A Different Trade (3 page)

Like most big men, Westin thought his size alone was enough to win any fight for him. He kept hold of Leo's neck in one hand while straightening up to his full height and nodding as though nobody could have guessed how massive he truly was. “You sure you want to go there, boy?”

And like any man who had any self-respect, Clint felt an urge to throw a punch when someone called him “boy.” Since Westin obviously knew that, Clint wasn't about to play into his hands. “Let the barkeep go,” he said, “and walk out.”

“That what you want?”

Clint nodded once.

Although Westin let go of Leo's shirt, it wasn't until after he'd slammed the redhead's face against the top of the bar with just enough force to bloody his nose. He then took one step away from the bar and planted his feet. “If'n you want me to leave, you'll have to make me.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?”

“Because maybe you got a brain in your head. Gotta be smarter than this one anyway,” Westin said while giving Leo a quick backhanded swat.

Clint was already stooping a bit to reach for the fancy bottles kept under the bar and out of plain sight. When he stood up, he was holding something other than overpriced whiskey in his hands. Gripping the sawed-off shotgun that had been kept at the barkeep's knee level, Clint thumbed back both hammers and held the weapon at the ready. “Now you've got two choices,” Clint said. “Walk out or be carried out of here after being scraped off the walls, ceiling, and floor.”

“You think this is the first time I seen that scattergun?” Westin asked. “If I'm supposed to quake in my boots at the sight of it, I gotta think you have the sand to pull them triggers.”

For a few moments, both men stared at each other. The rest of the saloon had grown quiet, and once again, the woman on the stage was the only one moving. While the other customers kept their heads down and prayed not to be noticed, she stepped out from behind the piano to show Clint that she was now carrying a pistol that had most likely been stashed back there.

“I can usually sniff out a lawman,” Westin said as he took one step toward Clint, “and you don't strike me as anyone with a badge pinned to him somewhere. That means you're most likely someone trying to do the right thing by helping this little runt here. Trust me, the barkeep brought this on himself.”

“I would have been glad to let the two of you conduct your business,” Clint told him. “But I've got business of my own with that man.”

“That a fact?”

“Yes, sir. And I won't have it ruined by the likes of you.”

“That's just too bad, then.” Without another word, Westin lunged forward to slap the barrel of the shotgun aside with a thick paw of a hand.

The move came much quicker than Clint had anticipated and would have been enough to send any shot fired from the shortened barrels into one of the nearby walls. Instead of pulling his triggers, however, Clint snapped the other end of the shotgun around to crack it against the side of Westin's head. As the bigger man reeled back from the blow, Clint hopped over the bar to stand toe to toe with him.

As Westin reeled from taking the knock to the head, Clint opened the shotgun and dumped both shells onto the floor. The ammunition was still rattling against the boards near their feet when Westin plucked the shotgun from Clint's grasp and swung it viciously at his jaw. If Clint hadn't been quick enough to duck beneath the attack, it could very well have put him out of the fight altogether.

While he was crouched down low, Clint drove a few quick punches into Westin's midsection. The big man's stomach felt more like a slab of beef wrapped around a post. Clint was still doing his best to chop that post down when a pair of beefy forearms dropped onto his shoulder like a sledgehammer. The impact stole some of the breath from Clint's lungs and dropped him to one knee.

Leering down at him, Westin hunched over a bit as he asked, “Did that hurt?”

Clint's reply to the taunt was to reach up with one hand, take a firm grip on Westin's beard, and pull him down sharply. The big man's chin thumped against the edge of the bar, and he staggered back while letting out a pained roar. Clint pulled himself to his feet and put every bit of strength he could muster behind a right cross to the head.

Although Westin was hurt by the last blow, he had enough of his wits about him to catch Clint's incoming punch. The sound of knuckles slapping against his left palm still hung in the air when Westin tightened his grip around Clint's fist. “You made a whole lot of mistakes here, boy,” he snarled into Clint's face.

