The Town Council Meeting

by J. R. Roberts

  FIFTEEN

  It took a couple of hours but eventually they heard the sound of a buggy and many horses.

  Yatesman was surprised they could hear it. The street was usually crowded with activity at this time of the morning, but the entire town seemed to be on hold since this business had started. And as long as Clint Adams was in the saloon with the town council, everybody would be waiting for something to happen.

  When the buggy came into view Yatesman could see Andy Rivers driving it. Behind him came a handful of his men with his foreman, Parker Stark.

  Rivers stopped his buggy just about where Matt Holmes had stopped his buckboard. He was a smaller, lighter man than Holmes, just a few years younger. There was more spring in his step as he approached the sheriff. His foreman remained behind, standing with his legs spread. As far as Yatesman was concerned, Stark was more gunman than foreman, but the lawman had never had any cause to go against him.

  “Sheriff.”

  “Mr. Rivers.”

  “I saw Matt Holmes on the road,” Rivers said. “Seems he and I had the same idea.”

  “Which is?”

  “To come to town and tell you that I had nothing to do with Ed Kennedy’s death.”

  “I see.”

  Rivers looked around.

  “Looks like you have a big job on your hands,” Rivers said.

  “I’m handlin’ it.”

  “Good for you,” Rivers said. “Where’s the judge?”

  “Inside,” Yatesman said. “There’s a . . . meetin’ goin’ on.”

  “Yes, I heard something about that.”

  “I suppose you wanna go inside?”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Rivers said. “Just to . . . pay my respects to the judge.”

  “I’ll have to go in and check.”

  “You do that, Sheriff,” Rivers said. “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Now what?” the judge asked when the sheriff appeared at his elbow. He was not happy, having just lost a hand with a full house to Clint’s larger full house.

  “It’s Andy Rivers, Judge,” Yatesman said. “He wants to come in.”

  “And I suppose he’s out there with that foreman of his and a bunch of men?”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “That foreman?” Clint asked.

  “Name of Stark,” the judge said. “Parker Stark. Gunman, if you ask me.”

  Clint frowned.

  “Seems I’ve heard that name before,” he said.

  “Maybe you have,” the judge said. He looked at Yatesman. “What’s he want?”

  “Said he wants to come in and pay his respects to you.”

  “To the judge?” Mayor Patton asked. “Not to the mayor?”

  “All he said was to the judge.”

  “Oh, all right,” the judge said. “Let him come in, but alone. Tell ‘im to leave that snake outside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Yatesman walked Andy Rivers into the saloon. The man wore a pearl-handled revolver on his right hip. Clint watched him walk and knew he wore the gun for show. That was why he had a man like Parker Stark as his foreman.

  Clint recognized Stark’s name. The man had a reputation in Texas as a hand with a gun. That was about ten years ago. Since then no one had heard anything from him. Apparently, he changed careers from gunman to ramrod.

  Of course, a ramrod who could handle a gun was of great value to a man like Rivers.

  Clint was surprised when the judge stood up to greet Rivers. He didn’t know if this was in deference to the man, or the man’s right hand—Stark.

  “Nice to see you, Andy,” the judge said, shaking hands.

  “Judge.” Rivers look at Clint. “This the fellow who is supposed to have killed Ed Kennedy?”

  “Andy Rivers, this is Clint Adams.”

  “The Gunsmith,” River said. “Did you kill Kennedy, son?”

  Clint looked at Rivers and asked, “Did you hire me to do it?”

  “I did not.”

  “But you wouldn’t need to hire anybody,” Clint said. “You’ve already got somebody in your employ who could do it.”

  “You’re talking about Stark,” Rivers said. “He’s a good man, but he didn’t do it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he only does what I tell him,” Rivers said, “and I did not tell him to kill Ed Kennedy.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “nobody told me, or asked me, or hired me to do it, and I had no reason to do it on my own because I never met the man.”

