Free Five Points by J. R. Roberts

up.”
    â€œOh, yeah? What’s that?”
    â€œClint Adams.”
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œThat was him I saw in the train station.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    He told her about having breakfast with the Gunsmith that morning.
    â€œYou better not be lying to me, Red.”
    â€œI ain’t lyin’, I swear, Bethany,” Red said. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
    â€œYou’d lie to your mother, if she was alive,” Bethany pointed out.
    â€œI know,” he said, “but not to you.”
    She studied him for a few moments, then asked, “Now, why would that be good news to me? If he’s in New York, it means he’s lookin’ for whoever killed that woman in Denver.”
    â€œAnd that wasn’t you, right?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œSo then he ain’t lookin’ for you,” Red said. “Ain’t that good news?”
    â€œThat’s right,” she said. “He’s lookin’ for Willie O’Donnell.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œBut . . .”
    â€œBut what?”
    She turned and patted Red on the head.
    â€œNever mind, Red,” she said. “Thanks a lot.”
    â€œYou want me to leave, don’t ya?”
    She smiled at him. “I have some thinking to do.”
    â€œGrown-up thinkin’, right?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œOkay,” he said, standing up. He took his cloth hat from his pocket and jammed it on his head. “Ya don’t gotta tell me twice.”
    As Red walked away, Bethany started to worry about Ben again. It wasn’t Willie who people might have seen with Libby Wellington in Denver—it was Ben. People were bound to remember the handsome young man who was hanging around the older woman in the last days before she was killed.
    What if Clint Adams was in New York looking for Ben?
    She sprang off the steps and ran down the block after Red.
    â€œHey, Red,” she said, grabbing his shoulder.
    â€œDon’t do that!” Red said, turning around. “You scared the crap outta me.”
    â€œI’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “Look, where did you say Clint Adams was staying?”
    â€œThe Belvedere Hotel,” Red said. “Union Square.”
    â€œThanks, Red, thanks.” She turned and started running.
    â€œCrazy girls!” Red said.

TWENTY-THREE
    Clint came out of the morgue of the the Morning Telegraph with black ink on his hands. He’d been through the morgue copies of the paper and now knew that Captain Tom Byrnes had been a bear on pickpockets in New York in recent months, and in recent years had been the main reason for the increase in proficiency of the New York City Police Department. Byrnes, from what Clint could glean from the newspapers—and from reading between the lines—was both feared and respected by the lowlifes of New York.
    Clint wanted a drink, but first he wanted to wash the ink from his hands. He decided to go back to the hotel, wash up, and then get that drink at the tavern next door.
    â€œAnyone looking for me?” Clint asked the clerk. Damn. Couldn’t tell if it was Owen or Ted.
    â€œNo, sir. No one asked, and no one has been looking. Oh, and we got that message delivered for you.”
    â€œThank you.”
    He went upstairs, washed his hands, and then came back down to go to the tavern. As he entered, he spotted both Angie and Captain Thomas Byrnes. One of them smiled at him, and the other waved.
    Since Byrnes was at his table, Clint joined him. Angie hurried over to take his order.
    â€œBeer, please, Angie,” he said. “A cold one.”
    â€œComin’ right up.”
    The captain already had half a beer in front of him, so he waved her away.
    â€œI thought I might find you here,” Byrnes said. “Wanted to check on your progress.”
    â€œNot much,” Clint said, “except to become more impressed with you.”
    Byrnes wiped some beer