EIGHT
Clint spent the evening in Nick Earp’s Gem Saloon. While he was there, he discovered that the local law also drank there.
“Clint Adams,” Nick said, at one point, “meet Dick Evans, sheriff of Colton.”
“Adams,” the lawman said, not offering his hand. “I heard you was passin’ through.”
Sheriff Evans, who looked to be sixty if he was a day, stared at Clint owlishly, as though he needed spectacles. In fact, Clint noticed a pair sticking up from the man’s shirt pocket, but he didn’t make a move to put them on.
“Not looking for any trouble, Sheriff,” Clint assured him.
“Wouldn’t be my problem anyway,” the sheriff said. “I pretty much been replaced by a police department. The days of the sheriff are numbered. Mark my words on that. Gonna push us out soon.”
“That’s progress, Dick,” Nick said.
Dick and Nick, Clint thought. The two men looked like they were friends.
“Well, there’s one good thing about bein’ pushed out,” Sheriff Evans said.
“What’s that?” Clint asked.
“Don’t matter a damn now if I drink on duty. Nick, a whiskey. Adams?”
“Just a beer.”
Nick signaled to the bartender, who reacted immediately.
“Whiskey for the sheriff, Billy boy, and a beer for Mr. Adams.”
“Comin’ up.”
“See that boy there?” Evans said, indicating the young bartender.
“What about him?” Clint asked.
“Used ta be my deputy,” Evans said, “but I got no need for a deputy now, so he’s pushin’ drinks.”
“He’s doin’ more than that, Dick,” Nick Earp said. “Give the boy credit, he wants to learn the business.”
“Yeah, the saloon business,” Evans said. “How long are you gonna be around once they stop you from serving liquor altogether?”
“That ain’t gonna happen, Dick,” Earp said.
“And that’s wishful thinkin’ on your part, Nick,” Evans said, accepting his whiskey from Billy.
Suddenly, it was clear to Clint that the sheriff had started drinking long before he came into the Gem saloon.
“Sheriff,” Nick said, “grab a table and relax.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Evans staggered to a table and sat down heavily. Within seconds his head was down on the table and he was dozing.
“They let him keep his badge,” Nick said, “but he ain’t really been a sheriff for a long time.”
“That’s a shame,” Clint said.
“It is,” Nick said. “Believe me, Dick Evans was a good man at one time.”
“Wait a minute,” Clint said, “you don’t mean Marshal Richard Evans?”
“Same man.”
“My God,” Clint said, “what happened to him?”
“Turned to the bottle when he realized nobody needed him anymore.”
“But he was a federal U.S. marshal for years.”
“New judge came in, they had words, and he was out,” Nick said.
“What’d he say?”
“Actually, it was more what he did.”
“What did he do?”
“Broke the judge’s nose.”
“I thought you said they had words?”
“That was Richard Evans’s way of havin’ words.
“So now he’s Dick?”
“Figures he’ll stay unknown that way.”
“I figured out who he was.”
“After a while,” Nick pointed out. “Most folks ain’t as sharp as you.”
“So people don’t know he’s the famous Marshal Richard Evans?” Clint asked.
“No, and he wants to keep it that way.”
“Well, I won’t tell anyone,” Clint said.
“What went on with you and Virgil after you left here today?”
“Virgil got himself a client, young girl looking for her older sister.”
“Young girl?”
Clint gave Nick the quick rundown on who Sally Quest was.
“Well, at least he can pay his rent for a while,” Nick said. “I keep tellin’ him to come in here with me, but him and James, they gotta be their own men.”
“Seems to me any man would be proud to have sons like that.”
“I’m proud of my boys, believe me,” Nick said. “I’d just like ta make life a little easier for them, that’s all.”
“Well,” Clint agreed, “what father wouldn’t?”
You, he added to himself, just happen to have the wrong sons for that to happen.
NINE
Virgil Earp walked into the Gem Saloon, spotted Clint sitting at a table, and waved. He walked to the bar, got himself a beer and one for Clint, then joined him at his table.
“Sent some telegrams,” he said as he sat, pushing the second beer over to Clint, who had just about finished with the one he had.
“About what?”
“Checkin’ out my client, for one,” he said. “Lookin’ for her sister in the others.”
“Where’d you send ‘em?”
“Seems to me if a girl was gonna set up a life in Northern California she’d do it in one of two places.”
“San Francisco or Sacramento.”
“Right.”
“And the other telegram?”
“Friend of mine in Nevada,” he said. “He’ll check out her claim about the mine.”
“So all your detective work is done for the day?” Clint asked.
“Yeah,” Virgil said, “and I’m tired.” He rubbed his injured arm.
“That hurt?” Clint asked.
Virgil dropped his hand.
“Not too much,” he said. “It just kinda . . . aches sometimes.”
He picked up his beer and sipped.
“It’s just a . . . constant reminder, you know?”
