The Governor's Gun
Page 11
Clint sat and told Monk about the connection he’d made between everything.
“And you want me to arrest the lieutenant governor?” Monk asked.
“Not your place, I don’t think,” Clint said, “but if you come with me to talk to the chief of police, maybe we can convince him.”
“I doubt it,” Monk said, standing, “but I’m interested enough in the outcome to try.”
“I have a cab outside.”
“I’ll have one of my men drive me,” Monk said. “I’ll meet you there.”
Clint nodded, left the office and the building.
* * *
Clint had Danny drive him right to the police station, where he found Detective Taylor waiting for him out front.
“Talk to the chief yet?” he asked.
“No,” Taylor said. “I decided to wait for you and Captain Monk. Is he coming?”
“He’ll be along,” Clint said.
“The chief’s a tough nut to crack,” Taylor explained. “I don’t think I could convince him myself.”
“Well, Monk’s interested enough to see what happens,” Clint said. “Maybe between the three of us we can convince your chief to arrest the lieutenant governor of the State of Texas.”
“And possibly commit career suicide,” Taylor said.
Clint shrugged.
“No harm in asking, I guess.”
A carriage driven by a Texas Ranger pulled up, and Captain Monk stepped down.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “shall we give this a try?”
FORTY-ONE
“You’re all crazy!” the chief said.
“Miss Hancock identifies the lieutenant governor as her best customer,” Taylor pointed out.
“So he frequently uses a whore,” the chief said. “That doesn’t make him a killer.”
“She identifies Jake Kendall and Wheeler as the men who held her captive,” Clint said.
“Then I suggest you arrest them!” the chief said, red-faced. He looked at Monk. “I’m surprised you’re here.”
“Me?” Monk said, looking amused. “I just wanted to see what happened when they presented this to you.”
“Maybe the Texas Rangers act on flimsy evidence, but the Austin Police Department does not.”
Monk was unaffected by the jibe.
“How about this?” Clint asked. “If Detective Taylor arrests Kendall and Wheeler, and they implicate Governor Edgerton, that’s when he’ll arrest him.”
“If you catch those two men and they implicate the lieutenant governor, I’ll go along with you and arrest him myself,” the chief said.
Clint and Taylor exchanged a glance. That was good enough for the both of them.
* * *
Outside Captain Monk said, “Let me know when you intend to arrest him and I’ll be there, too.”
“We’ll let you know.”
He started to get into his carriage, then stopped and looked at the two of them.
“Would you like a couple of my men to accompany you?” he asked.
“I think the Austin Police Department can handle this, Captain,” Taylor said. “Thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”
He boarded his carriage and his driver whisked him off.
Clint turned to Taylor.
“There’s only one place I can think of to start,” he said.
“The saloon where she was held?”
“Right.”
“Let me get two men to take with us,” Taylor said, “and then we’ll go.”
* * *
Rather than use a carriage, Taylor and the two uniformed policemen took their horses to the saloon. Clint remained in Danny’s cab for the ride.
This time, Danny pulled right up in front.
“Officer,” Taylor said to one of his men, “you go around back.”
“Yes, sir.” The man went down the alley.
Taylor looked at the other man and said, “You’ll wait out front.”
“Yes, sir.”
Clint and Taylor went inside.
The same bartender was behind the bar, and the same two men were seated at tables with their drinks. At least, Clint thought they were the same two men.
They approached the bar.
“If you’re still lookin’ for your friend, he still ain’t here,” the barman said.
“Ollie, right?” Clint asked.
“Yeah,” Ollie said, “how’d you know that?”
“Because I was outside your back window when you and Kendall were arguing about the girl. I’ll bet he was surprised when he came back and found her gone.”
“You!” Ollie said, putting down the glass he was polishing.
“You go for that gun under your bar and you’re dead,” Taylor told him, showing him his badge. The big man froze.
“Where do we find Kendall?” Clint asked.
“I didn’t do nothin’,” Ollie said. “I just let them use my back room.”
“The woman told us you never touched her,” Taylor said. “That’s the only reason I’m not arresting you. But if you don’t tell us where to find him, I will.”
“Try a bar down by the river, a couple of blocks from that fancy restaurant.”
“DiGuardi’s?” Clint asked.
“Yeah. The bar’s called O’Leary’s. He’s usually there.”
“If he’s not,” Clint said, “we’ll be back. If we do come back, you better be gone.”
“He’ll be there,” Ollie said, picking up the glass. “I ain’t leavin’ my place, not for him.”
Clint and Taylor left.
Outside Taylor said, “I’ll ride with you this time.” He told the officer in front to go get the other man, and to take care of his horse. Then he and Clint climbed aboard Danny’s cab.
