The Gunsmith 387 (7 page)

In the morning Rydell and Chance awoke and had coffee together. Rydell had some beans, but Chance was waiting until he got to town to have a real Mexican breakfast.

“Now, you understand what I want you to do, right?” Rydell asked.

“Yeah, Cord, I got it,” Chance said. “I ain't stupid, you know.”

“No, you ain't stupid,” Rydell said, “but sometimes you do stupid things, Hal. Don't be stupid this time, because stupid is dead in this case.”

What're you sayin'?”

“I'm sayin' no matter what happens, when you find our guy, stay away from him. Don't try to take him yourself. Don't let him see you. Just spot him, and wait for me. Got it?”

“How many times I got to tell you, Cord?” Chance asked. “I got it.”

“If I get to town and find you dead, I'm gonna curse you all the way to hell, Hal.”

“Don't worry,” Chance said. “I won't be dead.”

“But if you mess this up,” Rydell said, “I'll kill you myself.”

 * * * 

Clint awoke alone. Carmen had spent the night with him, but she had awakened early and slipped out. She needed to get ready for her job at Rosa's.

But the night before, prior to going to bed, he told her he wanted to talk to her about something . . .

“What is it?”

“Sheriff Vazquez.”

“Domingo?” she asked. “What about him?”

“His first name is Domingo?”

“Sí. What about him?”

“I want you to tell me about him.”

“Tell you what about him?”

“Whatever you know,” Clint said. “He's been asking me for help, and I want to know if he's worth helping. How well do you know him?”

“I know him . . . very well,” she said.

“Does that mean that you were once . . . involved with him?” he asked.

“It means I am always involved with him,” she said. “He is my brother.”

That stunned Clint. If she was Vazquez's sister, she would have to be loyal to him, and Clint didn't want her going back to her brother and telling him that Clint was asking about him.

“What kind of help does he want?” she asked.

“He says he senses trouble coming, and only has two inexperienced deputies to back him.”

“My brother needs very little in the way of help, Clint,” she said. “He is the deadliest shot with a gun I have ever seen.”

“That's not always enough, Carmen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everybody needs help sometime.”

“If my brother needs help, he knows where to get it.”

Clint wondered if she was talking about Ernesto Paz. But he didn't go any further with the questions now that he knew she was related to the lawman.

They went to bed . . .

 * * * 

In the morning Clint dressed and thought about what he had learned the night before from both Alberto and Carmen. If Alberto was to be believed, Domingo Vazquez was a hard man, and not a good one. But he did his job. And both Alberto and Carmen talked about his prowess with a gun. What Clint liked about Sheriff Domingo Vazquez that he had never alluded to that talent at all. He was, apparently, not one to brag.

Clint went down to the lobby, decided to have his breakfast in the hotel dining room. Over his steak and eggs he wondered who else he could talk to about Vazquez so that it wouldn't get back to the man.

He thought he knew of somebody.

 * * * 

Hal Chance rode into Laguna Niguel slowly, his eyes taking in both sides of the street. None of the citizens seemed to be paying him any special attention. If this had been an American town, he'd be noticed right away. The Mexicans were so much more relaxed about who entered their towns.

He rode until he came to a livery stable. Not knowing if there was another in town, he simply dismounted and walked his horse in.

“Ah, señor, welcome to Laguna Niguel,” the old hostler said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Chance said. “Like to put my horse up for a few days.”

“Sí, señor, with pleasure,” the man said. “Does your fine animal have any special needs?”

Chance's horse was a worn-out pony he'd taken from an Indian he'd killed. He'd be replacing it soon—whenever he saw another one he wanted to steal—so he said, “No, nothing special. Just rub him down and feed 'im.”

“Sí, señor,” the man said, taking the reins. “A few days, you say?”

“Probably.”

“Enjoy yourself in our town, señor.”

“Is there a cathouse?”

“Señor?”

“Whorehouse,” Chance said. “Whataya call 'em here?” He held his hands in front of his chest, as if he were cupping melons.
“
Putas?
”

“Oh, sí, señor, a very fine house,” the man said. “It is at the end of the street.”

