Out of the Past (15 page)

“Won't there?”

Sandy was frantic. She had to get to the roof and she still wasn't finding a chair or a ladder. She felt stupid. She ran down to the lobby where there were plenty of chairs.

“Hey!” the clerk shouted as she grabbed one and ran up the stairs with it.

Clint stepped down into the street, moved off to his right, while Denver Cole backed up and moved left. Some brave people came outside to watch from a closer vantage point, but for the most part the street was empty.

Clint and Cole stopped, facing each other over a distance of not less than twenty feet.

The man on the roof with the rifle sighted down the barrel.
Come on
, he thought,
somebody make a move and give me my target.

Sandy set the chair beneath the hatch and climbed up on it. She reached up to push the hatch open, but it was either heavy or stuck.

Damn it
, she thought,
either way I'm getting this hatch open!

The onlookers watched and waited to see who was going to make the first move. Some bets were made, but for the most part this was just a little piece of history people were watching—especially if the Gunsmith got himself killed!

Suddenly, Cole's hand streaked for his gun.

The man with the rifle watched as Denver Cole cleanly outdrew the Gunsmith and shot him down. As Adams hit the street on his back, Cole marched to where Adams lay and stood over the Gunsmith, just like Cameron predicted he would.

Just turn a little bit
, he thought,
give me your back.

“Hold it!” the rifleman heard from behind him.

He turned quickly and pulled the trigger, but Sandy was down on one knee. The hatch had been heavy, which helped her. If it had been light, she would have flipped it over and made a lot of noise doing it. As it was, she'd had to lift and slide the heavy lid off and hadn't made a sound.

The rifleman's shot went over her head. As he levered another round, she fired once. The bullet struck him in the chest. He staggered back and fell off the roof.

Denver Cole looked up at the sound of the shot, saw a man and a rifle fall from the roof of the Plaza hotel.

“You were right,” he said to Clint.

On the ground Clint opened his eyes, looked up at Cole and said, “You owe me your blank check.”

To the surprise of all and the consternation of some, Cole reached down and helped Clint to his feet.

“Good luck collectin',” Cole said. “If Cameron was willin' to kill me to save it, he ain't gonna let go of it real easy.”

“That's okay,” Clint said. “I didn't really want it, anyway. All I want you to do is tell the police he hired you to kill me.”

“I don't have to admit to anythin' else?”

“No, we'll tell them you came right to me and told me, and we set up this little bit of playacting.”

“And you had somebody on the roof all along?”

“I had somebody watching my back,” Clint said. “How she got to the roof I don't know, but I'm sure glad she did.”

Cole hesitated a moment, then said, “She?”

Clint followed Lieutenant Abernathy into Louis Cameron's office with Franklin Walters trailing along behind them saying, “B-but you can't—”

Clint stopped just inside the room, turned, pushed Walters back outside and slammed the door in his face.

“He's got a gun in a drawer of that desk,” Clint said, “but I don't think he has the nerve to use it.”

“What's the meaning of this?” Cameron demanded with all the indignation he could muster.

“You're under arrest, Mr. Cameron,” Abernathy said.

“On what charge?”

“Conspiracy to commit murder.”

Cameron stared at Clint. He obviously assumed that Denver Cole was dead.

“Your man gave you up.”

“My man?” He wondered if they'd grabbed the man with the rifle.

“Denver Cole.” Abernathy clarified things. “He told us everything.”

“The man's a notorious gunman and liar,” Cameron said.

“How about your son?” Abernathy asked. “Is he a liar, too?”

“He's a drunk,” Cameron said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Abernathy said, “everybody's either a liar or a drunk and you're a victim. Get up, Cameron.”

“You can't do this,” Cameron said, starting to get nervous. “I know people.”

“Yeah, I know people, too,” the lieutenant said, “lots of people.”

“My lawyer will—”

“We'll arrange a meeting between you and your lawyer . . . in your cell.”

Abernathy came around the desk, stopped to look out the window.

“Oh, look,” he said, “one of my men has Billy. Maybe we can put you in the same cell.”

Abernathy had sent uniformed policemen all over the city to search low-rent saloons for Billy Cameron.

The old man stood up with a speed that belied his age and looked out the window. He saw Billy Cameron talking to a uniformed policeman, who had him in handcuffs.

“Goddamnit!” he said.

“Let's go,” Abernathy said, taking out his cuffs. “I got a nice pair of bracelets for you, too.”

“No,” the old mans said. “No.” He turned and lunged for his desk drawer. Clint was there first, swatting his hand away before removing the gun from the drawer.

“Jesus,” he said, looking at the old Colt Navy, “this would've blown up in your hand, old man.”

“I can give you the killer,” Cameron said. “I can tell you who killed that woman, but you have to let me—”

“We don't have to let you do nothin',” Abernathy said.

“It was Billy!” the old man shouted. “My son, Billy. He got drunk, the girl rejected him. It was him!”

Abernathy looked at Clint and raised his eyebrows.

“You were right,” Abernathy said to Clint.

“Right?” Cameron asked. “About what?”

“He said you'd give up your own flesh and blood to try to stay out of jail,” Abernathy said. “That don't exactly make you father of the year in my book.”

He grabbed the old man's hands and slapped the handcuffs on him.

“No, no,” Cameron said. “My son is young, he can take prison. I can't.”

“Don't worry,” Clint said, “you'll be able to help each other. And I want you to think about Anne Archer while you're in there. She was worth ten of your son and a million of you.”

“That's what this is about?” the old man demanded. “That woman?”

“That woman was a friend of mine,” Clint said, “a close friend of mine. You and your boy made a big mistake, Cameron, and you're both going to pay.”

“B-but—I have money . . .”

“Yeah,” Abernathy said, “tell it to the judge. It might mean something to him.”

As Abernathy marched Cameron out, Clint realized the man was right. Cameron's money might mean something to a politician or a judge.

That was something to worry about.

Later that week Clint was still worrying about that.

“So if he buys his way out, then what?” Sandy asked.

“Then I'll have to come back and make sure justice is served the old way,” Clint said.

“You'd do that?” she asked. “Kill them?”

“Both of them.”

They were outside the house that Anne Archer had shared with her daughter, Sandy. Clint's horse was saddled and ready to go.

Katy came out of the house with Little Sandy, whose head was hanging down. Clint had stayed up most of the night with his daughter, explaining why he couldn't take her with him, why she'd be better off with Katy and Sandy in Chicago, where they were based for Pinkerton. The two aunts had agreed that one of them would always be available for the girl, who would soon be a young woman anyway.

“Say good-bye to your father, Sandy,” Katy said.

“Good-bye,” she said sullenly.

“Sandy—” Katy said, but Clint waved her off.

“Sandy, I know you don't believe me but I do love you. I'll come to see you often.”

She looked up at him.

“Do you promise?”

“I swear it,” he said. “Are you going to let me ride out without a hug?”

For a moment, he thought she would, but then she suddenly lunged forward and hugged him, then pulled his head down so she could kiss him soundly on the cheek.

" 'Bye, Poppa.”

The night before she had settled on “Poppa” for what she would call him.

“I'll see you soon, sweetie,” he said, hugging her tight.

He stepped to his horse and mounted up.

“I'll see you all soon,” he said.

“You'd better,” Katy said, “or we'll come lookin' for you.”

He waved, turned his horse and rode away from his daughter with an aching heart.

Watch for

320
^th
novel in the exciting GUNSMITH series from Jove