FORTY-TWO
When they got to O’Leary’s Saloon, they took up the same positions. Danny stayed in his cab, one policeman took the front, and one the back. Clint peered in the front window. O’Leary’s was a little bigger than the other saloon, and busier. But he didn’t see Jake Kendall, not from the window.
“Could be in there and I can’t see him from this angle.”
“If he’s there, don’t kill him,” Taylor warned.
“That’s not my first thought, Detective,” Clint said. “But he may have some friends.”
“Hey, if I start shooting,” Taylor said, “that’s your cue to start also.”
“Okay,” Clint said. “I’ll play off of you.”
“Good,” Taylor said. He pushed back his jacket, loosened his gun in his shoulder holster, then said, “Let’s go.”
Clint let Taylor go first, since it was his town and he was calling the play.
They walked in and immediately everyone’s eyes went to them. Clint knew they were in a room full of regulars.
As they approached the bar, someone yelled out, “Hey, Detective Taylor.”
They looked, but didn’t see who had called out. Whoever it was had accomplished what he wanted to, though. Taylor had been identified. As they reached the bar, several men got up from their tables and made their way out either the front or the back door. Clint wondered if the single policeman on each door would be able to stop them. He let them go, because none of them were Jake Kendall.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” the bartender asked. He was in his fifties, very comfortable behind a bar.
“Are you O’Leary?”
“O’Leary died five years ago,” the man said. “This place is mine now.”
“Good,” Taylor said, “then you can help us find Jake Kendall.”
“Kendall?” the man said. “Don’t know ’im.”
“He’s a regular here.”
“No,” Taylor said.
“Then I can only help you if you want a drink.”
Taylor turned to face the room.
“Attention, everyone out!” he yelled. “This place has been condemned!”
“Hey, wait—” the bartender said.
Taylor looked at him.
“There’s nothing wrong with this place,” the man insisted.
“Holes,” Taylor said.
“What holes?” the bartender asked.
Taylor took out his gun, fired twice into the front of the bar. Leaving two nice holes.
“Those two, for starters.”
“Okay, okay, wait!” the bartender said. “You said Kendall?”
“That’s right,” Taylor said. “Jake Kendall.”
“Oh, Jake,” the bartender said. “Okay, yeah, I know him.”
“How well?”
“Pretty well,” the bartender said.
“How’s that?” Taylor asked.
“He lives upstairs.”
* * *
After finding out from the bartender how to get upstairs, Clint and Taylor left the saloon.
“That was nice,” Clint said.
“Thank you.” Taylor further impressed Clint by ejecting spent shells from his gun and replacing them before holstering it.
“Our only problem is if Kendall was upstairs and heard the shots,” the detective said.
“This kind of bar?” Clint asked. “There are probably shots all the time.”
“You’re probably right.”
They looked over at the policeman whom they had left on the front door. He had three men standing against the wall.
“They tried to leave,” he said to Taylor proudly.
“Good work,” Taylor said, “but let them go. And tell your partner in the back to let his go. We’re going upstairs.”
“Yes, sir.”
He released his prisoners and then ran around to the back.
“Stairs are on the side,” Clint said. The bartender had said they were the only way up or down, but he didn’t know if Kendall was in.
They went into the alley, met the two uniformed men coming from the other direction.
“You two stay down here,” Taylor said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You ready?” Taylor asked Clint.
“Ready.”
They went up the steps.
FORTY-THREE
They reached the top of the stairs, stood to either side of the door, and knocked. No answer.
They listened, didn’t hear any movement inside.
“He could be in there,” Taylor said. “I’m going to kick it in. You come in right after me.”
“Okay,” Clint said. “I’ll cover you.”
Taylor backed up a step, then kicked out at the door. It flew open and he leaped in. Clint went in after him. It was one room with a bed and a chair, one dresser for clothes. On the bed was Jake Kendall, dead.
Clint went over and took a good look at the body.
“Throat cut,” he said, “Like Angelo, the waiter.”
“Probably because he lost the girl,” Taylor said. “They’ve got somebody to clean up their messes.”
“Maybe,” Clint said, “it’s the man who was playing the neighbor. Maybe this is what he had in mind for Eve, or Adrienne.”
“This leaves us with one choice,” Taylor said.
“Wheeler,” Clint said.
“Right.”
“He has an office that’s pretty vacant. I think he just uses it as an address.”
“Doesn’t he have an office in the Capitol Building?” Taylor asked.
“I don’t know,” Clint said.
“Well, I think we’ll have to go and find out.”
“Last time we went, we couldn’t get in,” Clint said. “Maybe it’s now time to call in the Texas Rangers officially.”
