The Man with the Iron Badge (9 page)

“I want a thick one,” Starkweather said.

“Me, too,” Clint said.

“Good,” Dockery said, grabbing his hat. “Follow me.”

 

Dockery led them to a nearby restaurant.

“Best place in town to eat,” he said. “Only opened a few months ago. I know the owner.”

When they walked in, a handsome woman with blond hair came walking over with a smile on her face. The smile transformed her, made her beautiful.

“Thanks for bringing me more customers, Tom,” she said.

“Justine Thorn, this is my friend Clint Adams and his friend Dan Starkweather.”

“I'm happy to meet you both,” Justine said.

“The place looks busy,” Dockery said.

“Always a table for the law, Tom,” she said. “Come on.”

She showed them to a table in the rear.

“Enjoy your dinners. Take my advice and have the steak.”

“That's what we're here for, Justine,” Dockery said.

“Welcome to town, gents,” she said. “Your waiter will be right with you.”

“Did Clint tell you who I am?” Starkweather asked.

“Sure,” Dockery said. “Who you are and what you're doin'.”

“Can you help?”

“Tom's going to send some telegrams to other lawmen in Arizona, to see if anyone has seen Nate and his boys.”

“But they're not wanted in Arizona,” Starkweather said. “We already know that.”

“That doesn't mean they're not known,” Dockery said. “Maybe somebody saw them. That would point you in a direction.”

The waiter came over and Dockery ordered three steak dinners and three beers. Starkweather remained silent while the two old friends caught up.

When the waiter came with their steaks, they all remained quiet while they attacked their meals. Halfway through, Justine came over to see how they were.

“Sit with us awhile,” Dockery said.

“Well,” she said, “Just until I'm needed elsewhere.”

She sat across from Dockery, between Clint and Starkweather. She looked at Clint.

“You're name is familiar to me,” she said. “Have we met?”

“If we had,” Clint said, “I'd remember.”

“He's Clint Adams, the Gunsmith,” Starkweather said. “You must have heard of him.”

“The Gunsmith,” she repeated. “Well, of course. What brings you to Fenton City, Mr. Adams?”

“Call me Clint, please,” Clint said. “I came to see Dock. We've been friends for a while.”

“Of course you have,” she said. “You must have worked together before.”

“That's how it started,” Dockery said. “Then we became friends.”

“And you?” she asked, looking at Starkweather. “You're a little young to be a lawman, aren't you?”

“Age has nothing to do with it, miss,” Starkweather said. “It suits my purpose.”

“And you're learning from Clint?”

“We're kind of learning from each other,” Clint said.

“Really?” she asked. “Are there still some things the Gunsmith can learn from someone else?”

“We can always learn from someone else, Justine,” Clint said.

“I'm impressed,” she said.

“Don't let the reputation fool you,” Dockery said. “It's never the measure of a man.”

“I'll try to remember that,” she said. Suddenly, she looked past Clint. “Oh my, looks like an emergency in the kitchen. Excuse me.”

She got up and left.

“Quite a woman,” Clint said.

“Pretty,” Starkweather said. “Kind of old, though. Don't you think?”

“Hey!” Dockery said. “She's younger than me.”

“He's twenty,” Clint said to Dockery. “I told you that.”

Starkweather laughed—probably the first time Clint had heard him do that since they had met.

 

After supper Dockery told Clint he'd go over to the telegraph office before it closed.

“Meet me in the Cactus Saloon,” he said. “It's down the street. Give me about an hour.”

“Okay.”

“You, too, Dan,” Dockery said.

“I think I'm going to go to my room for the night, if you don't mind,” Starkweather said.

“You mean these two old-timers are going to last longer than you?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Okay, then we'll see you for breakfast. Your hotel serves a good one.”

“Breakfast, then,” Starkweather said.

He went back to his hotel. Clint went directly to the Cactus to wait for Dockery.

Clint found the Cactus very busy, with gaming tables and a piano player. There were several girls working the floor, serving drinks and sitting on men's laps.

He was able to make a place for himself at the bar, order a beer, and keep a low profile. Nobody paid him any attention—that is, until Dockery appeared and joined him at the bar. Then the curiosity started. Who was the man drinking with the sheriff?

“Sorry,” Dockery said. “I seem to have brought you some attention.”

“This place still has a shine on it,” Clint said.

“Yeah, it's only been open about four months,” Dockery said. “It's already put a couple of the smaller saloons out of business.”

“This saloon, the hotel, the restaurant . . . the town's really grown.”

“It's slowed down now,” Dockery said. “People are starting to get used to the new businesses. I think most towns get to a certain point and then really can't support any more growth.”

“And you think that's happened here?”

“Well, the mayor and the town council don't think so,” Dockery said. “I'm sorta on the fence about it.”

“Are you okay with it, either way?”

“Oh, sure,” Dockery said. “We get any bigger, I'll just ask for more money in my budget to hire more deputies.”

“How many do you have now?”

Dockery grinned and said, “None. Think your kid might want a job farther west than Kansas?”

“I couldn't answer for him, but right now he's concentrating on bringing in Nate Starkweather.”

“That's gotta be tough, huntin' down your own pa,” Dockery said.

“First, Dan doesn't like referring to Nate as his father,” Clint said, “and second, I don't think they've ever really met before.”

“Really?” Dockery said. “Well, I guess that would make it easier, but he's still the kid's flesh and blood.”

“Guess we'll find out just how much that means when we catch up with him.”

“I sent out a half a dozen telegrams, covering a lot of Arizona. If they're in a town somewhere, somebody's gotta notice them.”

