Further Adventures of James Butler Hickok (9781101601853) (12 page)

FORTY-TWO

When Clint and Hannah entered the dining room, he saw Cody sitting at a table with his good friend, Texas Jack Omohundro. Texas Jack had been friends with Cody for a long time, and was his right-hand man.

“Ah, here they are,” Cody said. “Good mornin', Miss Wilson.”

“Good morning, Colonel Cody,” she said, sitting as Clint held her chair.

Omohundro stood and Cody said, “This is my good friend Texas Jack.”

“I know who Mr. Omohundro is,” she said. “It's a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine, ma'am,” Texas Jack said. He shook hands with Clint, whom he had not seen the night before. “Good to see ya, Clint.”

“You, too, Jack.”

Clint and Jack stood, and a waiter appeared immediately to take their orders.

“Where's Mr. Hickok this morning?” she asked when the waiter walked away.

“Bill, uh, had a few drinks last night after the show,” Texas Jack said.

Cody leaned in and said, “That means he's sleepin' it off.”

“Oh? Is that acceptable behavior?” she asked.

“It is for Bill,” Cody said. “I'd fire anybody else who got drunk the day of a show.”

“Why is it different for him?” she asked.

“Because he's Wild Bill Hickok,” Cody said.

“I see.”

“Now, little lady, let's talk about you,” Cody said. “What have you done onstage?”

Hannah quickly ran down her experience, which seemed limited to a theater group in her hometown of Cleveland, Ohio. But at least she had been onstage somewhere, Clint thought. That made her twice as experienced as Hickok.

“I think you and I will go to the theater today and run through some lines,” Cody said. “Once I'm satisfied about your abilities, I'll be able to place you in the show. Meanwhile, we'll get you a room—”

“I already did that,” Clint chimed in.

“Oh, that's right,” Cody said. “Okay, well, I'll talk to the management and make sure they know that your room goes on my bill.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cody.”

“What about you, Clint?” Cody asked.

“What about me?”

“Want me to pay for your room?”

“What would I have to do?”

“Nothin' much,” Cody said.

“Just appear onstage with Bill,” Jack said.

“And keep him from shootin' any more lights out,” Cody said.

“Oh, no,” Clint said, “I'll pay for my own room, thanks. You're not going to put makeup on my face and words in my mouth.”

“You're the only one who can control him,” Cody reasoned.

“He's your friend, too,” Clint said. “You control him. I'm not going onstage.”

“Are you scared?” Hannah asked.

“Yes, ma'am,” Clint said, “scared that I'll make a total fool of myself.”

“You don't have to be on stage to do that,” Cody pointed out.

“Maybe not,” Clint said, “but being onstage would just make sure a lot of people saw it. No, sir, not me.”

“Well, I wouldn't just pay for your room,” Cody said. “I'd pay you a good salary.”

“I repeat, Cody,” Clint said. “No!”

“Okay, okay,” Cody said, “don't get yourself all riled up.”

The waiter came with their plates and laid them out. They all fell quiet until he was finished serving.

Once he was gone, Cody said, “Jack, after breakfast you'll have to wake Hickok up.”

“Why me?”

“Because you're my right-hand man.”

“Yeah, well, Hickok might just shoot that hand off if I wake him before he's ready.”

“He doesn't have to leave his room,” Cody said. “Just make sure he knows I need him sober for tonight's show.”

Texas Jack continued to grumble all through breakfast about getting his hand—or his head—shot off, but Clint knew he'd perform the task.

After breakfast, Cody said, “Clint, you want to come to the theater with me and Hannah?” She had told Cody during breakfast to call her by her given name, and not “Miss Wilson.”

“No, that's okay,” Clint said. “I'll stop by tonight and watch the show.”

They split up in the lobby, and as Cody walked Hannah to the front door, Clint heard him say, “Have you ever thought about changing your name?”

FORTY-THREE

When Clint got to the theater that night, there was a ticket waiting for him at the box office. He found his way to his seat, and this time instead of sitting next to a lovely woman like Hannah, he was seated between a fat man and a fat woman.

He watched the show and was surprised to see Hannah onstage already, in the role of a damsel in distress.

When Hickok came on to do his part and tell his stories—drinking either cold tea or whiskey, Clint didn't know which—he didn't seem to be having as much trouble with the lights, or with his lines. Clint didn't know if Cody had had Hannah work with him yet. If she had, she had worked wonders. Or perhaps Hickok was just getting comfortable with being onstage.

After the show, Clint once again went backstage, and once again there was a crush of well-wishers and newspapermen.

He found Cody and stood alongside him, holding a glass of champagne.

“What happened with Bill?” Clint asked.