When Clint tried to pull his hand free, he only felt Westin's grip become even tighter. Already, sharp jolts of pain shot up through his arm.

“You picked the wrong saloon to come into,” Westin said. “You opened your mouth when you should'a kept it shut. And you raised a hand to a man who can put you six feet under anytime he chooses.”

Clint balled up his other fist and took a swing at Westin. That punch bounced off the big man's side, and before Clint could follow up, the bones in his trapped hand were mercilessly ground together. Even though Clint was able to stand up in front of the bigger man, he couldn't do much else at that moment.

“Look at the idiot you stuck your neck out for,” Westin said. “He don't even have enough of a brain to know when he should run. It ain't like he'll get many more chances after this little dance.”

Sure enough, Leo had his back to the wall of shelves behind the bar as though he were stuck there by half a barrel of glue.

“I'll only say this one more time,” Clint said. “Leave now.”

“And I'll say this one more time: Or what?”

“Or I draw the pistol that I've left in its holster this long just to keep this from getting too messy.”

Westin's eyes darted downward to verify Clint's claim. The Colt wasn't easy to miss, and though he wasn't shocked to see it there, Westin let go of Clint's hand. “That brings us right back around to where we started.”

“You mean about whether or not I've got the sand to pull a trigger?” Clint asked. “Can you look in my eyes and have any doubt of that?”

Westin took a look for himself, and before he could respond to what he saw, someone spoke up from a few paces behind him.

“You shouldn't doubt me on that count,” the woman who'd been on the stage not too long ago said. She held her pistol in a two-handed grip and stared at Westin over the top of its barrel. When he positioned himself so he could shift his gaze between her and Clint, Westin said, “I should've guessed you'd need the help of a woman, boy.”

“Just get the hell out of my sight,” Clint replied.

Westin casually turned to look at Leo, who was still glued to the wall behind the bar. “You remember what I told you before we was interrupted?”

“Yes,” Leo replied.

“Then I'm done here.” Westin turned his back on all the guns in the room as if none of them were capable of making him bleed, and he walked out through the front door.

Once he was certain the big man wasn't about to come back, Clint looked over at the woman and asked, “What took you so damn long?”

It wasn't until after he'd drunk the beer he'd been given that Clint actually took a good look at the woman who'd been on the stage when he'd first arrived. Before then, either she was on the opposite side of the room, or he was more interested in the gun she'd been carrying. Now that the storm had passed and she was right in front of him, he could see that she was much younger than he'd originally thought.

“I'm so sorry,” she said.

“For what?” Clint asked.

“For taking so long to get to you. I guess I was just a bit scared.”

Clint set his beer down and said, “I was just riled up when I asked you that. You came in at just the right time. That big ape needed to be knocked around a bit before he would go quietly. Any sooner and he would've had enough wind in his sails to make things a whole lot worse.”

She smiled and nodded before extending a slender hand. “I'm Madeline.”

When Clint shook her hand, he found out that she was even softer than she looked. “Clint Adams. Pleasure to meet you.”

Madeline's skin was pale and smooth. Her straight black hair fell down to well past her shoulders and was held back with a dark red ribbon. Up close, Clint could also see that the luscious red color of her lips wasn't there because of any paint or cream.

“Excuse me,” said a voice from over Clint's shoulder, “but do I know you?”

Clint turned to find the barkeep at his post, studying him with nervous eyes. “I just got to town,” Clint replied.

“Yes, but it seemed like you knew me. You know . . . before when you asked if I was Leo Parker. Well . . . I am.”

The sweet scent of Madeline's hair had filled Clint's nose as she'd leaned in to give him a grateful kiss on the cheek. He was somewhat distracted until she turned around and walked back to the stage, where the guitar player was already starting in on another song. He had to keep from watching the sway of Madeline's hips before getting distracted all over again. “Right. We don't know each other, but we do have a mutual acquaintance. A man from California by the name of Gregor Petrovich.”

