He sipped his drink and set it down on a nearby table unfinished. He pulled on his boots and then donned his shirt.
“Are you leaving?”
“I have to,” he said.
“I thought you might.”
“Amanda, you’re telling me that you run crime organizations through men.”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“And obviously, when you have a man like Ben Avery and you want to replace Victor Barrett, you kill the Victor Barretts of your world.”
“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I do that,” she said. “What would you do?”
“Well, first I’d leave,” he said, “and then I’d tell the police.”
“And then you’d have to try and prove that I said it,” she said.
“You’re probably right,” he said, standing up. “I would have to try.”
“Clint,” she said, quickly leaving her chair. She put her drink down and put her hands on his arms, to stay him. “Why don’t you stay with me?”
“Sorry,” he said, “I don’t relish being the man in front of the woman.”
“It wouldn’t be like that,” she said. “It would be you and me.”
“As what?”
“Partners.”
“I don’t think so, Amanda,” he said. “I don’t want to run a crime empire. And I don’t want to live in a city that has one.”
“The Wild West isn’t there for you anymore, Clint,” she said. “It’s time to change.”
“You’re probably right,” he said. “But this isn’t the place for me.”
“And I’m not the woman for you?” she asked, dropping her hands.
“I’m afraid not.”
She undid her robe and allowed it to drop to the floor so she was once again fully naked.
“Are you sure?” she asked, cupping her breasts in her hands. “You can walk away from this?”
“I think I can now, Amanda,” he said. “Yes.”
He headed for the front door, then turned to look at her again. She was still naked, but she had dropped her hands to her sides.
“Besides,” he said, “don’t you think I’m a little too old for you?”
THIRTY-SEVEN
When Clint got back to his hotel, it was dark. He found Inspector Callahan waiting for him in the lobby.
“Have you eaten yet?” he asked the younger man.
“No.”
“Come on, I’ll buy you a steak.”
They went into the hotel dining room and ordered two steak dinners.
“What happened?” Callahan asked. “Between you and Amanda Tate?”
Clint told him, leaving out the part where they had sex. He found himself not wanting the young man to think badly of him. So he told him the story, what Amanda had told him about Barrett and Avery.
“Did you believe her?” Callahan asked.
“Actually,” Clint said, as the waiter put their dinners in front of them, “I did.”
“Nobody else will,” Callahan said. “Least of all my bosses. A woman running things? On the docks?”
“I suspect Barrett ran the docks,” Clint said, “but he probably did what she told him to do.”
“Why would you believe her?”
“Because she’s smart,” Clint said. “Because she wanted me to know she was smart.”
“So you just believe her?”
“Yes.”
“How am I supposed to convince anyone of this?”
“Maybe you’re not.”
“So we . . . what? Ignore it?”
“I haven’t got it figured out yet, kid,” Clint admitted. “What did you find out?”
“That both Barrett and Avery have—or had—more men than you and I can handle at one time.”
“Well, we don’t have to worry about Barrett sending any of them after us now, do we?”
“If what Amanda Tate told you is true, maybe she’ll send them after us.”
“No,” Clint said, “they won’t listen to her. She’s going to have to wait for Avery to swoop in and take control.”
“He can’t just do that in one day, you know,” Callahan said. “Barrett had some men who will resist.”
“Did Barrett have any men who might take over for him?”
“Probably not,” Callahan said. “Our information is that he had no definite second in command.”
“And do you know why that was?”
“Why?”
“Because he was the second in command.”
After Clint Adams left her house, Amanda Tate was wondering if she’d done the right thing. If only the man hadn’t been so good in bed. If only his legend hadn’t made her want him to respect her. True, even if he returned with the police, he couldn’t prove she’d said any of the things she’d said, but she may have gotten herself more attention than she wanted.
She got dressed and left the house. She was going to have to get Ben Avery to act faster than she’d first intended. The tricky part was going to be convincing him it was his idea.
In the past Avery had proved to be controllable. Like most men, she was able to lead him around by his cock. But then he met that Julie Silver and it changed him. Now that Julie was gone, maybe she could get back the control she’d once had.
Maybe just one more big push.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The Docksider Tavern was one of many such taverns on and around the docks. The only thing that distinguished it was the fact that it was owned by Victor Barrett, and he lived upstairs.
The Bucket of Blood was another such tavern. It had nothing to distinguish it from the others, except for the fact that Amanda Tate had just entered. But while she drew glances and admiring looks from the patrons, none made a move toward her, or a comment, because she was known there. She was known as Victor Barrett’s woman—but, of course, none of them knew the latest developments in that relationship.
There was another man, however, with whom she had a relationship, the conditions of which no one but they knew. Nine times out of ten he was sitting at a back table by himself, with a bottle of rum and a shot glass. No one spoke to him or even approached him, because the last man who had done so was walking around with one ear.
