He was already moving, swaying to his right. He felt the wind-rip of the slug’s passage past his left ear, mere inches away from its target. The Smith & Wesson bucked twice against his palm as he triggered it.
The gunman doubled over as at least one of the bullets punched into his gut. He dropped his gun and toppled out of the carriage, landing on the sidewalk near Arturo’s sprawled body.
Conrad whirled in the direction of the burly driver in the derby, but he was too late. The man had already dragged a gun from under his coat. It was lined up, ready to put a bullet through Conrad’s head.
Before the man could fire, another gun cracked, coming from the direction of the Palace. The man cried out in pain and staggered as blood sprayed from the back of his right hand. The fingers opened involuntarily and the gun clunked to the ground.
Conrad could have shot him without any trouble just then, but he didn’t want the man dead. He wanted him alive to answer questions.
With a popping sound, another gun went off. Conrad felt the bullet tug at his coat in another near miss. That would be Rose, he thought, finally taking a hand in the action herself instead of just planning and acting as the bait. He half turned toward her, hoping she wouldn’t make him kill her.
The man in the derby roared and threw himself forward, tackling Conrad.
They both went down, Conrad landing on the sidewalk first. The man’s weight coming down on top of him drove the air from his lungs and left him stunned for a second, giving the man the opportunity to grab Conrad’s wrist and pound his hand against the sidewalk. The Smith & Wesson flew out of his fingers and went skittering away.
As footsteps pounded past on the sidewalk, moving fast, the man reached for Conrad’s throat. Conrad twisted and hunched his shoulders to keep his attacker from getting a grip. Driving an elbow backward, he dug the point of it into the man’s stomach, buying him a second to catch his breath.
Conrad got his knees under him and heaved his body up. Breaking free of the man grappling with him, he turned to swing a hard, looping right into the man’s face. The blow didn’t do much good. The man’s ape-like strength allowed him to shrug it off. He flung out a long arm and backhanded Conrad in the jaw. The impact sent Conrad rolling across the sidewalk.
The man bounded after him. As Conrad came to a stop, he lifted both legs and kicked out with them, catching the onrushing man in the belly with his boot heels. The man’s momentum carried him forward, bending Conrad’s knees. He straightened his legs and used them to lever the man up and over him. With a startled yell, the man sailed through the air for several feet before he crashed in the street, practically under the hooves of the startled horses hitched to the carriage. The animals danced around in their harness, putting the man in danger of being trampled.
He scrambled away from the slashing hooves, but as he surged to his feet, Conrad was already up and waiting. He shot a hard left into the man’s beard-stubbled face, then followed it with a right cross that landed solidly on his jaw with a sound like an ax biting deep into a chunk of firewood. The man went down again, and didn’t move. Conrad bent down, grabbed his coat, and dragged his senseless form away from the horses so they wouldn’t step on him.
With that done, Conrad looked around for Rose but didn’t see her. Now that the shooting seemed to be over, a crowd of curious onlookers was gathering. A man knelt beside Arturo, who hadn’t moved since he had fallen to the sidewalk after being shot.
Conrad ran over and dropped to a knee beside his friend. He glanced at the redheaded gunman, who lay not far away. Judging by the pool of blood forming under the man, he no longer represented a threat.
“Can you tell how bad he’s hurt?” Conrad asked the man who was bent over Arturo.
The man glanced up. “Are you a doctor?”
“No.”
“Well, I am, so give me some room. If you want to help, let’s roll him onto his right side. The wound seems to be in his left arm.”
That was a relief, Conrad thought. A bullet through the arm was better than one through the body. But such a wound could still be very dangerous. A man could bleed to death from a bullet hole almost anywhere in his body, and from the looks of the dark stain on the left sleeve of Arturo’s coat, he had lost quite a bit of blood already.
