Clint met with Delvecchio and told him where he wanted to go.
“Five Points.”
“That's right,” Clint said. “Seems that's where I'll find somebody named Bull Benson.”
“I know Benson.”
“Do you know everybody in this town who walks on the wrong side of the law?”
Delvecchio thought a moment, then said, “Yeah, pretty much. Ain't that the kind of person you need right now?”
“I guess it is.”
“I'll bet you know a lot of men in the West who walk on the wrong side.”
Clint thought a moment, then said, “Yeah, I do.”
“Okay,” Delvecchio said, “Five Points it is.”
The cab they took would not take them into Five Points.
“I ain't that crazy, gents,” the driver said.
“That's okay,” Delvecchio said. “We'll walk from here.”
They got out and Clint saw that they were on Little Water Street. They walked two or three blocks and Clint suddenly noticed the difference. The buildings were more run-down, and the decay became apparent not only to the eye but to the nose as well.
“Where are we going?”
“We won't have to try very hard to find Benson,” Delvecchio said. “If I'm right, he'll be in this Irish saloon I know of.”
“That'll be handy,” Clint said. “I could use a beer right about how.”
“Um, are you carrying that little gun of yours?” Delvecchio asked.
Clint reached behind his back, inside his jacket, and came out with his modified Colt.
“No,” he said. “I thought my regular sidearm might come in handy if someone tried to shoot at me from across the street again.”
“I feel better already,” Delvecchio said as Clint tucked the gun away.
Bull Benson was standing at the bar enjoying his beer and his audience. He was regaling them with tales of old fights and conquests, stories they'd all heard before but were afraid to mention. He was a huge man, six foot six, and very wide. No one in Five Points had ever seen him bested in a fight.
When the bar suddenly grew quiet, he looked toward the door and saw the two men standing just inside.
“Is that Delvecchio?” he called across the floor. “Who's your friend, Delvecchio?”
“Hello, Bull,” Delvecchio said. “Can we have a word?”
Benson spread his armsâa huge wingspanâand said, “I don't have any secrets from my friends.”
“We're lookin' for your friend Willie O'Donnell,” Delvecchio said.
“Get away from me!” Benson growled at the men around him. Then he waved to Delvecchio and Clint. “Come 'ere.”
“Don't be askin' for Willie out loud like that,” Benson told Delvecchio. “Who's your friend?”
“His name is Clint Adams. He's lookin' for Willie.”
“Why?”
“Somebody took a shot at me today,” Clint said. “I think it was Willie.”
“Willie's out of town.”
“Then a friend of Willie's.”
“I'm the only friend Willie's got,” Benson said, “and I didn't take a shot at you. If I was gonna kill ya, I'd do it with my hands.”
“I can believe it.”
“Are you law?”
“Do I look like law?”
“You look like somethin',” Benson said. “Somethin' I don't like.”
“Bull, you still workin' for Ma Baum?”
“I ain't never worked for her.”
“You work for Willie, and Willie works for her,” Delvecchio said.
Benson laughed and said, “Yeah, right. Willie works for her.”
“What do you mean by that?” Clint asked.
“You ain't the law,” Benson said. “I don't hafta talk ta you.”
“Bullâ” Delvecchio said.
“Get out, Del,” Benson said. “I ain't gotta talk ta either one of you.”
“Get a message to your pal Willie,” Clint said. “I know what he did, and I'm going to make him payâ unless he stops me.”
“With talk like that, friend, he will.”
“I'd like to see him try.”
Benson turned to face Clint head-on, looking down at him.
“I'll give him the message, friend,” Benson said. “And you know what? I hope he sends me.”
Clint smiled up at Bull Benson and said, “You better hope he doesn't.”
After Clint and Delvecchio left, Bull Benson had another beer. When his audience tried to come back, he waved his arms and said, “Stay away!”
