“Damn you,” Willis said, because he knew the man’s reason was real.
“You’ll do it?”
“I’ll be in your office when you offer him the job.” Willis said. “Let’s just get there.”
“All right,” Plummer said. “Then go and get him, Louis.”
“I’ll have to find him first.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Plummer said. “From what you said, he’s either in a saloon, or the whorehouse.”
TWENTY-THREE
The door opened and Angie came back in, wearing her robe. Clint was lying on his back in her bed, still naked.
“It was Sue Min,” she said.
“What?”
She came over and sat next to him on the bed.
“It was Sue Min,” she said again. “She was with a man named Jimmy during that week.”
“Will she talk to me?” he asked.
“She will,” Angie said. Absently, she reached out and stroked his cock. “When I’m done with you.”
“You’re not done with me?”
She gripped his cock and it swelled in her hand.
“What do you think?”
He looked down at his stiffening cock and said, “I guess not.”
“Yeah, you bet not.”
She stood up, discarded her robe, then got back on the bed with him. Spreading his legs wide, she settled down between them, lying on her belly, and took his cock into her mouth . . .
* * *
Later, Angie walked Clint—now fully dressed, but weak in the legs—to Sue Min’s room.
“Ten minutes,” Angie said. “Then she has to go back to work.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t get yourself trapped by her,” Angie said. “She’s kinda pretty.”
“Okay.”
“Good luck,” she said. “Come say good-bye before you leave.”
“I will.”
He knocked on the door and entered.
* * *
Downstairs the ex-Sheriff Willis entered and asked the madame if Clint Adams was in the place.
“Louis, you know I don’t ask names,” she said.
“He’s tall, kinda rough looking, a little dusty. Says he’s looking for a fella, one of the gang members.”
“Oh, him,” she said. “Yeah, he’s upstairs with Angie. Said he wanted to talk to the girls, but he’s been with her for a while. Maybe he’s doin’ more than talkin’.”
“Thanks, Val.”
He started for the stairs, but Val blocked his way.
“What’s the matter with you, Louis? You know you can’t go there.”
“Val, I need to talk to him.”
“Well, take a girl upstairs, or wait for him to come down.”
“If I take a girl upstairs, my wife’ll kill me.”
“Then I guess you’ll be waiting for him to come down,” she said. “Have a seat in the parlor. I’ll have one of the girls bring you a drink.”
“Okay, Val,” he said. “Have it your way.”
He went into the parlor and was immediately besieged by girls.
* * *
Clint entered the room and closed the door. The girl curled up on the bed was Oriental, and petite. She had long, straight black hair, and a bloodred mouth. She was wearing a silk robe that hugged her doll-like body.
“You are Clint?” she asked.
“I am.”
“You are asking questions about Jimmy McCall?”
“I am.”
“Why do you want him?”
“His children miss him,” Clint said. “I’m supposed to take him home to them.”
She smiled.
“He talked to me about them,” she said. “He loves them very much, and he misses them.”
“Did he tell you where he’d be going after the gang left here?”
“He said he did not know where they would go,” she answered. “He said he had to stay with them until the leader—Donovan?—split the money. Split? Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“This does not help you?”
He hesitated, then said, “No, it helps a little. At least I know he wants to see his children.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, “he does.”
“What about a direction?” he asked. If he rode around the entire town, he’d eventually find the trail left by the gang, but if he knew what direction they were going, it would save him time. “Did he give any indication of what direction they might be going in?”
She studied Clint for a few moments, then asked, “You do not want to kill him?”
“No,” he said, “I don’t want to kill him. I promise you.”
“I believe you,” she said. “South. He said he thought they would be going south. Possibly Mexico.”
“Thank you, Sue Min,” he said. “Thank you a lot.”
“You are welcome.”
He turned and reached for the doorknob.
“You do not wish to stay?” she asked.
He turned to look at her and stopped short when he realized she had shrugged the robe from her shoulders. Her breasts were small, perfectly formed, with dark, hard nipples.
“I could make you feel very nice,” she said, rubbing one of her breasts with a small hand.
“I’m sure you could,” he said, “but I simply don’t have the time.”
He left, not bothering to mention that her doll-like body held no allure for him. In fact, he found it very odd. He preferred women with more meat on them.
In the hall he knocked on Angie’s door to say good-bye, before going downstairs.
TWENTY-FOUR
When Clint Adams came down the stairs, Lou Willis pulled himself away from the girls in the parlor to intercept him before he left.
“Mr. Adams.”
“Sheriff,” Clint said. “Is this a coincidence? In the middle of the afternoon?”
“What? No, no, I’m a married man.”
“Then you’re here looking for me?”