Carefully, Conrad and the doctor moved Arturo onto his right side. The doctor took a folding knife from his pocket and used it to cut away the coat sleeve and then the shirt sleeve, laying bare Arturo’s arm. The upper arm had two ugly, puckered holes in it, about halfway between the shoulder and the elbow, where the bullet had passed through the flesh.
“Your friend is lucky,” the doctor said. “It looks like the slug missed the bone. Once we get the bleeding stopped and clean up that wound, I’ll be able to get a better idea of how badly he’s hurt. It’s possible there could be some nerve damage that would keep him from using the arm properly in the future.”
That was a worrisome prospect, Conrad thought, but still a lot better than it could have been.
“He’ll have to be taken to the hospital.”
Conrad nodded. “Do whatever you need to do, Doctor. I’ll see to it that all the expenses are covered. Money is no object.”
“He’ll get the best care I know how to give him either way,” the physician said gruffly. He glanced toward the redheaded gunman. “I’m afraid that one is beyond help.”
“Considering that he shot Arturo here and tried to kill me, I’m not going to lose any sleep over that.” Confident Arturo was in good hands, Conrad straightened and went back over to the man he had knocked out.
He spotted the Smith & Wesson he’d borrowed from Bat Masterson lying on the sidewalk a few feet away and was glad no one had taken advantage of the opportunity to steal it. He picked up the gun and covered the burly carriage driver as he started to stir.
The man let out a groan and rolled onto his side. Struggling to prop himself up on an elbow, he shook his head as if he were trying to clear away the cobwebs that clogged his brain. Then he looked up at Conrad and blinked in surprise as he found himself staring down the barrel of the .38. “Don’t shoot, mister,” he gasped.
Conrad’s face was as grim as death as he asked, “Why not? You and your friend tried to kill me.”
The man held up a trembling hand, palm out, and pleaded, “It was just a job. I swear, it was nothin’ personal.”
“And that’s supposed to make me less inclined to put a bullet through your brain?” Conrad asked coolly.
“I’ll do anything you want—”
“Tell me who hired you.”
“It . . . it was the girl! That blond girl, the one who went into the Palace to lure you out here. I swear it, mister, I got nothin’ against you.”
“Do you know her name?” Conrad snapped. He had his doubts that Rose Sullivan was her real name.
The man shook his head. “She never told Riley and me her name. She got word to us through a bartender we know, a fella who knows that we do jobs like this.”
“You mean who knows that you’re hired killers.”
The man’s face stiffened. He realized he might be talking himself right onto the gallows. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ else,” he muttered in a surly tone.
Conrad eared back the .38’s hammer, making the man’s eyes widen in fear again. “Where can I find her, the blonde who hired you?”
“I got no idea, and that’s the truth, I swear it. All Riley and me knew was where to meet her and talk about the job.”
“How did you wind up with my friend as your prisoner?”
“That skinny hombre? He was spyin’ on the girl. She spotted him in the place where we met and had me and Riley lay for him outside in the alley.”
“If he dies, you’ll hang. I’ll see to it.”
“That ain’t fair!” the man howled. “I never shot him!”
“Your partner did, and he’s dead. That just leaves you to swing for it.”
Before Conrad could say anything else, a loud,
authoritative voice ordered, “Mister, put that gun down and step away from that man!”
Conrad glanced over his shoulder and saw that a couple uniformed Denver policemen had arrived on the scene. He lowered the Smith & Wesson and nodded toward the man lying at the edge of the street. “This man and another one tried to kill me. The other one is lying over there. I shot him in self-defense. There were plenty of people on the street. I’m sure you can find witnesses to back up my story.”
“That’s fine,” one of the officers said, “but until then you’d better hand over that gun.”
Conrad hesitated. He didn’t want to be unarmed.
Before it became an issue, Bat Masterson walked up, breathing heavily. “I can testify . . . that my friend Mr. Browning . . . is telling the truth. I saw what happened . . . with my own eyes.”
The attitude of the police officers changed. “Are you sure about that, Mr. Masterson?” one of them asked. Clearly, they knew Bat and were familiar with his reputation as a lawman.
