Five Points (2 page)

Clint smiled and put the tickets in his pocket. They were for the next evening. He'd find a woman to take with him by then.

He left the hotel to go in search of breakfast, which he preferred this morning to eat someplace other than the hotel dining room.

“See? I told you. It's him.”

Bethany excitedly squeezed Ben's arm.

“All right, so it's him,” Ben said. “What about it?”

“Do you know what a touch he'd be? How exciting? ”

“Forget it,” Ben said. “You'd be lookin' for trouble. Besides, we got work to do.”

“
You
have work to do,” she said, poking him in the chest. “My work doesn't even start until yours ends, remember? You better get going.”

He pointed his finger at her.

“Beth, don't get into trouble, hear? Ma wouldn't like it.”

“You're afraid of your ma, Ben,” Bethany reminded him, “but I'm not.” She laughed.

“Bethany—”

“Oh, go,” she said, pushing him. “Go to work. Don't worry about me. I'll amuse myself.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

Ben left the hotel. When he got to the street, he turned right. Bethany went out after him, spotted his retreating back, then turned left and hurried along, hoping to catch up to Clint Adams.

When Ben reached Mrs. Wellington's house, he knocked on the door. When she opened it, she smiled. She wasn't a bad-looking woman and when she smiled, she looked younger than her fifty-odd years.

“Ben, you came.”

“I said I would, Libby,” he replied.

“Come in, my beautiful boy, come in,” she said.

He followed her in and closed the door behind him.

As usual the house was stuffy—but filled with so many valuable things.

“I wasn't sure you'd come,” she said, “not after last time.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Last time I was . . . rude.”

“No, no,” she said. “It's all right. I was . . . foolish. Would you like some tea?”

“I would love some tea, Libby.”

“Excellent,” she said. “Excellent. We'll have some tea and talk.”

“Yes,” he said, “we'll talk.”

Bethany caught up to Clint Adams as he was going into a small restaurant. She waited. When she was sure he was seated, she went and looked in the window. He was alone, ordering breakfast.

She caught her reflection in the window. She was nineteen and pretty, but not beautiful. Clint Adams only liked beautiful women—at least that was what she'd heard.

She knew she had a few days to play with. Ben wasn't going to be able to get what they wanted from Mrs. Wellington until he gave her what she wanted. He hadn't been ready to do it last time, but he was supposed to be ready now.

Maybe.

She had time, though. Time to watch Clint Adams, time to wait for her chance. If she could successfully pick the Gunsmith's pocket, she would make a name for herself back home in New York. Even Ben's mother would have to admit that. That old witch would have to give her some respect, then.

She'd have to.

The next night Clint took a woman named Laura Bedford to the theater with him. He had met her the previous night in the hotel bar. They'd had a drink together, then another, and then he'd told her he had two tickets to the theater, and if she was still going to be in town he'd like to take her. She'd agreed.

She met him in the lobby, breathtaking in a red gown. She wore a shawl around her shoulders, and it covered her well, but hinted of dark cleavage beneath. She was tall, made even taller by the fact that she had piled her chestnut hair atop her head.

The show was a lively musical that ended with a big production number that sent everyone away with their toes still tapping.

“A late dinner?” he asked Laura.

“Yes, I'm famished.”

Clint had asked Bat Masterson to recommend a restaurant he could take Laura Bedford to. Bat had suggested a place called Brentwood's Steak House. As it turned out, it was a good choice.

“This is marvelous,” Laura said, taking a second bite of her steak. “How did you find this place?”

“It was recommended to me by a friend.”

“The same friend who gave you the tickets?”

“No,” he said, “that was a different friend.”

“You have a lot of friends in Denver?”

“A few,” he said. “I come here from time to time.”

“To get away from the old West?” she asked.

He looked at her, surprised.

“Yes, I recognized your name when you introduced yourself last night,” she said. “I know who you are.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, don't worry,” she said. “I would have accepted your invitation even if you weren't the infamous Gunsmith. You're very charming.”

“Thank you.”

“How long are you planning to stay in Denver?”

“I'm not sure,” he said. “As you said, I'm taking a break from the old West. Although, I think the old West is sort of getting away from us. Don't you think?”

“Progress, Mr. Adams,” she said. “There's really no way to stop it, is there?”

“No, Miss Bedford,” he said, “there isn't.”

After dinner they grabbed a hansom cab back to the Denver House, where they went to the bar for a night-cap. Clint had a beer, and Laura Bedford had a snifter of brandy.

“Well, I have to thank you for a lovely evening,” she said while they sat and had their drinks.

“Well, it's not quite over yet, is it?” Clint asked.

“No,” she said, “not quite.” She swirled the brandy that was left in her glass. “This is a little early for a man like you to be calling it a night, isn't it?” she asked.

“A man like me?”

“Someone who leads as exciting a life as you do,” she said. “Don't you have to go and meet some friends for a poker game, or some kind of gambling? Maybe get into a fight or two?”

“My fighting days have moved along with progress, I'm afraid,” he said. “And no, I don't have a poker game tonight.”

“So that means you're free?” she asked. “Um, like for the whole . . . night?”

“I'm definitely free,” he said, “for anyone who has an idea how to spend the whole night.”

“Well, if you're not put off by forward-thinking women,” she said, “I definitely have an idea . . .”

They debated briefly about whose room to go back to, and then they chose hers simply because it was the closest to the lobby.

