The Gunsmith 387 (12 page)

Father Flynn came out of the church, followed closely by Enrique.

“You killed them,” he said.

“They didn't leave me much choice.”

Father Flynn walked to the bodies and knelt down.

“What are you doing?”

“They deserve the last rites.”

“They were going to kill you.”

Father Flynn looked back over his shoulder at Clint.

“They still deserve the last rites.”

Clint shook his head as the priest began to pray over the two dead gunmen.

 * * * 

Sheriff Vazquez showed up several minutes later, after Father Flynn had finished his prayers.

“
Que pasa?
” he said. “What happened here?”

“These men tried to rob the church,” Clint said.

Vazquez looked at him.

“And you stopped them?”

“I just happened to be here.”

Enrique was off to the side, speaking to the other men, who had once again stopped working when the sheriff approached.

Vazquez approached them and spoke to them in Spanish. Several of them answered his questions, and then he turned to look at Clint and Father Flynn, who were standing side by side.

“They support your story, señor,” he said.

“That's because it's the truth.”

“Sí,” Vazquez said. He looked down at the dead men. “Do you know who they were?”

“The two gringos I told you about.”

“Their names?”

“I don't know.”

“Well,” Vazquez said, “I will track them down, see if they registered at one of the hotels. And I will have some men pick up the bodies.”

“Thank you,” Father Flynn said. “I've already given them the last rites.”

Father Flynn walked over to his parishioners, spoke to them through Enrique. Vazquez walked over to Clint and stood next to him.

“Fair fight?” he asked.

“It was very fair,” Clint said. “I let them draw first, didn't I?”

Vazquez nodded.

“Maybe this was the trouble you were expecting,” Clint said.

“I do not think they escaped from prison,” Vazquez said. “I think they came here looking for someone.”

“Then why would they try to rob the church?” Clint asked.

“I don't know, señor,” Vazquez said, “and I cannot ask them.”

The sheriff walked away, back toward town.

 * * * 

Father Flynn came over and stood next to Clint as the men went back to work.

“You lied to him.”

“And your people backed my play,” Clint said. “They're loyal to you.”

“They're loyal to the church.”

“Not the church,” Clint said. “The man.”

“Maybe.”

Clint looked down at the two dead men, one lying faceup, the other facedown.

“You know these two fellas?”

Father Flynn looked at the two men.

“Never saw them.”

“But they were here for you, right?” Clint asked. “Specifically here for you?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“Well, somebody knows you're here,” Clint said, “and they know who you really are. They've already sent two men after you.”

“All true.”

“Then they'll probably send someone else eventually, once they don't hear back from these two.”

“Probably.”

“You're just going to stay here and wait?”

“This is my church.”

“But . . . what will you do when they get here?”

“Trust in God.”

“God didn't save you today, Father,” Clint said. “I did.”

Father Flynn looked into Clint's eyes and said, “He sent you, didn't he?”

Clint looked back at him.

“Remember,” he said. “You owe me a favor.”

“Don't worry,” Father Flynn said, “I'll remember.”

Clint waited until the priest went back into the church, then walked toward town.

As Clint walked back to town, he was passed by a buckboard with three men on it, one of them a deputy. They were on their way to pick up the bodies. It was not the deputy Clint had met, but he exchanged nods with him anyway.

Clint wanted a drink, but he didn't want it at the Carmelita. He stopped into a smaller cantina, and ordered a beer from the bartender.

“What was that shooting, señor?” the man asked.

“What shooting?” Clint asked, and the bartender went away.

Clint nursed his beer, thought about the events of the past half hour. He'd been curious about the two gringos, knew they were together, but he was feeling gratified to know that they weren't there for him. They were gunmen for hire, but they hadn't been there for him. After the events of the past half a year or so, that was refreshing.

But then, he had still ended up killing two men, whether they were there for him or not. That didn't exactly leave him a happy man.

He finished his beer and left the cantina.

 * * * 

Sheriff Vazquez checked both hotels, and got the names of the two gringos. From there he went to the Carmelita to talk to Paz. When he entered, he saw Santana standing at the bar with two other men.

“Santana!”

The man turned, gave the lawman an insolent look.

“I sent word that I wanted to see you,” Vazquez said.

“I do not work for you,
Jefe
,” Santana said. “I work for Señor Paz.”

Santana was a competent man with a gun. Some in town thought he would like to test Vazquez, but Ernesto Paz kept them apart.

“Well, stay away from Clint Adams while he is in town.”

