Matthew wouldn’t let Clint take him to a hospital. Instead, they went inside the building and allowed Nadine to patch up his face.
After that Matthew insisted on going home, and said he’d meet them at the gallery the next day.
“Don’t you think—” Nadine wanted to argue, but he cut her off.
“I’m fine,” he told her. “This is how my face used to look all the time.”
“When you were a younger man,” Clint reminded him.
“Don’t rub it in,” the big doorman said, and left.
“What about those men in the back?” Nadine asked.
“I’m sure they woke up and are gone.”
“But, the dead men.”
“Bates’ men will clean up the mess,” Clint said. “They’re going to have to explain to him how they let his nephews get killed.”
“Won’t they come back?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Not tonight, anyway.”
“And what about after tomorrow?”
“I’m going to end this tomorrow. Nadine,” he said. “By doing what I should have done at the beginning.”
“Which is what?”
“Not be so civilized.”
~*~
He spent the night with Nadine, just lying in bed together, holding her. Neither of them was in the mood for sex.
The next morning he saw her to the gallery, where Matthew was waiting, along with Sly.
“Looks like somethin’ happened last night,” Sly said, “judging from that face.” He gestured to Matt.
“Yeah, you missed it,” Matt said.
“Why don’t you take the back this morning, Sly,” Clint said, “and Matt can take the front.”
“And what about you?”
“I’ve got some things to do, but I’ll be back this afternoon.”
Sly shrugged, and went into the back room.
“Don’t let him leave,” Clint said to Matt.
“Sly? Why not?”
“He told me last night, when I relieved him, that no one was around.”
“So?”
“So they were already there,” Clint said.
“You mean he missed them?” Matt asked. “He’s supposed to be good at this.”
“That’s right, he is.”
“Ah,” Matt said, “you don’t think he missed them. How do you want to play this?”
“We’ll deal with him when I come back.”
“Maybe you should let me do that,” Matt suggested. “You have enough to do.”
“All right.”
“What’s your first stop?”
Clint had given Matt back his gun last night, so he took out his New Line and said, “I’m going to need a bigger gun than this today.”
~*~
He went to Nadine’s office.
“Are you going?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Will you be back?”
“I will, when it’s over,” he said. “After today you won’t have to worry about Emory Bates.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Then what will you do?”
“Probably leave New York,” he said. “Time I got back to my real world.”
“Can I thank you before you leave?”
He smiled and said, “I was counting on it.”
~*~
He went to his hotel room, grabbed his gunbelt from the bedpost and strapped it on. He immediately felt better. When he left there he went directly to Emory Bates’ house.
~*~
Bates was not a happy man, that morning.
“You mucked it up!” he snapped at Conroy.
“I didn’t!” Conroy insisted. “Your man Maggio did.”
“Silas,” Bates said, looking at his man servant who-as ever—was standing by, “where is Maggio?”
“Gone, suh.”
“Gone?”
“I don’t think he was happy with the way things went last night, either.”
“Because that doorman took him out,” Conroy said.
Bates looked at Conroy.
“Adams killed my nephews, scared off your men, and now Maggio’s gone,” he said. “How are you going to fix this?”
They were standing in the living room, and before Conroy could answer, someone knocked at the front door.
“Get rid of whoever that is, Silas!” Bates snarled. He was still in his robe and night clothes, and didn’t have time for visitors.
“Yes, suh.”
Silas went to the front door, and Conroy said, “I’ll take care of Adams, don’t you worry.”
“You better, I’m paying you enough—”
“You’re paying him too much, if you ask me,” Clint Adams said, from the entryway from the foyer. Silas stood behind him, looking at Bates helplessly.
“He pushed past me, suh—”
“Never mind,” Clint said. “This is your professional gun?”
“This is Conroy,” Bates said. “He should have killed you last night, but he’ll do it now.”
Conroy wasn’t wearing a jacket, and his shoulder rig was in full view. The man also noticed that Clint was wearing his holster.
“Your men had the right idea, if they left,” Clint said. “This is between Bates and me. I’m giving you one chance to leave.”
Conroy looked at Bates, then back at Clint.
“I can’t,” he said. “There’s too much money involved. Besides . . . I gotta know.”
Clint knew what he meant. A lot of gunmen in the past had to know, too, who was faster, better.
“Too bad,” Clint said.
Silas moved out from behind Clint, out of the line of fire. Bates watched in rapt attention.
Conroy’s hand streaked toward his gun, and Clint could see that he was fast. He never found out how accurate he was, though, because he drew cleanly and shot him, not letting him get his gun free.
Conroy staggered back as the bullet struck his right shoulder, and his hand dropped to his side, useless.
Clint walked over to him and snatched the gun from his shoulder rig, tossed it aside.
“Normally I would have killed you, but then I’d have to hang around here and deal with the law.” He turned and looked at Silas. “You better get this man to a hospital.”
“Yes, suh.”
He turned back to Conroy. “If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you on sight. Got it?’
“I got it,” Conroy said, blood seeping from between the fingers of his left hand, which was slapped over the wound. “You won’t.”
He looked at Bates.
“You’re a rich man, you could hire a lot of guns,” Clint said. “If you do, I’ll get to you and kill you. If you bother Nadine Jensen again, I’ll get to you and kill you. If you want to buy some other art galleries, I won’t stop you, but if you try to get hers, I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”
Bates’ eyes were wide. This was a Gunsmith he had never seen before, and never wanted to see again.
“I understand,” he said.
“Good.”
Silas was assisting Conroy to the door.
“Hang on a second,” Clint said.
Both men turned to look at him.
“I want to talk to you,” he said, to Conroy, “about a man named Sly.”