Showdown in Desperation
Page 9
“I got no problem with that,” Johnny said.
The sheriff watched as Johnny Creed walked to his horse and mounted up.
“You want some advice?” he asked.
“Sure, why not?”
“Before you get too far on the trail, you better reload your gun,” the sheriff said. “You never know how many friends these fellas might’ve had.”
“I’ll do that, Sheriff,” Johnny said. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing, kid,” the lawman said. “Good luck. I hope you find your daddy.”
“Yeah,” Johnny said, “me, too.”
He whirled his horse around and kicked him into a gallop.
“Somebody clean up this mess!” the sheriff shouted.
• • •
Clint rode into Reseda, reined in Eclipse in front of the saloon. If and when he crossed into Arizona, he’d risk talking to the local law, but while he was in New Mexico, he didn’t want to take the chance.
Bartenders, though, well, that was a different matter.
He entered the first saloon he came to, figuring anyone riding into town off the trail would have done the same.
“Help ya?” the bartender asked.
“Beer,” Clint said.
“Comin’ up.”
The barman set the cold beer in front of Clint, who picked it up and drank half down, cutting the dust.
“Musta been thirsty,” the bartender said.
“I’ve been riding for a while.”
“To get here?”
Clint shook his head.
“I’m looking for a young fella,” Clint said. “His name’s Johnny Creed.”
“Whataya want him for?”
“That’s my business,” Clint said. “Why? Was he here?”
“He was here,” the bartender said. “His old man was here, too.”
“Were they together?”
“Naw, they came a couple of days apart.”
“And how long ago was the kid here?”
“Couple of days.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“West, far as I could tell,” the bartender said. “Anyway, that’s the direction he rode when he left after killin’ three of our citizens.”
“How did that happen?”
“Out in the street,” the barman said. “Guess he’s just like his pappy.”
“Why do you say that? He shoot them in the back?”
“Jimmy Creed gunned two men fair and square when he was here,” the man said. “Then, when the kid showed up, three of their friends tried to take their revenge.”
“And the kid killed them?”
The bartender nodded.
“All three,” he said.
“Fair and square?”
“Fair as can be,” the bartender said. “The sheriff saw the whole thing.”
“So your sheriff didn’t try to take either of them?” Clint asked.
“Nope,” the barman said, “let them ride out just as easy as you please.”
Clint finished his beer, dropped a coin on the bar.
“Thanks.”
“You trackin’ him?”
“I’m looking for him,” Clint said.
“Chances are you might find them together,” the barman said. “You ready for that?”
Clint left without answering.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Clint stopped in the general store to pick up some coffee and beef jerky and a few other necessities. As he came out with his purchases in a burlap bag, he found a man wearing a star waiting for him.
“Hello, there,” the man said.
“Sheriff.”
“Heard you were over to the saloon, asking some questions about the Creeds.”
“Johnny Creed,” Clint said. “I’m not interested in Jimmy.”
“You a friend or kin to the young man?”
“Nope.”
“Mean him some harm?”
“No.”
“So you’re just . . . lookin’ for him.”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Don’t see why that’s any of your business.”
“What’s your name, fella?”
“Don’t see why that’s any of your business either,” Clint said. “I’m just leaving town, Sheriff.”
“Well,” the lawman said, “this job causes a man to have a powerful curiosity when it comes to strangers.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You ain’t interested in helping me satisfy my curiosity about you?”
“No, I’m not.” Clint walked to Eclipse, tied the burlap bag so it hung from his saddle pommel.
“Nice animal,” the sheriff said.
“Thanks.”
“You know,” the lawman said, “I heard about a man who rides a horse like this.”
“Really?” Clint turned and faced the lawman. “What else have you heard about this man?”
“That he has a reputation,” the sheriff said, “as a fast gun.”
“That all?”
“He’s kind of a legend—”
“Okay, stop there.”
“So you are Clint Adams? The Gunsmith?”
“That’s right, I am,” Clint said. “So what?”
“Like I said,” the lawman replied. “I’m just a curious guy.”
“And does this satisfy your curiosity?”
“Some.”
“Well,” Clint said, “I’m afraid that’s going to have to do.”
Clint turned Eclipse so he could mount the animal without turning his back to the lawman.
“If you’re trackin’ Johnny Creed,” the man said, “you should know that he’s lookin for his daddy. You might just find them at the same time.”
“I’m aware of that,” Clint said, “but thanks for your concern.”
Clint rode Eclipse out of town, still keeping his eye on the lawman, but the man let him ride out.
