from the rear platform of the train, and spending the nights in a special car.”
“Will Carla be along for that?” Clint asked.
“I’ll be there,” Carla said. “I go where you go. That’s what an assistant does.”
That wasn’t all an assistant did, Clint thought.
Andy George waited in the Bloody Rose Saloon for his boss to arrive. A message the day before had set up the meeting.
He stood at the bar with a beer, wondering if it was finally time for him and his partners to do the job.
As his boss entered the saloon, George ordered two more beers from the bartender, then carried them to the table the other man had sat down at.
George pushed a beer toward the man.
“How are your men?” he asked.
“Impatient.”
“Well, that is about to end.”
“It’s time?”
The man nodded.
“Adams is starting a whistle-stop tour tomorrow,” he said. “He’ll be on the rails for a week, sleeping at night in a private car.” The man leaned forward. “We do not want him coming back to Austin.”
“How do you want it done?”
“Obviously.”
“What?”
“Bloody,” the man said. “As bloody as possible.”
“You don’t want us to make it look like an accident?”
“We don’t want anything fancy. Just kill him,” the man said. “Do not mess this up.”
“Okay,” George said. “Okay, we can do that. What about the others?”
“Heck Thomas is a deputy in Judge Parker’s court,”the man said. “Do not touch him. We don’t care about any of the others.”
“And the woman?”
“Do whatever you want to do with her,” the man said. “You have a free hand this time, Mr. George, but don’t get used t it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. He pushed it across the table to Andy George.
“You’ll get another like this when you return,” he said. “We will meet here eight days from now.”
“Eight days,” George said. “Got it.”
The man stood up and left without having touched his beer. George pulled it back across the table to his side. He’d finish these two and then go and talk to the others.
That night Henry Chapman knocked on the door of Congressman Big Ben Turner’s house. Lewis opened the door to admit him.
“He’s in the solarium,” he said.
Chapman nodded. He knew where the solarium was.
As he entered, he saw Turner sitting in a plush armchair, wearing a purple dressing gown.
“Ah, Henry, my boy,” Turner said. “Sit, I’ll have Lewis bring you a whiskey.”
“Fine.”
Chapman didn’t see the big man move at all, but moments later the butler came in and handed him a whiskey.
“Thanks.”
“I have some work for you,” Turner said.
“I figured.”
“It will take you on the road.”
Chapman made a face.
“I hate the road.”
“I know,” Turner said, “and this is why I will pay you a lot of money. To make up for it.”
“Fine,” Chapman said. “What’s the job?”
“You have, of course, heard of Clint Adams…”
THIRTY-SIX
Early the next morning Clint and Carla woke with their limbs entwined, still damp from the exertions of the night.
“Oh,” she said, rolling away from him, their skin parting reluctantly because of the dampness. “I can use a bath.”
“Better make it quick,” Clint said.
“Do you think Julius will prepare it for me?” she asked.
Clint swung his feet to the floor and said, “I’ll ask him.”
“He’s your butler,” she said. “Don’t you tell him what to do?”
“I’m not used to having a butler,” Clint said. “I feel better asking than telling.”
“You’d never be able to live as a rich man, would you?” she asked.
“Not if I had to wear yellow robes or purple suits, like Congressman Turner.”
“Oh God,” she said, “that would be funny.”
“I noticed you managed to avoid getting your butt pinched,” Clint said.
“I stayed away from him,” she said, “because I knew I’d slap him if he did it.”
“I would like to
“Will Carla be along for that?” Clint asked.
“I’ll be there,” Carla said. “I go where you go. That’s what an assistant does.”
That wasn’t all an assistant did, Clint thought.
Andy George waited in the Bloody Rose Saloon for his boss to arrive. A message the day before had set up the meeting.
He stood at the bar with a beer, wondering if it was finally time for him and his partners to do the job.
As his boss entered the saloon, George ordered two more beers from the bartender, then carried them to the table the other man had sat down at.
George pushed a beer toward the man.
“How are your men?” he asked.
“Impatient.”
“Well, that is about to end.”
“It’s time?”
The man nodded.
“Adams is starting a whistle-stop tour tomorrow,” he said. “He’ll be on the rails for a week, sleeping at night in a private car.” The man leaned forward. “We do not want him coming back to Austin.”
“How do you want it done?”
“Obviously.”
“What?”
“Bloody,” the man said. “As bloody as possible.”
“You don’t want us to make it look like an accident?”
“We don’t want anything fancy. Just kill him,” the man said. “Do not mess this up.”
“Okay,” George said. “Okay, we can do that. What about the others?”
“Heck Thomas is a deputy in Judge Parker’s court,”the man said. “Do not touch him. We don’t care about any of the others.”
“And the woman?”
“Do whatever you want to do with her,” the man said. “You have a free hand this time, Mr. George, but don’t get used t it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. He pushed it across the table to Andy George.
“You’ll get another like this when you return,” he said. “We will meet here eight days from now.”
“Eight days,” George said. “Got it.”
The man stood up and left without having touched his beer. George pulled it back across the table to his side. He’d finish these two and then go and talk to the others.
That night Henry Chapman knocked on the door of Congressman Big Ben Turner’s house. Lewis opened the door to admit him.
“He’s in the solarium,” he said.
Chapman nodded. He knew where the solarium was.
As he entered, he saw Turner sitting in a plush armchair, wearing a purple dressing gown.
“Ah, Henry, my boy,” Turner said. “Sit, I’ll have Lewis bring you a whiskey.”
“Fine.”
Chapman didn’t see the big man move at all, but moments later the butler came in and handed him a whiskey.
“Thanks.”
“I have some work for you,” Turner said.
“I figured.”
“It will take you on the road.”
Chapman made a face.
“I hate the road.”
“I know,” Turner said, “and this is why I will pay you a lot of money. To make up for it.”
“Fine,” Chapman said. “What’s the job?”
“You have, of course, heard of Clint Adams…”
THIRTY-SIX
Early the next morning Clint and Carla woke with their limbs entwined, still damp from the exertions of the night.
“Oh,” she said, rolling away from him, their skin parting reluctantly because of the dampness. “I can use a bath.”
“Better make it quick,” Clint said.
“Do you think Julius will prepare it for me?” she asked.
Clint swung his feet to the floor and said, “I’ll ask him.”
“He’s your butler,” she said. “Don’t you tell him what to do?”
“I’m not used to having a butler,” Clint said. “I feel better asking than telling.”
“You’d never be able to live as a rich man, would you?” she asked.
“Not if I had to wear yellow robes or purple suits, like Congressman Turner.”
“Oh God,” she said, “that would be funny.”
“I noticed you managed to avoid getting your butt pinched,” Clint said.
“I stayed away from him,” she said, “because I knew I’d slap him if he did it.”
“I would like to
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