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Authors: J. R. Roberts

BOOK: Five Points

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“I can't wait to get home,” Ben said. “We've been away too long.”

“You always wanted to see the West, Ben.”

“The old West, Beth,” he said. “Denver is just like New York. ”

“You mean the old West of Wild Bill Hickok, Billy the Kid, and the Gunsmith?”

“Billy the Kid was from New York,” Ben said, “and I told you to stay away from Clint Adams.”

“I haven't gone anywhere near him,” she said, showing Ben her open hands. “I swear.”

“Keep it that way,” Ben said. “We're almost done here, we don't need trouble from some relic of the old West.”

“He doesn't look like much of a relic,” she said.

He shook his head.

“I hate to leave you alone, Bethany,” he said. “You're gonna get yourself in trouble.”

“I'll be fine, Ben,” she said. “I am not gonna get myself in trouble.”

“When did you stop saying âain't'?” he asked.

“I haven't said ain't for a long time, Ben. I've left a lot of the street behind me.”

“I didn't notice.”

“I know.”

Ben started away, then stopped.

“You can't leave Five Points too far behind you, Bethany,” he said. “It just can't be done.”

She smiled.

“You mean it just ain't done, don't you, Ben?”

SIX

At lunch, Bat said, “So, you were out with a real lady last night.”

“You certainly weren't at the theater,” Clint said. “You couldn't have gone unnoticed.”

“No, I wasn't there.”

“Then how do you know who I was with?”

“I have eyes and ears,” Bat said, “all over town.”

“Why would you need to have Denver that well covered?” Clint asked.

“I'm thinkin' about puttin' down roots here,” Bat said. “Emma likes it.”

“Do
you
like it?”

“I like it fine.”

“Not going to happen, Bat.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can't put down roots,” Clint said. “It just isn't in you.”

“What makes you think you know me so damned well?” Bat demanded.

Clint smiled. “Years of experience.”

Bat maintained a sullen silence for a good five minutes, then said, “There are plenty of poker games here.”

“You need a challenge.”

“I could do very well here,” Bat said. “I could start writin'.”

“Writing?”

“For
George's Weekly
,” Bat said. “They want me to do a sports column.”

“What do you know about writing?”

“How hard could it be?” Bat asked. “You dip a pen in some ink, you start writin'. Have you read the newspapers here? There's a bunch of idiots writin' columns.”

“So you think you'd fit right in?”

“Ha-ha,” Bat said. “I'd be head and shoulders above a lot of 'em.”

“Well,” Clint said, “if that's what you want to do, I'm all for it. Go to it. Enjoy it.”

“Thank you.”

“While it lasts.”

“You gotta have the last word, don't you?”

Clint put his knife and fork down, looked across the table at his friend, and said, “Yes.”

Bat gave Clint the location of a likely poker game as they left the restaurant.

“Not your newspaper cronies?” Clint asked.

“No,” Bat said, “gamblers. Bankers, publishers, politiciansâand you.”

“Not you?”

“Not tonight,” Bat said, “but you've been introduced. Just asked for Bill Finch.”

“Bill Finch.”

Bat nodded.

“He'll let you in. You got the location?”

“I've got it. What are you up to tonight?”

“There's a prizefight I'm gonna attend,” Bat said, “and then I'm gonna try writin' about it.”

“Who's fighting?”

“Nobody,” Bat said. “This is just for practice. You've got a lot of time before the game. What're you gonna be doin'?”

“Well, after that mealâthank you very much, by the wayâI think I'll take a walk.”

“You're heeled, I take it,” Bat said, “so that should be okay.”

Clint took the New Line out from behind his back, showed it to Bat, and put it back.

“Should get yourself a shoulder rig if you're gonna stay around long,” Bat said. “It'd fit under that jacket just fine.”

“I've been using this New Line as a holdout gun for a long time,” Clint said. “It'll do.”

“Suit yourself,” Bat said. “You always do. I'll check in with you at your hotel tomorrow to see how you did.”

“Come by for breakfast.”

“Not gonna be havin' breakfast with your new conquest? ” Bat asked.

“Don't know how that's going,” Clint said, “but even if she's there, I'm sure she'd love to meet you. She seems to think the old West has passed us all by.”

“Guess she's not far wrong,” Bat said. “Sounds like a smart gal.”

“Smart's the least of her appeal.”

“Knowin' you, I expect her to be a beauty. Okay, breakfast it is.”

The two friends shook hands and went their separate ways.

SEVEN

Later that night Willie O'Donnell met with Ben and Bethany in their hotel room.

“I can't believe you did that,” Bethany said to Willie. “Are you stupid?”

“Careful, little girl,” Willie said.

“Don't threaten her,” Ben said.

Willie turned his murderous gaze on Ben. Bethany was not afraid of Willie for herself, but she knew the crazy Irishman would kill Ben in the wink of an eye.

“Never mind,” Bethany said. “We have to get out of Denver tomorrow.”

“I'm still sticking to the plan,” Willie said. “My boys and I are leavin' tomorrow.”

“Good,” Bethany said. “Ben and I will be on a train in the morning.”

“So it's over,” Willie said. “We did it.”

“It ain't over,” Ben said. “Ma's gonna be mad at you, Willie.”

“I ain't afraid of your ma, little man,” Willie said. “And it ain't my fault you came back too early and let her go in the house.”

Bethany stared at Willie and wondered, if Ben had gone into the house with Libby Wellington, would Willie have killed him, too?

“With the woman dead the police are gonna be lookin' for a killer, not just a swindler,” Bethany said. “I think Ma is gonna be mad at all of us.”

