Kentucky Showdown
Page 9
“He won’t,” Fontaine said.
“Are you sure?”
“It’s already being handled,” Fontaine said, “as we speak. You just get back to town and be ready to do your job.”
“All right,” Hackett said, “if you say so.”
Gage showed the lawman out, then came back.
“He’s gonna fold,” Gage said.
“Don’t worry,” Fontaine said, “the unfortunate sheriff is gonna catch a bullet during the robbery. He’s gonna die a hero.”
“And Adams?”
“He’s just gonna die.”
THIRTY-THREE
Clint went to the nearest saloon for a beer. It turned out to be the saloon where Jesse worked. He’d forgotten that.
“Hey, stranger,” she said, coming up next to him.
It was early, the place was mostly empty, and she wasn’t dressed for work. Instead of a brightly colored gown, she wore a simple blue cotton dress.
“Hello,” he said, turning to her while holding his beer.
“What have you been doing?” she asked. “Haven’t seen you in here since last time.”
“I’ve been keeping busy,” he told her.
“Too busy to come and see me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Busy like everybody else?” she asked. “Trying to figure out which horse to bet on?”
“No,” Clint said, “I know which horse to bet on.”
“How did you figure that out?”
“Like you said,” he answered. “Disregard all the tips, bet what’s left.”
“Smart man.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’m not busy now. You wanna come upstairs?”
“Men usually have to pay to go upstairs, don’t they?” he asked.
“Like I said,” she replied, rubbing his arm, “I’m not workin’.”
He studied her for a moment, then said, “All right.”
“Bring the beer,” she said, taking his free hand.
He took a chance, carrying the beer in his right hand while she led him by the left. He wondered if he’d get up the stairs, but before long they were there, walking to her door. She opened it, and drew him inside, closing the door behind her.
She moved away from him, then turned and smiled. She peeled the dress down from her shoulders, exposing herself little by little.
He watched, sipping the beer as the dress pooled at her feet and she kicked it away. She wore no undergarments, and was gloriously naked. She smiled again, cupped her breasts in her hands, used her thumbs to flick the nipples until they were distended.
He knew his attention was supposed to be fixed on her, but he could hear the footsteps in the hallway behind him.
As she spread her legs and reached down between them, probing herself with her fingers, the door suddenly slammed open. She had closed but not locked it.
He dropped the beer mug and turned. Before it shattered on the floor, his gun was out and he was firing.
There were three men in the hall, two framed in the doorway and one behind them. Their guns were out, but they had no chance. The two in the door folded over as his slugs struck them in the belly, their guns falling from their hands. They got a few shots off, but they went wild.
The third man started running down the hall. Clint stepped over the dead men and raced after him.
“Stop!” he shouted at the fleeing man.
He wanted to talk to him, but the man turned with his gun in his hand.
Clint let the man get off a shot, but in the end he had no choice. He fired, striking the man in the chest and the belly. He fell to the floor, dead.
Clint moved down the hall and checked the body, then returned to the room to check the other two. When he looked at Jesse, he saw her lying on the ground, bleeding from a bullet wound in her chest, right between her breasts.
THIRTY-FOUR
Clint was waiting in the saloon when Sheriff Hackett arrived.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“You don’t know?”
“I just got here, Adams.”
“You got some dead men upstairs,” Clint said. “And a dead woman.”
“Woman?”
“Jesse,” the bartender said.
“You know what happened?” the lawman asked the barkeep.
“Three men went after him when he went upstairs with Jesse,” the bartender said. “That’s all I know.”
Hackett looked up toward the second floor, then back at Clint.
“Don’t go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Hackett nodded, went upstairs to have a look.
“Let me have another beer,” Clint said to the bartender. “I spilled the other one.”
* * *
Clint was working on the beer when the sheriff came down. At the same moment his two deputies came through the batwings. Clint saw them in the mirror.
The sheriff walked up to him.
“You killed three men and a woman, Adams,” Hackett said. “I’ll need your gun.”
“I killed three men,” Clint said. “They killed the woman. And I’m not giving you my gun, Sheriff.”
“You defying the law, Adams?”
“I’m defying you,” Clint said.
“Why do you want to do this the hard way?”
“There isn’t any other way to do it,” Clint said. “You’re in Fontaine’s pocket. Did you think I didn’t know that?”
Hackett wet his lips.
“Don’t risk your young deputies on this move, Hackett,” Clint said. “Go back to Fontaine, tell him this didn’t work, and you tried to do your job.”
Hackett wet his lips again.
“Sheriff?” one of the deputies said.
“Stand down,” Hackett said.
“But—” the other started.