Masterson nodded. “I’m certain.” He seemed to be catching his breath.
The policemen looked at each other. One of them shrugged and said, “In that case . . .”
Conrad knew they were going to take Masterson’s word for it.
“My friend was wounded in the shooting.” Conrad pointed toward Arturo. The doctor had cut strips off of Arturo’s shirt and wadded them up to use as pads to try to stop the bleeding. “He needs to get to a hospital.”
“We’ll send for an ambulance wagon,” one of the officers said with a nod. “And we’ll take this one into custody.”
Masterson said, “If you need to talk to Mr. Browning or me, we’ll be in the Palace.”
“All right, Mr. Masterson, that’s fine.”
Masterson put a hand on Conrad’s arm. They turned toward the theater and gambling parlor.
“You followed me out anyway, didn’t you, Bat?” Conrad asked quietly as they walked toward the big building.
“It’s a good thing I did, I’d say.”
“I knew when I saw the shot crease that bastard’s hand and make him drop his gun, it had to be you who fired it.”
Masterson laughed. “You’re giving me too much credit, Conrad. That shot was pure luck. I was aiming at his body. I wanted to ventilate the son of a bitch!”
“Luck or skill, I’m glad you showed up when you did. He had a bead on me.”
“Let’s get a drink, and you can tell me what this is all about,” Masterson suggested. “I assume it has something to do with those missing children of yours.”
Conrad nodded, feeling a moment of bleak emptiness go through him. “It must.”
A short time later, they sat at a table in a small private room off the gambling hall with a bottle of whiskey on the table between them. Conrad sipped the drink Masterson had poured. He still had a poker tournament to take part in, and he didn’t want to muddle his brain.
“I reckon you went after Rose when you saw her shooting at me,” he said.
Masterson nodded. “That’s right. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew she couldn’t be your friend if she was trying to put a bullet in you. Unfortunately, she’s considerably younger and faster than I am. I chased her for a few blocks, but she gave me the slip. What’s going on here, Conrad? I thought she worked for Ellery Hudson.”
Conrad explained the suspicions he’d started having about Rose. The frown on Masterson’s face deepened as he listened.
“How could Pamela Tarleton have planned so far ahead as to set up all of this?” he asked when Conrad was finished.
“Pamela was a genius when it came to revenge. I’ve seen plenty of evidence of that over the past few months. I’m sure she tried to plan for every contingency she could think of. We’ve only seen the schemes that actually came to fruition.”
Masterson shook his head. “This Rose Sullivan seems to be almost as cunning. She came close to killing you several times.”
“I know.” Conrad nodded.
“Now that you’ve exposed her for what she is, you shouldn’t have to worry about her anymore.”
Conrad hoped that was the case, but he wasn’t so sure. Certainly it wouldn’t be as easy for her to try to kill him, but she had gotten away. He wasn’t convinced she would just give up. Pamela must have paid her to kill him. Rose, or whatever her real name was, might feel she had to honor that bargain.
“What are you going to do now?” Masterson asked.
“Find out where Arturo was taken and make sure he’s all right. Then I’ll take my place in the tournament again. Have there been any more winners?”
“A couple. You really intend to carry on with it?”
“I know there’s a connection between McKinney and Pamela, and I still have a hunch he knows more than he’s been willing to admit so far.” Conrad smiled faintly. “When the time comes for the next round, I’ll be ready.”
Chapter 19
It took only a short while to discover where Arturo had been taken. When Conrad arrived at the hospital he learned the bullet wound in Arturo’s arm had been cleaned and dressed, and thick rolls of bandages were wrapped around the arm, making it hard for him to move it. Of course, he didn’t need to be moving it anyway, the doctor said. He also had a bandage around his head where he had an ugly gash from the blow of the gun butt that had knocked him out.
The shock of being shot had caused him to pass out, and the loss of blood had kept him unconscious for awhile. Once his senses returned Conrad was able to talk to him, although the doctor cautioned him to make it short and not tire the patient too much.