“Maybe,” Willie said, “until I get there with the merchandise.” Willie pointed a finger at Ben. “You and Bethany will get to New York before I do. Don't be bad-mouthin' me to your old lady, ya hear?”

“I'm just gonna tell her what happened,” Ben said, “that's all.”

“That better be all, boyo,” Willie said.

“That's enough,” Bethany said. “Get out now, Willie. We'll see you in New York. ”

“I'm goin',” Willie said, but he pointed at Ben one last time. “Remember, boyo.”

Willie left.

“I told you he's crazy,” Ben said. “He didn't have to kill Libby.”

“It's done, Ben,” Bethany said. “It's over. We have to leave. We'll go to the station and get on the first train.”

He sat down on the bed with his hands clasped between his knees. For a moment she thought he was going to fall forward.

She sat next to him, put her arm around his shoulders.

“It's not your fault.”

“She wanted to come back early,” he said. “I tried to talk her out of it, but I couldn't.” He shook his head. “I should've gone in with her.”

“I'm afraid if you had, Willie might have killed you, too.”

“You're probably right.”

“I'll tell your mama is wasn't your fault.”

“It ain't that,” he said. “She was a nice lady, that's all. She didn't deserve to die.”

“I know,” Bethany said. “I know.”

He put his head on her shoulder and she held him that way. Later, she put him in his bed, hoping he'd fall asleep.

She went to the window and looked out. They had to flee Denver now, and she'd never get a chance at the Gunsmith. She blamed Willie and his stupidity for that.

Tal Roper got out of the carriage and stopped in front of the house. Captain Leo Delaney came walking over to him.

“Sorry, Tal,” he said. “I knew she was a client of yours, that's why I sent word.”

“She was a client, yes,” Roper said. She'd hired him months ago to find some of her relatives, but he had come up empty. Apparently, Libby Wellington was alone in the world.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Seems she came home and surprised a burglar,” Delaney said. “Bashed her head in with a lamp.”

“Burglar?”

“Well, thieves, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Looks like they got in with a key and were cleaning out the place. Did she have a lot of expensive things?”

“Yes,” Roper said. “That's about all she had. Paintings, furniture, silverwareâeverything she had was valuable.”

“Well then, that explains why everything is gone.”

“Everything?”

“A lot of it,” Delaney said. “The walls are bare, with markings where frames used to hang. Sofa's gone, some lamps, silverware . . . The whole house looks looted.”

“And with a key?” Roper asked. “The door wasn't jimmied? Or the lock picked?”

Delaney shook his head.

“Opened with a key. Whoever did it was slick, figured out a way to get a key.”

“Talk to the neighbors?”

“Yeah, looks like she was getting visits from a manâa young man.”

“Ah, Jesus,” Roper said. “She was lonely, Leo. Some young buck probably conned her.”

“It happens.”

“You got a description of this young fella?”

“Thought you'd ask,” Delaney said. He handed Roper a slip of paper.

“This kind of job,” Roper said, “they're going to need a fence for the merchandise.”

“Nobody in this town will touch it.”

“No,” Roper said, “this kind of job would need a fence from somewhere like . . . oh, New York, maybe.”

“Funny you should mention that.”

“Why?”

“One neighbor said she heard the young fella talkin' to Mrs. Wellington one day. She said he sounded like he was from New York. ”

“How would she know that?”

“Said she took a trip there last year. Said she'd never forget that accent.”

"New York. ”

“So you headin' for New York?” Delaney asked.

“I just took a big case today,” Roper said. “If this was yesterday, I'd be on the first train.”

“You feel like you owed this lady something?”

“No, nothing like that,” Roper said. “I'd just like to help is all.”

“Farm the other case out.”

“Can't,” Roper said.

“What is it?”

“Can't talk about it.”

“Oh,” Delaney said, “one of your top-secret government things, huh?”

Roper didn't respond.

“Okay, so farm this one out, then,” Delaney said. “How hard can it be to track this stuff? They'll need wagons to get it to New York. Might switch to a train along the way, ship the stuff.”

“No,” Roper said. “I'd go to New York and wait for them.”

“So, get somebody to go for you,” Delaney said.

“Captain?” somebody called.

“I gotta go to work, Tal,” Delaney said. “I just wanted you to know about this.”

“Thanks, Leo.”

“I hope you get somebody to help you with this.”

“I think,” Roper said, “I have just the man.”

EIGHT

Clint had done very well at Bat's poker game. The politicians and bankers had been only too glad to give him their money. They were rich men who played bad poker. Those were Clint's favorite kind of wealthy men.

As he entered the hotel lobby, he immediately saw Talbot Roper sitting on one of the lobby sofas.

“Looking for a drink?” Clint asked. “Or a drinking companion?”

“I could use both.”

“Come on.”

They went into the bar. Clint bought two beers and they went to a table, sitting among the guests and few businessmen who had not yet gone home to their wives.

“What's on your mind?” Clint asked.

Roper told Clint about meeting Libby Wellington, and trying to help her.

“Couldn't find a soul,” he finished. “I had to tell her she was all alone in the world.”

“Husband?”

“Died ten years ago,” Roper said. “Left her fixed well, real well.”

“So what's the problem?” Clint asked. “She wants you to look again?”

“She's dead,” Roper said. “Somebody killed her tonight. ”

“How?”

“Bashed her over the head when she walked in on them robbing her house. Then they cleaned her out.”

“How bad?”

“Just about everything,” Roper said. “Furniture, silverware, whatever they could carry.”

“That's a lot of merchandise,” Clint said. “What are they going to do with it?”