Stephanie!” he shouted. “Stephanie Kitten!”

  There was no answer, but her face appeared in the back window.

  “Stephanie!”

  Her face disappeared and then the back door opened. She stood in the doorway—hip cocked against the doorjamb—as if she was totally unconcerned.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “Why are you yelling my name?”

  “My name is Clint Adams.”

  She cocked her hip the other way, still posing. She was undeniably a beautiful woman. She also folded her arms beneath her full breasts, for good measure.

  “So then, why is the Gunsmith calling out my name?”

  “I want to talk.”

  “So come in and talk,” she said. “Why didn’t you just knock on the door, like a civilized gentleman?”

  “I wasn’t sure of the kind of reception I’d get,” he told her.

  “Come on in and I’ll show you,” she said. “I’ve got some good whiskey.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She left the doorway, but the door remained open.

  Clint looked around, moved cautiously from his position. No one with guns jumped out at him. He closed the distance to the house, entered, and closed the door behind him. He found himself in a small kitchen with a very old stove, a table with three good legs and one repaired one, and matching chairs.

  “In here,” her voice called.

  He went to the kitchen doorway, saw Stephanie sitting on a worn sofa in a sparely furnished living room.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “the place needs a cleaning.”

  Sitting in the midst of near squalor, she appeared even more beautiful. Her hair seemed to shimmer, and he could smell the Rosebud soap on her. He now knew he was right.

  “Well,” she said, “Clint Adams.” She leaned her elbow on the back of the sofa, rested her cocked head on her hand. She knew all the fetching poses. “What can I do
for you?”

  “You can tell me who hired you to kill Ed Collins,” Clint said.

  “What?”

  “And why you decided to frame poor Jason Henry for it.”

  She dropped her arm and said, “Are you serious?”

  “Very,” he said. “See, I think Daniel Thayer hired you and your two boyfriends for the job. I just need you to confirm that.”

  “I can’t confirm somethin’ that didn’t happen,” she said.

  “Meaning you didn’t kill him,” Clint asked, “or Thayer didn’t hire you to do it?”

  “Both,” she said, then frowned and added, “or neither. Which is it?”

  “Both,” Clint said. “By the way, where are your two boyfriends?”

  “They’re not my boyfriends,” she said, “they’re my . . . partners.”

  “Partners in what?” Clint asked. “Crime? Murder?”

  “Business.”

  Clint laughed.

  “What business have you three been involved in?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she said. “Anything else?”

  He studied her. She was calm, and she wasn’t going to break. One of her partners might be easier.

  “Where are your boys?”

  She shrugged.

  “Are you sure they’re not waiting for me outside?”

  “What for?”

  “To bushwhack me?”

  She stood up.

  “If I wanted to kill you, I’d do it myself.”

  “You think you can?” he asked. “You fancy yourself good with that gun? Have you ever killed a man face-to-face, Stephanie? Not like you killed Ed Collins, with two partners to help, but alone. Face-to-face. On even terms?”

  She didn’t answer him, but he saw a muscle jumping uncontrollably in her jaw.

  He laughed.

  “They are outside, aren’t they?” he asked. “You were expecting me. Thayer told you I saw him today, and you expected me to find you here. You’re good, Stephanie.” She was good at handling men, but was she good at handling a gun?

  “Come on,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Let’s leave them out there waiting,” he said. “Let’s do this, you and me.”

  “Right now?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Why wait? Anybody who thinks they’re good with a gun, like you, is always dying to test themselves against somebody like me.”

  He stared right into her eyes, saw a flicker there. Doubt? Or fear?

  “Come on, Stephanie,” Clint said. “Go for your gun.”

  FORTY-THREE

  “No.”

  “No?” he asked. “Why not?”

  “There’s nobody around to see,” she said. “If I kill you, I want witnesses.”

  “You mean an audience?” he asked. “You youngsters, you’re all the same. You need that audience.”

  “If I kill the Gunsmith, I want people to see it.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “So you’re not scared.”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Okay,” he said. “If I go outside and your boys are there, I’m going to kill them both.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You don’t care, do you?”

  “If they’re stupid enough to go up against you, they deserve to get killed.”

  “Wow,” Clint said, “if only they knew how little you think of them.”

  “Please,” she said. “They’re little boys. I need a man.”

  “Like Thayer?”

  “Him?” she asked. “He’s not a man. In fact, I’ve never met a real man.” She stared at him, and then her face changed, as if something occurred to her. “Wait, maybe you . . .”

  She came toward him, the sweet smell of her soap moving ahead of her.

  “That scent . . .”

  “Yes?” Her hands went to the buttons of her shirt and she started to undo them.

  “Jason smelled it in the store . . .”

  “What?”

  “When you killed Ed Collins.”

  She had the shirt mostly open, her full breasts and pale skin showing, then she stopped.

  “Do you really want to talk about that now?” she asked, running the fingertips of her left hand over the skin of the right breast. He figured she was hoping he’d watch that hand, but he had his eyes on her right, hovering over her gun.

