Clint said. âMark, this was all about Billâs sense of justice.â
âFor the people of Cheyenne?â
âFor the depositors of that bank, for the relatives of the people who were killed, and for that young boy.â
âThe young boy,â Silvester said. âI never realized Wild Bill Hickok was that sentimental.â
âIt had nothing to do with sentiment,â Clint said. âWerenât you listening? It had to do with justice.â
Silvester looked around, then closed his notebook.
âYou have more stories, of course,â he said.
âYes,â Clint said, âI do, but thatâs it for now.â
âBut . . . weâve only just begun.â
âWe can get back to it later,â Clint said. âI understand Sam Clemens is in town and I want to see him.â
âMark Twain?â Silvester said. âYou know Mark Twain?â
âYes, weâre friends.â
Silvester jumped to his feet.
âMay I come with you?â
âFor what?â
âWhy, to meet him.â
âWhat would you say to him?â Clint asked.
âThat heâs a genius,â Silvester said. âThat I have enjoyed all his work.â
âHeâd probably appreciate that,â Clint said.
âYou mean, coming from another writer?â
âI mean coming from anyone,â Clint said. âAll right, come along.â
*Â *Â *Â
That night Dawkins watched the woman named Carla get dressed. He was lying naked on his bed.
âSo let me get this straight,â she said, brushing her hair while looking in his mirror.
âGo ahead.â
âClint Adams is in town,â she said. âThe Gunsmith. And you want me to find out what heâs doing here.â
âThatâs right.â
âAnd weâre working for a man from New York named John Wells?â
âRight again.â
âJeff,â she said, looking at him in the mirror, âdo we know who this man is?â
âNot exactly.â
âWhat do we know?â
âThat he has money to spend. Lots of it.â
âAnd he wants you to find out why the Gunsmith is in Denver?â
âNo,â Dawkins said, âhe doesnât care about the Gunsmith.â He lay back on the bed, put his hands behind his head, and looked down, admiring his own flat stomach. âHeâs concerned with the writer, Silvester.â
âThe writer who is interviewing the Gunsmith.â
âWho is apparently interviewing the Gunsmith,â Dawkins said. âThatâs what I want you to find out.â
She finished with her hair, stood, straightened her dress, looked at herself critically n the mirror, then walked to the bed and sat next to him.
âWhy donât you take that dress off?â he suggested.
âI just put it back on.â
He glanced down at the sheet that covered his groin, and the tent pole that was sticking up. She smiled, took hold of his penis through the tent, and stroked it.
âYouâre not done,â she said.
âNot by a long shot.â
She sighed.
âIâm not taking my dress off again,â she said, âbut . . .â
She removed the sheet from his hard cock, stroked it with her hand, then leaned over and took it into her mouth. Dawkins closed his eyes and enjoyed it while she sucked him . . .
*Â *Â *Â
Later, she put the finishing touches to her face, once again examining herself in the mirror.
âWhere do I find him?â
âThe Denver House Hotel.â
âHe has good taste.â
âThatâs what Iâm counting on.â
âFlatterer,â she said, moving away from the mirror. She did not approach the bed again. âYouâre covering the expenses, right?â
âRight. Come over here,â he said.
âNo,â she said, âIâm safer over here.â She picked up her handbag. âHow far do
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