Leo's eyes widened and he smiled broadly. “Ah yes! Gregor! Where is he?”

“That's just it. He couldn't make it on account of a boat coming in from South America that he needs to meet personally. It got held up in a storm, but he wanted to make sure you got your delivery. Gregor's a friend and I was headed this direction anyway so I brought the shipment on his behalf.”

Gregor Petrovich was more of a friendly business associate than a friend. A hustler in the import and export trade, Gregor was the sort of man who was quick to buy someone a drink and offer them a way to make a few quick dollars. He was also the type to get himself into trouble after playing too many angles at once. Rather than owe a man like that a favor, Clint decided to square their account by taking a small package to Larga Noche.

Obviously not interested on any of that, Leo asked, “Where is it?”

“With my horse.”

“You left it with your horse?”

“Isn't that what I just said?”

Leo blinked and twitched as if he'd just been struck by lightning. Finally, he managed to ask, “Can you get it for me?”

“Sure,” Clint replied. “That's why I'm here.” He tipped back his beer mug and then set it down. “Have that filled when I get back.”

“Of course!”

Clint stepped outside, rummaged through his saddlebags, and retrieved a package that was wrapped in paper and tied up in twine. He tucked it under his arm and headed back into the saloon. A few strides short of the bar, Clint showed the package to Leo and then tossed it in a high, slow arc. “There you go.”

The barkeep stretched out both hands and gasped to catch the package like it was a swaddled baby. “Be careful!”

“I was. Those things are wrapped up tight enough to survive a tumble down a steep slope.”

Just when it seemed Leo couldn't look more panicked, he did. “Did you drop this down a slope?”

As much as Clint wanted to say that he had, just to see how many more veins would stand out on Leo's forehead, he took the higher road. “Of course I didn't. I cared for that whatever-it-is like it was my firstborn.”

“Good. After what I paid for it, that's the least I'd expect.”

Everyone in the saloon had gone back to what they'd been doing before Westin's departure. Clint stood and watched as the barkeep lovingly tugged at the twine so he could unwrap his package. Before he could reveal what was inside, however, he turned his back to the rest of the room and huddled over it in privacy.

“What is it?” Clint asked.

“Hmm?”

“The package. What's inside?”

At first, Leo didn't seem ready to show what he was hiding. He then turned partway around and quickly put his back to Clint once again as he said, “You can find out when everyone else does.”

“When's that?” Clint asked.

“In a day or two. Perhaps next week.”

Clint let out a long sigh. “After I rode all the way from California with that thing, you won't even let me get a look?”

“Curious, Mr. Adams?”

“Yes!”

Clearly enjoying the anticipation he was building, Leo kept the package hidden from sight as he said, “I don't know. Once word gets out about this, things will be plenty different around here.”

Now Clint was even more curious. The fact that he was playing directly into Leo's little display only made it worse. Finally, he said, “Just show me what it is before I find that Westin fellow and invite him to finish what he started.”

Leo didn't look as though he believed Clint's threat, but he could tell his audience's patience was wearing thin. Grudgingly, he stepped aside and gestured toward the three bottles of clear liquid that were standing amid the mess of snapped twine and ripped paper. “All right,” he said. “Take a look for yourself. Just don't tell anyone else about it until I'm ready to do it up right.”

Clint leaned forward and squinted at the bottles. “What else is there?”

“Nothing. That's it.”

“That's the precious merchandise I rode all the way out here to deliver in person?”

Leo nodded. “I paid extra for it to be shipped with the most care possible.”

“Just a couple of bottles?”

“Three. That's a few, not a couple.”

“I can't even read what's on the labels.”

“Give me a moment,” Leo said as he flipped through a few pieces of paper that had been wedged in between two bottles.

Clint tossed a halfhearted wave and started walking toward the front door. “Forget it.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need to put my horse up for the night.”

“And that's more interesting than this?” Leo asked.

“Oh God, yes.”