“Unless they're smart and split up.”

“Let's see what kind of responses I get. Another beer?”

“Why not?”

 

Clint and Dockery remained at the bar long enough for people's curiosity to fade.

“What's going on with you and Justine?”

“Whataya mean?”

“I can see something going on there.”

“Well, if anything's going on, it's only on my end,” Dockery said. “She's not interested in me. Might be the age thing.”

“I thought you said fifty was young?”

“Apparently, not when you're a woman in her thirties,” Dockery said. “Why don't you take a run? You're younger than I am, aren't you?”

“I'm not here to discuss my age,” Clint said.

“Do you feel like some poker? Faro? Something else?”

Dockery asked.

“No,” Clint said, “I think I'm going to take a page out of the kid's book and turn in.”

“Hey, the night's young, Clint.”

“And as you've been pointing out, you and me are not,” Clint said.

“Hey, I never said that!”

Clint slapped his friend on the shoulder and said, “I was reading between the lines.”

“Come on, one more beer!”

“Good night, Tom. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Early!” Dockery shouted at him.

Four men and a guard were on foot, about a mile from Yuma Prison.

“Where are the damn horses?” one of them asked the guard.

“I told you,” the guard said. “They're in a clearing over that way. Where's my money?”

“Don't worry,” the leader of the four, Herm Jessup, said. “You'll get your money.”

He looked over at Willy Castillo, his cell mate for the past six months. They were the ones who had worked out this escape. The other two, Nick Masters and Jerry Foley, were along for the ride. Willy was the only one carrying a gun, which he had taken from the guard. Willy nodded, indicating he knew what to do as soon as they came to the horses.

“You'll get your money,” Jessup lied. “Come on, let's go.”

 

Nate Starkweather rolled over in bed and stared bleary-eyed around the room. This was his hotel room. So far, that was okay. Now, where was the hotel? Wait . . . wait . . . Arizona! That was it.

But what town?

He couldn't think of it.

He looked at the woman lying next to him on the bed. She was lying on her stomach, and he could see big breasts flattened out underneath her. She also had a big, fleshy butt, which he liked in a woman. Okay, she'd do, that was fine, but now he couldn't remember if she was a whore he had paid for, or if he'd picked her up somewhere along the way.

Saloon girl? No, she might be built for fucking, but she wasn't built for those dresses the saloon gals wore. She'd always be falling out of the damn thing—which, when he stopped to think of it, wouldn't be so bad.

Well, there was one sure way to find out who she was and where'd he'd gotten her.

He slapped her on her left butt cheek, hard enough to leave a red hand mark. She squealed and rolled over quickly before he could redden the other cheek.

“Hey, that's not the way a girl likes to be woke up!” she complained, rubbing her cheek.

“Are you a whore?” he asked.

“What?”

“I can't remember,” he said. “Are you a whore? Did I buy you?”

She got a crafty look on her somewhat fleshy face. She had been pretty once, but now she had a hint of a double chin and her once dewy skin looked more doughy.

“I dunno,” she said. “Did we settle on a price?”

“I don't know, either. But I know I don't usually pay a lot.”

“Like how much?”

“Five bucks?”

“That sounds good,” she said.

“That include a mornin' poke?” he asked.

She spread her legs wide for him, revealing a pink pussy in between heavy thighs.

“Be my guest . . .”

“Nate,” he said, sliding his hand down over her belly to her pussy. He touched it with the tip of his middle finger, and she got wet. Apparently, this was a whore who liked her job. “My name's Nate.”

She caught her breasts as he slid the entire finger into her.

“I'm Annie,” she said.

His dick was hard now, so he got into position between her thighs and shoved it into her. He slid his hands beneath her so he could cup her buttocks—big hands came in handy here—and started fucking her as hard as he could. There was no finesse about the way Nate Starkweather had sex. He did it like he did everything else—as hard as he could, and with no regard for anyone.

 

Annie didn't care. She wasn't a whore; she was a waitress who had served Starkweather and his boys when they first came to town. When he asked her to come to his room, she figured, why not? Once he mistook her for a whore, she figured it would be some easy money, so she went along with it.

As he pounded into her and she made a point of grunting appreciatively, she wondered what a real whore would charge him for this.

God, she thought, he's like a bull, and is he ever in a hurry.

Nate Starkweather met Santino at a café down the street from their hotel. Vail had been instructed to keep the other men away from them.

They hadn't pulled a job since the last one, in Lost Mesa. The men were getting antsy, as was Starkweather, but he had something in mind.

The only one who wasn't antsy or nervous was the Mex, Santino.

“How do you stay so calm all the time?” Starkweather demanded.

“I have lots of sex, amigo,” Santino said. “It takes care of all my extra energy.”

“Did you get a whore, too, last night?”

“A whore?”

“Yeah, you know, like that blonde I had in my room?” Nate asked.

Santino laughed.

“What's so funny?” Nate demanded.

“That woman you took to your room last night was a waitress, not a whore,” Santino said. “Did you pay her?”

“Well, yeah, I paid her,” Nate said. “I asked her if she was a whore and she said yes. Then we settled on a price. And then we had a helluva mornin' poke.”

“Well then,” Santino said, “the joke is on her.”

“What joke?”

“Since she took your money,” Santino said, “that makes her a whore now.”

Nate Starkweather thought that over and then smiled and said, “Yeah!”

 

“I don't get it,” Paul Evans said. “Do we smell, or somethin'?”

“Yeah,” Walker said. “Nate never wants us near him.”

“We always end up havin' to eat with you,” Ryan said to Vail.