“Of Tombstone,” Clint said, indicating he understood.
“Of Morg,” Virgil said.
Clint picked up his mug and raised it.
“To Morg.”
Virgil nodded.
“To Morg.”
They both drank and put their mugs down.
“You know, I don’t believe you,” Virgil said.
“What?”
“You and Kate,” Virgil said. “How did you get her to agree to come to supper with you?”
“I think she’s going to feel pretty safe among friends, don’t you?” Clint asked.
“Still . . . I was starting to think she just didn’t like men.”
“Oh, she likes men,” Clint said. “I can tell that from looking at her. You can always tell things about a woman just by looking at her.”
“I know,” Virgil said, “I can usually tell I’m in trouble by the way my wife looks at me when I walk in the door.”
“You and James, you have your own houses?”
“Yeah,” Virgil said, “and Nick has a room upstairs at our place.” He leaned forward, drank most of the beer, and then stood up.
“What?” Clint asked.
“Speakin’ of wives, I got to go. Mine will have supper waitin’. You want to come along? I’m sure Allie won’t—”
“No, no,” Clint said, “tomorrow will be enough for her. You go and give her my best.”
“I will,” Virgil said. “Stop by my office tomorrow, after you have breakfast.”
“Right.”
“And don’t expect little brother James in here tonight,” Virgil said. “His wife is even stricter than mine.”
“Okay,” Clint said. “Makes me even more glad I’m not married.”
Virgil pointed at him and said, “You just might change your mind tomorrow night.”
“Good night, Clint.”
“Night, Virg.”
Once Virgil was gone, Clint thought about the Earp family. Strong people, all of them, and they’d had to be, given the kind of lives they had led. After Tombstone—no, in Tombstone and after—their strength had been tested even further. They
had come out the other side, but not unscathed and certainly not unscarred.
He had much admiration for the Earp family, especially for his longtime friend Wyatt. He admired them even more for their exploits in Tombstone—and for the lives they were leading after.
Wyatt was the one he felt the most sorry for. Wyatt thought that Morgan’s death and the crippling of Virgil, were his fault. No amount of talk from anyone could convince him otherwise.
Clint wondered if Virgil and James knew just how guilty Wyatt felt.
TEN
Clint stayed in the Gem Saloon for some time, thinking perhaps he’d find a poker game, but one never materialized. Finally, he bid Nick Earp good night and went back to his hotel. As he entered his room, he remembered Sally Quest saying she was also staying in the hotel. He wondered where in the building she was.
He had removed his boots and his shirt, and hung his gun belt on the bedpost when there was a knock at his door. He figured it was going to be Virgil Earp for some reason, but still he grabbed his gun and took it to the door with him.
When he opened it, he wasn’t looking at Virgil Earp, but at Sally Quest.
“Miss Quest.”
“May I come in, Mr. Adams?” she asked. “I’m quite dissatisfied.”
“If you don’t mind entering a man’s room, then come in,” Clint said.
She entered, turned, and looked at him, as he started to close the door.
“I would like you to keep the door open, please,” she said.
“All right.”
“And put on a shirt.”
“You’re very bossy for a young woman in a man’s room,” he said, slipping his shirt back on. Just to show he couldn’t be pushed around, though, he left it unbuttoned.
“What is it that is making you so dissatisfied, Miss Quest?”
“I feel I was made a fool of this afternoon by you and Mr. Earp.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“You misrepresented yourself.”
“How did we do that?”
“He said you were an operative of his,” she said. “Neither of you told me who you really are.”
“Does that matter?”
“I believe so,” she said. “If I had known you were the Gunsmith, I might have wanted to hire you and not him.”
“I’m not for hire, Miss Quest,” Clint said.
“And you are not an operative for Mr. Earp,” she said.
“That’s not strictly true,” he said, not wanting Virgil Earp to be made out a liar.
“Then you do work for him?”
“I would work for him,” Clint said, “if he asked me to.”
She held her hands in front of her very primly. Her dress showed off a very slender body. She seemed much too frail to have come from a mining camp.
“I’m confused,” she said. “You just told me you weren’t for hire.”
“Not as a detective, and not to the public,” he said. “I am not a detective, but if Virgil Earp needed my help and asked me for it, I’d gladly give it.”
“For pay?”
“No, Miss Quest,” Clint said, “because the Earps are my friends.”
“I still wish I had been told,” she said.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Clint said. “I was really just a by stander while you explained your concerns to Mr. Earp.”
“Well, he is Wyatt Earp’s brother, right?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Well . . . I suppose it’s all right, then,” she said. “Do you know if he’s found out anything yet?”
“I know he’s started his investigation,” Clint said, “but I doubt that he’s had time to find out much. I do have a question for you, though.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
Clint thought she was quite haughty for such a young girl.