“It was your girl,” Cody said. “I ran some lines with her this afternoon, and she was very good. Very natural. I had her talk with Hickok, to give him some advice, and he was very receptive.”

“Well, he was better,” Clint said. “Not natural, but better.”

“And he didn't shoot a light out.”

“Maybe the audience was disappointed by that,” Clint said. “I mean, it got out that he did that last night, right?”

“Oh yes, it was in the newspapers.”

Clint was going to talk about it more, but suddenly Cody was in demand.

“I'm buying dinner at the Biltmore tonight,” Cody said, “and I convinced Hickok to come. Be there.”

“I will.”

“See you at eight.”

Clint couldn't locate Hannah in the crowd, but figured he'd see her at dinner at eight as well. He set aside his glass and found his way through the mass of humanity to an exit, and took his leave.

Outside it was cooler—it was, after all, winter—and there were a lot fewer people. He stood by the stage entrance for a while, until people began to file out, then moved out to the street.

He was considering waiting for Cody, Hickok, Texas Jack, and Hannah to come out the stage exit, but decided to simply meet them at the restaurant in the Biltmore. The crowd had spilled out onto the street, so it was going to be difficult to find a cab right in front of the theater. He decided to walk to the corner and get one on Sixth Avenue. But as he started to walk away, he heard it.

A shot.

Suddenly, people were yelling, women were screaming, and they were running.

Clint turned and hurried back to the theater. With people scurrying about in a panic, it was difficult to get through, but he finally made it to the front, where he found Cody sitting on the ground, holding his arm. Around him were Hickok and Texas Jack, both with guns in their hands, and Hannah.

“What happened?” Clint asked.

“A shot,” Hickok said. “Just one, but it hit Bill.”

“Winged me,” Cody said. “Didn't even go in. I'm fine. Jack, give me a hand up.”

Texas Jack reached down and hauled Cody to his feet.

“Do we want the police?” Jack asked Cody.

“No,” Cody said, “get us a cab so we can get to the Biltmore.”

“Okay.”

“Keep Hannah with you, for safety.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack went off in search of a cab, with a protective arm around Hannah.

“Who'd you get mad at you, Cody?” Clint asked.

“He didn't get nobody mad at him, Clint,” Hickok said. “That shot was meant for me.”

FORTY-FOUR

They went to dinner without Cody even seeing a doctor.

“Are you sure you shouldn't have a doctor look at that?” Hannah asked at the restaurant.

“I've had worse than this many times, Hannah,” Cody said. “I'm fine. It's stopped bleeding.”

“Bill,” Clint said to Hickok, “you want to tell us why you think that shot was meant for you, not Cody?”

“I was standing in that spot just a second before the shot,” Hickok said. “In fact, Cody bumped into me, pushing me out of the way of the shot.”

They all looked at Cody.

“Well, I sure didn't push him out of the way on purpose,” Cody said. “I like Bill, but not enough to take a bullet for him.”

Clint knew that was a lie. Cody would take a bullet for Hickok, Texas Jack, or Clint in a second, but he let it go.

“It was an accident,” Cody ended.

“It was,” Hannah offered. “I saw Colonel Cody trip on someone's foot.”

“If he hadn't tripped,” Hickok said, “I'd be carrying that bullet, or I'd be dead.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “so who in New York wants you dead?”

“I don't know,” Hickok said. “If we were out West, I'd have a better idea, but I didn't tell anyone I was coming to New York to join Cody's show.”

“Maybe it was somebody who saw the show last night,” Texas Jack offered.

“Cody, who owned the light that Hickok shot out? The theater?”

“No,” Cody said, “it was owned by a private contractor. But I already made arrangements to pay for the damage. I don't think it has anything to do with that.”

“Maybe not . . .” Clint said.

“Let's order,” Hickok said. “Gettin' shot at makes me hungry.”

“Gettin' shot makes me hungry,” Cody said.

“Well, I find this all very frightening,” Hannah said, “but I have to admit, I'm hungry, too.”

Cody waved for a waiter, accidentally using his injured arm, which made him wince.

“Cody,” Texas Jack said, “after we eat, I'm gonna bring a doctor to your room.”

“Don't nursemaid me, Jack.”

“I ain't nursemaidin' you,” Jack said, “I'm just protecting my interest in your show.”

“Right.”

The waiter came with their dinners.

“Do you eat all your meals here?” Hannah asked. Clint thought she might have been trying to lighten the mood.

“We have up to now,” Cody said, “but tomorrow we head for Philadelphia.”

“I've never been to Philadelphia,” she said excitedly.

“Well, we've got a few stops to make up North,” Cody said, “but we're going to end up in Rochester before we eventually come back here to Manhattan.”

“Where is Rochester?”

“New York,” Clint told her. “North of here.”

“All of the traveling is so exciting,” she said.