“I said stand down!”
The two deputies relaxed.
“Get out!” Hackett said. “Go back to the office.”
The two young men backed their way to the door, then went out.
Hackett looked around. There were a few men in the saloon, watching the action. Then he looked at the bartender.
“Give me a beer.”
The bartender did.
“You should leave town,” Hackett said.
“Who else is in on this, Sheriff?”
“Why risk your life for somebody else’s money?” the lawman asked.
“I’m not leaving, Sheriff,” Clint said. “Tell Fontaine that. Tell him next time to send somebody better. Are any of those men up there Blacker?”
“No.”
“Then tell him to send his best.”
“I ain’t said I work for him,” Hackett reminded Clint.
“You don’t have to,” Clint said. He finished his beer, put his mug down. “Don’t be around when they come after me again, Sheriff.”
“You’d shoot a lawman?” Hackett said.
“No,” Clint said, “but I’d shoot you.”
* * *
Outside, Clint tensed, waited for another attack, but apparently it wasn’t coming. Somebody had expected the three men to get the job done, and had not set up a backup plan.
Somebody was going to be very disappointed.
* * *
“What’s going on, Sheriff?” the bartender asked.
“Never mind.”
“What’s he talkin’ about, you workin’ for Fontaine?” the man asked.
“Shut up!” Hackett said. “It’s none of your business.”
“Okay, then,” the bartender said, “what about the bodies upstairs?”
“I’ll have them removed.”
Hackett drained his beer, slammed the mug down, and then went out the batwings. He didn’t see Adams any
where, and stepped into the street. He didn’t relish going back to Fontaine and telling him what had happened.
THIRTY-FIVE
“They did what?” Canby asked.
“Tried to kill me,” Clint said.
“Are you all right?” Elena asked.
“I’m fine,” Clint said.
They were in the living room of Ben Canby’s house.
“What happened exactly?” Canby asked.
“They sent three guns against me.”
“You killed them?” Elena asked.
“I did.”
“Anyone else hurt?” Canby asked.
“A saloon girl,” Clint said. “She’s dead.”
“The poor girl,” Elena said.
“Don’t feel too bad for her,” Clint said. “She lured me in there to get me killed.”
“I’ll get some coffee,” Elena said, and left the room.
“Sorry to shock her,” Clint said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Canby said. “Believe me, she’s not shocked. Neither am I. What’d the sheriff say about it?”
“The sheriff,” Clint said, “is in Fontaine’s pocket.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Hackett?” Canby said, shocked. “I thought he was a decent man.”
“But a bad checker player. Yes, I know.”
“Do you think I was lying?” Canby asked.
“No, no,” Clint said, “nothing like that.”
“So what do we do for law?” Canby asked. “Who’s gonna stop them from robbing the Derby tomorrow?”
“Well,” Clint said, “I guess I am.”
“You are what?” Elena asked, coming in with a tray.
“Clint says the law is in Fontaine’s pocket,” Canby said, “so he’s gonna stop them from robbing Churchill Downs tomorrow.”
“How do you propose to do that?” she asked, pouring coffee for them.
“He’s bound to have a gang hitting the track,” Canby said. “How are you gonna go up against that many men? Alone?”
“I may have to figure out a way to do something,” Clint said, “before the Derby.”
* * *
“All three?” Fontaine asked.
“And the girl,” Hackett said.
“And you didn’t arrest him?”
“I . . . wasn’t gonna go up against him with two green deputies,” Hackett said. “That’s Blacker’s job, not mine. Where is he?”
“He’s out there,” Fontaine said. “Don’t worry, he’s got a plan.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Fontaine said. “Adams has to be dead before the race tomorrow.”
“Your men are gonna hit the track during the Derby?” Hackett asked.
“Don’t you worry about that,” Fontaine said. “You just do your part.”
“I’ll do my part,” Hackett said. “As long as I get paid.”
“You’ll get paid,” Fontaine said. “Everybody’s going to get paid.” Fontaine looked at Gage, who was standing in the door of the office. “Everybody is going to get what they deserve.”
* * *
Elena had gone to the kitchen while Clint and Canby drank coffee and discussed the situation.
“What about killin’ him?” Canby asked.
“Killing who?”
“Fontaine.”
“Who’s going to kill him? You?”
“No,” Canby said. “I mean you.”
“You want me to just walk in and kill him?” Clint asked.
“Dumb idea, huh?”
“I don’t just kill people for no reason,” Clint said. “They usually have guns in their hands.”
“Well, what then?”
“I suppose,” Clint said, “I could go and see him, and tell him I know what he’s planning.”
“But you don’t.”
