Deadly Election (9781101619223) (2 page)

Clint did, and chewed.

“It’s very simple,” Pike said. “Next month some men are going to come and see you, and they’re going to ask you to run for Congress, to represent Texas in Washington, D.C.”

“Why would they do a fool thing like that?” Clint asked. “I don’t want to be a politician.”

“I know that,” Pike said, cutting up his own steak, “but we’ve been having some problems with our elections in this country.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Well,” Pike said, “to put it quite simply, somebody keeps killing the candidates.”

“What?”

“Over the past eight years, eleven politicians who were running for office—specifically for Congress—have been killed.”

“Why have I not heard about this before?”

“We kept it quiet,” Pike said, “while we investigated.”

“And what have you come up with?”

“Nothing.”

“When did this last happen?”

“Two years ago.”

“So let me get this straight,” Clint said. “After being unable to find these killers over the past eight years you—your bosses—have decided to put somebody on the inside.”

“That’s correct.”

“And you want it to be me?”

“After some discussion,” Pike said, “yes.”

“Even if I agree to this,” Clint said, “what makes you think the killers will try for me?”

“They appear to target men who they know would make a difference,” Pike said. “They’re not often well-known men, which is why we’ve been able to keep it pretty quiet. But you, you’re well known and you would make a difference. Clint, I think running for office would pretty much paint a target on your back.”

“From what you’ve told me, I agree,” Clint said.

“Then you agree to run?”

“That’s not what I said,” Clint replied. “I said I agree that would paint a target on me.”

“Well, okay,” Pike said, “we’re agreed on that. What about running?”

“How can you be sure I’ll be asked?” Clint asked. “Are you arranging that?”

“No,” Pike said, shaking his head. “The offer will be legit, from the Democrats. You’re not a Republican, are you?”

“I’m not affiliated with any political party,” Clint said.

“Okay, good.”

“Does the president know about this plan?” Clint asked.

“President Cleveland is behind the plan one hundred percent.”

Clint ate some more steak, washed it down with a swig of beer.

“You need time to think about it,” Pike said.

“Yes, I do.”

“That’s fine,” Pike said. “Take all night.”

“All night?” Clint asked. “You want an answer in the morning?”

“We’re kind of getting down to the wire, Clint,” Pike said. “Campaigns are about to start.”

Clint jabbed his fork into his last piece of steak.

“Well?” Pike asked.

“I’ll give it some thought overnight,” Clint said.

“And answer in the morning?”

“If I can.”

“I have to go back to Washington in the afternoon, Clint,” Pike warned him.

“Look,” Clint said, “how the hell can this work? I’m not a politician.”

“It worked for Sam Houston,” Pike said. “He was a senator and the governor of Texas. Go back even further than that. Davy Crockett was a congressman. Neither of them were politicians.”

“I’m not in that company,” Clint said.

“Don’t be modest, Clint,” Pike said. “You’re every bit as legendary as both those men.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Hey,” Pike said, “remember, this wasn’t my idea. We just caught wind of this and wanted to let you know.”

“And you want me to agree to run,” Clint said. “I don’t want to be a congressman, Jeremy.”

“Running doesn’t mean you’ll win,” Pike said.

“You have a point there,” Clint said, “but you do want somebody to try to kill me.”

“Uh, technically that’s correct.”

“Well, Jeremy,” Clint said, “I think you can see how that would cause me some concern.”

“I would think you’d be concerned that somebody has been killing politicians for the past eight years.”

Clint raised his eyebrows at his friend.

“Yeah okay,” Pike said, “that didn’t come out right. I know a lot of people feel that politicians deserve to die.”

“No argument from me.”

“But we can’t just let it go on, Clint.”

“Why doesn’t Jim West run for office?”

“Nobody knows who he is,” Pike said. “That’s sort of the point of being in the Secret Service—accent on ‘Secret.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint said, “I get it.”

They both put down their utensils and the waiter took their plates away.

“Pie?” Jeremy asked.

“How often do I get the government to buy me dinner?” Clint asked. “You bet your ass, pie.”

Pike and Clint walked outside together. The young driver was there waiting, sitting in his seat, staring off into space. When he saw Clint, he hurriedly dropped down to the ground.

