Deadly Election (9781101619223)

Greeting the Constituency…

The three men who had been standing together the whole night watched as Clint approached Laura Linquist and said good-bye.

“When are we supposed to try for him?” one of them asked.

“I haven’t got word yet,” the leader said. “Don’t worry, it’ll be soon.”

“Maybe they want him to get deep into the campaign first,” the third man said.

“That’s a possibility,” the leader said.

“Who’s gonna pull the trigger?” the second man asked.

“We’ll see,” the leader said. “It’ll all be in the orders.”

“He’s leavin’,” the second man said.

“Let him go,” the leader said. “The time will come, don’t worry.”

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DEADLY ELECTION

J. R. ROBERTS

JOVE BOOKS, NEW YORK

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Clint had been to Washington, D.C., recently, after a long absence. It was enough for him. That was the reason he refused to return again so soon even when he received the telegram asking for a meeting with a man named Jeremy Pike.

Pike was a Secret Service agent, a sometime partner to Clint’s friend Jim West. This was the only reason Clint agreed to meet the man—not in Washington, D.C., itself, but in the West Virginia town of Meadowbrook.

Clint would have ridden Eclipse all the way, but Pike stressed the importance of their meeting, so he took the railroad. He got off the train at the station and took a horse-drawn cab to a hotel.

“Which one?” the driver asked.

“The nearest one,” Clint said. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Nearest one ain’t so good, mister,” the driver said. “You wouldn’t thank me for takin’ you there.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “take me to the nearest decent hotel.”

“Yessir.”

The driver took him to a small hotel called The Red Rooster Inn. There was a crude drawing of a red rooster over the door.

“Okay,” the driver said, “we’re here.”

Clint paid the fare, stepped down with his carpetbag. He didn’t have a rifle with him. His gun and holster were in the bag and his little Colt New Line was tucked into his belt, where nobody could see it, in the small of his back and covered by a jacket.

“You gonna need a driver to maybe look around town?” the young man asked.

“I don’t think so,” Clint said. “I think I’ll only be here for one day.”

“You’re gonna wanna go someplace, though, right?”

“I’m supposed to go to a restaurant called O’Day’s tonight.”

“I know where that is,” the man said. “Too far to walk. I’ll pick ya up. What time?”

“Um, how far is it?”

“Twenty-minute ride.”

“Four thirty would do, then.” He was supposed to meet Pike at five.

“I’ll be here,” the young man said cheerfully, and drove off.

Clint checked in, took a look at his room, freshened up, and was in front of the hotel at four twenty-five when the young man pulled up.

“Told you I’d be here.”

“And five minutes early,” Clint said, climbing into the back of the cab. “I’m impressed.”

The young man snapped the reins at his horse.

“How about I take the long route, give you a look at our town?” he asked.

“That’s not necessary,” Clint said. “I’m not going to be here that long.”

“Okay, suit yourself.”

He drove directly to the restaurant, pulled to a stop in front.

“Here ya go,” he said.

It was four fifty, ten minutes early for his meet with Pike. But knowing Jeremy Pike—and he did, though not as well as he knew Jim West—he knew the man would be waiting inside.

He paid the kid and said, “Thanks.”

“Want me to pick you up and take you back to your hotel?”

“Yes,” Clint said. “Come back at seven.”

“Sure you’ll be done by then?”

“If I’m not,” Clint said, “you can wait for me. I’ll pay you.”

“Okay,” the driver said. “I’ll see you then.”

Clint turned and entered the restaurant. It was busy, most of the tables occupied. A man came up to him and asked, “Can I help you, sir?”

Just then Clint spotted Pike toward the back. The man saw him at the same time, and waved.

“I see my friend,” Clint said.

The man turned, saw Pike waving, and said to Clint, “Very well. Enjoy your dinner, sir.”

“Thank you.”

He crossed the room, ducking between tables as he went. By the time he got there, Pike was on his feet with a big smile on his face. It had been a few years, and while Pike had a few more lines around his eyes and mouth, and a gray hair or two, he was still a natty dresser, with a quick, infectious smile.

“Clint,” he said with his hand out, “great to see you.”

“Jeremy.” They shook hands.

“Jim sends his best.”

Clint sat across from Pike, who reclaimed his seat.

“Where is he? Washington?”

“When is Jim ever in Washington?” Pike asked.

“You’ve got a point.”

“He’s actually out of the country now, on assignment. Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“Your telegram said it was urgent.”

“I would have met you halfway,” Pike said, “but I’m on assignment myself, and have to stay close to Washington.”

“This is fine.”

Pike waved, and as if by magic, a waiter appeared with two steaming plates.

“I took the liberty of ordering steak dinners. They’re very good here.”

“Fine. I’m starving.”

The waiter set the plates down in front of them.

“Coffee or beer?” Pike asked.

“Let’s start with beer.”

Pike nodded to the waiter.

“Can we talk while we eat?” Clint asked, picking up his knife and fork. “I’d like to find out what’s on your mind.”

“That’s easy,” Pike said. “I want you to run for Congress, Clint.”

“You what?” Clint asked, his fork halfway to his mouth with a tantalizing hunk of steak on the end.

“Put that in your mouth before it falls off,” Pike suggested.