* * *
Captain Monk and two of his men met Clint and Taylor in front of the Capitol with the two uniformed Austin policemen. As they approached the front entrance, the two armed soldiers shifted uncomfortably.
They let Monk do the talking.
“Captain Monk to see the governor,” the man said officiously.
“Uh, sir—” one of the soldiers started.
“Tell him it’s a matter of state security,” Monk added.
“Yes, sir.” One of the soldier went inside, leaving the other to fidget nervously under the scrutiny of the Austin Police and the Texas Rangers.
The soldier came back in a matter of minutes.
“The lieutenant governor will see you now,” he said.
“Soldier,” Monk asked, “did I say I wanted to see the lieutenant governor?”
“No, sir—”
“Are you deaf, man?”
“Nossir!”
“Then get back in there and tell Governor Ireland that I’m here with the Austin Police and we want to see him immediately!” By the time he was done, the previously soft-spoken Texas Ranger captain was roaring.
“Yessir!”
“And don’t stop to tell the lieutenant governor of the change of plans,” Taylor added. “Go directly to the governor.”
“You heard the man!” Monk shouted.
“Yessir.”
The soldier went back in, this time leaving behind his partner, sweating.
In moments the soldier was back and said, “This way, sir.”
They followed the soldier single file, with Captain Monk in front, followed by Clint, Taylor, the Rangers, and the policemen.
FORTY-FOUR
The soldier led them up the long circular stairs to the second level and then down a hallway to a set of double doors.
“Inside, sir,” he said, standing aside.
Monk opened the door and entered, Clint close behind and the rest following.
There was a long table that looked like it could seat a brigade of Rangers, but there was only one man there and he was seated at the head.
“Captain Monk?” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I hope you have a good reason for this . . . invasion?”
“Not an invasion, sir,” Monk said.
“Introduce these other men with you.”
“This is Detective Taylor of the Austin Police Department,” Monk said, “two of my men, two of his, and this fella here is Clint Adams.”
The governor’s bushy eyebrows went up, and beneath his beard and mustache, he frowned.
“The Gunsmith?”
“Yes, sir,” Clint said.
“What brings the Gunsmith to Austin?”
“Well, sir . . .” Clint said. He looked at Monk and Taylor, and they both nodded that he should take the lead.
He started talking . . .
* * *
The lieutenant governor sat at his desk, looking across at Pete Barton.
“Where the hell are they?” he wondered aloud.
“Maybe,” Barton said, “they went directly to the governor.”
“Christ . . .” the other man said.
“If they did,” Barton went on, “I might as well cut your throat like I did the waiter and Jake.”
“No,” Edgerton said, “you go outside and wait. If Clint Adams comes out of this building, I want you to kill him.”
“My way?”
“Any way you want.”
Barton’s way was face-to-face, especially with a man like the Gunsmith.
“What are you gonna do?” he asked.
Edgerton stood.
“I’ll try and brazen this out with the governor.”
“Guess your plan to kill him and blame the Gunsmith ain’t gonna work, is it?”
“I guess not . . .”
* * *
Clint was still talking when the double doors opened and Edgerton came rushing in. He pulled up abruptly when he saw all the men in the room.
“Oh, excuse me, Governor,” he said. “I didn’t know—”
“On the contrary, Miles,” Governor Ireland said. “I didn’t know . . . but now I do. Captain Monk, will you take the lieutenant governor into custody?”
“Sir,” Monk said, “I think that honor should go to the Austin Police and Detective Taylor.”
“Very well,” the governor said. “Detective, will you do the honors?”
“Yessir,” Taylor said, “it will be my honor.”
While Taylor was slapping irons on a sputtering lieutenant governor, Governor Ireland said, “Mr. Adams, would you stay a moment?”
“Yes, sir,” Clint said. “My pleasure.”
* * *
When he got outside, Clint found both Detective Taylor and Captain Monk waiting for him. Their men were gone, as was Lieutenant Governor Edgerton.
“What did the governor want?” Taylor said.
“He gonna give you a medal?” Monk asked.
“No,” Clint said, “he just wanted to ask me if I’d stay in Austin and make him that gun, after all.”
“What’d you say?” Monk asked.
“Why not?” Clint asked. “He said he’d pay me out of his own pocket.”
They all went down the steps.
“What do you suppose the lieutenant governor’s plan was?” Monk asked.
“Well, he’s an ambitious man, obviously,” Clint said.
“You think he wanted to be governor?” Taylor asked.
“Why not?”
“Well, the only way he could’ve done that would be to—”
“Assassinate the governor,” Monk finished.
“And who do you suppose he was going to blame?” Clint asked.
“Adams!”
They all looked up, saw the man standing out in front of the Capitol. He was wearing a gun slung low, and had his legs spread. Black hat, black leather vest.