TWENTY-NINE
Jimmy Creed stared out the window of his hotel. The main street of the town of Desperation, Arizona, was quiet. It was a small town with two hotels, three saloons, a general store, and a sheriff who had no deputies. There was no telegraph office, which suited him.
He’d been there three days when he saw the rider coming down the street. There was something familiar about him . . . and then he got it. He leaned into the glass of the window, smooth and cold against his forehead. Was it him?
He left the room and ran down to the lobby. By the time he came out the front door, the rider was gone.
• • •
Johnny Creed rode into Desperation. He and his horse were both bone weary and hungry. He found the livery, gave his horse over to the hostler to be rubbed down and fed.
“Where can I get a decent steak?” he asked.
“Café down the street,” the man said.
“How many hotels?”
“Two,” the man said. “One as bad as the other. But the steak at Harry’s is pretty good.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Johnny left the livery and walked down the street until he came to Harry’s. It was between lunch and supper, so he got a table with no trouble, ordered a steak. When it came, he dug in.
“I looked in the saloons first,” a voice said. “Should’ve figured you’d eat first.”
Johnny looked up at the man, his mouth full. An onion was sticking out, wrapped around his chin. He caught it with his tongue.
“Got your mother’s appetite, I see,” Jimmy Creed said. “Lord, she got fat.”
“How would you know?” Jimmy asked. “You left?”
“I kept tabs,” Johnny said. “Can I sit?”
“Why not?”
Johnny sat across from Jimmy. Th
e waiter came over.
“I’ll have the same,” he said, “and bring two beers.”
“I can’t afford—”
“It’s on me,” Johnny said.
“Okay, then.”
“What are you doin’ here, boy?” Jimmy asked.
“Lookin’ for you.”
“That a fact?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Thought it was time, is all.”
“How long?”
“Lost track. I caught up to your trail is Reseda.”
“Reseda,” Jimmy said. “I had a set-to in Reseda.”
“I know,” Johnny said. “Three of their friends came after me.”
“What happened?”
“I killed them.”
Jimmy smiled.
“My boy,” he said.
The waiter came with his plate, set it down in front of him, then set the two beers down.
“I’ll drink to that,” Jimmy said, raising his glass.
Johnny nodded and drank.
“You on the run?” Jimmy asked, cutting into his steak.
“What makes you ask that?”
“Well,” his pa said, “if you’re enough like me, then you’re probably on the run.”
“I might be.”
“Posse?”
“Not quite.”
“Then who?”
Johnny chewed and said, “Might be Clint Adams.”
Jimmy raised his eyebrows.
“The Gunsmith?” he said. “I’m impressed. What did you do to piss him off?”
“Well,” Johnny said, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, “I might have killed a friend of his.”
“Why?”
“They made a fool out of me in poker.”
“Ah,” Jimmy said. “You a good poker player?”
Johnny laughed.
“Naw,” he said, “that’s how come they were able to make a fool out of me.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said, “we Creeds were never very good with the cards. Guns, yeah, but not cards.”
“I’m kinda hungry,” Johnny said.
“Yeah, me, too,” Johnny said. “What’s say we catch up over dessert?”
“That sounds good.”
• • •
Over pie they continued to catch up.
“I made it look like Adams killed the gambler,” Johnny said.
“That was clever.”
“He’s probably after me to prove he didn’t do it.”
“And there’s probably a posse after him.”
“I guess.”
“So when he catches up, you want to try him?”
Johnny shrugged.
“You’re pretty fast, huh?”
“I killed three men in Reseda.”
“Were you nervous?”
Johnny laughed.
“I was scared shitless.”
“First time?”
Johnny nodded.
“Like that,” he said. “On the square.”
“Three men, huh?”
“Well,” Johnny said, “I doubt they were gunmen.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said, “their friends weren’t very good either.”
“You think you could take the Gunsmith?”
Jimmy shrugged.
“He’s probably gettin’ older, but then so am I,” Jimmy said. “Maybe you’re the one who’ll take him.”
“Maybe.”
They waited while the waiter poured more coffee.
“You look good, boy.”
Johnny stared across the table at his father.
“You do look older,” he said.
“Oh, yeah,” Jimmy said. “I’m payin’ for a hard life.”
“Mind if I tag along for a while?” Johnny asked.
“Sure, why not?” Jimmy said. “Although I was plannin’ to light here for a while. Take it easy.”
“Okay.”
“The Gunsmith might catch up.”
“If he does, he can’t prove nothin’,” Johnny said.
“Maybe he won’t have to,” Jimmy said.
“Yeah, he will,” Johnny said. “The only way the sheriff in El Legado will stop looking for him is if he can prove I did it.”
“And if he kills you?”
“That won’t prove a thing.”
