The Death List Read online

  One Down…Nine to Go

  Clint walked around the left side of the house, stopping to look in windows. The house wasn’t that big. Before long he was in the back, and when he peered in a window he saw a man lying on the floor.

  “Sheriff! Back here!”

  The sheriff came running from the other direction. Clint pointed in the window.

  “What do you say now?” he asked.

  “I say we better get in there,” Coffey said. “Come on, we’ll force the front door.”

  Together they ran to the front of the house. The sheriff attacked the door with his bulk and it slammed open. They ran to the back and looked down at the body.

  “Who is it?” Clint asked.

  “It’s him,” Coffey said. “It’s Reardon.”

  “Damn!” Clint said.

  DON’T MISS THESE

  ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES

  FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts

  Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him…the Gunsmith.

  LONGARM by Tabor Evans

  The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.

  SLOCUM by Jake Logan

  Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.

  BUSHWHACKERS by B. J. Lanagan

  An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill’s Raiders.

  DIAMONDBACK by Guy Brewer

  Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex…

  WILDGUN by Jack Hanson

  The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!

  TEXAS TRACKER by Tom Calhoun

  J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he’s the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.

  J.R. ROBERTS

  JOVE BOOKS, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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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 DEATH LIST

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Jove edition / March 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Robert J. Randisi.

  Cover illustration by Sergio Giovine.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  EISBN: 9781101560464

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  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  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-Five

  ONE

  Clint was in the livery stable in Labyrinth, Texas, working on Eclipse’s coat with a brush, when the telegraph key operator found him.

  “Hey, Mr. Adams,” the man said. “They tol’ me over to Rick’s Place that you was here.”

  “Hello, Chet,” Clint said. “What’ve you got there?”

  “Telegram for ya,” Chet said, handing it over.

  Clint turned to face the tall, gangly young man.

  “You could have left it with Rick.”

  “He weren’t available,” Chet said, “and besides, I thought it might be important.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “thanks.”

  Chet handed the telegram over. Clint did not offer the young man a tip, because Chet always refused. They’d finally gotten to this point, where Clint did not even offer.

  “I hope it ain’t bad news,” Chet said. “I gotta get back to work.”

  “I’ll be seeing you,” Clint said. He was only halfway finished with Eclipse’s grooming, and did not want to read a telegram at the moment—especially if it had bad news. So he folded it, put it in his shirt pocket, and went back to combing some tangles out of the big Darley Arabian’s mane.

  Later, Clint was in Rick’s Place—owned and run by his friend, Rick Hartman—having a beer and talking with the new bartender, Elroy.

  Elroy was a young man who had been hired while Clint was away for a few weeks, and was now thrilled to be serving beer to the Gunsmith.

  “They tol’ me when I took this job that you spent a lot of time in this town,” he said.

>   “I do,” Clint said, “it’s just that lately things have been keeping me on the trail.”

  “Well, I hope you’re back for a while, Mr. Adams,” Elroy said. “Excuse me.”

  He moved down the bar either to serve some new customers, or because his boss, Rick Hartman, was approaching.

  “Is he botherin’ you?” Rick asked.

  “No,” Clint said, “he’s okay.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Rick said. “I might have to fire him.”

  “How long’s he been working here?” Clint asked.

  “A few weeks.”

  “And you’re going to fire him already?”

  “He’s not doing the job,” Rick said. “For instance, did he tell you the telegraph operator was here with a telegram for you?”

  Clint slapped his forehead with his palm.

  “I forgot about that. Chet said he came here and was sent to the livery.”

  “Well,” Rick said, somewhat mollified, “at least he didn’t forget that. What was it about? Somebody lookin’ for help again?”

  “I don’t know,” Clint said, taking the telegram from his pocket. “I forgot to read it.”

  “You must’ve been workin’ on Eclipse,” Rick said. “That horse is the only thing that could make you forget to read a telegram—that and a woman.”

  “It was Eclipse,” Clint said, “but I’ll read it right now.”

  He unfolded the yellow flimsy, read it, frowning.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Rick asked.

  “This is odd,” Clint said. “All it says is that there should be an envelope over at the post office in General Delivery for me by now.”

  “That’s it?”

  Clint handed it over. Rick looked at it, and also frowned.

  “If the post office has an envelope for you, why haven’t they delivered it?”

  “I don’t know,” Clint said, taking the telegram back. “Maybe they specifically want me to go over and ask for it.”

  “I don’t get it,” Rick said.

  “I don’t either,” Clint said, “so I guess I’ll go and get it, and then we’ll both know what it’s about.”

  “Want me to go with you?”

  “What for?”

  “To watch your back.”

  “At the post office?” Clint asked.

  Rick shrugged and said, “You never know.”

  Clint said, “Hey, suit yourself. I’m heading over there right now.”

  “Lead the way,” Rick said.