  “Andy,” Judge said, “I hope your men aren’t gonna start any trouble outside.”

  “Not likely, Judge,” Rivers said. He switched his gaze from Clint to the judge. “That is, unless I tell them to. As long as Kennedy’s men behave themselves, I won’t have to do that.”

  “Did you run into Matthew Holmes on the road, Mr. Rivers?”

  “I did.”

  “Did he tell you about the offer he made me?”

  “He did.”

  “And you two didn’t come to blows?” Clint asked. “Your men weren’t tempted to draw down on each other?”

  “If I have a man in my employ who will draw his gun without first being told by me, I would fire him.”

  “So,” Clint asked, “how often did you and Mr. Holmes work together against Ed Kennedy?”

  Rivers glanced around the table, then at the judge, but when he looked at Clint his glance turned into a stare.

  “What makes you think Matt Holmes and I have ever worked together?”

  Clint smiled.

  “I just don’t think you and your men could encounter him and his men on the road without somebody ending up eating some dirt—unless . . .”

  “Nice seeing you, Judge,” Andy Rivers said. He turned and walked out of the saloon.

  The judge sat down, looked around the table.

  “Well,” he said.

  “You know,” Patton said, “it makes sense. Those two always seemed to be one up on Big Ed.”

  “If that was the case,” Clint asked, “then why was it necessary to kill him?”

  SIXTEEN

  The question hung over the table.

  “That’s true,” Ben Lawson said. “If they were teaming up against him, there was no need for either one to want him dead.”

  “So, the question is,” Clint said, “who else had a reason to want him dead?”

  Again, the town council exchanged glances.

  “How about you gents?”

  The cards remained on the table as that question hung over them.

  “That’s ridiculous,” the judge said. “Why would anybody at this table want to kill Ed Kennedy?”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying,” Clint pointed out. “But at least you fellas knew him. I didn’t.”

  “Ed Kennedy was very important to this town,” the mayor said. “So are Matt Holmes and Andy Rivers. The three of them keep this town alive with their business.”

  “Doesn’t mean somebody from this town didn’t want him dead,” Clint said. “I happened to walk in here as the big, bad stranger and I’m getting the blame. It’s easy to point a finger at the stranger in town, isn’t it?”

  The judge drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

  “I don’t like the direction this is takin’,” he said.

  “Once it’s proven that I didn’t kill him, people are going to start looking elsewhere.”

  The cards stayed on the table.

  “Still want to play poker?” Clint asked.

  “You know,” Lawson said, “Yatesman is never gonna be able to figure this out.”

  “We need somebody who can,” Chambers said.

  Now all four men looked at Clint.

  “Not me,” he said. “I’m a suspect, remember?”

  “I think if you did it, you’d’ve been gone a long time ago,” the judge said. “Since we have a quorum, here, I say we vote on whether or not to hire Adams to solve the mystery of Ed Kennedy’s death.”


  “All in favor,” the mayor said, and the four men all said, “Aye,” at the same time.

  “Nay,” Clint said.

  “Sorry,” the judge said, “you ain’t a member of the council.”

  “But I’m the guy you’re trying to hire,” Clint said. “Why should I help a town that’s so ready to string me up for something I didn’t do?”

  “It ain’t the town that’s ready to string you up,” the judge said, “it’s the Bar K boys.”

  “And they’re still out there,” Clint pointed out. “To take you up on your offer I’d have to be able to get out of this saloon.”

  “You could slip out the back,” Lawson said.

  “Somebody would tell them as soon as I did.”

  “We can make sure they don’t,” Chambers said.

  “How?”

  “We’ll empty the saloon,” the judge said. “We’ll say the meeting’s too important and we need to have the saloon to ourselves. Once everybody’s out, you can slip out the back.”

  “And walk around town?”

  “How many of the people in town do you think would recognize you walking the streets?” the mayor asked. “Hell, I ain’t sure they even recognize me when I’m on the street.”

