Deadly Election (9781101619223) (10 page)

Heck knew what was going on, but he kept his silence, simply followed Clint during the day, and then kept watch over the house at night.

After two weeks Heck told Clint they had to talk. They went into the living room together one evening while Carla was dressing for supper, and Will Gryder had not yet arrived.

“You think this is gonna go on much longer?” Heck asked.

“The campaign?” Clint asked. “There’s still weeks of it, maybe more.”

“I mean, before there’s another try at you,” Heck said.

“You’ve got to get back to work, right?”

“I heard from the Judge, and he ain’t happy,” Heck said. “And he ain’t mad at me, it’s you.”

“Me?”

“He says it’s all your fault I ain’t been workin’.”

“Look, Heck,” Clint said, “I don’t want to get you into trouble with your boss—”

“Just relax,” Heck said. “I can still squeeze another week out of the ol’ boy, but after that maybe you should find somebody else to back your play. Maybe Bat? Or Wyatt? Or that Jeremy Pike guy?”

“I can talk to Pike about that next week,” Clint said. “I understand we’re supposed to put in an appearance in Washington.”

Heck made a face.

“I hate Washington.”

“I know,” Clint said. “I’m not so crazy about the idea either. I sort of wish these people would make their try before then.”

“That would suit us both,” Heck said.

Gryder arrived at that point, admitted by Julius, who informed him of where Clint and Heck were.

“Will,” Clint said. “Want a drink?”

“A brandy would go down well at this point.”

“What’s the problem?”

“The polls,” Gryder said, accepting a glass. “We’re behind.”

“Clint is losin’?” Heck asked.

“I know,” Gryder said, “I can’t believe it either.” He looked at Clint. “And there’s another thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Before we go to Washington next week,” he said, “the incumbent wants to meet with you.”

“What for?”

“Who knows? Maybe he wants to ask you to quit.”

“But why, if he’s winning?”

“It’s politics, Clint,” Gryder said. “Anything could happen.”

“So, what do you think?” Clint asked. “Should I go and see him?”

“You almost have to,” Gryder said. “It would be rude not to.”

“What’s this feller’s name?” Heck asked.

“Turner,” Gryder said, “Congressman Big Ben Turner.”

“Never heard of him,” Heck said.

“What kind of man is he?” Clint asked.

“Stubborn,” Gryder said. “He refuses to face the fact that times are changing. That’s why we have to get him out of office.”

“Okay, so when do we do this?”

“I can set it up tomorrow,” Gryder said. “We’ll have to go to his house, though.”

“Is that a problem?”

“It shouldn’t be,” Gryder said. “But we can bring Heck along anyway.”

“I’ll be there,” Heck promised.

Carla came into the room, wearing a red dress that impressed all three men.

“Are we ready to eat?” she asked. “Or is there a problem?”

“I was just telling Clint that Old Turner wants to see him.”

“That old lech,” she said. “He pinches my bottom every time I see him.”

“So smack him,” Clint said.

She looked at Gryder.

“Can I do that?”

Gryder just shrugged.

The next morning Gryder missed breakfast, but picked up Clint, Heck, and Carla with a cab drawn by two horses that was large enough to carry all of them. In spite of that, Heck still insisted on riding in the “shotgun” position.

“Does he know how many of us are coming?” Clint asked.

“Oh yes,” Gryder said. “He’s always glad to see Carla, and he said he’s looking forward to meeting the famous lawman, Heck Thomas.”

“Well, that’s fine. And what’s the occasion, if there is one?”

“Ostensibly,” Gryder said, “we’ll be going to his house for lunch.”

“But we just had breakfast.”

“Well, the congressman eats breakfast at five a.m. every morning,” Gryder said, “so lunch is pretty early for him.”

“What time does he eat supper?” Heck asked, looking back at them.

“About two.”

Heck shook his head.

They pulled up in front of a three-story mansion in a neighborhood of three-story mansions. Heck seemed amazed that there were so many of them.

“People actually own these?” he asked. “They’re not hotels?”

“Hey,” Gryder said, “this is the state capital after all.”

They all got down from the coach and Gryder told the driver when to come back.

“How long did you give us?” Clint asked.

