Standoff in Santa Fe Read Free Page B

do.”
    Once he had a drink and a spot at the bar, Short asked, “Who else is in town?”
    â€œFurther down the bar from you, there’s John Wesley Hardin and Jim Miller,” Clint said.
    â€œTogether?” Short asked.
    â€œNaw,” Heck Thomas said, “they got a few cowboys between them.”
    â€œYou run into them yahoos out on the boardwalk?” Heck asked.
    â€œYoung bucks with more piss than sense?” Luke asked. “Yeah, I convinced them to let me pass.”
    â€œDid you kill any of ’em?” Bat asked.
    â€œThey ain’t dead,” Short said, “but they’ll remember me.” He looked at Bat. “How’s the poker?”
    â€œEasy pickin’s,” Bat said. “Just don’t sit where I sit.”
    â€œHow would that change anything?” Short asked.
    â€œHey,” Bat said, “you lost a pretty penny to me last time.”
    â€œYeah, but I beat you the two times before that,” Short said.
    â€œFine,” Bat said, “let’s call it even.”
    â€œWhen they gonna roll the body out?” Short asked.
    â€œWe been wonderin’ that ourselves,” Reeves said.
    â€œYeah,” Clint said, “Bass just wants to make sure he’s really dead.”
    â€œSame reason I’m here,” Short said. “Just to look down at the sonofabitch in his coffin.”
    â€œWhat’d he do to you?” Bat asked.
    â€œBeat me at poker,” Short said.
    â€œIf you go to the wake of everybody who beats you at poker—” Bat started.
    â€œThen I won’t be going to yours,” Luke finished, “will I?”
    â€œVery funny.”
    Clint called the bartender over.
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œWho’s in charge of this wake?” he asked.
    â€œUm,” the bartender said, “I guess the owner.”
    â€œAnd who would that be?”
    â€œThat’s Mr. Conlon, sir.”
    â€œConlon?” Bat asked. “Ben Conlon?”
    â€œYes, sir,” the bartender said. “That’s him.”
    â€œYou know him?” Reeves said.
    â€œI do.”
    â€œMaybe you can get him to wheel that body out, then,” Heck Thomas said.
    â€œNobody gets Ben Conlon to do anythin’ before he’s ready,” Bat said, “but I’ll tell you one thing.”
    â€œWhat?” Clint asked.
    â€œIf Ben Conlon is behind this,” Bat said, “there’s more goin’ on here than just a wake.”

SIX
    The five friends continued to drink and talk, Bat filling them in a bit on Ben Conlon.
    â€œHe’s a gambler, and well traveled,” Bat said. “And I’m talking about overseas—Europe. The Orient. He’s traveled and gambled and won. He owns a couple of places in San Francisco. I didn’t know he had bought a place here in Santa Fe. I wonder where else he’s got his grubby little fingers.”
    â€œGrubby?” Reeves asked.
    â€œJust because he’s well traveled doesn’t make him a gentleman,” Bat said. “The man’s got no manners. I’m tellin’ you, this wake is a front for somethin’ else. He’s got a reason for wantin’ to get us all here—lawmen and outlaws.”
    â€œAnd in between,” Clint said.
    â€œMaybe somebody should talk to him about it,” Reeves suggested.
    â€œOr at least find out when the damn thing is gonna start,” Heck said. “We might all be too drunk to gloat.”
    Bat looked at Clint.
    â€œDon’t look at me,” he said, “I don’t know him.”
    â€œYou know everybody.”
    â€œNot this Conlon. You’re the guy, Bat.”
    â€œYou don’t understand,” Bat said. “I dislike this man intensely.”
    â€œBecause of the way he dresses?” Luke asked.
    â€œBecause of the way he does business,” Bat said. “There’s nothing on the up-and-up with him, whether