A woman, however, could approach him, especially a woman like Amanda Tate. And while she had never approached him before, she did now.
She was wearing a wrap, and as she presented herself, she allowed it to slip to show the swell of her impressive cleavage. She received the response she was looking for. A man will either catch his friend, or wet his lips, and this one did both.
“Well, don’t jus’ stand there, darlin’,” he said, “have you a sit-down.”
She pulled a chair out and sat.
“A drink?” he asked.
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
That impressed him. He lifted a hand and the bartender brought over another shot glass. The man poured it full and then refilled his own glass.
“Now, what would be on yer mind, darlin’?”
“You are Kevin O’Donnell?”
“That would be me, yes.”
“I understand you kill men for money.”
He sipped his rum and studied her, his eyes dwelling on the deepness of her cleavage.
“I do,” he said. “I kill people for money. Not just men. You got yerself a woman who’s messin’ with yer man?” He shrugged.
“That’s okay,” she said. “I took care of the girl myself.”
He raised his eyebrows and sat back.
“Yer an enterprising lady then,” he said. “Why do you need me?”
“I need a man killed.”
“Are you willin’ ta pay?”
“Yes.”
“Any price?”
“Within reason.”
He looked pointedly at her breasts.
“Yes, even that.”
He smiled. He actually had nice, even teeth, and took care of them fairly well. She didn’t know how tall he was, but he
looked fit, was in his thirties, certainly qualified to be one of her conquests. She only needed him for this one job, though.
“Who do you want killed?”
“First, do you know who I am?”
“I know that yer a fine figure of a woman,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve seen yer like in a while.”
“I’ve been in here before.”
“Have ya? I guess I didn’t notice.”
She’d seen him in there a lot, but he rarely looked up from his bottle.
“Do you know who Victor Barrett is?”
“I’ve heard the name.”
“Have you ever done any work for him?”
“From what I heard, he’s got his own that does his work for him.”
“Well, I have a connection to Victor Barrett. You might hear that from someone in here after I’ve left. I need you to know that you are dealing with me on this, and no one else.”
“Don’t want to deal with no one else, darlin’,” he said. “Jus’ you.”
“Good,” she said, “then we have that settled.”
She drank some of the rum. It was the roughest thing she’d ever had, burned like fire, but she showed nothing to him.
“Ha!” he said, impressed. “Have some more.” He topped off her glass. “Now, tell me who it is you’d be havin’ me kill.”
“His name is Clint Adams.” She studied him for a reaction. “Do you know who that is?”
“I do, indeed,” he said to her, his eyes glittering, “and I’m thinkin’ I’ll be wantin’ some of my pay up front.”
THIRTY-NINE
Over a piece of pie each, Callahan asked, “So with Barrett dead, do we go after Avery?”
“No,” Clint said, “we—you, the police—have to go after Amanda. I think she killed Julie, and she killed Barrett. That’s what you’re concerned with.”
“And what are you concerned with?”
“The same thing I have been from the beginning,” Clint said. “Finding Ted Singleton, or what happened to him.”
“But now you know that Amanda didn’t know him.”
“I think she’s lying,” Clint said. “I think Amanda knows everything, and everyone.”
“Even what the elusive ‘it’ is?”
“Especially that, but you know what? I’m the one who doesn’t care what it is. I only care about Ted.”
“You’re not even curious about what these people are chasing?”
Clint shook his head. “Not even curious.”
“You’re a better man than me,” Callahan said. “I’m dying to know what it is.”
“Well,” Clint said, “whether we want to know or not, I think in the end we might end up finding out.”
“But you don’t care.”
“Not really.”
Callahan dropped his knife on his plate and pushed back from the chair.
“Well, to take care of Amanda, I need proof,” he said. “Proof, or a confession.”
“You know,” Clint said, “I could do this the old way.”
“The old way meaning the Old West way, when there was no law?”
Clint shrugged.
“You can’t just kill her, Clint,” Callahan said. “Then I’d be looking for you.”
Clint shrugged again.
“Besides,” Callahan went on, “she’s a woman.”
“So?”
“You can’t kill a woman.”
“She has,” Clint said. “She’s killed a woman, and a man. She’s not playing any favorites, Charlie, why should we?”
“Maybe,” Callahan said, “because we’re supposed to be the good guys?”
Amanda rolled over and looked down at the sleeping form of Kevin O’Donnell. They were in a run-down shack he called home, on a bed that was hardly more than a pallet. The welts Clint Adams had left on her were still there, but now there was a soreness between her legs she had never experienced before. O’Donnell was easily the most brutal lover she’d ever had. His body was covered with scars—some, he said, earned in his native Ireland, the others here—and he was like no man she had ever been with before. This made him the second such man she had been with this week. But the difference between Clint Adams and Kevin O’Donnell was that the Irishman matched her in temperament. Clint Adams could never live with the things she had done, and the things she would do. Kevin O’Donnell would have no trouble at all.
