Standoff in Santa Fe (8 page)

Clint and Thad finished their rounds without much incident. They had to break up a fight in a small saloon, and settle an argument over a bottle of whiskey in another, but that was all.

“This is the only kind of action I ever see,” Thad said as they left the second saloon and started back to the sheriff's office.

“And you want to see another kind?”

“Yes.”

“If that was true,” Clint said, “then you would have gone into the Crystal Queen before now.”

Thad looked down.

“I wanted to, but I was too . . .”

“Frightened?”

“N-No,” Thad said. “N-Nervous.”

There was only a slight difference, but Clint let the matter drop.

As they entered the sheriff's office, Clint could smell fresh coffee.

“Finished?” Sheriff Burle asked.

“For now,” Clint said. “Is that fresh?”

Burle gestured with his white mug and said, “Help yourself.”

“Reeves and Billy aren't back yet?” Clint asked, pouring himself a cup. He offered a cup to Thad, who turned it down.

“What do you think of our fair town?” Burle asked.

“It's prospering,” Clint said.

“Yes, it is.”

“Looks like new buildings are going up all the time.”

“They are.”

“I would think the town council would allow you some more deputies to police it.”

“I've asked,” Burle said. “Thad and Billy work for very little. You and Reeves are volunteers.”

“More like draftees,” Clint said, “but I get your point. But surely, with all the extra guns in town, they would come up with some extra money.”

“Well,” Burle said, “I've assured them I can handle things.”

“And can you?”

“With your help,” Burle said, “and the help of Bass Reeves, yes.”

“But what if we decided to leave town?” Clint asked. “And take our friends with us?”

“Then that would reduce the number of guns in town, wouldn't it?” Burle asked.

“You have a point,” Clint said. “If we all left town, things would be less tense.”

“But John Wesley Hardin, Jim Miller, and Clay Allison would still be here,” Thad pointed out. “And many of the others.”

“Like Craddock,” Clint said.

Burle sat back in his chair.

“I expect most of the trouble to come from him,” the lawman said.

“If Tom Horn arrives in town,” Clint said.

“And who knows who else will arrive?” Thad asked.

“It's dark,” Burle said. “When Reeves and Billy come back, three of you should go and get some supper. Thad, you and Billy decide who will stay here at the office.”

“Yessir.”

“Tell me something, Sheriff,” Clint said.

“What's that?”

“Conlon,” Clint said. “Who works for him?”

“He's got lots of employees.”

“Yes, but any guns?”

“Plenty,” Sheriff Burle said. “He calls them his security force.”

“I haven't seen any of them.”

“That's because he's got them guarding the body,” Burle said, “until it's time for the wake.”

“Whenever that will be,” Clint said.

“Well, whenever it is,” Burle said, “whenever he puts the body on display, his men will be guarding it.”

“But they're guarding it now, right?”

“Yes.”

“So if someone got impatient, and tried to see the body ahead of time, they'd stop them, right?”

“And if I know those men—and I do—they wouldn't just stop them. They're led by a man named Trench.”

“Trench?” Clint said. “That name sounds familiar. Trench . . .”

“He had a reputation,” Burle said. “Before he came here months ago . . .”

“Yes,” Clint said “A rep with his gun.”

“Fast and deadly,” Burle said. “That's what they say about him.”

“And about a lot of the men who are here in town,” Clint said. “With Trench guarding the body, there's bound to be trouble.”

“I think so.”

Clint put his cup down on the desk and stood up.

“When Bass comes back, tell him I've gone to the Crystal Queen.”

“To do what?” Burle asked.

“To make sure that nobody gets impatient,” Clint said.

Bat Masterson and Heck Thomas went up the stairs to Ben Conlon's office. Heck knocked, and they waited. The door was opened by Conlon himself.

“Masterson,” Conlon said, then looked at Heck. “What happened to Adams?”

“He's busy. Can we come in?”

“Sure,” Conlon said. He backed away and allowed them to enter. “Close the door, please.”

Bat closed it.

“Who's your friend?”

“Heck Thomas,” Heck said, introducing himself.

“Ah, the famous detective. And what are you detecting today?”

“I'm tryin' to find out when the wake is gonna start,” Heck said.

“Me, too,” Conlon said.

“What's that mean?” Bat asked.

“I'm looking for my undertaker,” Conlon said. He shrugged. “Can't find him.”

“Why don't you just wheel the body out, then?” Bat asked. “Let everybody have a look?”

“I can't,” Conlon said. “I'm no expert. I don't know if the body is ready to be viewed.”

“All right, then,” Bat said, “just let us have a look. Then we can be on our way.”

“Oh, I can't do that, Bat,” Conlon said.