“Can we give you a ride?” Clint asked.

“No, that’s okay,” Pike said. “I’ll walk.”

“Are you staying near here?”

Pike didn’t answer, gave Clint an amused look.

“Okay, I get it,” Clint said, “Accent on ‘Secret.’”

Pike held his index finger to his lips and smiled.

“Where should I meet you tomorrow morning?” Clint asked.

“Let’s have breakfast right here at eight a.m.,” Pike suggested.

“Yeah, okay,” Clint said. “Breakfast. I’ll see you then.”

He got into the back of the cab. By the time he turned to look, Pike was gone.

“Where to, mister?”

“Back to the hotel. What’s your name?”

“Henry.”

“I’m Clint,” he said. “Back to my hotel, Henry.”

“Gotcha.”

In front of his hotel Clint paid the boy and said, “Pick me up tomorrow morning, seven thirty.”

“That it for tonight?” Henry asked. “It’s still early. Thought you might wanna find some excitement.”

“Is there excitement in this town?”

“If you know where to look, there is.”

Clint thought a moment, then said, “I don’t think so. Thanks, Henry.”

“Sure thing, Clint.”

“Good night.”

“Night.”

Clint entered the lobby, which was empty except for the desk clerk, who was standing behind the desk, looking bored. He glanced over at Clint and smiled meekly. Clint returned the smile and went upstairs.

He sat on the bed and pulled off his boots. Running for Congress seemed like an insane idea to him. What were they supposed to do if he won? Of course, thinking that he could win was strange also. In fact, it was downright crazy.

He shook his head in wonder at the whole thing.

In the morning he woke, washed up, dressed, and packed his things. He had read Dickens for a few hours last night before turning in. This morning he awoke with his decision already made.

He went down to the lobby, told the clerk he’d be
checking out. He walked outside, found Henry waiting for him.

“Mornin’, Clint,” the young man said.

“Good morning, Henry.”

He tossed his bag into the cab and climbed into the back. To this point there hadn’t been a minute since he woke up that he questioned his decision. There was no point in second-guessing himself.

Henry drove him to the restaurant, where he found Pike waiting at the same table. The restaurant, as it had been the night before at dinnertime, was crowded at breakfast.

“I ordered steak and eggs,” Pike said. “That okay?”

“That’s fine.”

The waiter poured coffee for both of them.

“Sleep well?” Pike asked.

“I slept great.”

“So I gather you’ve come to a decision?”

“I have.”

“And that is?”

“I’ll do it,” Clint said, “with one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“If I happen to win,” Clint said, “I won’t serve.”

“Clint,” Pike said, “believe me when I tell you nobody wants you in Congress.”

“Well,” Clint said, “doesn’t that make me feel better about the whole thing.”

“Okay,” Pike said, “I didn’t mean it to sound that way. What I meant was, we don’t really want you to be a congressman. We just want you to find out who is killing our candidates.”

“Who will my contact be in the government?”

“I will. You’ll have several telegraph addresses where
you can reach me. One of them will get to me at a moment’s notice.”

“Who is going to approach me?”

“A delegation from Texas,” Pike said. “I’m not sure who it will be, but I suspect there’ll be someone from the governor’s office, and there’ll be someone with experience who will manage your campaign.”

“My campaign,” Clint said, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d hear those two words, let alone say them myself.”

The waiter came with their breakfast and they sat back, fell silent while he served and left.

“How will they contact me?” Clint asked. “And where?”

“Just live your life, Clint,” Pike said. “They’ll find you.”

“Probably in Labyrinth,” Clint said. “I’ll stay in Labyrinth for a while.”

“That’ll do.”

They ate breakfast, talked about some of Pike’s recent experiences, and then some of Clint’s.

When they were done, they stopped outside and shook hands.

“Where to for you?” Clint asked.

“Back to Washington,” Pike said. “Don’t worry, you’ll be able to get to me.”

“Okay.”

“The president is extremely pleased, Clint,” Pike said. “He won’t forget this.”

“I’ll make sure I call in the debt before he’s out of office,” Clint said.

Clint walked to Henry’s cab and got in.