Jimmy sat back and regarded Johnny critically.
“You’re pretty smart, boy.”
“I gotta get a hotel room.”
“I’ve got one,” Jimmy said. “Come on.”
THIRTY
Clint was ten miles from Desperation, in a small town called Tyler. He had taken a hotel room for one night, so he could figure out what to do. He decided to do that when he found out that Tyler had no lawman. He figured the posse would have to stop for the night, so he could take the chance of sleeping in a bed for one night.
He left his room, went to a small café down the street for a breakfast of steak and eggs. Over the meal he wondered how long Sheriff Cox would keep looking for him. But that didn’t really matter. He couldn’t walk away from this, not with a murder hanging over his head. He had to prove that he was innocent of killing the gambler. He had to find Johnny Creed and prove that the boy had done it.
The pretty waitress came over and poured him some more coffee. She was blond, in her thirties, with a ready smile she gave to every customer.
“How’s the breakfast?” she asked.
“Not bad,” he said.
“That’s a rave,” she said, “compared to what most folks around here say.”
“Well,” Clint said, “I’ve been on the trail a long time. The coffee’s good and strong.”
“Folks around here complain about that.”
“Coffee can’t be too strong,” he said.
“You passin’ through?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve got a room for the night, but I’ll be checking out after this and riding out.”
“Too had,” she said. She leaned over and whispered into his ear, “I haven’t had sex in a long time.”
She walked away. He watched her hips sway and she approached another table and poured coffee for an older couple. She glanced over at him and that was when he noticed that her smile was different for him.
He finished eating and she came back to pour him more coffee. Something occurred to him.
“Is this the only place in town to eat?”
“Pretty much.”
“Have you seen a young man named Johnny Creed?”
“Johnny Creed?” she repeated. “No.”
“Maybe if I described him . . .”
“I saw Jimmy Creed recently,” she said. “Are they related?”
“Father and son. When did you see Jimmy Creed?”
She started to answer, then stopped. She shifted her weight to one hip and studied him.
“You really determined to leave town after breakfast?”
“Why?”
“I might be able to give you some information,” she said, “but I need you to do somethin’ for me.”
“What?”
She smiled.
• • •
The waitress’s name was Miley. She told him she was thirty-nine, and he believed her. Why would a woman admit to thirty-nine in a lie?
He went home with her and she took him right to her bedroom, where he watched her undress.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, peeling her clothes off and discarding them. “I smell like fried foods and sweat.”
“And sex,” he added.
When she was naked, she stood for his approval. She was full bodied, a little thick in the waist, but that was okay. She had big, pink-tipped b
reasts, full thighs and butt, a woman’s body built for a bed.
He stepped up to her and ran his hands over her body while he kissed her neck and shoulders.
“Mmm,” he said, “I love the way you smell.”
He kissed her breasts, sucked on her nipples until she began to writhe in his arms, and then he pushed her down on her bed.
“I want to taste you,” he said.
“Wha—” she started, but he dove into her blond pubic bush face first, sticking out his tongue. “Oh my God! Nobody around here does . . . that!”
“Well,” he said, looking up at her from between her thighs, “as you know, I’m not from around here.”
He pressed his face to her again, licked her until she was sopping wet and squirming, then she reached for him, pulling his shirt over his head.
“Come on, come on, damn it,” she said, “get naked. I can’t wait anymore.”
He obliged her by standing and stripping off his boots and pants. His gun belt went on the bedpost, within easy reach, and then he got on the bed, mounted her, and drove his hard cock into her hot pussy.
“Oh, yeahhhhh,” she moaned.
He began to fuck her, slowly at first, then faster and faster until her bed was jumping up and down off the floor. Luckily, she had her own house, so there was nobody around them to hear as she screamed and moaned.
And when he exploded inside her, there was no one nearby to hear him bellow like a wounded bull . . .
“Holy cow!” she said, moments later. “That was . . .” She lost her breath.
“Yeah,” he said, lying next to her, trying to catch his own breath, “it was.”
“For you, too?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Jesus,” she said, turning to face him, pressing her breasts against him, “I needed that.”
He didn’t want to tell her that he needed it, too, ever since seeing the whore, Angel, drop her top and reveal her breasts to him. He hadn’t had the time to do anything about it then.
“Glad to help,” he said. “Now how about you keep up your end of the bargain?”
“Oh,” she said, looking sheepish, “that.”
“What?” he said. “Oh, hell, don’t tell me, Miley . . . you lied to me?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“What do you mean by ‘not exactly’?”
She ran her hand down over his belly, through the sweaty pubic hair to his cock, which she took into her hand and began to stroke.