“Why not?”

“If I do it for you, I'll have to do it for everyone downstairs.”

“We won't tell them,” Heck said.

“You'll tell your friends,” Conlon said, “and they'll tell someone. It would get out. And then I'd be in a lot of trouble.” Conlon sat down behind his desk. “I just can't do it, Bat. Sorry.”

“That's okay,” Bat said. “I figured you'd say that. We'll get out of your way.”

Bat and Heck headed for the door.

“So what are you gonna do?” Conlon asked.

Bat opened the door, turned, and looked at the saloon owner.

“I can't tell you, Conlon,” he said. “If I do, I'd have to tell everybody downstairs . . . wouldn't I?”

Clint entered the saloon, looked around, spotted Luke Short at the bar.

“Where are Bat and Heck?”

“They went up to see Conlon,” Luke said. “They're gonna try to find out when the wake will start.”

“And what are they planning if Conlon says it's not going to start soon?”

“We're comin' up with a plan to get a look at the body,” Luke said. “I checked the back room, it looks easy enough to get into.”

“Yeah, but maybe not so easy to get out—alive.”

“Whataya mean?”

“The sheriff told me that Conlon has a security force,” Clint said. “Headed up by a man named Trench.”

“Trench. I know that name. This is not good.”

“We've got to keep Bat and Heck from doing something stupid.”

“Don't worry.”

“What do you mean?”

“They wouldn't dare do somethin' stupid without me.”

*   *   *

Bat and Heck Thomas did not go back to the bar. Instead, they looked for a way to get to the rear of the building. Heck found a door that was locked, decided to see if there was any entry from outside.

In the alley behind the saloon they found another door, also locked. It was pitch black and Heck produced a lucifer and scratched it to life.

“Can you get this open?” Bat asked.

“Do I look like a burglar?” Heck asked.

“You look like a guy with a big, burly shoulder.”

Heck put that shoulder to the door and tested it.

“This is a solid door,” he said, “much more than most back doors.”

“There must be somethin' inside they don't want anybody to see,” Bat reasoned.

“I'd say,” Heck agreed.

“Okay,” Bat said, looking the building over, squinting at the windows, which were blocked from inside. “We can find a way in. We can figure this out.”

“Break a window?”

“I'd like to get in without anyone hearin' us,” Bat said. “Or even knowing that we'd been in there.”

“Now you tell me,” Heck said, striking another match.

*   *   *

Clint and Luke made their way through the crowded saloon to the back, looking for a way to get to the storeroom where the body was being held.

“This is locked,” Luke said.

“And unguarded.”

“So there's either nothing inside,” Luke said, “or the guards are inside.”

“I vote nothing,” Clint said. “Come on, let's find the storeroom.”

They found a hallway that led to another door—also locked.

“Outside,” Clint said, pointing farther down the hall.

They went to the end of the hall, found another door which led to the alley in the back. There they found Bat Masterson and Heck Thomas about to force a locked door open. Heck was holding a match to try to illuminate the scene.

“Wait!” Clint hissed.

The two men stopped short and looked at him.

“What's wrong?” Bat asked. “You gonna arrest us? We think the body is in here.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, “and so are a bunch of guards.”

“What?” Heck asked.

“Come back inside with us and we'll tell you what,” Clint said.

“But—” Bat said.

“Trust us,” Luke said. “We're keepin' you from makin' a big mistake.”

*   *   *

As Clint and Luke brought Bat Masterson and Heck Thomas back into the saloon, a table in the back suddenly opened up.

“Grab that!” Clint barked. “I'll get some beers.”

He went to the bar, got four mugs of beer, and managed to wrangle them back to the table his friends had claimed. He set the beers down in the center of the table, and sat. They all grabbed one.

“Now what's goin' on?” Bat asked after a healthy drink.

“You know a man named Trench?” Clint asked.

“I know of him,” Bat said.

“Well, he's working for Conlon,” Clint said.

“As what?”

“Security chief,” Clint said. “Apparently, he's got some guards on the body.”

“Not outside the room,” Heck said, “so they must be . . . inside.”

“Right.”

“That would not have been fun,” Bat Masterson said, “breaking into a room full of guards.”

“Did you talk to Conlon?” Clint asked.

“Yes,” Bat said. “He's still putting the wake off, blaming the undertaker.”

“He says he can't find him,” Heck added.

“Maybe,” Clint suggested,
“we
should try to find him.”

“Tonight?” Luke asked.

“I don't think anything's going to happen tonight,” Clint said, “but early tomorrow morning for sure. Let's find out what he has to say about things.”

“Anybody know his name?” Luke asked.

