Ticket to Yuma (11 page)

THIRTY-SIX

Clint was surprised to get his breakfast in his cell the next morning. He was also surprised to see what it was.

“Step back,” Rock told him.

Clint stepped all the way back to the wall.

“Hands on your head.”

He obeyed.

Rock came in, holding his stick in one hand and balancing the tray in another. He set the tray down on the small wooden table—almost a footstool, really. Then he stepped out.

“Okay,” Rock said. “Enjoy it.”

Clint sat on the cot, pulled the tray over, and took the cloth napkin off. He thought his nose was playing tricks on him, but it wasn't. There it was. Steak and eggs. A couple of biscuits, too. They were hard, but that was okay. They were still better than any of the bread he'd eaten since he first arrived. He had a fork, too, but no knife. Somebody had cut the meat up for him.

The eggs were kind of runny, and the steak well done, but it was the best meal he'd had in what seemed like months. And the topper was the cup of coffee that came with it. It was hot and strong, better by far than the two glasses of wine he'd had in the warden's office.

So far the warden had been true to his word, but the warden wasn't in charge. The deputy warden was. What happened after this meal, and his bath, was anybody's guess.

He decided not to think about it for now, though. He applied himself to enjoying this meal, because he didn't know when he'd have another one like it.

* * *

Ray Burke pulled Cates out of the mess after his breakfast, but before they lined up to go back to their cells.

“Ready for your bath?” he asked.

“I don't know,” Cates said. “Am I?”

Ray handed Cates something that was easily concealed in their hands.

“Okay, then,” Cates said, “I'm ready.”

“Let's go,” Burke said.

* * *

“Finished?” Rock asked Clint.

“Yes.”

“Step back, then.”

Clint did, put his hands on his head. This time a different guard came in and collected the tray after first making sure the fork was still there. Then he left.

“Ready for your bath?”

“Like you wouldn't believe.”

“Let's go, then.”

Clint stepped out of the cell and Rock prodded him ahead. They went down a couple of hallways, didn't pass any other cells, and finally came to a room with bathtubs in it. Both Clint and Rock were surprised to find one of the tubs occupied.

“What the hell?” Rock said.

“What?” Cates asked. “A man can't have a bath?”

“You don't belong here,” Rock said.

“Talk to Ray,” Cates said. “I ain't gettin' out 'til I'm done.”

Rock stood there a moment, unsure of what to do.

“Hey, I don't mind,” Clint said.

“Yeah, okay,” Rock said. “I'll go get your clean clothes. Don't try leavin' this room.”

“Don't worry,” Clint said. “Once I'm in the tub, I'm not getting out.”

Rock nodded, and left.

Clint walked to a tub that was filled with hot water. Steam drifted up from the surface.

“What are you doing here?” Clint asked.

“Savin' your life,” Cates said.

“It's happening today?” Clint asked. “Here?”

“That's what I hear.”

“Shit,” Clint said, unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you doin'?” Cates asked.

“I'm taking my bath, damn it,” Clint said. “If they're going to kill me, I want to be clean.”

“You can't do that!”

“You're in a tub.”

Cates stood up, showing that while he had taken off his short, he still had his trousers on.

“Fine,” Clint said, tossing his filthy shirt on the floor. “I'll do the same thing.” He kicked off his shoes and, with his trousers still on, stepped into the hot water. “Oh, Jesus, this is almost worth dying for.”

“Almost?”

“Almost,” Clint confirmed.

“Here,” Cates said, reaching out his hand.

Clint put his own hand out and Cates dropped something into it. It was a spoon that somebody had spent a lot of time getting a sharp edge on.

“They're liable to come in with real knives,” Cates said “You'll need somethin' to defend yourself with.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

Cates held up his own spoon and said, “I got one.”

“Well,” Clint said, “while we're waiting for them to show up, where's the soap?”

“Here ya go,” Cates said, reaching out again.

THIRTY-SEVEN

When they came, there were four of them. They entered and spread out, expressionless except for one. He was staring at Cates.

“What are you doin' here?”