“I will if Señor Paz tells me so,” Santana said, “not you,
Jefe
.” He said “
Jefe
” with heavy sarcasm.

“Santana,” Vazquez said, “you will push me too far one day.”

“Perhaps,” Santana said, “we both look forward to that day.” He turned his back on the lawman.

Vazquez was tempted to smash Santana's face in, but instead he walked to the back, to Paz's office. He entered without knocking. Paz looked up from his desk in surprise.

“You must tell Santana to stay away from Adams,” he said.

“I was just testing the man.”

“You do not need to test him,” Vazquez said. “He just shot down two gringo gunmen in a fair fight.”

“Where did this happen?”

“The church.”

“The church? Why there?”

“He and the priest say the two men tried to rob the church.”

“Why would two gringos come here to rob the church?” Paz asked.

“Exactly,” Vazquez said.

“Ah, you do not think it is true.”

“There has always been something suspicious about that priest,” Vazquez said.

“What was Adams doing there?”

“He said he just happened to be there.”

“You don't believe that.”

“Not at all.”

Paz rubbed his jaw and said, “The priest, eh? What is his name?”

“Father Flynn,” Vazquez said, “but that is probably not his name.”

“Perhaps,” Paz said, “the bishop can shed some light on this. I will send a telegram to Mexico City.”

“Meanwhile,” Vazquez said, “call Santana off Adams, or I will have to kill him.”

“Send him in here on your way out,” Paz said, “and I will talk to him.”

“Fine.”

Vazquez left the office and walked toward the bar.

As he passed Santana at the bar, he said, “Your boss wants to see you.”

Santana turned and asked, “Don't you mean our boss . . .
J
efe?
”

Vazquez walked out.

Santana left his half-filled beer mug on the bar and went to Paz's office.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Paz said. “What do you think your chance would be against Vazquez?”

“Very good, señor. Why?”

“He might have the wrong idea about how big he is,” Paz said. “I might have to deal with him.”

“Which means I will have to deal with him, eh?”

“Just be ready, Santana,” Paz said.

“
Sí, Jefe
.”

There was no sarcasm in the word “
Jefe
” at all.

Clint got an idea on the way back to town. He stopped at the office of the local newspaper, the
Laguna Niguel Dispatch
. He asked the editor for stories about bank robberies in the last few years. With the editor translating for him, he found what he was looking for.

He left there and went to the telegraph office.

 * * * 

Vazquez was in his office when the telegraph operator came in.

“
Jefe
,” the man said, “a telegram for you.”

“Then give it to me!” Vazquez said, reaching out.

The clerk came forward and handed it to him.

“Go!” Vazquez said.

After the man left, Vazquez read the telegram.

 * * * 

Clint walked to the beach, waved at Avery, who, as usual, was on the deck. He climbed up.

“I'll tell Lita to make coffee,” Avery said. “She's inside, knitting something for the baby.”

“No, I'm fine,” Clint said. “I just came to talk.”

“About what?”

“I killed two men today.”

“Wait!” Avery said. He went inside, came out with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured two drinks, handed Clint one. “All right, go.”

Clint told him about the two gunmen who'd come from the United States looking for “Father Flynn.”

“He wouldn't fight?” Avery asked.

“No.”

“What would he have done if you hadn't come along?”

“Trusted in God, I guess.”

“Then he'd be dead.”

“Vazquez had the bodies removed.”

“What'd you tell him?”

“That they tried to rob the church.”

“He's not gonna believe that.”

“No.”

“What else do you have?”

“I checked with the local newspaper,” Clint said. “I should've done it a long time ago.”

“The robbery?”

Clint nodded.

“Bank robbery, and murder, just as Vazquez said. Two years ago.”

“So Vazquez was tellin' you the truth. He does need your help.”

“He was telling me the truth as far as it goes,” Clint said. “There was a robbery, he did arrest the culprits, and he did send them to prison.”

“And did they escape?”

Clint took a telegram from his pocket and waved it.

“I sent a telegram to the prison and got an answer right back. They had a break, and eight prisoners escaped. Among them were the three who robbed the bank here and killed three people. What nobody knows is how many of the other prisoners they've joined with, and whether or not they're really on the way here.”

“What do you think?”

“I think if Vazquez sent me to prison and I got out, I'd head right here.”

“So it's just a coincidence that the other two came here after the priest.”

“As much as I hate coincidences, I'd have to say yes.”

“What do you plan to do now?”

“I don't know,” Clint said. “I'm still not sure I'm not being set up for something. I don't like Ernesto Paz, and Vazquez is connected to him, if he doesn't actually work for him.”

