“Sure,” another said sarcastically. “Then Tom will shoot up the town and probably kill a couple of us for our trouble. Uh-uh, I say it’s not our fight.”
“You chicken-shit sonofabitch!” the old man rasped. “You ain’t got the balls of a piss-ant!”
The insulted man made a lunge for the old codger, but Longarm stepped between the squabbling pair. “That’s enough of that,” he growled.
“Why you want to know about those two?” the bartender asked, pouring himself a shot of whiskey. “I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”
“I do mind,” Longarm said, unable to see any advantage to be gained by tipping his hand or revealing his true identity. “Anyway, point me to the Fairplay Hotel.”
“Can’t miss it,” the old man said. “Just six or seven doors down to your right.”
The Fairplay Hotel was clearly one of the town’s nicer establishments. It was clean and had decent furniture in its small but tasteful lobby. A desk clerk glanced up from a dime novel that he had been reading and managed a smile. “Afternoon,” he said. “Care for a room?”
“Maybe later,” Longarm replied. “Right now, I’ve come to visit some folks.”
“Are they expecting you?” the clerk asked.
“I’m looking for a man named Jim Smith. He’s with a woman named Betty.”
“Can’t say I know them.”
Longarm marched up to the desk and leaned on it for a moment saying, “If you don’t tell me what room they are in and give me a key to their door, I’ll have to break down every room in the house and rouse all your customers. It’ll be a lot worse that way.”
“Oh.”
“Give me the key,” Longarm ordered, reaching into his pocket and showing the man his badge. “And do it now.”
“Yes, sir!” the desk clerk snapped, jumping for a board where every room’s extra key was affixed to a separate hook. “Room Six! Just to your left.”
“Thanks.”
“You gonna shoot them?” the desk clerk asked. “I sure hope you don’t have to kill ‘em. They’re real nice and they did this town a big favor when they gunned down Dave Marble. Marshal, I …”
Longarm wasn’t listening. The hunt was about to end. He’d been tracking The Assassin for weeks now, always coming upon the aftermath of his destruction. That was not to say that each man Smith had killed didn’t deserve to die, not at all. In fact, The Assassin had saved the taxpayers a fair amount of time and expense. But he was a murderer himself and now he was about to be brought to justice.
Longarm placed his ear to the door of Room Number Six and listened. He couldn’t hear a thing, and didn’t see any light shining under the doorjamb, so he gathered that either the couple was sleeping, or they had made their escape unbeknownst to the clerk or anyone else in Cortez.
Longarm turned and tiptoed back to the desk. “When was the last time you saw them?”
“They sent out for some food and I brought it to their room a couple of hours ago. The man was pale, but he was sitting up in bed with his shoulder all bandaged. He smiled and even tipped me for my trouble. The woman said thank you.”
“Is there a window in that room?”
“Of course! All our rooms have windows.”
“Opening upon what?”
“Room Six has a window facing out in back with an excellent view of the mountains. Nice view of the mountains. In fact, they complimented me on the room and I said that I …”
Again, Longarm cut the conversation short by turning away and heading up the hall. But this time, when he came to Room Number Six, he slipped the key into the lock and gently turned it until he heard a faint click.
“Marshal?”
Longarm had been just about to open the door and rush inside when the clerk tapped him on the shoulder.
“Get out of here!” Longarm snapped in a hushed voice. “And don’t come back! There could be bullets flying!”
The desk clerk retreated back up the hallway, and Longarm returned his attention to the door. Squeezing the knob in one hand and lifting his gun from his holster, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping quickly inside.
It was dark, but he could see a man in bed with a bulky white bandage taped to his shoulder. The man smiled and said, “It’s too dim in here to see your face, but are you Tom Marble?”
“No, I’m Deputy Marshal Custis Long from Denver and you are under arrest for murder.”
“I see. Well, you do understand my motives, don’t you?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t excuse them and you’re still under arrest.”
“I’m wounded.”
“So I’ve heard,” Longarm said, keeping his gun up. “Where is Betty?”
“Right here,” she replied, stepping in from behind the door and shoving a gun into Longarm’s ribs. “Drop it, Marshal Long, or so help me God I will kill you!”
Longarm knew that she wasn’t bluffing. Betty had shot down Dave Marble, and she wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing to him.
“You’re making a big mistake, miss. Up until right now, you’ve done nothing that a little jail time wouldn’t fix. But this is obstruction of justice and-“
“You talk too much,” Betty hissed, prodding his ribs even harder. “Drop your gun or I’ll kill you!”
Longarm dropped his gun.
“Over against the wall with your hands up,” Betty ordered as she shut the door and bolted it behind her.
Smith lit the bedside lamp, and now Longarm got a very good look at The Assassin. Without the bandanna wrapped around his neck, you could clearly see the red, proud flesh, and Longarm was sure that there was a lot more of it covered by the blankets.
“Betty,” Smith said, dragging his own gun out from under the blankets, “frisk Marshal Long for any hidden weapons. Be very careful because I have heard that he caries a hideout derringer.”
Betty kept her gun in her hand as she frisked Longarm, discovering the derringer attached to his watch chain. She also found a knife in his boot top that he had taken to wearing during some of his manhunts after once desperately needing one to save his life.
“Anything else?” Smith asked.
“Not unless he’s got it stuffed up his butt,” Betty said, stepping away with her gun still trained on Longarm.
“Sit down on the floor, Marshal,” Smith ordered. “I’ve heard a great deal about you but we’ve never really met, have we?”
“No.”
“What are they saying about me back in Denver?”
“That you became a rogue killer. That you murdered Commissioner John Pinter by shoving him off the Federal Building’s rooftop.”
“Wrong!” Smith exploded. “Your mighty commissioner jumped off the roof because he was so damned deep in debt to the criminals there that they were about to blow the whistle on him. If they had, he’d have lost everything, including the respect and love of his dear wife.”
“Can you prove that?”
“All you have to do is return to Denver and dig up some of the dirt. You can start by asking a very unsavory fellow named Dude Conley. He’s the one that Pinter owed the most money to. But there were plenty of others, and they were all coming after your hallowed commissioner. He was finished and knew it. They would have destroyed his reputation, not to mention breaking his neck. So he took the easy way out and jumped off the roof.”
“Give me a few more names of the men he owed money to.”
“Don Prater. Sid Lowry. Big Mo Brown and Ronnie the Bull. You must have heard of them.”
“I’ve put some of them in jail.”
“Yeah, well, they’re all out now and they’re making an excellent living off people like your commissioner, Marshal.”
Smith beckoned the woman over to his bedside, and then took her hand in his own and squeezed it tight. “Back in Denver I was making your commissioner look very, very good. Crime was down and he was getting talked about as a likely candidate for a high political office.”