Arturo explained how he followed Rose to the grimy little restaurant called Luigi’s and eavesdropped on her conversation with the two hired gunmen. His story agreed with what Conrad had been told by the derby-wearing killer.
“I’m sorry, Conrad. I thought I was being so sly and resourceful by following Miss Sullivan. Instead I walked right into a trap that could have wound up getting both of us killed.”
“You got hurt a lot worse than I did,” Conrad pointed out. “And yet you still tried to warn me.”
“When I regained consciousness in the carriage, I realized it was still moving, so I thought they probably hadn’t carried out their plan yet. I stayed absolutely still and didn’t let them see that I was awake. Then when we stopped and Miss Sullivan got out, I was sure they hadn’t struck yet. I waited until I heard her voice again, and that’s when I made my move, as they say.”
Conrad had to grin at that. “I heard that fella in the carriage—Riley, his name was—let out a howl. What’d you do, bite him?”
“Actually, yes,” Arturo replied with a solemn expression on his face. “When I tried to get out the door, he grabbed me, and one of his hands was within reach. I hated to do something so unsanitary, but it seemed like the best course of action at the time.”
“Maybe you won’t catch hydrophobia from him, even though he was a skunk, sure enough.” Conrad chuckled.
“He yelled and let me go,” Arturo went on, “and I made it out the door and called to you. Then I heard a shot, and that’s the last thing I remember until I woke up here.”
“I thought he’d killed you. It was a big relief when I found out he hadn’t.”
“For me as well,” Arturo said in all seriousness. “I owe you an apology, though, sir.”
Conrad frowned. “How do you figure that?”
“I allowed myself to be captured so that I could be used against you. Not only that, but now Miss Sullivan has escaped.”
“It’s not your fault she got away, and at least now we know for sure that she’s been plotting against me.”
“But wouldn’t it have been better if she wasn’t aware you were on to her schemes?”
Conrad shrugged. “Who knows? This way there’s no chance of her fooling any of us again. The one who really lost out is Ellery Hudson. He’ll have to find somebody to take her place.”
A nurse came into the room and insisted that
Conrad leave. Arturo needed his rest. Conrad agreed, and returned to the Palace, hoping Masterson hadn’t been forced to delay the start of the tournament’s second round because of him.
Stifling a yawn as he went into the building, he pulled out his watch. It was after midnight. He’d had only a couple hours sleep in the past forty-eight hours, and was starting to wear down. Despite that, he had to press on and do whatever was necessary.
One of the hostesses was coming down the stairs as he was going up. She recognized him and said, “Oh, Mr. Browning, Mr. Masterson said that when you came in, he wanted to see you right away.”
Conrad nodded. “Thanks. I was just on my way to look for him. Do you know if the second round of the tournament is ready to get underway?”
The woman shook her head. “We’re still waiting for the winner to be determined at one of the tables.”
That news made Conrad feel a little better. He hadn’t held things up. After checking in with Bat and making sure nothing else had come up, he might still have time to get a little sleep.
He found Masterson in the big room where the tournament was taking place. As the hostess had said, only one game was still going on, with two men each doggedly trying to clean out the other. Some of the players were sitting around drinking, eating, or dozing. Masterson was talking to several of them, but he broke off the conversation and came over as soon as he spotted Conrad. “How’s Arturo?”
“Doing as well as can be expected,” Conrad replied. “He has a headache from being pistol-whipped, and that wounded arm will keep him in the hospital for several days. But it looks like he’s going to be all right.”
Masterson smiled. “That’s good news. How about you?”
“Other than being a little tired, I’m fine,” Conrad shrugged. That wasn’t strictly true. He was more than a little tired.
“We can do something about that. The room you used before is empty. I made sure of that. Go get some sleep. It’ll be a while before the next round of games gets underway.”
The Loner: Killer Poker Page 12
