THREE
Clint had been hoping to talk the sailors out of killing the other man, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen. As the gunman turned on him, he drew and fired one shot. He hit the man dead center, drove him back off the dock and into the water with a splash.
Clint turned his attention to the other three men, who had charged at their target. He could tell by the way they held their knives that they were not experienced knife fighters.
He watched as McBeth dropped to the ground and managed to trip up two of the men. They went sprawling as McBeth got back to his feet and disarmed the third man, then deposited him into the water.
McBeth turned as one of the other men was getting up. They faced each other, each holding a knife. Then the sailor—not liking the new one-to-one odds—jumped back and ran away.
Clint ejected the spent shell from his gun, replaced it with a live one, then holstered the gun and walked over to where McBeth was leaning over the felled body of the last attacker on the gangplank.
When Clint reached him, McBeth straightened up.
“He fell on his knife.”
Clint looked toward the water. The man he’d shot was floating facedown. The other man who had fallen into the water was gone. He had probably crawled out farther down the block and run away.
“You need one of them to tell you who hired them?” Clint asked.
“No,” McBeth said picking up his bag. “It was the captain of this ship.”
“You want to go aboard and get him?” Clint asked. “I’ll back your play.”
“No,” McBeth said, “As I told you, he was a friend of mine.”
“Was?”
“Well, he tried to have me killed,” McBeth said. “I think the friendship is over.”
“But you’re going to let him go?”
“Aye, I am.”
“How come?”
“He was paid to hire it done,” McBeth said. “Make it look like a robbery.”
“And doesn’t that upset you?”
“It tells me I’m on the right trail.”
“Trail?”
“I’m looking for a man,” McBeth said. “A killer. He came to this country to escape me.”
“Okay.”
“He probably offered the captain more money than he’s ever seen,” McBeth went on. “I can’t blame him for taking it.”
“That’s very understanding of you.”
“There’s just no point in going back aboard that ship,” McBeth said. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Work?”
“I’m a Garda.”
Clint frowned.
“I’m sorry,” McBeth said. “Here you would say I’m a policeman—or lawman.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Do you know of a hotel near here?” McBeth asked.
“I know of a lot,” Clint said, “but they’re not fit for any kind of extended stay.”
“Oh, I only need a room for one night,” McBeth said, “perhaps two.”
“What about a drink? And a meal?”
“That would be brilliant.”
“Come on,” Clint said. “I know someplace you can get all three.”