same thing to him.
“You’re making a big mistake, miss. Up until right now, you’ve done nothing that a little jail time wouldn’t fix. But this is obstruction of justice and-“
“You talk too much,” Betty hissed, prodding his ribs even harder. “Drop your gun or I’ll kill you!”
Longarm dropped his gun.
“Over against the wall with your hands up,” Betty ordered as she shut the door and bolted it behind her.
Smith lit the bedside lamp, and now Longarm got a very good look at The Assassin. Without the bandanna wrapped around his neck, you could clearly see the red, proud flesh, and Longarm was sure that there was a lot more of it covered by the blankets.
“Betty,” Smith said, dragging his own gun out from under the blankets, “frisk Marshal Long for any hidden weapons. Be very careful because I have heard that he caries a hideout derringer.”
Betty kept her gun in her hand as she frisked Longarm, discovering the derringer attached to his watch chain. She also found a knife in his boot top that he had taken to wearing during some of his manhunts after once desperately needing one to save his life.
“Anything else?” Smith asked.
“Not unless he’s got it stuffed up his butt,” Betty said, stepping away with her gun still trained on Longarm.
“Sit down on the floor, Marshal,” Smith ordered. “I’ve heard a great deal about you but we’ve never really met, have we?”
“No.”
“What are they saying about me back in Denver?”
“That you became a rogue killer. That you murdered Commissioner John Pinter by shoving him off the Federal Building’s rooftop.”
“Wrong!” Smith exploded. “Your mighty commissioner jumped off the roof because he was so damned deep in debt to the criminals there that they were about to blow the whistle on him. If they had, he’d have lost everything, including the respect and love of his dear wife.”
“Can you prove that?”
“All you have to do is return to Denver and dig up some of the dirt. You can start by asking a very unsavory fellow named Dude Conley. He’s the one that Pinter owed the most money to. But there were plenty of others, and they were all coming after your hallowed commissioner. He was finished and knew it. They would have destroyed his reputation, not to mention breaking his neck. So he took the easy way out and jumped off the roof.”
“Give me a few more names of the men he owed money to.”
“Don Prater. Sid Lowry. Big Mo Brown and Ronnie the Bull. You must have heard of them.”
“I’ve put some of them in jail.”
“Yeah, well, they’re all out now and they’re making an excellent living off people like your commissioner, Marshal.”
Smith beckoned the woman over to his bedside, and then took her hand in his own and squeezed it tight. “Back in Denver I was making your commissioner look very, very good. Crime was down and he was getting talked about as a likely candidate for a high political office.”
Longarm listened without comment for nearly an hour until he was confident that he was hearing the truth. That indeed Commissioner John Pinter, a handsome and congenial figure known in Denver society, had been a secret gambler and had lost his soul to the city’s criminal element. It was not so uncommon, and every one of the men that Smith had named were known to be high-stakes gamblers and extortionists.
“Even if what you are telling me is true,” Longarm said, “that doesn’t change the fact that you are guilty of murder. No one but the courts has the authority to judge and then execute the guilty.”
“They murdered my wife and child!” Smith screamed. “That gave me the authority!”
Longarm looked away. He suddenly found himself very sympathetic to this man, even though he knew Smith possessed a very dark and murderous side to his complex personality. But then again …
“I just want to kill Tom Marble,” Smith told him. “And then Jake Mill.”
“Jake Mill’s dead,” said Longarm. “I shot him at Red Skoal’s ranch.”
Smith looked surprised, then relieved. “Then that leaves Tom Marble. He’s the last and the worst.”
“And after you kill him?”
“Then I want to be left alone. I want to take Betty and become a … a shop owner or something equally as boring. I don’t ever want to hurt, much less kill, anyone again.”
“So what do we do now?”
Smith glanced at Betty, as if hoping for an answer. She looked away. “All right,” Smith said, “we’ll take you with us to find Tom Marble. But I’ll kill him, not you.”
“And then?” Longarm asked. “What are you going to do, kill me as well?”
“No!” Smith lowered his voice. “We’ll turn you loose somewhere out in the hills where you can’t get to a horse or any help for a few days. And during that time, maybe you’ll come to your senses and decide that I deserve absolution. That Betty and I deserve the chance to start over with a new life. I’m asking for nothing more than that. No medals or money for the scum I’ve rid the people of Colorado of. Just freedom and … justice.”
“I’m not a judge,” Longarm said quietly. “It’s not up to me to exonerate someone from the kinds of crimes that you have committed for revenge.”