“I told him to come back in an hour,” Gryder said. “I’m kind of hoping you’ll shoot the old boy by then.”

“And I
can
slap him, right?” Carla asked. “I’m just double-checking.”

Nobody answered. It would be up to her to take that as a “yes.”

They mounted the huge porch and Gryder knocked on the door. A butler who was in his sixties answered the door, and seemed to recognize Gryder.

“Sir, the congressman is waiting in the solarium.”

Heck leaned over to Clint and asked, “The what?”

“I think it’s a big room made of glass.”

“This way, please.”

The butler led the way, leaving it to one of them to close the door, which Gryder did.

The solarium was, indeed, a big room with glass walls, and a large, portly man was waiting there for them, wearing a silk dressing gown. If the congressman
had been awake at 5 a.m., Clint wondered why he had not yet gotten dressed. And he also wondered why the dressing gown had to be yellow. The congressman looked like a big tent.

“Sir, your guests have arrived,” the butler said.

“Excellent! Thank you, Lewis.”

“Sir,” Lewis said. “I will see to lunch.”

“Yes, do that.”

Gryder stepped forward and said, “Good morning, Congressman. Thank you for seeing us today.”

“Hell, I wanted to meet my opponent a long time ago. Bring him on!”

“Yes, sir,” Gryder said. “This is Clint Adams.”

“A pleasure, sir,” Turner said.

Clint stepped forward and shook the congressman’s huge, pudgy hand.

“When I heard you were running against me, I was excited, positively excited.”

“Really?”

“Of course. This is exciting, don’t you think?”

“Well—”

“And Carla,” the congressman said, cutting Clint off, “how wonderful to see you again.”

“Hello, Congressman,” she said, remaining where she was, across the room.

“And this must be Deputy Marshal Thomas.”

Heck was still staring at the apparition in yellow, and seemed startled when the congressman spoke to him.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Happy to meet you, Congressman,” Heck said.

“I’m glad you’re all here,” the congressman said. “I want you all to stay here. Lewis will bring coffee out
for you, or something stronger, if you like. I am going to go and dress for lunch. If you’ll all excuse me?”

“Of course, Congressman,” Clint said.

They were actually all glad to see the man go, and glad that he was going to change out of the yellow dressing gown. Clint was just afraid to see what the man was going to come back wearing.

The butler, Lewis, returned with coffee for them all. He offered stronger but no one took him up on it.

After he left them, Heck said, “I wouldn’t wanna look at this fella Turner under the influence. Who knows what he’s gonna be wearing when he comes down?”

What he was wearing was a lavender suit with a yellow shirt, and a yellow rose in his lapel.

“Well, has Lewis been taking care of y’all?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Gryder said, “we’ve been well taken care of.”

“Good, good,” Turner said, “then let’s all go in to lunch.”

The congressman in his lavender suit led the way to the dining room, where they were greeted by a huge table covered with food.

The congressman invited everyone to dig in, and then proceeded to attack the table like a horse at a trough. He piled several plates high. There was a second table set up for the diners to sit at, and he went to the head of it and sat down.

As the rest of his party had eaten breakfast recently, they all took what they figured was a polite amount of food and joined him at the table.

“Mr. Adams,” the congressman said, “how have you been finding our state capital? Is it to your likin’?”

“It’s fine,” Clint said. “It’s quite a city.”

“Yes, it is,” Turner said. “Has the lovely Miss Carla been showin’ you the sights?”

“She has,” Clint said.

“Delightful,” the big man said. “Delightful. And how has young Will here been at running your campaign?”

“Aces,” Clint said, playing the happy candidate to the hilt. “He’s doing a bang-up job.”

“And yet I am still in the lead,” Turner said happily.

“That’s a temporary situation, Congressman,” Gryder said. “I assure you.”

“Ah, I like your confidence, young man,” Turner said, his mouth full of fried chicken.

Clint had to admit the chicken was delicious, he just wished he wasn’t still full of Mrs. Bigelow’s breakfast.

The congressman kept the conversation going, asking Heck to regale them with some of his adventures as a detective and a lawman. Very little of what was discussed struck Clint as a reason for him to have been invited to the congressman’s house. It wasn’t until the end of the meal that the politician really steered the conversation to the campaign.