  “Do it, Stephanie,” he said in a low tone.

  “What?”

  “Skin that hog-leg,” he said. “Come on.”

  She pulled her right hand away from her gun as if it were hot, started buttoning the shirt again. She turned her back to him.

  “Get out.”

  “I told you—”

  “I know what you told me,” she said. “Just get out.”

  “Okay,” he said. “It’s your call.”

  Instead of going out the back door, he walked to the front, opened it, and stepped out.

  FORTY-FOUR

  The first shot went high and wild.

  Clint didn’t move. He couldn’t show any fear, or concern.

  “Wow,” he called, “which of you fired that shot? That was way off. You must’ve rushed it.”

  No answer.

  “Come on, boys, step out,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

  Tony Black stepped out of hiding. He was off to Clint’s right.

  “Where’s Andy, Tony?”

  “Here!”

  He looked to his left. Andy stepped out, but he wasn’t alone. He had Jason right in front of him.

  Damn.

  Clint stepped away from the house. He heard Stephanie come out the front door, so he moved farther away. Now he was out in the open, the center of a triangle formed by the other three.

  Okay, this was the situation he’s foreseen himself getting into—but not with Jason in the play.

  “Okay,” Stephanie said to him, “you wanted me to go for my gun. Let’s do it.”

  “Sure,” he said, “now that you’ve got your boys backing you up.”

  “What’s the difference?” she asked. “You’re the big man, the Gunsmith. This can’t be new to you.”

  “Oh, it’s not,” Clint said. “You’re right, I’ve been through this many times before, and I’m still alive.” He looked over at her two partners. “You boys really want to die so your girlfriend can make a reputation for herself?”

  “Shut up!” Tony Black said.

  Clint ignored him, looked at Stephanie.

  “This is bad, Steph,” he said. “You’re going to die.”

  “There’s three of us, and one of you,” she said. “And that brain-addled boy is in the way. He’s gonna die.”

  “If he dies, you die,” Clint said.

  “You can’t get all of us,” she said. “We’re spread out way too far.”

  “I can get you, though,” he said. “You’re the first one I’ll kill.”

  “You been outsmarted, Gunsmith,” Tony shouted. “Stephanie’s too smart.”

  “She’s the smartest,” Andy chimed in.

  “Clint?” Jason said. Andy had his left arm around the boy’s chest.

  “Just stand still, Jason,” Clint said. “No matter what happens. Okay?” If the boy moved at the wrong time, he might walk right into a bullet.

  “A-All right.”

  “Now the rest of you,” Clint said. “You’ve got one last chance.”

  “The last chance was yours,” Stephanie said, “and you’re out of time . . .”

  She went for her gun.

  * * *

  Tony Black was nervous. His hands were sweating, and he had his eyes on Stephanie. As soon as she went for her gun, that was his signal.

  He saw her move, and he grabbed for his with his sw
eaty palm.

  * * *

  Andy was watching both the Gunsmith and Stephanie. She had told him not to go for his gun until she went for hers, but he kept thinking, What if Adams draws first?

  In the end it was Stephanie who went first, but Adams had his guns out, and Andy never saw him move.

  Guns?

  * * *

  Clint drew his .45 Colt from his holster with his right hand, and the .32 New Line from behind his back with his left. He’d intended to shoot Stephanie with his modified Colt, and either Black or Choate with the New Line, but they were too far away for him to use the .32. The caliber was too small, and one shot might not take them down.

  So he crossed his arms at the last moment, shot her with the .32 and Tony Black with the .45.

  One shot each. The .45 slug hit Tony in the chest, exploded his heart, and killed him instantly.

  The .32 hit Stephanie right between her beautiful eyes. Her head snapped back and she slumped to the ground.

  He turned to face Andy, both guns pointed.

  Andy panicked, drew his gun, and tightened his hold on Jason. He hid behind the boy as fully as he could, pointing his gun at Clint.

  He was scared.

  Clint knew Andy was scared, which meant he might do anything.

  “Take it easy, Andy.”

  “You—you killed ’em both.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I—I never saw you draw.”

  “Andy,” Clint said, “I promised your mother I’d try not to kill you. I hope you’ll help me keep that promise.”

  “I’ll kill the boy,” Andy said. “I’ll kill Jason if—if—” Andy didn’t know what to ask for.

  “Andy,” Clint said, “you can walk away from this alive. But if you kill the boy, I’ll have to kill you. You won’t be leaving me any choice.”

  Andy wet his lips.

  “If I let him go, you won’t kill me?”

  “Let him go, and drop your gun.”

  “A-And you’ll let me go?”

  “I can’t do that,” Clint said, “but you’ll be alive for us to walk back to town together.”

  Andy’s arms were getting tired, so tired.

  “Andy?”

  The boy dropped his gun to the ground, and his arm from around Jason’s chest . . .

  FORTY-FIVE

  The next day Clint rode Eclipse to the front of Big Al Henry’s hotel and dismounted. He went inside, found Henry waiting for him at his table.