He knew Willie was back in town. He also knew that Ben and Willie had tried to kill George Appo and Clint Adams earlier that day. But how did Adams know that?
Benson finished his beer and went out the back door.
Outside Delvecchio said, “Why'd you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You practically called him out,” the detective said. “Willie, too.”
“Not practically. I did call them out.”
“You got a death wish?”
“No,” Clint said. “This is just the way I do things.”
“In the West, maybe,” Delvecchio said. “This ain't very subtle, Clint.”
“They'll find out where I'm staying, and they'll come for me,” Clint told him. “This time I'll be ready for them.”
“Well, then,” Delvecchio said, “so will I.”
THIRTY-NINE
George Appo looked up when he heard the commotion. Ma Mandelbaum was stalking down the hall toward him with Ben trailing behind her.
“What the hell happened?” she demanded of Appo.
“You tell me, Ma.”
“Whataya mean?”
“You sent somebody after me,” he said, “or after Adams. Or maybe both of us. They got Bethany instead. ”
“Whataya talkin' about?” Ma asked. “Is she dead?”
“No,” Appo said, “and by some miracle she's holding on.”
“What the hellâwhere did this happen?”
“On the steps of the Metropole.”
“And where's Adams?”
“He went looking for your boys.”
“What boys?”
“Willie, or Bull Benson. Maybe both.”
“Willie shot Bethany?”
“I don't know, Ma,” Appo said. “Who'd you send? Whoever it was, they shot Bethany.”
“I'll kill that sonofabitch!” she said, teeth clenched.
“Who?” Appo asked. “Who did you send?”
“Never mind,” Ma said. “Never you mind.” She turned to Ben. “Find Willie, and tell him I want him hereânow!”
“Yes, Ma.”
“You can go now,” she told Appo.
“No, I think I'll stay,” he said. “When she comes to, she's going to want to see a friendly face, don't you think?”
Ben knew exactly where Willie wasâin a small saloon down on the Bowery.
“Ma wants you at the hospital,” he said, finding Willie at the bar.
“She does, huh?”
“She's mad.”
“She'll be even madder after I get through talkin' to her, won't she, Benny boy?”
“Willieâ”
Willie waved and Bull Benson came over, towering over Ben.
“Benny boy, you and Bull are goin' over ta Clint Adams's hotel.”
“What for?”
“You're gonna kill him.”
“Me? But Iâ”
“Who was with Ma at the hospital?”
“G-George is there.”
“Appo,” Willie said. “Ah, that's good. So I'll go to the hospital and take care of George, and you boys take care of Adams.”
“But I can'tâ” Ben said.
“I know, kid,” Willie said, “that's exactly why you'll be able to. He'll never see it comin'.”
Willie took out a gun and handed it to Ben.
“We goin' to your room?” Delvecchio asked as they reached the Belvedere Hotel.
“No,” Clint said. “I thought we might as well wait in the tavern, have a beer.”
They entered the tavern and found two places at the bar.
“You think they'll come today?”
“The sooner the better.”
“What if they just stay outside and wait for us to come out?”
“If somebody called you out, what would you do?”
“I'd come in and get it over with, but these menâ”
“Ego,” Clint said. “They'll want to get it over with, too.”
“You're talkin' about Western ego,” Delvecchio said. “Willie O'Donnell is a wolf. He's cunning. He's not ruled by ego.”
“So what will he do?”
“He'll try to do something you won't expect.”
“Like what?”
“He'll come up with somethin',” Delvecchio said. “I'm just sayin' be careful.”
“You know,” Clint said, “it would have been very easy for O'Donnell to separate himself from his men and the merchandise and come back early.”
“I'm surprised by one thing.”
“What's that?”
“Willie's good at killin',” Delvecchio said. “What happened on the steps of the Metropole was sloppy.”
“Maybe he rushed it.”
“Yeah,” Delvecchio said, “maybe. Still surprises me, though.”