  Clint looked around the table. All four men were staring at him.

  “What about the game?” he asked.

  “We’ll keep the game goin’,” the judge said, “but I think we all need some rest. Why don’t we take a break to empty the saloon, catch a nap, and then work on getting Adams out the back door?”

  “Wait a second,” Clint said. “I haven’t agreed to anything, yet.”

  “Yet?” the mayor asked.

  “He means money,” Lawson said.

  “Well,” Clint said, “the word you used was ‘hire.’ ”

  The other three glared at the judge.

  “Well, you can’t expect him to do it for nothin’,” the judge said. “Why would he?”

  “Ain’t he got enough of our money over the past two days?” Chambers asked.

  “Consider that as payment for poker lessons,” Clint said. “Wanting me to solve a murder . . . that’s extra.”

  “Okay, how much?” the judge asked.

  “I don’t know,” Clint said. “I’m still not sure I want to do it.”

  “Well,” the judge said, “just because we believe you didn’t do it doesn’t mean anyone else does.”

  “But if you tell people . . .” Clint said.

  “And why should we?” Lawson asked.

  “And who says we all believe you didn’t do it?” Chambers asked.

  Clint looked at the judge, who just shrugged.

  “That’s blackmail,” he said.

  “Could be called that,” the judge said, “but blackmail wouldn’t involve payment, so why don’t we just agree that you’ll be paid and discuss a price?”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Judge,” Clint said.

  SEVENTEEN

  The game broke up briefly, which meant the town council meeting was in “recess.”

  Clint found Jennifer and asked her if he could use her room.

  “Should I come up with you?”

  “After a while,” he said. “They’re going to start emptying the saloon. Come up when that’s done, so you can let me know.”

  “And how long will we have?” she asked.

  “Long enough for me to take a nap and make some decisions,” he said.

  “Ooh,” she said, “a nap sounds like fun.”

  “Waking up from a nap can be fun,” he said, “if you get my meaning.”

  She smiled.

  “Nobody ever said I was slow,” she told him. “Okay, the door’s open. Go ahead. I’ll be up there in a little while.”

  Clint didn’t know where the council members went to get their rest. And he didn’t know how much luck they were having downstairs emptying the saloon. He walked to the window and looked out. It was dark again and the Bar K men were once again carrying torches. He wondered how long it would be before somebody got the big idea to toss one through a window.

  He was surprised that Sheriff Yatesman and his temporary deputies seemed to be doing the job, keeping the Bar K boys out of the saloon. Now, as he watched, people started to come streaming out of the saloon. He wondered what the reaction would be on the street.

  He decided to actually try to get some sleep before Jennifer showed up. Also, he had some thinking to do about the killing of Ed Kennedy. He and the town council had come to an agreement on price, and he was now charged with solving a murder—and solving it would ultimately prove that he was not the one who killed the man. The money was secondary.

  He removed his boots and lay down on the bed, fully dressed, with his gun hung on the bedpost. He had decided, after all these years, that bedposts had been invented for him to hang his gun on.

  He clasped his hands behind his head and wondered what his detective friends like Talbot Roper and Heck Thomas would do?

  When Sheriff Yatesman saw everyone leaving the saloon he thought it was all over. Had Adams slipped out the back and made his escape, after all? He wanted to go in and find out, but he had to wait for everyone to come out, first.

  When the Bar K foreman, Arnie Coleman, saw the men filing out of the saloon he wondered what the hell was going on.

  “Hey, Arnie,” one of the other men asked, “what the hell—”

  “I know, I know,” Coleman said. “Keep your eyes open, men. Adams might be tryin’ to slip out with the crowd.”

  “And if we see ‘im?”

  Coleman turned to his men and said, “If anybody has a shot at Adams, take it!”

  EIGHTEEN

  Yates finally made his way into the saloon and caught the bartender and owner by the arm.

  “What’s goin’ on, Sammy?”