“I think,” he said to Clint, “you and I should take a walk and talk about things. Whataya say, sir?”

“That’d be fine.”

“Besides,” Turner said, lumbering to his feet, “after a brisk walk I’ll be ready to go back for seconds.”

Clint didn’t bother pointing out that the man had already had seconds, thirds, and fourths. He probably had his own way of counting.

Congressman Turner took Clint outside to walk the grounds behind the house, which was a well-cared-for garden. Clint saw where the man had gotten his yellow rose from.

“I thought it would be a good idea for you and me to have a private talk, son,” Turner said, lighting up a huge cigar.

“That’s fine with me, sir.”

“Cigar?”

“No, thanks.”

Turner puffed away, filling the garden with blue smoke.

“Son,” he said, examining the glowing tip, “I think you oughtta step down. Quit the race.”

Clint felt dwarfed by the man’s size and girth, but he was not at all cowed by the man.

“And why would that be, sir?”

“Simple, really,” Turner said. “You can’t win. Quittin’ would save you some embarrassment.”

“Why would I be embarrassed?” Clint asked. “I would be a first-time candidate who was defeated by an incumbent. Where is the shame in that? On the other hand, I could be a first-time candidate who defeats the incumbent. At that point, who would be embarrassed?”

Turner “harumphed” around his cigar and said, “I can see young Gryder’s influence there.”

“He thinks I have a chance to beat you,” Clint said.

“And what do you think?”

“I don’t think it matters,” Clint said truthfully.

“And why’s that?”

“If I lose this time, I can probably win next time,” Clint reasoned. “Any way you look at it, you have—at best—one more term.”

Big Ben Turner stopped walking and turned to look at Clint.

“You’re pretty sure of that, are ya?”

“Pretty sure,” Clint said. He decided he might as well push the man, just in case he was the one behind the killings.

“You think a reputation as a man killer is enough to get you elected?”

Clint smiled at the man.

“I think my reputation is worrying you, Congressman. That’s good enough for me.”

Now Turner smiled.

“You’re very confident,” he said, “or you’re very good at projecting confidence.”

“Either way…” Clint said, and shrugged.

“Well, I’m very confident, too,” the congressman said. “I’ve been at this a long time, and I know every dirty trick in the book. And I ain’t afraid to use them.”

“Good,” Clint said.

“Good?”

“Sure,” he said. “If you use all the dirty tricks, I’ll learn from the experience.”

Turner studied Clint for a few moments, then seemed to come to some sort of a decision. He nodded, and stuck his cigar in the center of his face.

“All right,” Turner said, “just remember, I warned you.”

“I’ll remember.”

“Let’s get back to the table now,” he said. “I don’t want my guests eating all the fried chicken while we’re out here.”

“Somehow,” Clint said, “I don’t think there’s any danger that’ll happen.”

They went back to the dining room, where Clint noticed Heck and Gryder were making a dent in the fried chicken. Carla was sitting off to one side, having another cup of coffee.

“I think we’re done here,” Clint said.

“No, no,” Turner said, grabbing some chicken and putting it on a plate, “stay, eat. We’ll talk some more.”

“We’ve got things to do, sir,” Gryder said, “as I’m sure you do.”

“Campaigning,” Turner said, “yes. It never ends, does it?”

“Yes, it does,” Gryder said. “When someone wins.”

“Ah,” Turner said, “but that’s simply when it starts all over again.”

As Clint, Heck, Carla, and Gryder left the house, they saw the coach waiting for them out front.

“What did the old man want to talk to you about?” Gryder asked.

“He advised me to quit.”

“Why?” Carla asked. “What reason did he give?”

“He said I would save myself from embarrassment.”

“He’s the one who’ll be embarrassed when you beat him,” Carla said. “He’ll be the incumbent who got beat by a beginner.”

“I guess that’s what was bothering him,” Clint said.

“Did he threaten you?” Gryder asked.

“I wouldn’t say threaten,” Clint said. “He did talk about dirty tricks, though.”

“Yeah, he knows them all,” Gryder said, “and he’s not afraid to use them.”

“I told him if he did, I’d just learn from it.”

Gryder looked surprised.

“What a great answer,” he said.

“I thought so,” Clint said.