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