But she wasn’t going to let the Irish killer know that. As far as he was concerned, this was just the first part of her payment. The next part would be cash, and the last part her body, again. At that time she’d tell him how she felt and see if he felt the same way.
But first they had to get rid of Ben Avery, and then Clint Adams.
FORTY
Clint and Callahan gave it up for the night. The inspector went home and Clint to his room. The next morning Clint had breakfast alone. Something had occurred to him during the night, and he was trying to work it out for himself.
Where was Ted Singleton?
There had not been any sign of him since Clint’s arrival in Sacramento. Both Julie Silver and Amanda Tate claimed to have been working with him. Amanda claimed to have lied about it, and Clint hadn’t believed her when she said it. Now he wasn’t so sure. And what about Julie? What reason could she have had to lie?
Clint took out again the telegram that he had received from Singleton, and read it. There was nothing in the wording that helped him. But why had the United States government been mentioned by both Julie and Amanda?
Clint finally decided that after breakfast it was time for him to send a telegram of his own.
Clint stopped off at the telegraph office to send another telegram to Washington. He was wondering now who was lying, one of the two women or Washington? Jim West may not have been able to admit that there was some sort of operation going on in Sacramento. Maybe if he knew that Singleton was involved—Clint’s first telegram had not mentioned that—the answer might be different.
When Clint entered, the key operator quickly jumped to his feet.
“I didn’t say nothin’!” he snapped.
“Relax,” Clint said. “I just wanted to send another one.”
“Oh, o-okay.”
“And you won’t have to worry about passing this one on to Victor Barrett. He’s dead.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Clint said. “You’ll have to find yourself another little sideline.”
“Uh, n-no,” the clerk said. “I learned my lesson. I ain’t doin’ that no more.”
“Good for you.” Clint wrote down his message and passed it to the clerk. This time he wasn’t so worried about his wording, except in one place. He actually told West that Singleton was missing, and had claimed to be working for “him” in D.C.
“Will you want the reply brought to the same place?” the clerk asked.
“Yes, and as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
Clint paid the man and left. By the time he got back to his hotel, Inspector Callahan was waiting.
“Where’ve you been?” Callahan asked.
“Were you worried?”
“Well, yes,” the younger man said. “I don’t need to have you turn up missing, like your friend.”
“Yes, I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Let me ask you,” Clint said, “what if Ted was never here?”
“At the hotel?”
“No,” Clint said, patiently. “What if he never was in Sacramento?”
“Then who sent you the telegram, and why?”
“Yep,” Clint said, “those would be the questions we’re left with, all right.”
“That’s something we don’t need,” Callahan said, “more questions.”
“Well, there’s something else I should tell you,” Clint said. He looked around. “Come over here,” he said, and led Callahan to a sofa in the lobby. It was still early and they had the lobby to themselves.
Clint had decided to tell Callahan about the possible involvement of the Secret Service. He’d decided that he trusted the honest young policeman.
Callahan listened patiently, his eyes growing wider and wider.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Callahan demanded when Clint was done.
“In my past dealings with the Secret Service I’ve always had to be . . . well, secretive.”
Callahan’s eyes got even wider.
“You’ve worked for the United States Secret Service?” he asked.
“With,” Clint said, “I’ve worked with them. I have a good friend who’s an agent. We help each other out from time to time.”
“Have you asked your friend if Julie or Amanda’s claims are legitimate?”
“I sent a telegram when I first talked to them. The response was that there were no agents in this area.”
“But?”
“Well, now I’m wondering if they were just covering,” Clint finished. “So I sent another, more specific telegram this morning. Hopefully, this reply will tell us something.”
“This is just more confusing for me,” Callahan said, shaking his head.
“How are things at headquarters?”
“You can’t believe how many people are upset about Barrett’s death,” Callahan said. “I didn’t realize how many policemen he had on his payroll. It’s very . . . disappointing.”
“Maybe now that Barrett’s dead things will change,” Clint suggested.
“And what if Ben Avery just takes over? Picks up where Barrett left off. How can I keep working in a department that’s so corrupt?”
“I don’t know, Charlie,” Clint said. “Have you talked to your friend, the lieutenant? Is he one of the clean ones?”
“I’ve always thought so,” Callahan said, “but how can I be sure?” He shook his head. “I’ve got a good mind just to turn in my badge and leave Sacramento. Do something else.”
“Like what? Join another police department?”
“Maybe,” Callahan said, “maybe in the East.”
“Do you really think they’ll be less corrupt?” Clint asked.
“I could only hope so,” Callahan said, and then his eyes widened again, this time for a different reason. “Hey, what about the Secret Service?”
Two for Trouble Page 10
