Emory Bates was standing on the tiled patio behind his house, holding a large mug of coffee that had been laced with cognac. As he sipped, Silas came out through the French doors behind him.
“What have you got for me, Silas?”
“I’m waitin’ to hear, suh,” Silas said. “I should have somethin’ for you by the end of the day.”
“That’s good.”
“But suh . . .”
“Yes?”
“Clint Adams is at the front door.”
Bates turned and looked at his man servant.
“Adams? Is he alone?”
“Yes, suh.”
Bates thought a moment.
“Where’s Maggio?”
“He’s in his room.”
“And my nephews?”
“They ain’t here, suh.”
“That’s just as well,” Bates said. “Whenever I’m around them I can feel my intellect going down.”
“Yes, suh”
“Have Maggio come down and join me out here,” Bates said. “Then bring Adams out.”
“Yes, suh.”
“Silas!” Bates said, before his man could withdraw.
“Suh?”
“Bring Maggio down the back stairs.”
“I was gonna do that, suh,” Silas said, and went back through the doors.
~*~
Clint waited so long in the foyer that he wondered if he shouldn’t have come alone. Maybe Bates was massing his forces while he was standing there doing nothing. Suddenly he wished he had his holstered Colt with him, rather than the small New Line.
Then the black man in the white jacket was back.
“This way, suh,” he said. “Mr. Bates would like you to join him on the patio.”
“Fine.”
Clint followed the black man through the house to a set of French doors, and then out to a patio. Emory Bates was seated at a table, holding a coffee mug. He was dressed casually, for a morning at home, in what looked like silk pajamas. The big man, Maggio, was standing off to one side, seemingly examining the gardens.
“Silas, get Mr. Adams a cup of coffee.”
“Yes, suh.”
“Unless you’d prefer something stronger?” Bates asked Clint.
“It’s a little early for me.”
Bates nodded to Silas, who went into the house.
“Have a seat,” Bates invited.
“Thanks.” Clint sat across from the man.
“What brings you here this morning, sir?” Bates asked.
“I’m here to talk,” Clint said. “Just talk. Does he have to be here?”
Maggio turned his big head and looked at Clint.
“He likes the garden,” Bates said.
Silas reappeared and set a mug of coffee down in front of Clint.
“Thank you,” Clint said.
“You’re welcome, Suh.”
“That’ll be all, Silas,” Bates said.
“Yes, sir.”
As Silas went back inside, and Maggio went back to studying the gardens, Bates asked, “So what are you here to talk about?”
“Oh,” Clint said, picking up the mug with his left hand, “art, art galleries . . .” He sipped. The coffee was good, but did not match Dudley’s.
“Do you suddenly have some knowledge of these things?” Bates asked.
“Not much,” Clint admitted. “I’m thinking of one gallery in particular.”
“Ah,” Bates said, “would that be the Whitlow Gallery, owned by the beautiful Nadine Jensen?”
“That’s the one.”
“Tell me,” Bates said, “is your interest in the gallery, or the owner?”
“I was wondering the same thing about you.”
“Well,” Bates said, “given that I already own seven such galleries, I’d have to say my main interest is the gallery. But I wouldn’t say I wasn’t interested in the owner, as well.”
“The lady has already let you know that she’s not interested in you on any level, so I’m wondering why you wouldn’t just move on to your next acquisition.”
“Mr. Adams,” Bates said, “I didn’t get to where I am by ‘moving on,’ as you put it. The lady may not end up being mine, but the Whitlow Gallery certainly will be.”
“Bates,” Clint said, “you already know who I am, and I’m determined that Nadine Jensen will keep her gallery.”
“She can keep her job,” Bates said. “Once I own the gallery, she can manage it at a high salary.” Bates’ mug was on the table, so he spread his hands and said, “Isn’t that fair?”
“Not if the lady isn’t interested.”
Bates put his hands in his lap.
“Then we have a problem.”
“Tell me,” Clint said, “just how far do you intend to take this?”
“As far as I have to,” Bates said. “I want that gallery.”
“So you’ll use your nephews, and your . . . what is this fellow, anyway?”
“This is Maggio.”
Maggio turned his head and looked at Clint again.
“What does he do?” Clint asked.
“Anything I tell him to do.”
Clint shook his head.
“This isn’t going to end well, Bates.”
“I’m not done, Adams,” Bates said. “I’m not afraid of your gun, or your reputation. I can buy men just like you.”
Clint put his mug down and stood up.
“You’re wrong, Bates,” Clint said. “You can buy men like this one—” he indicated Maggio, “-and you can buy gunmen, but you can’t buy a man like me. There are no other men like me.” He headed for the French doors. “I’ll show myself out.”
“No,” Bates said, “Mr. Maggio will see you out.”
Maggio looked at Bates, then at Clint. It didn’t seem to Clint this was the kind of thing Maggio was hired for, and the big man seemed to be having the same thought.
“Sure,” he said, finally.
“Come on, then,” Clint said, leading the way.
~*~
Emory Barnes watched the two men leave, picked up his coffee mug, which was now filled primarily with cognac. He’d refilled it just before Clint Adams appeared.
He felt fairly sure that in a hand-to-hand situation, Maggio would be able to handle Adams. But when it came to gunplay, he was going to need professionals. He’d used gunmen once or twice before, expensive ones, and these were the men Silas was now trying to locate.
But maybe, on the way to the front door, Maggio would save them all the trouble and just snap Adams’ neck.
~*~
At the front door Clint stopped and turned as Maggio caught up to him. Even though he hadn’t rushed, Clint got a feeling of quickness from the big man. He wondered how Mighty Matt would fair against such a man?
“Let me ask you something,” he said.
“Go ahead.”
“What’s your part in all of this?”
“Just like the man said,” Maggio replied. “Whatever he tells me.”
“He’s paying you that much?”
For the first time Clint saw the hint of a smile on the big man’s face.
“More.”
“And it’s all about money to you?”
Maggio shrugged.
“What else is there?” he asked.
“There’s doing the right thing,” Clint suggested.
“The right thing for who?” Maggio asked. “I do the right thing for me all the time.”
“And what about just the right thing, period?” Clint asked him.
“That ain’t somethin’ I ever been able to afford to do,” Maggio admitted.
Clint nodded, opened the door and left.