Chance figured he could get directions from the hotel clerk so he said, “Yeah, fine.”

He took his rifle and saddlebags from his horse, turned, and walked out, almost brushing shoulders with a tall man coming in. He didn't give the man a second look . . .

The man with the saddlebags brushed past Clint without a look or a word, so Clint gave him only a cursory glance. The hostler was leading a worn-out-looking pony to the back of the livery when he spotted Clint.

“Ah, señor, another visit!” he exclaimed.

“Go ahead and take care of that man's pony,” Clint said. “I'm going to saddle my horse and take him out for some exercise.”

“As you wish, señor.”

Clint backed Eclipse out of his stall and saddled the big Darley, speaking to him the whole time. By the time he was done, the hostler was back.

“A magnificent animal, señor,” he said, his eyes shining. “Magnificent.”

“Yeah, he is.” He turned to face the man. “What is your name?”

“I am Pablo, señor.”

“Pablo, you wouldn't by any chance be related to Sheriff Vazquez, would you?”

“Related?” Pablo laughed and shook his head. “No, señor, thankfully not.”

“Thankfully?”

The older man looked stunned that he had said that word out loud.

“Señor, I am sorry if the sheriff is a friend of yours—”

“He's not, I assure you,” Clint said. “I barely know him.”

Pablo looked relieved.

“Pablo, have you lived here all your life?”

“Oh, sí, señor,” he said. “I was here when the town was just one adobe hut.”

“What can you tell me about Sheriff Vazquez?”

Pablo frowned.

“How do you mean, señor?”

“I mean, what kind of man is he?” Clint asked. “What kind of lawman?”

“He is not a good man, señor,” Pablo said. “I would be very careful if I was to consider taking him as a friend.”

“And as a lawman?”

“He frightens people,” Pablo said. “Perhaps this is a good thing for a lawman to do?”

“Perhaps,” Clint said, “but not always.”

“No, señor, not always.”

“Thank you, Pablo,” Clint said. “Thank you for talking with me.”

“Sí, señor,” Pablo said, “I hope I have been of some use to you.”

Clint turned to leave, then turned back.

“Another couple of questions, Pablo.”

“Señor?”

“Is the sheriff related to anyone else in town?”

“His sister, Carmen, works at Rosa's.”

“What about Rosa?”

“Oh, no, señor,” Pablo said, laughing. “She is much too ugly to be related to anyone.”

“Anyone else?”

Pablo thought a moment, then said, “No, señor. Their parents died many years ago.”

“What do you know about Ernesto Paz?”

A very serious look came over Pablo's face.

“Oh, señor, he is a very powerful man,” the hostler said. “And very friendly with the sheriff. You must be very careful of him.”

“And Paz?” Clint asked. “Is he close to anyone else?”

“No,” Pablo said. “Oh, he has a woman in town, but she is just . . . his woman.”

“And where would I find her—if I was looking?”

“She has a large house at the end of town, señor,” Pablo said, “with many . . . girls in it. Do you understand?”

“I think I understand,” Clint said. “Gracias, Pablo.”

“
Por nada
, señor.”

Clint decided to give Eclipse the treat he'd promised and took him for a ride on the beach. That meant he'd be riding him past Avery Castle's house.

He had not meant to be such a frequent visitor to his friend's house, but it really was a beautiful place to live, and Avery had such an air of happiness about him that he was a pleasure to be around, as was his wife, Lita.

This time, however, his intention was only to ride by, perhaps wave to Avery if he was out on his deck. However, after he turned Eclipse and rode back again, Avery was on the beach waiting for him.

“Come up for a drink,” he said as Clint reined in. “That beautiful horse will be safe down here.”

Clint nodded, dismounted, didn't bother to tie Eclipse off. The big gelding would not be going anywhere.

He followed Avery up to his deck, where his friend left him seated at the table, went into the house, came out with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

“I don't drink much anymore,” Avery said, “but Lita allows me to have a glass with a guest.”

“Ah, so this was a selfish invitation,” Clint said, accepting a glass.

“Totally.”

Avery sat down and sipped his whiskey.

