The Omaha Palace
Page 11
Falkner had told him he was staying in a hotel in the south end of town. Clint left the room, went down to the saloon. Ed was behind the bar.
“How many hotels are there in the south part of town?” he asked.
“A couple. Fleabags, though. Why?”
“Falkner said that’s where he was staying. I want to go talk to him.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No,” Clint said, “you better stay here.”
Ed frowned at him.
“You think somethin’s gonna happen today?” he asked.
“It might.”
“Maybe I better send for Otto, Atchison, and the others.”
“Maybe you should,” Clint said. “I’ll get Falkner myself.”
“Watch your back,” Ed said. “It ain’t so nice there as it is here.”
“Is that beyond the deadline?”
“It sure is. Whores and opium dens and the works. All there.”
“In Omaha?”
“When a town grows,” Ed said, “the good comes with the bad, don’t it?”
“I guess it does,” Clint agreed.
* * *
Chris Nickerson stopped in at Big Jack’s to talk to his brother.
“I’m goin’ outside of town to get my boys,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“The boss wants me to take care of Adams.”
“So do it.”
“You wanna come?”
“I ain’t no gunman, Chris,” Dan said. “I’m just a bartender. I belong back here, behind the bar.”
“You’re my brother, Dan,” Chris said. “You belong with me.”
“I’d getcha killed, little brother,” Dan said. “If any trouble breaks out in here, I’m your man. But you’re gonna be in the street. I ain’t no good out there.”
“I’ll watch out for you.”
“No,” Dan said. “You go and do your job. I’ll be waitin’ for ya here.”
“Dan—”
“You go on now,” Dan said. “And don’t take no chances with that man. Not that one.”
FORTY
Ed was right.
Clint walked past whores’ cribs, closed during the day, and opium dens, open all the time. One girl came out, wearing nothing but a wrap, and smiled at him with blackened teeth.
“No thanks,” he said.
An older Chinese woman waved at him from a doorway, motioning for him to come into one of the dens.
“No thanks,” he said again.
He got past them and started passing some falling-down buildings, some of which were residences, some saloons. Farther on, the buildings became sturdier. There were some proper saloons and cafés, and then two hotels.
He found Falkner registered in one of them, but the clerk said he wasn’t there.
“Where is he?” Clint asked. “Do you know?”
“Try the dens.”
“The dens? Not the cribs?”
“He won’t touch no dirty whores,” the man said. “The dens.”
* * *
He retraced his steps, although he didn’t know why. If Falkner was on the pipe, he wouldn’t be much good. Might even have to fire him.
He tried two or three of the dens before he found the right one.
“I’m looking for a man called Falkner,” he said to the Chinese woman—the same one who had beckoned to him before. Now she did so again, and he followed.
Inside were stacked bunks with nothing more than straw mattresses on them. This early many of them were empty, but some of them were occupied with men whose eyes were either closed, or bleary from the pipe.
Inside she held a pipe out to him, but he said, “No, I’m looking for a man.”
She waved at him to go and look.
He found Falkner sitting on a lower bunk, pulling on his boots.
“Clint,” the man said. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I was looking for you,” Clint said. “When they told me you were here, I thought . . .”
“You thought you’d find me deep in the pipe,” Falkner said. “No. The opium is not for me.”
“Then why do you come here?”
“To sleep,” he said.
“You have a room for that.”
“Sometimes it gets too noisy,” he said. “Here it’s quiet.”
Clint inhaled the smell of stale opium smoke.
“But the smoke . . .”
“Oh, it gets kinda thick in here sometimes,” Falkner said. “Maybe that’s what helps me sleep.”
“Why don’t you just tell the hotel about the noise?” Clint asked. “Get it stopped.”
Falkner stood up, strapped on his gun.
“The noise ain’t in the hotel,” he said. “It’s in my head.”
“Oh,” Clint said.
“You’ve heard that noise yourself, I’m sure,” Falkner said.
“I have, yeah,” Clint said, understanding.
“What’s on your mind?” Falkner asked. “Why were you lookin’ for me?”
“You want some breakfast?” Clint asked, wondering if he could drink any more coffee. “We can talk.”
“You buyin’?”
“I am.”
“Good,” Falkner said. “Wouldn’t want to have to spend any of my five dollars a week.”
FORTY-ONE
“What about the others?” Falkner asked half an hour later.
He had taken Clint to one decent café in that end of town. They served breakfast, but they also had beer, so Clint had that instead of more coffee. Falkner had bacon and eggs. And beer.