“No,” Clint said, “but we'll find out tomorrow.”

“You got more rounds to do tonight?” Bat asked.

“No,” Clint said, “I get to eat and go back to work in the morning.”

“I guess we're done here for the day, then,” Bat said. “I'm going back to my hotel room.”

“No poker?” Heck asked.

“Not tonight.”

“You, Luke?” Heck asked.

“Yeah, I got a game,” Luke said, frowning, “if I can just remember where.”

They left their table and began to go their own ways when Bass Reeves walked in.

“Hey, hey,” he said, “the party's over?”

“I'm turning in,” Bat said.

“I've got a poker game,” Luke said.

“I've got nothin' to do,” Heck said.

“I can stay for a beer and fill you in,” Clint said. “Where's your deputy?”

“Billy is getting somethin' to eat,” Reeves said. “Then he's gonna go back and relieve Thad.”

“So you're done for the night?” Clint asked.

Reeves nodded and said, “Same as you.”

The three friends walked over to the bar as Bat and Luke went out the batwings.

When they all had beers, they turned to lean against the bar with their elbows, facing the room. They saw Elfego Baca walking up to them.

“I see something new has occurred,” he said happily.

“We're just tryin' to help out,” Reeves said.

“Bass made me do it,” Clint said.

Baca looked at Heck Thomas, who shrugged and said, “Nobody made me do it.”

Baca waved to the bartender for a beer.

“I am assuming you gentlemen know when this wake is going to take place,” the young Mexican lawman said.

“We know when it's not taking place,” Clint said.

“Anytime soon,” Reeves said.

“Is that a fact?” Baca asked, accepting his beer from the barman. “I am afraid I cannot stay much longer.”

“As a matter of fact,” Reeves said, “neither can I.”

“Well,” Clint said, “we're going to get to the bottom of it tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Baca said, “one more day.” He started to walk back to his table, then turned around again. “If you need any help, let me know.”

“We'll keep that in mind,” Clint said.
“Gracias.”

Elfego Baca returned to his table.

“Think the others will be as patient as he's being?” Reeves asked.

“Maybe not,” Clint said. “John Wesley Hardin is not known for his patience.”

“Neither are Jim Miller or Clay Allison,” Heck Thomas said.

“They'll have to be,” Clint said, “at least for tonight. Tomorrow we'll get some answers.”

They clinked their glasses and drank.

*   *   *

Jim Miller saw the badges Clint Adams and Bass Reeves were wearing. He waited until they finished their beers with Heck Thomas and all three left the room, then he walked down to where John Wesley Hardin was standing.

“You see the badges?”

Hardin turned and looked at him. “On Adams and Reeves? Yeah.”

“What do you suppose that's about?”

“Who knows?” Hardin asked. “Maybe they miss wearin' tin.”

“I don't like it.”

“You got any paper out on you now?”

“No.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“I'm always worried,” Miller said. “I thought you and me were the same way.”

“You and me,” John Wesley Hardin said, “isn't alike, at all. Go talk to Allison.”

“Clay Allison's crazy.”

“Funny,” Hardin said, “that's what I always heard about you.”

Miller stared at him with dead eyes, then turned and walked away. As far as Hardin was concerned, Miller and Allison were alike, and he was like neither of them. Let them worry together.

He went back to his beer.

*   *   *

“Don't you ever get tired?” the girl asked Craddock.

“No,” he said. He was lying on his back on the bed with his hands behind his head, still naked. She was lying next to him, trying to catch her breath. His beautiful penis was still half hard, even after he'd used it on her half a dozen times. It was beautiful, but at the moment she saw it as another weapon of his, and she didn't want him using it on her again anytime soon.

She needed some rest.

“Tell me about the wake,” he said.

Oh good, she thought. He finally wants to talk.

“What about it?”

“When's it supposed to start?”

“Yesterday.”

“What's the holdup?”

“I don't know,” she said.

He reached out, slid his hand down her belly until he could tangle his hand in her bush. Then he pulled.

“Ow! What the—”

“When is the wake?”

“It was supposed to start yesterday,” she said. “That's all I know.”

“Who's in charge?”

“Conlon, Ben Conlon.”

“Who is he?”

“My boss. He owns this place.”

“What's his agenda?”

“Agenda?”

“What's he after?”

“What else?” she asked. “Money.”

“So he's figured out a way for this wake to make him money?”

“I'll bet.”

“He's your direct boss?”

“No, that's Alicia,” Delilah said. “Alicia Simmons. She runs the girls.”

“She belong to Conlon?”

“Maybe he thinks so, but no.”

He released the hold he had on her pubic hair, but left his hand there. In minutes he was asleep.