“Jesus,” Cates said. “A guy can't take a bath in peace?”

“Get out, Cates.”

“I'm not done.”

The other three didn't seem to care that Cates was there, only the first man.

“If you stay here,” the man said, “we're gonna have to kill you, too.”

“You mean you'll try,” Cates said.

“You asked for it,” the man said. “Okay, take 'em.”

All four men brandished large knifes, but they thought they were facing two naked, unarmed men. As they approached the tubs, Clint and Cates both stood up and climbed out. Clint noticed that Cates had even kept his shoes on.

They held their makeshift knives ready as the four burly men stalked them.

“Come on,” Cates said. “I've been itchin' to kill somebody since I got here.”

Since the four men had been instructed to kill Clint Adams, three of them approached him, leaving one man to face Cates.

“Not so big without yer gun, are ya, Gunsmith?” one of them sneered.

“I don't need a gun for a loser like you,” Clint said. “Come on.”

If the men had a plan of attack, that remark ruined it. The speaker's eyes flared at the insult and he charged, only to take Clint's sharpened spoon right in the gut. Clint pushed him out of the way, and the man fell into the bathtub. His knife sank to the bottom, but Clint didn't have time to reach for it. The other two men were coming at him.

Cates and his man were hand to hand, each having hold of the other's wrist. The other man was bigger and stronger, but Cates turned to his left and stuck out his hip for leverage, took the man over quickly. When he hit the floor, all the air burst from his lungs, and his knife fell from his hand. Cates gutted him with his spoon, then picked up the knife and rushed to Clint's aid.

As the two remaining attackers leaped at Clint, Cates intercepted one of them, darting into the man's path with the knife angled up. The man practically fell on the knife and screamed is it ripped into him.

Clint parried the thrust of the last man, stepped aside as the man lunged past him, then got behind him, slid his arm around his neck, and then cut his throat with the spoon.

He let the body drop to the floor, and it was quiet in the room.

“Get your shirt and shoes and let's get out of here,” Cates said. “And take your spoon. This'll look like they killed each other.”

“Whoever sent them will know they didn't.”

“The two guards, Rock and Burke, will know, too, but they won't say anything,” Cates said. “They're not gonna wanna be involved.”

They each donned their shirts, and Clint pulled on his shoes.

In the hall Clint said, “Thanks, Cates.”

“Keep that spoon,” Cates said. “I have a feelin' you're gonna need it again.”

* * *

They waited outside for each of their guards to return.

“Finished?” Ray Burke asked Cates.

“Oh, yeah,” Cates said. “Nice and clean. Wanna check behind my ears?”

Burke ignored him, looked at Clint.

“Who's comin' for you?”

“Rock.”

“Well, wait right here for him and don't move.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Let's go,” Burke said to Cates.

“See ya later, Clint.”

“Cates.”

They walked away, leaving Clint alone. He thought about retrieving one of the knives, but doubted he'd be able to hide it adequately.

When Rock reappeared, he was carrying fresh clothes for Clint.

“I thought I told you to wait inside.”

“It's a mess in there,” Clint said, taking the dry clothes. “I'd rather change back in my cell.”

Rock frowned, looked at the door to the other room. Clint could see the man thinking, should he go in and have a look?

“Okay,” Rock said, “come on, I'll take you back.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

When word got around about the four men being killed, nobody admitted to knowing anything about it, but according to the story that was circulating, the Gunsmith had killed them himself, with no help. Apparently, he was still deadly, even without a gun in his hand.

Clint sat comfortably in his cell in his new, dry clothes. His second meal of the day was also brought in to him, and then again at supper, he was brought a steak.

“Keeping me away from the general population, boss?” he asked Rock.

“If I had my way, you'd be right in there with them,” Rock said.

“Aw, you don't mean that, Rock.”

“Shut up and eat your steak,” Rock said. “You're gonna have a visitor tonight.”

“A visitor? Where?”

“Right here,” Rock said, “so finish up and be ready to receive a guest.”