When they were in her room, she released the shawl and let it fall to the floor. She'd kept it around her the entire night, tantalizing him with an occasional peek at her shadowy cleavage. Now he could see the slopes of her full breasts clearly, but he wanted to see more. He went to her and slid the gown off her shoulders so that it fell first to her waist and then to the floor. She had some wispy underthings on, and once he got rid of those, she was standing in front of him naked and confident. She smiled, pushed her chest against him, and kissed him slowly, deeply. He slid his hands down her back so he could cup her buttocks and pull her closer. She moaned into his mouth and writhed against him, then backed away from him so she could undress him. When she found the little New Line Colt he used as a hideaway gun, he took it from her and placed it on the table next to the bed.

“Can't be too careful, huh?” she asked.

“Never,” he said.

She continued to undress him, helped him with his boots and his pants, and then they fell onto her bed together. She was tall and slender, yet full-breasted. He took her in his arms, kissed her lips, her neck, her breasts, all the while stroking her between her legs with his fingertips, causing her to catch her breath.

“God,” she said, “your touch is so light.”

“We're just getting started,” he told her. “I get rougher as we go on.”

She laughed deep in her throat and said, “Promise?”

He continued to stroke her until she was very wet, and then kissed his way down her body, saying, “I want to taste you.”

“Taste me?” she asked, putting her hands on his head. “I want you to devour me.”

When he touched his tongue to her, she jumped as if she'd been struck by lightning, then she sighed and relaxed as his lips and tongue went to work.

“Oh, you're very, very good at this,” she whispered.

This time he laughed and said, “I know. You're so sweet, though, I don't want to waste time talking . . .” and went back to work. He licked and sucked her, kissed her, stroked her, pushed his fingers inside of her, inciting her to become more and more excited. Finally, when she could hardly stand it anymore, he moved up over her and slowly entered her until the length of him was enveloped in her warmth.

“Ah, yes,” she said as he began to move in and out. “Yes, yes, this is what I was thinking about during that show.”

“Really?” he said against her ear. “You mean we wasted all that time watching that terrible show?”

They both laughed.

“Well,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist, “we're not wasting any more, are we?”

She pulled his head down and thrust her tongue deeply into his mouth . . .

They lay together later, regaining their breath, her head on his shoulders, their naked bodies still pressed together.

“You were right,” he said. “That was a good idea.”

“And the night's not over yet,” she told him.

“No,” he said, “not by a long shot.”

When Ben opened the door to their hotel room and entered, he shouted, “Bethany!”

“I'm here,” she said from the bed. She was fully dressed and had been reading a book. “How did it go?”

“It was no fun, believe me,” he said, taking off his jacket and throwing it down.

“Oh, come on,” Bethany said. “She's not that bad-lookin'. ”

“She's old,” Ben said. “Her skin was . . . like leather.”

She put her arms around him from behind and hugged.

“There, there,” she said. “My brave boy.”

“I'm not a boy,” he said. “I'm twenty-two.”

“I know,” she said. “Are we all set for tomorrow?”

He put his hand in his pocket and came out with the key to Mrs. Wellington's house. Bethany snatched it from his hand.

“Finally!”

“You try sleepin' with some fifty-year-old man and see how fast you get it done,” he said.

“I'm proud of you, Ben,” she said, “and your mama is gonna be proud, too.”

The next morning Clint woke, got out of bed without waking Laura, and went back to his own room. He slept another two hours there, then had a bath and dressed for the day. There had been nothing said about meeting the next day, so he decided to leave it to chance. Besides, this was the day he had put aside to find a poker game. He was to meet Bat for lunch at one of his favorite restaurants, Del Frisco's.

Because he knew his lunch with Bat would be sumptuous, he decided to have a light breakfast, just coffee and biscuits, so he went right into the Denver House's dining room. He ordered food, the
Denver Post
, and the newspaper that Bat had mentioned,
George's Weekly.

He spent some leisure time getting refills on the coffee and reading through both newspapers. Roper, notorious for being in the papers, was not mentioned in either. Neither was Bat. Clint figured his two friends had been keeping their heads down lately and staying out of trouble.

Which, of course, wasn't their way. Sooner or later they'd find trouble—or trouble would find them—just as it would happen to him. There was no way any of them could avoid it.

But he couldn't get into trouble just sitting here reading the newspapers, could he?

Ben and Bethany met Willie O'Donnell on the corner near their hotel, down the street from the Denver House. Ben's mother had given them enough money to stay in style.

“Got it?” O'Donnell asked.

Bethany held the key out to him.

“Thanks, little darlin',” he said, giving her an ugly smile. “I guess that means our boy Ben did his dirty job, huh?”

Bethany squeezed Ben's arm to keep him from protesting. Willie O'Donnell called him a boy to get his goat. She only did it to tease him. He didn't like it, either way, but if he spoke up, Willie would give him a beating.

“You got your men ready?” Bethany asked.

“Aye,” O'Donnell said. “We're ready to go. What about our Ben here?”

“Ben will do his part, Willie,” Bethany said. “He'll get the woman out of the house for hours.”

“Good, good,” Willie said.

“Noon, Willie,” Bethany said. “Don't forget.”

“Aye, lass,” Willie said. “Noon. You wouldn't want to get together with me before then, would ye?”

“Good-bye, Willie,” Bethany said. “See you in New York.”

Willie grinned at them, showing gaps where teeth used to be. Each of the missing teeth had been knocked out in some fight or another, some on the streets of New York, others in places like Sing Sing Prison.

“I hate him,” Ben said as Willie walked away.

“Yeah, but your mama doesn't.”

“I don't know why she puts up with him.”

“Don't you?”

Ben winced. “I don't want to hear that, Bethany.”

“You have one last job to do today, Ben,” Bethany said. “Then we're on the train back home.”