“Yes, I am,” Willis said. “Did you get the information you were looking for?”
“I did, actually,” Clint said. “I was just about to get going.”
“I wonder if we can have a moment of your time?” Willis asked.
“We?”
“Yes, the mayor—Mayor Plummer—would like to talk to you.”
Clint had a feeling this was about the money. Perhaps the mayor wanted him to bring the money back.
“It won’t take long,” Willis promised.
“All right,” Clint said. “Okay, let’s go. Lead the way.”
* * *
Willis led Clint to City Hall, and up a flight of steps to the mayor’s office. Along the way he chattered, talking incessantly, but saying very little.
Willis opened the door to the office and let Clint enter first. The fat man behind the desk stood up immediately.
“Clint Adams, this is Mayor Jackson Plummer,” Willis said.
“Mr. Adams,” Plummer said, extending his hand.
Clint crossed the room and shook the man’s pudgy hand.
“Mr. Mayor.”
“Won’t you sit down?”
“Thank you.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” the politician asked.
“No, after this I’ll be getting myself something to eat before I leave town.”
“Ah, you’re leaving today?” the mayor asked, seating himself.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you must have gotten the information you were looking for.”
“Not exactly,” Clint said, “but I found out something helpful.”
“And what was that?”
<
br /> “One of the girls gave me a possible direction the gang may have gone in.”
“Oh, well, that’s good. You’re probably wondering why I asked Willis to bring you here.”
“Let’s cut to the chase, Mayor,” Clint said. “You want me to recover your money, if I can. I have to tell you I’m only going after one man, not the whole gang.”
“That is what I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. Adams. We don’t have a proper sheriff. I’d like to offer you the job.” He took the badge—last seen on the chest of Willis—out of a drawer and tossed it on the desk.
“You fired Mr. Willis?”
“Mr. Willis gave the badge up,” Plummer said. “His position was only temporary.”
“Well, Mayor, I can’t take the job. I’m going to find my man and take him back to his kids in New Mexico. I can’t be your town sheriff.”
“We don’t want you to keep the job,” Plummer said. “Just wear the badge while you chase down the gang. It will give you some kind of authority.”
Clint eyed the badge. A little authority might not hurt for what he had to do.
“We can give you some men,” Plummer said.
“How long would it take you to assemble a posse?”
“Well,” Plummer said, “now that you’d be leading it, we’d just have to get the word out . . . a few days?”
“That’s too long,” Clint said.
“We’re not a town of men who are used to wearing guns and riding the trail for extended periods of time,” Plummer said.
“I tell you what,” Clint said. “I’ll take your badge with me, put it to good use, and then bring it back with the money—if I can.” Clint leaned forward to grab the tin from the desk.
“I have a favor to ask, before you pick up the badge,” Plummer said.
Clint stopped his motion.
“What’s that?”
“Take Willis with you.”
Clint turned and looked at Willis, who shrugged sheepishly.
“Why him?”
“I think we need someone along with you to represent the town’s interests.”
“You think I might take the money for myself?”
“Not at all.”
“But I might.”
“Well, you might.”
“And having Willis along would stop me?”
“Look, Mr. Adams, I don’t really think—”
“Hey,” Clint said, “if he wants to come, he can come. But he’ll have to keep up.”
“We’ll give him the best horse in town,” Plummer said.
Clint leaned forward and plucked the badge off the desk. He dropped it into his shirt pocket.
“You’re not going to wear it?” Plummer asked.
“I said I’d take it with me,” Clint said. “I didn’t say I’d wear it.”
He stood up, and the mayor followed. They shook hands.
“That meal? If you want a good steak, go to the Versailles Café. Best place in town.”
“Thank you.”
“Still leaving today? Why not wait ’til morning?”
“They have a big head start,” Clint said. “I don’t want it to get any bigger.”
“Well then,” Plummer said, “good luck, and thanks.”
“Thank me when I bring the money back.” He turned to Willis. “Come on, Willis. I’ll buy you a steak.”
“No, no,” Plummer said, “the steak is on the town. Arrange it, Willis.”
“I will.”
“Then once again, Willis,” Clint said, “lead the way.”
* * *
Outside, on the boardwalk, Clint asked, “Was your coming along his idea or yours?”
“His,” Willis said.
“How did he talk you into it?”
“He appealed to my sense of civic duty.”
“How long will it take you to get yourself together?” Clint asked.
“After the steak? An hour.”
“Good, that’ll leave us a couple hours of daylight left to pick up the trail. Then we can camp and start tracking them in earnest tomorrow.”
They started walking.
“Can you shoot?” Clint asked.
“I’m pretty good with a rifle.”