“I figure they should stay inside, in case Big Jack tries anything there.”
“So just you and me?”
Clint nodded.
“Against how many?”
“I’m not sure how many men Nickerson’s got.”
“I heard as many as a dozen, as few as five. Nobody knows.”
“Five would be all right.”
“A dozen’s too many, even for you.”
“Probably. What about the sheriff?”
“He’d be okay, if he’s sober,” Falkner said.
“If he’s even still sheriff.”
“Might be better if he wasn’t,” Falkner said.
“Listen,” Clint said, “I can’t pay you to do this, well, I mean, I could, but—”
“I don’t hire out my gun,” Falkner said.
“That’s what I heard.”
“But I do loan it out sometimes.”
* * *
They walked back to the saloon together, watching each other’s backs on the busy Omaha streets.
“This crowd, it’d be perfect to try something now,” Falkner said.
“Nickerson probably has to round up his men.”
“You really think they’ll try something today?”
“I pushed last night,” Clint said. “I think Big Jack’s the type to push right back.”
“And all because of a new saloon?”
“Big Jack’s got his hooks into this town pretty deep,” Clint said. “He can’t afford anyone cutting into his territory.”
“And he thinks that’s what Ashley’s trying to do?” Falkner said. “And to do that, he’s got to get rid of you first.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
They stopped right in front of the Palace.
“Why not just burn it down?” Falkner asked.
“He might,” Clint said, “but if he did it now, he knows I’d come after him.”
“So you need him to send someone after you.”
“And we need that someone to testify that he did.”
“Well, if he ends up dead,” Clint said, “we’ll think of something else.”
“Like putting a bullet in Big Jack?”
Clint looked at him.
“I’m not a murderer, Falkner.”
“I’m not either,” Falkner said. “Too bad. It’d be so easy.”
They went inside.
* * *
Inside, Ed was standing at the bar with Gerald, Atchison, and Lukas. They all had a beer.
“What’s goin’ on?’ Lukas asked. “Ed woke me up to come here early.”
“Didn’t have time to make any other stops?” Clint asked him.
“What other stops?”
“Maybe to let Jack Mackey know what’s going on?”
Lukas had been leaning on the bar. Now he straightened up.
“What’s that mean?”
At that moment Ashley came down the stairs, wearing a simple dress she must have put on quickly. She was patting her hair into place.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why aren’t we open?”
“I was waiting for Clint to let me know if we should,” Ed said.
“Clint decides when we open now?”
“I do today,” he said. “Let’s go into your office and talk.”
He took her arm to lead her back there, turned around, and said to Ed, “Don’t open.”
“Yessir.”
* * *
“So what are you going to do?” Ashley asked. “Keep us closed up until they try something?”
“No,” Clint said. “If I’m right, the mayor and the police chief will put pressure on Big Jack to do something quickly.”
“Like today?”
“I hope so.”
“So what next?”
“Keep the doors locked,” Clint said. “I’m going to sit outside, in plain sight.”
“Alone?”
“Falkner’s going to watch my back.”
“And the other three?”
“They’ll stay inside and look after you, and the place.”
“The place?”
“Well, like Falkner said,” he replied, “it would be easier just to burn it down.”
“Burn it down?” she said, aghast. “My place?”
“Let’s hope not,” Clint said. “Let’s hope they come for me first, and Falkner and I can take care of them.”
“You keep saying ‘them,’” she said. “Isn’t it Jack Mackey?”
“It’s whoever Mackey pays to come after me.”
“And do you know who that will be?”
“I have a good idea.”
FORTY-TWO
Clint took a wooden chair outside with him, set it against the front of the building, and sat in it. Falkner was . . . somewhere. He didn’t know exactly where.
He considered going to Big Jack’s to talk to the bartender, maybe get him to take a message to his brother. But in the end he decided just to sit there . . . all day if he had to.
* * *
At midday Sheriff Thorpe came over, put one foot up on the boardwalk.
“Town council meet yet?” Clint asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Thorpe said. “I’m supposed to turn my badge over tomorrow.”
“So what are you doing today?”
“Well, so far I had a talk with Dan Nickerson.”
“What’d he have to say?”
“His brother’s got eight men with him. They’ll be coming in today, before dark.”
“And?”
“They’ll pick a fight with you.”
“And what will the police do?”
“Look the other way, I suppose.”
“And you?”
“Me? I’m nobody tomorrow.”
“But today you’re still the law.”
“Good point.”
The sheriff walked across the street to the hardware store, went inside, came out with a chair, and sat down, almost directly across from Clint.