FORTY
“Not the hotel,” Bull Benson said to Ben.
“What?”
Benson pointed next door.
“They'll be in the tavern.”
“Butâ”
“Come on, boy,” Benson said. “A man needs a drink while he's waitin' ta die.”
Benson grabbed Ben's arm and pulled him over to the tavern.
“You go inside, you walk up to Adams, you talk to him for a minute, and then you pull the gun and shoot him right in the belly. You got it?”
“I guess . . .”
“This ain't the first time you pulled a trigger, ya know.”
Ben blanched, then nodded, buttoning his jacket as he went inside.
“What'd you say about something unexpected?” Clint asked.
Delvecchio looked at the door and saw Ben enter with his jacket buttoned.
“Oh, no . . .”
“Go out the back and around,” Clint said. “I'll take care of Ben.”
“Great,” Delvecchio said. “I can just imagine who's waitin' outside.”
He headed for the rear door as Ben made his way to the bar.
The gun felt heavy in Ben's belt and he had the feeling that everybody in the tavern was looking at him, and could see the gun clearly. His heart was pounding because he thought he was going to die today.
And he deserved it.
Clint moved his beer mug so that it was sitting near his left hand. His right hand was hanging at his side where it would have been if he'd been wearing a holster.
When Ben reached the bar, he said, “Hello, Mr. Adams.”
“Ben. I thought you'd be at the hospital.”
“Ma sent me away.”
“To do what?”
“Huh?”
“What does she want you to do, Ben?” Clint asked.
“She, uh, wanted me to find Willie.”
“Is she mad at Willie? For shooting Bethany?”
Ben's eyes slid away. Clint saw his hand move to unbutton his jacket.
“Mr. Adams,” he said, “I done somethin' real bad.”
“What's that, Ben?” Clint was wondering if Ben was going to confess to killing Libby Wellington in Denver. Had they been after the wrong man all this time?
“IâI let Willie, uh, talk me into . . .”
“Talk you into what, Ben?” Clint asked. “Come on, how bad can it be?”
“Oh, it's bad.”
“Ben, did you kill that woman in Denver?”
“No!” Ben said. “I didn't, I swear. It was Willie.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Iâ It was me . . . shootin' at you in front of the Metropole.”
“What?” That wasn't what Clint was expecting to hear. “Why? Wait . . . I heard two shooters.”
“Yeah, it was me and Willie. Mr. Adams, I may have shot Bethany.”
“Ben . . .”
“And now,” Ben said, putting his hand to his belt, “I'm supposed to shoot you.” He took the gun out, then laid it on the bar. “But I can't.”
Clint, who had tensed when the boy touched his gun, relaxed. He picked up the gun and tucked it into his own belt. The boy had hung his head and tears were streaming down his face.
“It's okay, Ben,” Clint said, patting the boy on the shoulder. “Where's Willie now?”
“He went to the hospital.”
“For what?”
“He said I was supposed to kill you, and he was gonna go kill George Appo.”
Clint grabbed Ben's arm and said, “Come on,” and dragged him to the door.
When they got outside, Delvecchio was standing over Bull Benson, who was out cold on the ground.
“What happened?” Clint asked.
“I hit him from behind,” Delvecchio said. “I told you, no ego here. You gotta be crafty.”
Appo saw Willie O'Donnell before Ma Mandelbaum did. From the look on Willie's face, Appo wished he'd carried a gun.
Ma saw the look on Appo's face and turned.
“Did you do this?” she demanded as Willie O'Donnell reached her. “Did you shoot Bethany?”
“That little bitch?” Willie asked. “You never had anythin' good to say abut her, and now yer yellin' at me, askin' if I shot 'er?”
“You were supposed to kill Clint Adams, or him,” Ma said, pointing a finger at Appo. “Not Bethany.”
“What the hell is the difference, Ma?” Willie shouted. “Adams is bein' taken care of, and I'll do Appo right now.”