“Good. Once we clear the town, though, you’ll have to show me. I’ve got be sure just how much I can depend on you.”
“No problem,” Willis said. He wished.
TWENTY-FIVE
Clint didn’t know if the Versailles was the best place in town, but the mayor was right about one thing: they served a good steak. Surrounded by all the trimmings, and accompanied by a basket of biscuits, it was certainly the best free meal Clint had had in some time. Washing it down with beer made it that much better.
After the meal, Clint had a piece of peach pie, while Willis had apple. The waiter knew Willis well, so he brought them each a second piece.
“I feel bad, taking this for free,” Clint said. “I should pay—”
“Don’t worry,” the waiter said. “I’ll get paid by the city.”
“This is your place?”
“Cook and waiter. Sweep up after I close, too.”
The man went back to the kitchen. Clint glanced around. There were only six sets of sturdy tables and chairs, all of which looked handmade.
“You sure about this, Mr. Willis?” Clint asked.
“Lou,” Willis said, “my name’s Lou. And you mean about going with you? Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Then we better go and get you that horse,” Clint said.
“The mayor said they’d give me the best one in town.”
“And who’s to say which one is the best?” Clint asked. “I’ll come along and help pick it out.”
“Fine by me.”
“Then we’ll pick up a few things and hit the road.”
“Might as well get going, then.”
They stood up, Willis squared the bill with the waiter/owner—City Hall would send over the money—and they walked to the livery.
* * *
The liveryman took them out back, where there was a corral filled with horses.
“Sure doesn’t look like a posse would have trouble getting horses,” Clint said.
“Posse?” the old liveryman said. “In this town? Take you days to get one up. These folks around here don’t know nothin’ about ridin’ or shootin’. That’s why them bank robbers is gettin’ away with the town’s money.”
“What about that one?” Willis asked, pointing.
“No,” Clint said, “you’re going to need something that can keep up with mine.”
Willis stayed outside while Clint went into the corral to have a look. He found an able-bodied, rangy sorrel who’d have a long strike, might be able to keep up with Eclipse.
“That one,” he told the liveryman, “and a saddle.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The city’s paying, Al,” Willis said.
“What? Top price?”
“Yeah, yeah, Al,” Willis said, “you’ll get top price.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” the old man said. “I’ll saddle him up and bring ’im out front to you.”
“We’ll meet you there,” Clint said.
* * *
When they collected the horse, they walked both their animals to the mercantile, picked up some coffee, beans, beef jerky, and a few cans of peaches. This was stuff Clint knew he could carry easily. They split it up between their saddlebags and rode out of town.
TWENTY-SIX
They rode south and picked up the trail.
“See here?” Clint said, pointing at the ground. “Seven, maybe eight horses.”
“How can you tell?”
“Th
e tracks are that different,” he said. “Each horse has its own pattern, its own signature.”
“I don’t see it,” Willis admitted.
“Luckily, I do. Let’s mount up,”
They got back on the horses and followed the tracks south until it started to get dark. Then they camped.
“Geez, my ass is sore,” Willis said as they sat around the fire and ate beans. “It’s been years since I was on a horse this long.”
“It’ll feel better tomorrow,” Clint said. “You just have to get used to it again.”
“How far south do you intend to chase this gang?” Willis asked.
“Mexico, if I have to.”
“Can we do that?” Willis asked. “Go into Mexico after them?”
“Sure.”
“With authority?”
“Well . . . no, not with authority.”
“Then what rights will we have once we cross?”
“We’ll have right on our side, Lou,” Clint said. “And if we run into the rurales, maybe we can get them to back us.”
“And if not?”
“I’ll think about that when we get there,” Clint said. He looked across the fire at the lawyer. “Lou, you can turn back anytime you want.”
“No, I can’t,” Willis said. “I’m representing the town, remember?”
“Okay, then,” Clint said. “We’ll set a watch. I’ll go first, wake you in four hours.”
“Why are we on watch?” Willis asked. “We’re chasing them.”
“Just in case.”
“Just in case . . . what?”
Clint shrugged.
“They could double back,” he said. “They could split their take and some of them might come back this way. Who knows?”
“W-What do I watch for?”
“Just listen,” Clint said. “The horses will alert you if somebody’s coming. If they do, wake me up.”
“What if I wake you up for nothing?”
“Better than me not waking up at all,” Clint said. “Go ahead, Lou. You get some sleep.”
“I don’t know if I can sleep on the ground,” Willis said, “but I’ll try.”
“Don’t worry,” Clint said. “You’re tired enough.”
Willis wrapped himself in his bedroll, and in a matter of minutes, he was asleep.
Missing Patriarch (9781101613399) Page 7