  “I dunno,” Sammy said. “The judge tol’ me to empty the saloon, so I’m emptyin’ the saloon.”

  “Why?”

  “I dunno,” Sammy said, again. “Ask ‘im. You know, I was doin’ a heckuva business. Now I’m supposed to close? By the time I open again all these men will go back to their regular saloon.”

  Sammy walked away, shaking his head.

  Yatesman looked for the judge, spotted him at the back of the room with the mayor, and hurried over to the two men.

  “Judge, Mayor, is it over?”

  “Nothin’s over, Sheriff,” the judge said, “we just wanted to empty the saloon.”

  “Why?”

  “We want the rest of our town council meeting to be private,” the mayor said. “That’s all you gotta know.”

  “Sheriff, your job is still to keep the Bar K boys at bay.”

  “Keep ‘em where?”

  “Out of the saloon,” the mayor said, “just like you been doin’.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t ask any questions, Pete,” the judge said, slapping the lawman on the back. “Just keep doin’ your job. You’ve been doin’ great.”

  “Wha—really? Well, okay . . .”

  Now the judge’s slap turned into a push toward the door.

  “Just keep doin’ your job,” he said, again.

  As the sheriff went back out the doors Sammy closed and locked them, then turned to stare at the judge and the mayor.

  “Don’t worry, Sammy,” the judge said. “It’s temporary.”

  “You got some empty rooms upstairs?” the mayor asked.

  “Sure,” Sammy said. “The girls went up to their rooms, but there’s a couple. I think Mr. Chambers and Mr. Lawson took one. You and the judge can have the other one.”

  “What say, Mayor?” the judge asked. “Roommates?”

  “Just for tonight, Judge. Sammy, we’ll be back down to continue our meetin’.”

  “What am I supposed to do until then?” the saloon owner asked.

  “We’re takin’ a short rest, Sammy,” the mayor said. “I suggest you do the same.”

  “Yeah,” Sammy said, “rest.�
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  Clint woke up with Jennifer tugging at his trousers. He’d taken his boots off, so once she got his belt undone the trousers gave in to her insistent tugging.

  “Jennifer—”

  “Quiet,” she said, “just lie there and rest.”

  Was she taking his pants off to make him more comfortable—or to make herself more comfortable?

  It became clear once his pants were off and she went for his underwear, running her hands over his bare thighs.

  “Jenn—”

  “I’m gonna relax you,” she told him, sliding his underwear off.

  His cock had already gotten the message and was getting harder and longer.

  Now he noticed she had turned the flame on the wall lamp up when she entered. He had turned it down before he fell asleep.

  She stepped back and reached behind herself to undo her dress, slide it down her shoulders, and step out of it. She had no undergarments on. He didn’t know if this was always the case, or if she had started doing that since his arrival. He didn’t mind, though. Her full breasts came into view, and as she massaged them the nipples became harder, and so did he.

  Naked, she joined him on the bed, and this time she rubbed her big breasts over the bare skin of his thighs. She did that for a little while, kissing his belly at the same time, and then eventually took his rigid shaft between her big breasts and rolled it there. The head of his dick peeked up from her cleavage, and she ran her tongue over it.

  “Relax me, huh?” he asked. “I’m not feeling very relaxed at the moment.”

  “I’m not, either,” she said, grinning up at him, “but don’t worry, we both will be . . . soon.”

  When the front doors of the saloon were locked Arnie Coleman said aloud, “What the hell is goin’ on?”

  He ran forward, but stopped short when the sheriff and his deputies turned to face him.

  “What’s goin’ on, Sheriff? Where’s Adams?”

  “He’s inside, as far as I know, Coleman.”

  “As far as you know?” Coleman demanded. “How do we know he didn’t slip out the back?”

  “Because I have a man in the back to make sure none of you slip in,” Yatesman said, “and I’m sure you have a man to make sure he doesn’t slip out. And neither of us has heard anythin’.”