“Where to, boss?”

“The train station,” Clint said.

T
WO WEEKS LATER…

Pike had warned Clint that the time for campaigning was drawing near. With two weeks gone by, he was starting to wonder if the delegation had changed their minds.

Clint was in Labyrinth, at Rick’s Place, having a drink with his friend Rick Hartman.

Upon his arrival in Labyrinth, he had sat down with Rick and told him the whole story…

“You’re kiddin’ me,” Rick had said when Clint first explained the plan.

“I’m not.”

“Congress?”

Clint nodded.

“Clint Adams, Congressman…I like it.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why run?”

“There’s more to it than that.” He told him the rest, then sat back.

“You’re painting a target on your back again,” Rick said.

“I know.”

“And for what? For nothin’? For no pay? Oh, wait, I know. For your country.”

Clint stared at him.

“Okay,” Rick said finally, “okay, never mind. You don’t have to explain it to me. Hey, it might not even happen…”

Now, two weeks later, three men in suits walked into Rick’s Place and looked around.

“Uh-oh,” Rick said.

“I see them,” Clint said.

“I think the delegation from the state capital just arrived.”

“You want to be my campaign manager?” Clint asked.

“What?”

“One of them is planning to do it, but you could do it.”

“Not me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not leavin’ here and goin’ to the capital,” Rick said. “But I’ll help you any other way I can…Congressman.”

Rick had already gotten word that the lieutenant governor of the State of Texas had checked into the Labyrinth House Hotel earlier in the day.

“Here they come,” Rick said. “I’ll take my leave.”

“Wait,” Clint said, “I’ll introduce you.”

“That’s okay,” Rick said, standing up, “I’m not lookin’ to add any politicians to my list of acquaintances. I’ll see you later.”

Rick slipped away as the three men reached Clint’s table.

“Mr. Adams?” one of them asked.

“That’s right.”

“I certainly hope we didn’t interrupt anything,” the spokesman said. He was well dressed in a brown three-piece suit, holding a matching derby in his hands. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, had a pale complexion that indicated he did most of his work indoors. In fact, all the men had roughly the same look to them.

“Not at all,” Clint said. “That was the owner, and he has work to do. What can I do for you gents?”

“Well, sir,” the spokesman said proudly, “this gentleman is Thomas Benton Wheeler, the lieutenant governor of this great State of Texas.” He indicated the oldest of the three, a man in his early fifties. When Clint showed no indication of being impressed, the man went on. “This is Walter Dixon, the chairman of the Democratic Party in Texas.” This one was in his forties, had a rather amused look on his face. He didn’t seem concerned that Clint wasn’t impressed.

“And you, sir?”

“My name is William Gryder, although all my friends call me Will.”

“Well, I don’t know if we’re friends or not, Mr. Gryder,” Clint said. “Not until I know what’s on your minds.”

“May we sit down?”

“Please.”

The lieutenant governor and Chairman Dixon sat down, but Gryder remained standing.

“Can I get anyone a drink?” he asked. “Mr. Adams? Another beer, on the State of Texas?”

“How can I turn that down?”

“Governor?”

“I assume they won’t have a fine brandy,” Wheeler said. “A beer will be fine.”

Dixon simply nodded his agreement.

Oddly, the other two men did not speak while Gryder was getting the drinks. The man made two trips to and from the bar until he had set four beers down on the table, and then finally sat down.

“Mr. Adams,” Gryder said, “we are here to make you a very interesting offer.”

“What we hope will be a very interesting offer,” Dixon added nervously.

“Yes, of course,” Gryder said. He gave Dixon a look that was meant to say, “Quiet!”

The lieutenant governor took a sniff of his beer, made a face, tried a small sip, then made another face and put the beer down.

“Mr. Adams,” Gryder said, “we all know your reputation. You are a true legend of the West.”

“Thank you for not saying ‘Old’ West,” Clint said.

“No, no,” Gryder said, “we feel that you are very current, and just the man we need.”

“Need for what?” Clint asked, playing dumb.

Gryder exchanged glances with the other two men. Dixon bit his lip, as if in an attempt to remain silent. The lieutenant governor simply shrugged.