* * *

Clint finished his meal and Rock collected the tray, making sure he had the fork. He sat back on his bunk to wait. Eventually, he heard two sets of footsteps coming down the hall. When they appeared in front of his cell, he saw Rock and Amanda.

“Hello,” she said.

“Stay there,” Rock said to Clint.

The guard unlocked the door, let Amanda in, and then closed and locked the door again.

“Call me when you're done,” he said to Amanda, who nodded.

“When you're done?” Clint asked. “Not five minutes?”

“We've got more time.”

“For what?”

She shrugged.

“Whatever you like?”

“Let's talk first.”

“Can I sit?”

He slid over on his bunk and she sat next to him. He'd smelled her when she entered. She smelled like sex. Not like she'd just had sex, but like sex itself. It wasn't good for her to be where she was, in a facility with so many men. Not the way she smelled.

“I want to get out,” she said.

“Why tell me?”

“Because of who you are,” she said. “You're gonna get out. All I want is for you to take me with you.”

“You want to break out?”

“I don't know how you're gonna get yourself out,” she said. “Break out, talk your way out, legally . . . I don't know. Whatever.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

“I'm not even sure you didn't get yourself tossed in here on purpose for some reason.”

“Uh, no.”

“Okay,” she said with a shrug.

“What do you have to offer?” he asked. “I mean, that would make me want to help you?”

She stood up and, in one swift moment, dropped her dress. She'd had a bath recently, was clean. Her skin was pale, her nipples pink, her breasts small and firm.

“Amanda, that's not what I meant.”

“I could bring you one of the other girls, if you want,” she said. “One is older than me, bigger, more experienced, the other very slight, if you like your girls that way. Or you could have two of us at one time.”

“Put your dress back on,” he said. “I was talking about other, uh, things you might offer.”

“Oh.” She bent down to grab her dress and pull it back on. “Sorry.” She sat back down next to him.

“Don't be. You're . . . very lovely.”

“I don't know what else I could offer you,” she said. “Except . . .”

“Except what?”

“Well . . . Harlan Banks?”

THIRTY-NINE

“I thought you said you didn't know Harlan Banks,” Clint said.

“I don't,” she said, “but after you mentioned him, I asked.”

“And?”

“He's in here,” she said. “I can get you to him.”

“How?”

“Leave that to me,” she said. “Do you want to see him or not?”

“I do.”

“When?”

“As soon as possible,” Clint said. “They've already tried to kill me once. I don't expect them to stop.”

“I heard about that,” she said. “Very impressive.”

“Don't believe everything you hear.”

“Okay,” she said, “I can get you to Harlan Banks tomorrow.”

“Why not tonight?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

“What?”

“I wanna stay here tonight.”

“In my cell?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“Because if I go back to my own cell,” she said, “I'll be raped—again.”

“You think they'll let you stay here?”

“I do,” she said. “The guards will let me do what I want, as long as I do what they want.”

“And what do you do for them?”

“I pretend like it's not rape,” she said. “I pretend that I want them to do things to me, or that I want to do things to them.”

“Pretend?”

“It's the only way I can get through it,” she said. “To let them have what they want.”

“And the other girls?”

“They aren't smart enough to do it,” she said. “They get raped, forcibly, and they resist. That just makes it worse for themselves, but I can't convince them. They think I'm a slut.”

“So they don't get the kind of treatment you get,” he said.

“No, they don't.”

“That seems to be their problem,” he said. “You're doing what you have to do to survive.”

“So can I stay?”

“If it's okay with the guards.”

“It is.”

“Fine, then,” he said. “I don't know what the sleeping arrangements will be—”

She stood up, shrugged again, and the dress fell to her ankles.

“You're not gonna make me put it back on again, are you?” she asked.

“Amanda, we just finished talking about rape,” he said. “I don't want you to think you have to—”

“But this wouldn't be rape,” she said. “This would be because I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm positive.”

Clint studied her, felt the heat coming off her naked body, and smelled her—again.

“Please,” she said. “I just want to feel wanted, and in control again.”

Clint blew out the candle in the cell, pulled the blanket down on the bunk, and said, “Come on, girl.”