Three against eight, Clint thought. He could pull the others out of the saloon, but that might end badly, especially if Big Jack had somebody trying to get in the back to burn the place down.
He decided to stand pat with the hand he had.
Three aces, hopefully.
* * *
Chris Nickerson led his men to the edge of town. He stopped, turned in the saddle.
“Everybody know what to do?”
“Yeah,” his number two, Tom Decker, said. “Kill the Gunsmith.”
“And then we all get paid,” someone else said, and the other men cheered.
Nickerson had never seen so many men in a hurry to kill.
“Are you sure we don’t have to worry about the police?” another man asked.
“They won’t be around.”
“And the sheriff?” Decker asked.
“Drunk. That enough?”
They all nodded.
“Then let’s go.”
* * *
Officer Pete Brennan stopped in the chief’s office.
“The men haven’t gone out yet for the next shift,” he said.
“I’ve asked them to be held back.”
“Why?”
“Where does it say in your job description that I have to answer to you, Officer?” the chief asked. “The men will go out when I say so. And that includes you.”
Brennan left the chief’s office, changed out of his uniform, and left the building.
* * *
When Nickerson and his men came within view of the Palace, they saw Adams sitting out front.
The people on the street knew trouble when they saw it. The street was suddenly empty, but for the eight of them.
“Why’s he waitin’ there?” Decker asked.
“Because he believes his own reputation,” Nickerson said. “Come on.”
“We gonna ride right up to him?” Decker asked.
“Right up to him,” Nickerson said, “and then we cut him down.”
“You don’t want a chance at him yourself first?” Decker asked.
Nickerson looked at him.
“That’s not the job, Tom.”
He started his horse forward, and the others followed.
* * *
The sheriff saw the eight men riding down the street toward Clint. He dropped the front legs of his chair down to the walk.
He was stone-cold sober.
* * *
Clint saw the riders, saw the sheriff drop his chair legs down, and hoped that wherever Falkner was, he could see them, too.
He didn’t stand up.
* * *
Ashley looked out the window, saw the riders coming down the street. She turned and ran from the room.
FORTY-THREE
Nickerson reached Clint first. The others came after and fanned out. Clint was taken by surprise. He thought Nickerson would speak to him. They always talked first, men like that. Blustered. But this one was different. This man drew his gun, and the others followed.
Clint had no choice. As they started to fire, he stood up and leaped through the front window, broken shards of glass showering down . . .
* * *
The sheriff drew his gun and ran into the street. Two of the mounted men saw him, were surprised, but turned their guns on him.
* * *
Falkner came out of the alley he’d been hidden in, gun drawn, cursing himself for standing too far away. He saw Clint go through the window with a hail of bullets fol
lowing him.
* * *
Ashley came running down the stairs, shouting at Ed and the others, “Clint’s in troub—” but suddenly the front window exploded in. All the men turned, drawing their guns.
* * *
Clint hit the floor, turned, drew his gun, and began firing outside. Before he knew it, the others were beside him, shotguns firing.
* * *
Thorpe fired as he ran, took two men from their saddles. A bullet hit him in the thigh and he went down.
* * *
Falkner fired as he ran, saw a man fall from his saddle. Then he felt something strike his shoulder and he was on the ground.
* * *
Clint watched with little satisfaction as all the men were flung from their saddles, some from his bullets, some from the shotgun blasts. And suddenly it was quiet.
He climbed out the window, followed by the others.
“Check them,” he called as he ran to where Thorpe had fallen.
When he reached the lawman Thorpe said, “I’m all right. Got me in the leg. Check on your friend.”
Clint turned, saw Falkner on the ground. He ran over to him, turned him over, saw the wound in his shoulder.
“Damn it,” Falkner said. “Must’ve been those damn opium fumes. I misjudged the distance.”
“You’ll be all right,” Clint said. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”
He got Falkner to his feet as Ed Wright reached him.
“They’re all dead,” Ed said, “except the leader.”
“Nickerson?” Clint said. “Well, that’s handy.”
FORTY-FOUR
Clint woke up the third morning after the shooting, rolled over, and pressed himself against Karen. His hard cock rested in the crack between her buttocks.
“Good morning,” she said. “Still leavin’ today?”
“Yes,” he said with his mouth against her neck.
She shifted her legs so he could slide up between them and said, “Well, we better have a proper good-bye, then.”
* * *
He went downstairs, found Ed and Ashley having breakfast. As he sat down, Mike Brennan came out and put a plate in front of him. He did it without a scowl.