“Not his exact plan,” Clint said. “But I know what he’s basically planning on doing. I could also go to the Jockey Club and tell them to beef up their security.”
“You think they would? Based on your word?”
“Probably not,” Clint said. “They’d probably want to check with the sheriff.”
“And we’re back to that again,” Canby said. “Maybe I should just pull my horse. I mean, what’s the point of running if there’s not going to be any money?”
“What about actually having the Kentucky Derby winner?”
“That would be nice,” Canby said, “but I’d also like the purse money.”
“Okay, then,” Clint said, putting his coffee cup down and standing, “then let’s make sure you do.”
THIRTY-SIX
There was no time for Clint to send for any help. And Canby was no hand with a gun. There was only one person Clint thought he could go to for help.
He found John Sun Horse in the fourth saloon he looked in. It was coming on midday and the small saloon was filling up. Sun Horse had a table in the back. Clint approached the table without bringing a beer with him this time.
“Sun Horse.”
The Cherokee looked up from the beer mug he’d been staring into.
“Your hands are empty.”
“Yes, they are,” Clint said. He sat across from the Cherokee. “I need your help.”
“I do not usually talk without a fresh beer,” the Indian reminded him.
“I don’t have the time to sober you up, John,” Clint said.
“What is it?”
“I found out what Fontaine is up to,” Clint said, and went on to explain . . .
* * *
John Sun Horse pushed the remnants of his beer away when Clint finished his story.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked. “I am a tracker.”
“You must know some men who know how to use guns,” Clint said.
“Perhaps.”
“I need them.”
“To do what?”
“To protect the track.”
“Do they not have security for that?”
“I’m going to talk to the security people and offer them our help,” Clint said. “But I have to know that I have help to offer.”
“The race is tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“You have not given me much time to come up with a fighting force.”
“But can you do it?”
“Will I be paid?”
“Yes.”
“Will they be paid?”
“I’m sure I can get the track to pay a reward once we save their money.” He wasn’t sure, at all.
“How many men will you need?”
“I don’t know,” Clint said. “How many can you get?”
“On short notice? I do not know.”
“Will you try?”
The Cherokee nodded.
“I will try,” the Indian said. “Meet me back here in two hours.”
“Good,” Clint said. “I’m going to the track now. Thank you, Sun Horse.”
“Do not thank me yet.”
* * *
Clint went to Churchill Downs and paid his admission to get in. There were races going on, but he wasn’t interested in that. He found a security guard.
“Where’s your boss?”
“In his office, I guess,” the bored guard said.
“Where is that?”
The man pointed and gave Clint directions.
“Thanks. By the way, what’s his name?”
“Butler,” the guard said, “Captain Sam Butler.”
* * *
Clint followed the directions, found a door marked SECURITY, and knocked.
“Come!” a deep voice called out.
He opened the door and walked in. A barrel-chested man wi
th thick arms and an even thicker mustache eyed him from behind a desk. He wore a uniform with a badge on his chest. Clint had the feeling he was looking at an ex-lawman.
“What do you want?” the man asked. “Who are you?”
“Captain Butler?”
“That’s me.”
“My name is Clint Adams.”
The man eyed Clint and asked, “On the level?”
“On the level.”
“I heard you were in town.” Butler stood and extended his hand. Clint shook it. “What can I do for you?”
“I think the question is, what can I do for you?” Clint said.
“What do you mean?” Butler asked. “What could you do for me?”
“Maybe save your job,” Clint said, “and save the track a lot of money.”
Butler sat back down.
“I’m listening.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Captain Butler listened to what Clint had to say, sitting stock-still the whole time. When Clint finished, the man shook his head.
“Can’t be done.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our security is too good,” Butler said. “There’s no way anybody can rob us.”
Clint had heard that before from the securest of banks.
“Anyone’s security can be beat, Captain.”
The man firmed his jaw and said, “Not mine.”
“I have information that indicates you’re going to be hit,” Clint reminded him. “Why don’t you show me your security so I can—”
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Adams,” Butler said. “I know your reputation, and there’s nothing in it that says you’re a security expert.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“I thank you for bringing this to my attention,” Butler said, “but if someone is going to try to hit us, I welcome the attempt. They’ll have a big surprise coming to them. Good day.”
Clint sat there for a moment, but he recognized that the man had shut down and would not be listening to anything else he had to say on the subject.
He stood up and left without another word.
* * *
Clint made a circuit of the track, trying to figure out what Captain Butler was so proud of. There were guards everywhere, including the area where the bets were made. For the most part, though, Clint thought they looked as bored as the first guard he’d encountered.