The University Showdown Read online

  Ready To Blow

  “Mr. Adams,” Chief Coleman said, “do you know what your friend Mr. Fitzgerald does here in Tucson?”

  “No,” Clint said. “That’s one of the things I was going to find out. I know, in the past, he’s been in charge of running some business. His talent seems to be in management.”

  “Exactly,” Coleman said. “Mr. Fitzgerald is in charge of building the new university outside of town.”

  “The University of Arizona,” Sheriff Leland said. “He probably got held up by one of the problems that have been popping up.”

  “Wait,” Clint said. “University? Problems?”

  “You see, Tucson was awarded twenty-five thousand dollars to build the University of Arizona.”

  “While Phoenix,” Leland said, “was awarded a hundred thousand dollars to build a new insane asylum.”

  Clint stared at both of them and said, “That hardly seems fair.”

  “That is what some people in town seem to think,” Coleman said.

  “So there have been problems out there,” Leland said. “Fires, damage…everybody’s waiting for the big boom.”

  “Boom?” Clint asked.

  “So much has been happening, the only thing left is to…blow it up.”

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  J. R. ROBERTS

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  THE UNIVERSITY SHOWDOWN

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Jove edition / August 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Robert J. Randisi.

  Cover illustration by Sergio Giovine.

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  ISBN: 978-1-101-58738-6

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  ALWAYS LEARNING

  PEARSON

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty Mile River

  ONE

  TUCSON, PIMA COUNTY, ARIZONA

  When Clint Adams rode into Tucson, Arizona, he was thinking about the Earp Brothers. It was at the Tucson railway station that Wyatt killed Frank Stilwell, who was responsible for the shooting death of Morgan Earp in Tombstone. Wyatt then sent his family to the safety of California while he continued to hunt down the remainder of the Clanton faction from the O.K. Corral. Clint was in Tombstone with the Earps and Doc Holliday during the O.K. Corral, but he had not accompanied his friend to Tucson, and didn’t go with Wyatt on his ride for vengeance.

  As had become his wont in life of late, Clint was riding into Tucson at the behest of a friend. A man like Clint Adams made a lot of friends over the years, and when they put out a call for help, he responded. There had been a few occasions over the years when he’d needed help, put out a call, and his friends had responded. It was simply not in him to turn a deaf ear to a call for help. Or if not help, then at least advice.

  The fact was, he never knew what to expect when he responded in these instances. Telegrams were really not able to carry all the facts of a call for help, beyond the word HELP.

  He r
ode into Tucson, which had grown by leaps and bounds since his last visit. Riding down the main street, he passed the building that housed the Tucson Police Department. Tucson was one of the first Western towns to turn their law enforcement responsibilities over to a police department rather than a sheriff or marshal. It had been in existence for almost eight years.

  He continued on, past the now deserted marshal’s office, and the sheriff’s office. The sheriff was now more of a politician than a lawman. Clint hoped he’d have no contact with either the police or the sheriff, but that hope was not realistic. Not for a man with his reputation.

  He finally reached the livery stable, went through the motions of having Eclipse cared for, carrying his saddlebags and rifle to a nearby hotel and getting himself a room.

  Once he had a room, he dumped his things on the bed and looked out the window at the busy Tucson street.

  He shook his head. How much trouble was he walking into this time?

  David Darling, mayor of Tucson, looked up and down the table at the members of his town council.

  “This is not a matter that should be open for discussion at this point, gentlemen,” he said. “The decision was made years ago by the Territorial Legislative Assembly.”

  “The Thieving Thirteen,” Andrew Leland said.

  “Enough of that,” Darling said.

  “Come on, Mayor,” Ed Romine said. “You know there were backroom deals made during that Assembly. A thief is a thief in my book.”

  “Look,” Darling said, “Phoenix got the hundred thousand dollars for the insane asylum, and we got the twenty-five thousand for the university.”

  “A school,” Sheriff Leland said. “Call it was it is. We got a goddamned school.”

  “Universities are respected institutions back East,” Chief of Police Robert Coleman said. “Shouldn’t be any different here.”

  “And who’s gonna want to go to school here when they can go back East?” Leland asked.

  “Plenty of people,” Darling said. “Look, let’s get back to the subject at hand. Can the police department handle the threats and incidents that have been happening, or do we need to hire someone privately?”

  “The police can handle anything,” Chief Coleman said. “I assure you.”

  “Do you?” George Eiland asked. Eiland was the representative from the university, who had come to the council to ask for help. “We’ve already had fires, vandalism, water damage—what are we waiting for, someone to blow the building up even before it’s finished?”

  “Chief?” the mayor asked, looking at Coleman.

  “We’re investigating, Mayor,” Coleman said. “I have my best men on the case.”

  “When can we expect to see some results?” Darling asked.

  “Very soon.”

  The mayor looked at Eiland and asked, “George?”

  “That’s not good enough for us, Mayor,” Eiland said. “Not by a long sight.”

  “I’m afraid it will have to be,” the mayor said. “For now.”

  Eiland looked crestfallen.

  The mayor banged his gavel and said, “This meeting is adjourned.”

  The council members stood, gathered their papers, and began to leave, some of them arranging to meet for drinks somewhere.

  George Eiland slunk unhappily from the room, alone. He was going to have to go back to his dean and explain the situation.

  The room emptied quickly, leaving only the mayor and the chief.

  “Bob,” Darling said, “I’m gonna need those results, you know. And soon.”