“Well,” Clint said, “maybe not totally.”

“What's on your mind?”

“I've been checking into Sheriff Vazquez.”

“And?”

“What I'm finding out isn't good,” Clint said. “He seems to be a competent lawman, but not a good man in general.”

“Who is?” Avery asked.

“You are.”

Avery laughed. “You're forgetting about my past.”

“No, I'm not,” Clint said. “I'm just leaving it where it belongs, in the past.”

“That's not always easy to do.”

“Well, we're not discussing the past now,” Clint said, “we're discussing the present. And from what I've heard, Vazquez has the town under his thumb. They fear him, and are so afraid they won't even try to fire him.”

“Who have you been talking to?”

“Some locals,” Clint said. “A man who owns a café, the hostler . . . Carmen, the waitress.”

“Your waitress?”

Clint nodded, draining his glass. “Apparently, she is Vazquez's sister.”

“You did not suspect this?” Avery asked.

“I never knew her last name.”

“Ah.” Avery poured more whiskey into Clint's glass, then refilled his own. “And why are you so interested in the sheriff?”

“Well, for one thing, he's interested in you,” Clint said. “For another, he's been trying to recruit me for some ‘trouble' that he feels is coming. He wants to be my friend.”

“And he is not the kind of man you would take as a friend?” Avery asked.

“Well, I usually make up my own mind about that,” Clint said. “Now, here I am talking to other people about him.”

“Maybe you should go back to making up your own mind.”

Clint finished his second glass of whiskey, waved off a third, and said, “Maybe you're right.”

“What about the priest?”

“What about him?”

“The sheriff is interested in him, too, isn't he?” Avery asked.

“Another case of a man trying to leave his past behind,” Clint said.

“But the sheriff is interested in him as well.”

“And I warned him,” Clint said. “You and I are friends, Avery. The priest, Father Flynn, he and I are two people who knew each other once. We were never friends.”

“So if the sheriff decided to go after him, you wouldn't help?”

“I wouldn't help either one,” Clint said. “I'd leave it to them.”

“And if he comes after me?”

“I'll be here. Right by your side.”

“I appreciate that,” Avery said, “but I'm not so far gone, so old, that if one man comes after me, I can't face him, mano a mano.”

“Sorry,” Clint said, “not what I meant. Let me just say that I'd be here if you decided you needed me.”

Avery nodded and said, “I appreciate that. I'll let you know.”

Clint nodded and stood up.

“Thanks for the drinks,” he said.

Avery stood up and walked Clint to the stairs, and down to the beach.

“Let me know what happens,” Avery said as Clint mounted Eclipse again.

“I will,” Clint said. “If something happens, you'll be the first to know.”

Chance stopped at a hotel and checked in, telling the clerk the same thing he'd told the hostler. That he'd be staying for several nights.

“Welcome, señor,” the clerk said, handing him a key.

“Thanks.” He took the key. “Can you tell me where I can get a good meal, a drink, and a woman?”

“All in one pace, señor?” the clerk asked, smiling in a knowing way.

“I don't care how many places I've got to go.”

“I can direct you, señor . . .”

 * * * 

He went to his room, tossed his saddlebags in a corner, where he leaned his rifle against the wall, then sat on the bed and bounced. Might be too soft for sleeping, he thought, but good for fucking. He hoped the beds at the cathouse were good.

But first he needed to fill his belly with some good food. The clerk had given him several choices for good food. He was going to go to the closest one.

He left the room, visions of meaty tacos and burritos in his head.

 * * * 

Clint took Eclipse for another run on the beach, this time in the other direction so that he did not pass by Avery's beach house again.

When he brought Eclipse back to the livery, Pablo was not around, so he unsaddled the horse and put him in a stall himself. The horse immediately stuck his nose in his feed box.

“See you later, big guy,” Clint said, giving his rump an affectionate slap.

He left the livery, walked from there to the sheriff's office. Avery's advice was good, and it was something Clint had been thinking about anyway. He should be making his own mind up about Sheriff Vazquez, and not making any decisions based on what others had to say.