“Wait until we travel to Europe,” Texas Jack said.

“Oh, my,” she said, her eyes shining, “when will that be?”

“Who knows?” Cody said. “We're still tryin' to work out all the details.”

During dinner, they talked about the possible stops in Europe, and then Cody asked Texas Jack to see Hannah to her room.

“I have to talk some business with Hickok and Clint,” he told her. He looked at Texas Jack. “Come right back here.”

“Okay.”

As Jack walked Hannah out, Cody told the waiter to bring coffee and pie. They waited for the waiter to comply, then waited again until Texas Jack returned.

“What's on your mind, Cody?” Hickok asked.

“I want Clint to travel with us,” Cody said. “Every stop until we get back here.”

“I told you, I'm not—”

“Not as a performer,” Cody said. “I need somebody who can keep his eyes open while the rest of us are onstage.”

“You're thinking the shooter is going to follow you north?” Clint asked.

“I'm plannin' for it,” Cody said. “Whoever took that shot isn't done.”

“What makes you say that?” Clint asked.

“That's easy,” Hickok said. “Like I said, the shot was meant for me—and he missed.”

FORTY-FIVE

Clint made plans to go to Philadelphia.

He didn't promise Cody that he'd stay with the show for the remainder of the trip, but he didn't see any harm in going along to the next stop.

As far as keeping a sharp eye out while the others were onstage, Clint understood that from the stage it was very hard for anyone to make out faces. Shapes, forms, yes. Not faces. And if somebody in the house wanted to take a shot, the performers would never know it was coming.

Clint went to Cody's room to firm up the trip plans. As Texas Jack let him in, he saw that a doctor was working on Cody's arm wound, which certainly looked worse than Cody had been letting on.

“It's a good thing Mr. Omohundro sent for me,” the doctor said. “If you had allowed this to become infected, you could have lost your arm.”

“Hell, Doc, I had worse scratches than this when I was scoutin' for the Army.”

“I'm sure you've had many wounds, Colonel Cody,” the doctor said, “but right now my concern is this one.”

“I understand, Doc,” Cody said.

The doctor finished bandaging the arm and Texas Jack saw him to the door, absorbing the rest of the doctor's directions.

“You need me anymore, boss?” Omohundro asked.

“No, go ahead and turn in, Jack. I'll see you in the mornin'.”

“Good night, Clint.”

“Night, Jack.”

As the door closed, Cody looked up at Clint and said, “What's on your mind?”

“Why don't you just yank Hickok off the stage until we find out who took that shot?”

“Well,” Cody said, “for one thing he's my big-name draw. And for another, he'd refuse. You know him.”

“Then close down the whole show.”

“I can't do that,” Cody said. “I got too many people countin' on me.” He pointed and added, “And now they're countin' on you.”

“That's not fair.”

“All I'm askin' is that you don't let anybody shoot any of my actors,” Cody said, “especially Hickok—or me.”

“I'll do my best.”

* * * 

Before returning to his own room, Clint stopped by Hannah's door and knocked. When she opened the door and smiled, she reached out and drew him in by the arm.

“What did you decide?” she asked. “Are you coming?”

“I'm coming along, at least to Philadelphia,” he said.

“That's wonderful,” she said, hugging him, pressing her body tightly to his. “I guess I don't have to give you my good-bye gift, then.”

“Your good-bye gift?”

“I had something special planned,” she confided.

“What was that?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“Sure.”

“Are you ready for this?”

“I'm ready for anything.”

“It's odd,” she said, “it seems like we just met, but . . .”

She stepped back, reached behind her, and undid her dress. She let it drop to the floor, where it pooled around her feet. Her underwear was black, her skin white, and she was a thing of beauty.

“Is this my present?” he asked.

“Almost,” she said. “You'll have to unwrap it the rest of the way yourself.”

He approached her and said, “I don't think that will be a problem . . .”

* * * 

In Cody's room there was a knock on the door. The showman answered the door, stepped back to allow Texas Jack to enter.

“What did he say?” Jack asked.

“Clint will come with us to Philadelphia.”

“That's all?”

“I'll work on him there,” Cody said. “I'll get him to come to our way of thinkin'.”

“Maybe have Hickok work on him.”

“I'm not all that sure that Hickok will be stayin' with us,” Cody said. “He really doesn't like bein' onstage.”

“Well,” Texas Jack said, “we need one of 'em.”

“Don't worry,” Cody said.

“How's the arm?”

“Sore,” Cody said, “but it'll be fine. You better turn in. We got an early start tomorrow.”

“I'll see you in the lobby first thing,” Jack said.

“If anybody asks,” Cody said, “we'll have breakfast on the train.”

“Yes, sir. Good night, boss.”

“Night, Jack.”