“I know you said your sister was coming to Northern California,” he said, “but why did you choose Colton to start your search?”
“Mr. Earp was recommended to me,” she said. “I was assured that his business was not limited to Colton.”
“I see. And who recommended him?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” she replied. “Besides, you’ve just told me you don’t work for him, so I don’t think you’re entitled to that information anyway.”
“Miss Quest—”
“I think I’ve found out what I came here to find out,” she said. “I’ll be going now.”
She acted like she was waiting for him to try and stop her.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked.
“Well . . . I was told of your reputation with women,” she stammered.
“And?”
“I just thought . . .”
“Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. “Were you expecting me to . . . try something with you?”
“I . . . well . . . Don’t you think I’m pretty?”
“Pretty enough, I guess.”
She bristled.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re very young,” he said, “and much too skinny for me, Miss Quest.”
He went to the door and held it for her.
“Have a good night, Miss Quest.”
She glared at him, looked as if she had something to say, and then stormed out of the room. Apparently, Sally Quest had thought she was too pretty for a man with Clint’s reputation to resist. And what would she have done if he had tried to romance her?
ELEVEN
Clint was reclining on the bed, once again without his shirt, when there was another knock on the door. Sally Quest had only left about twenty minutes before. Could she be coming back? Once again, he took his gun to the door with him. He knew that the first time he left it behind he’d take a bullet in the gut.
When he opened the door, he half expected to see Virgil this time, but once again it was a woman—Kate Violet. She was smiling.
“Hello, Kate.”
“May I come in?” she asked.
“Sure.”
He let her in, closed the door.
“I came by earlier, but your door was open and you had a girl in here.”
“A girl—she wasn’t a girl. I mean, she wasn’t a woman, she was—she is a client of Virgil’s.”
“A client?”
“She’s hired him to find her older sister.”
“Why did she come to your room, then?”
“Well, I was there when she hired Virgil and he introduced me as an operative. Apparently, here at the hotel she discovered who I really was, and she felt we played her for a fool.”
“And did you?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Clint said. “I was just a spectator. There was no reason to introduce me.”
“Are you going to holster that?” she asked, looking at the gun in his hand.
“Oh, sorry.”
He walked to the bedpost and slid the gun back into the holster.
“Do you always answer the door with a gun in your hand?”
“Yes,” he said, “always.”
“Must be a scary way to live.”
“You almost get used to it,” he said. “There are a lot of men who have to live this way.”
“Like the Earps?”
“That’s one good example.”
“James doesn’t.”
“James hasn’t been through what Wyatt and Virgil have,” Clint pointed out.
“No, I suppose not.”
She was standing in the center of the room, a shawl worn over a simple cotton dress. Even though her arms were folded across her chest, he could see that she had a body that was bursting with sexuality.
“So, what brings you here tonight, Kate?” he asked. “I thought I’d be seeing you tomorrow night.”
“I know,” she said, “you will, but I thought we’d get better acquainted tonight so that we wouldn’t be so awkward around each other—and the Earps—tomorrow night.”
“Better acquainted?” he asked. “What did you have in mind?”
�
�Well,” she said, “this.”
She dropped the shawl to the floor, and then very easily let her dress drop after it. She stood incredibly nude before him. She had creamy white skin, which made her black hair look even blacker. Full breasts and hips, she had a true woman’s body, which Clint had come to prefer to all others as he got older. There was nothing like holding a full-bodied women in your arms.
And with that he stepped forward and took her into his arms. They kissed deeply, and then she began to undress him. He was pleased to see that his observations about her had been right. She was extremely sensual and sexual, which he considered unbeatable.
“I knew it,” she said, pulling his pants down. “I knew it when I saw you, and you knew it, too.”
Naked, they fell onto the bed together.
Blocks away, in the Earp home, Virgil told Allie about the supper the next night.
“Clint Adams and Kate Violet?” she asked. “How wonderful.”
“Now, let’s not start thinkin’ about matchmakin’, Allie.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because you know how Adams is about women.”
“Ah, but he’s never met a woman like Kate,” she said. “What man could resist her?”
“Well, James, for one.”
“That’s because James has his Bessie.”
“Well, me, then.”
She poked him in the ribs and said, “You have me, why would you need Kate? Sit down to supper.”
He sat down and she puttered around the kitchen, still talking.
“I’ll have to talk with Bessie tomorrow morning so we can plan the meal. Will your father be coming?”
“No,” Virgil said, “he’ll be at the Gem, like always.”
“Good,” she said, “then there won’t be an uneven number of people. I hate that.”
She brought two plates to the table and set them down, then sat opposite her husband.
“You said Clint and Kate met at James’s house?”
“That’s right.”
“Tell me all about it,” she said, “and don’t leave anything out.”
“Allie—”
“Was there any heat between them?”
Virgil sighed, shook his head, and started to eat.
Virgil Earp, Private Detective Page 3