  “My best detective is on it, Mayor.”

  “One man?”

  “He’s very experienced and committed,” Coleman said. “And he can have all the help he needs, whenever he needs it.”

  “I’m not going to be able to wait much longer,” Darling said.

  “You can depend on me, Mayor,” Coleman said.

  “I hope so.”

  The chief left the room, passing another man on the way.

  “Mayor,” Dennis Fairman said.

  “What, Dennis?” the mayor said. “Don’t give me any bad news.”

  “I don’t know if it’s good or bad.”

  The mayor sighed heavily.

  “Okay, tell me.”

  “Clint Adams rode into town today,” Fairman said. “He got himself a room at the Congress Hotel.”

  The mayor sat down heavily—which, considering his weight, was the way he always sat down.

  “The Gunsmith is in Tucson?” he asked. “What else can happen?”

  Fairman didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply waited.

  “Was he met by anyone?”

  “No.”

  “So we don’t know if he’s here by coincidence, or if someone sent for him.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “Well, then find out, Dennis,” the mayor said. “That’s the kind of thing I pay you to know, isn’t it?”

  “Well…yes, sir.”

  “Then get out of here,” the mayor said, “and do your job.”

  “Yessir.”

  Jesus, the mayor thought, the goddamned Gunsmith. The town still hadn’t recovered from Wyatt Earp’s killing of Frank Stilwell, and now the Gunsmith was in town. What next?

  TWO

  Clint came down from his room, left the hotel, and went looking for a place to eat. He didn’t ask the desk clerk for help. Invariably, hotel desk clerks steered people to whatever restaurant was kicking back money to them. Clint decided to trust his own nose to find a place to eat.

  He found a small café a few blocks from the hotel, across the street from the abandoned marshal’s office. He stopped in front, took a deep breath, and decided this was the place. Among all the cooking meat smells was the overpowering aroma of strong coffee.

  He got seated at a back table. As busy as the streets were at 3 p.m., the café was only half full. Most people were working, not eating.

  “What can I getcha, sir?” the waiter asked.

  “I smell some strong coffee,” Clint said. “I’ll start with a pot of that.”

  “Yessir. Comin’ up.”

  The other folks in the place glanced over at the stranger, talked among themselves, wondering who he was, but eventually went back to their meals.

  The waiter brought the coffee, which was as hot and strong as it smelled. As Clint took a sip, the waiter started walking away.

  “Hey, don’t go anywhere,” Clint said.

  “Sir?”

  “Steak, bloody, with everything.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Clint looked at the clock on the wall. He had a six o’clock appointment in the hotel lobby. He had plenty of time to enjoy his meal and then check out the town, which was something he always did. Might even stop in at the police department and present himself. Sometimes that avoided trouble.

  While most of the diners had gone back to their meals, there was one who still seemed interested in him. A woman, seated with a man whose back was to him. She was blond, with striking blue eyes and a firm jaw. More handsome than pretty. But very attractive.

  The waiter brought his steak and Clint asked, “Who’s the blond woman with the blue eyes?”

  The waiter looked, but he knew who Clint meant.

  “That is Mrs. Cynthia Bodeen. And the man with her is her husband, Patrick.” The waiter leaned in. “He’s the jealous type.”

  “Does he have reason to be?”

  “Usually.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Enjoy your meal.”

  Clint did.

  Halfway through his meal the Bodeens finished and stood up. The man dropped some money on the table, and then they seemed to get into an argument.

  “Not this again,” the man said loudly.

  “Well, what do you expect, darling?”

  “I expect you to act like a wife, sometime.”

  She laughed and said, “And I expect you to act like a man. We’re both doomed to disappointment.”

&
nbsp; “Bitch!” he said, and stormed out.

  Other diners averted their eyes, as if they were used to this kind of behavior from these two people. The blond woman shook her head and walked over to Clint’s table. He could see that she was tall and well formed and, up close, just a bit older than he’d thought, maybe forty.

  She stood there and stared at Clint. He looked up at her.

  “Very smart of you,” he said.

  “What was?”

  “To wait until your husband paid the bill before fighting with him.”

  “He pays all my bills, whether we’re fighting or not,” she said, “and we’re always fighting. You haven’t asked, but may I sit down?”

  “Excuse me for being rude,” he said. “Yes, please sit down.”

  She sat across from him.

  “Are you the welcoming committee?” he asked.

  “Not for every stranger who comes to town,” she said, “just the interesting-looking ones.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Please,” she said, “keep eating. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meal. I just wanted to introduce myself.”

  “The waiter told me who you were,” Clint said. “Cynthia Bodeen.”

  “Then you have the advantage over me,” she said. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Clint Adams.”

  She sat back in her chair, but looked delighted rather than shocked.

  “I know that name.”

  “Do you?”

  “The Gunsmith, right?”

  “That’s me.”

  She started to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “This is rich,” she said, shaking her head. “You are going to shake up everybody in town.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You don’t know what’s been going on in this county, do you?” she asked. “Or do you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Just passing through.”

  “That’s too much of a coincidence,” she said.

  “You think so?” He put a chunk of steak in his mouth. “Would you like me to get you something? A piece of pie maybe?”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “I’ve got to watch my figure.”

  “Oh, I bet all the men in town do that for you,” he commented.

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Adams,” she said. “I can see I’m going to have to watch out for you. A man who knows how to speak to a woman is dangerous.”