“Then I say you should get out,” Avery said, “and get out now.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Clint said. “I should.”

“But you're not, are you?”

“No.”

“I hope it's not because of your concern for us,” Avery said.

“I just have to find out what's going on, Avery,” Clint said. “I can't leave here wondering what it was all about.”

“Then ask somebody,” Avery said. “Sometimes the only way to get the answers you're lookin' for is to ask.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Clint said. “And I guess the person to ask is Vazquez.”

“You want me to come with you?” Avery asked.

“Still got your gun?”

“I got it.”

“Lita would kill me if I made you strap it back on, Avery,” Clint said. “I can do this on my own.”

“Just know that I'm here, if you need me. And I guessing Father Flynn now knows he owes you a favor.”

“I let him know.”

“Good,” Avery said.

Clint stood up and shook hands with his friend, climbed down from the deck, and walked back to town.

Clint stopped at the sheriff's office, was told by Deputy Benitez that Vazquez was at the undertaker's.

As he entered the undertaker's office, a man of medium height dressed in a black suit was talking with a woman in widow's weeds and her family.

“I will be with you in a moment, señor,” he said.

“I'm looking for Sheriff Vazquez.”

“He is in the back, through that curtain.”

“Gracias.”

Clint went through the curtain, where he found two tables with the men he'd killed laid out. Off to the side Vazquez was going through their clothes.

“Sheriff.”

Vazquez looked up and appeared surprised to be Clint standing there.

“What brings you here?” he asked. “Looking for information on the two men you killed?”

“I don't care about them,” Clint said. “I want to talk to you about Jaime Garcia and his men.”

Vazquez dropped the clothes he was holding and turned to face Clint.

“What do you know about Garcia?”

“Nothing,” Clint said. “That's what I want to talk to you about. If you're really worried about them coming here—”

Vazquez held up his index finger to cut Clint off.

“I never said I was worried about Jaime and his men,” Vazquez said. “I'm concerned for my town that they may come back for revenge. I want to be able to protect the town. I know I can protect myself.”

Clint studied the man, trying to decide if he was telling the truth or not. It made a difference if the man was asking him to help the town, and not to help him personally.

“What's the word you have on these men?” Clint asked.

“I received word that they're on their way here,” Vazquez said, “probably a day away.”

“That close, huh?”

Vazquez nodded.

“How many?” Clint asked.

“Jaime, his two men,” Vazquez said, “and three of the other escaped prisoners.”

“What about Federales?” Clint asked. “I mean, these men did escape from a prison.”

“I have sent telegrams to Mexico City,” Vazquez said. “The Federales and I do not have a good relationship. I think they would be happy to hear that I was killed, and then they would come in.”

“They might just ride in here and find a town burned to the ground.”

“Exactly what I am thinking.”

“All right,” Clint said. “I need to know something before I decide to throw in with you.”

“And what is that?”

“What's going on with you and Ernesto Paz?” Clint asked. “And why the hell is he pushing me with this Santana?”

“Paz and I have a relationship,” Vazquez said. “But he does not own me. As for Santana, very soon I will kill him myself. Paz is worried about Garcia and his men coming to town, and when you appeared here, he decided that you might be the town's salvation.”

“And how did you feel?”

“I am the law,” he said, “so I am the town's salvation—but I would like your help.”

“And what about Santana? Why's he pushing me?”

“Paz decided to test you,” Vazquez said, “to see if you are still the Gunsmith. He was disappointed when you did not kill Santana.”

“And you?”

“I was glad,” Vazquez said. “I told you, I want to kill Santana myself.”

“What about when Garcia comes to town? Can you count on Santana for help?”

“We can count on Santana to run and hide until it is all over.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “okay.”

“What does this mean, ‘okay'?” Vazquez asked.

“It means I'm with you,” Clint said. “I'll help you be the savior of the town when Garcia comes with his gang.”

Vazquez walked to Clint and shook his hand.

“I must make a confession,” he said.

“What's that?”

“When you arrived, I was very tempted to try myself against the Gunsmith.”

“Is that right? And now?”

“I no longer feel the need.”

“That's good. I also have something to say, though.”

“What is that?”

“Avery Castle,” Clint said. “I want you to leave him and his wife alone.”

“And the priest?”

“Yeah, him, too.”

“Who are they really?”

“That's what I mean,” Clint said. “It doesn't matter who they used to be, it only matters who they are now. I need you to agree with me.”

Vazquez shook Clint's hand again and said, “
Bueno
, I agree.”