He entered the office, hoping to find the sheriff sitting behind his desk. Instead, he found a deputy there, cleaning a rifle. The young man looked up as Clint entered.

“Hello,” he said. “May I help you, señor?”

“I'm looking for the sheriff.”

“As you can see, he is not here.”

“Yes, I do see that,” Clint said. “Do you know where he is?”

“No, señor,” the deputy said.

“Then I guess I'll just keep looking.”

As he turned to leave, the deputy asked, “Can I tell him you were looking for him, Señor . . .”

“Adams, Clint Adams.”

“Oh,” the deputy said. He put the rifle down and said, “Oh!” again, and stood up. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Señor Adams. The sheriff told us that you were in Laguna Niguel.”

“Told you both?”

“Yes,” the young man said. “I am Deputy Manuel Soto. He told me and Deputy Julio Benitez.”

“And what did he tell you about me?”

“He said that we should not bother you.”

“In what way?”

“Well, we were both excited that we might meet the famous Gunsmith from America,” Soto said. “The sheriff said we should not accost you, or gush.”

“I see. Well, now you've met me.”

“Sir,” Soto said, “Julio will be very jealous.”

“I'm flattered, Deputy,” Clint said. “Have a nice day.”

“Sí, señor,” Soto said. “
Y usted
.”

Clint nodded and left the office.

 * * * 

Clint found Sheriff Vazquez at Cantina Carmelita, slumped over the bar relaxing, drinking a beer. It was still early, so there was little activity in the place.

“Beer,” Clint said to the bartender, coming up alongside Vazquez.

Startled, the lawman straightened and looked at Clint.

“You move as silently as an Indian, señor.”

“I think you were just deep in thought there, Sheriff,” Clint said. “What was on your mind?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing special. I was just . . . thinking.”

Clint accepted his beer from the bartender and sipped it. Two whiskeys with Avery and now a beer. He was going to have to eat again soon.

“I went looking for you at your office,” Clint said.

“Ah, so this is not a fortuitous meeting,” Vazquez said. “I hope my deputy treated you with respect.”

“Soto,” Clint said, “he did, yes. He also told me that you instructed him and the other deputy, Benitez, not to . . . what was his word? Oh yes, ‘accost' me.”

“I simply did not want them gushing over you,” Vazquez said. “That would be . . . undignified for my deputies.”

“Oh, I see.”

Vazquez leaned on the bar again, and Clint followed his example. The bartender moved to the other end of the bar. He never asked Clint to pay for his drink.

“Why were you looking for me?” Vazquez said.

“I've been thinking about what you said to me.”

Vazquez grinned.

“I'm afraid I talk quite a lot, Señor Adams,” the lawman said. “Which words are you referring to?”

“Just what you said about us getting to know one another better.”

“Ah,” Vazquez said, “I think what I said was that we should be friends.”

“Well, I'm going to be in Laguna Niguel a bit longer,” Clint said. “Maybe we should examine that possibility a little closer.”

“Supper tonight, then?”

“Sure, why not? Someplace other than Alberto's, though.”

“I know another place, señor,” Vazquez said. “You will like it.”

Clint drank his beer down to the halfway point, set the mug down on the bar, and then pushed himself upright.

“I'll meet you at your office,” he said.

“Your hotel would be better.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “my hotel. At seven?”

“Seven is good.”

“See you then.”

The two men nodded to each other, and Clint walked out.

 * * * 

After Clint left the cantina, Vazquez finished his beer, then walked to the back of the room. He knocked and entered Ernesto Paz's office.

“Domingo,” Paz said, sitting back in his chair. “Come in. Sit.”

“Clint Adams was just here,” Vazquez said, sitting across from Paz.

“And?”

“He was looking for me,” Vazquez said. “He says perhaps we should explore the possibility of being friends. We are having supper together tonight.”

“What do you think is on his mind?” Paz asked.

“I don't know,” Vazquez said. “Carmen did tell me he was asking her some questions about me.”

“Perhaps he has decided to ask the questions directly,” Paz said.

“Perhaps.”

“How is your lovely sister, by the way?” Paz asked. “You know, I still have a place here for her.”

Vazquez stood and walked out.