  TWO

  The post office had opened in Labyrinth, Texas, just a few months ago. That made the postmaster fairly new in town, but he did most of his drinking and gambling in Rick’s Place.

  “Hey, Rick,” John Luke said as Clint and Rick entered. “What brings you here? Expecting a letter?”

  Luke was in his forties, had been a postmaster in the East before being assigned to this post.

  “I’m not, but my friend is. I don’t think you’ve met Clint Adams yet.”

  “Mr. Adams,” Luke said. “Well, this is a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you since I arrived here in town.”

  “It’s good to meet you,” Clint said, shaking hands with the man.

  “So you’re the one expecting a letter?” Luke asked.

  “A letter, an envelope,” Clint said. “Something. It should have been sent care of General Delivery.”

  “Ah,” Luke said, “very good. I’ll have a look.”

  Luke disappeared and then returned with a white envelope.

  “This looks like it,” he said, handing it to Clint.

  On the front was written “Clint Adams, General Delivery, Labyrinth, Texas.”

  “Looks like it,” Clint said. “Thanks.”

  “See you, Luke,” Rick said, and the two friends left the post office.

  They went to Rick’s Place, which, this early, was almost empty. When Elroy saw them come in, he said, “Finally, some business.”

  “Two beers,” Rick said, and then added, “on the house.”

  “Fine with me,” Elroy said, “gives me somethin’ to do anyway.”

  They took the beers to a table in the back, where Rick usually sat.

  “You gonna open that?” Rick asked.

  “I thought I might,” Clint said.

  “What kind of trouble do you think is in that envelope?”

  “What makes you think it’s not somebody inviting me to a wedding?”

  “Not you,” Rick said. “Trouble finds you.”

  “Let’s see.”

  Clint opened the envelope, took out two pieces of paper.

  “Two letters?”

  “One letter,” Clint said, “and a list.”

  “What kind of list?”

  “I don’t know,” Clint said, looking it over, “it’s a list of names.”

  “Names of what?”

  “Men,” Clint said. “Looks like…ten names, with a location next to each one.”

  “Lemme see.”

  Clint handed the list across the table to Rick, then looked at the letter.

  “I don’t know any of these names,” Rick said. “What’s this about?”

  “Listen to this,” Clint said. “The letter is unsigned, but it’s from someone who says he’s going to kill each of these ten people and he challenges me to stop him.”

  “See what I mean?” Rick asked. “Trouble. Why you?”

  “It doesn’t say.”

  “Well,” Rick said, looking at the list again, “all you’ve got to do is send a telegram to each of these people and warn them.”

  “No, no,” Clint said, “the letter goes on to say I have to do it in person.”

  “Or else what?”

  “Apparently he plans to kill them in order,” Clint said. “If I should try to notify them without going to each city or town, he will kill them out of order. He says I’ll have no idea which one he’s going to kill next.”

  “What do you care? Notify the law in each of those places and forget about it.”

  “Because at the end he says that when all ten of them are dead, I’ll know that it was my fault.”

  “That’s bull,” Rick said. “Some nut sends you a list and a letter, and you’re gonna believe him?”

  “Can I afford not to believe him?” Clint asked, taking the list back from Rick.

  “I say yes, you can.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “When is this supposed to start?”

  Clint looked at the letter again.

  “It doesn’t say. No date. I guess it started when I opened this letter.”

  “Okay, who’s first, and where?”

  “The name is William Reardon, and he lives in Vega, Texas.”

  “Well,” Rick said, “at least the first one is easy to get to.”

  “That’s way north,” Clint said.

  “Still closer, right?”

  “Right.”

  Clint stood up.

  “What are you doing?” Rick asked.

  “I’ve got to get moving right away,” Clint said, “if I’m going to make it to Vega in time to save Mr. Reardon’s life.”

  “And if you go there and he’s in no danger?”

  “Well, then we’ll know the whole thing was a hoax, won’t we?”

  “When are you gonna ride out?” Rick asked as Clint headed for the door.

  “As soon as I saddle up!”

  THREE

  Vega was a small Texas town about ten miles west of Amarillo. When Clint rode in, he went right to the sheriff’s office. He’d been in the saddle for a little under six hundred miles. He needed a steak, a beer, and a bed, but first he needed information.

  He entered the office, found a deputy sitting behind a desk.

  “I’m looking for the sheriff,” he said.

  The deputy, in his twenties, looked up at Clint and said, “Who are you?”

  “I’m the man asking for the sheriff. It’s very important I talk to him right away.”

/>   The young man stood up, puffed out his chest, and hitched up his gun belt.

  “Well, he ain’t here and I’m in charge—”

  Had he not been in the saddle so long, Clint’s temper might not have been so short.

  He closed on the deputy, put his hand on his chest, grabbed his badge, and pushed him back down into his chair. Then he ground the badge against his chest so that the pin pierced the flesh.

  “Ow!”

  “I’m not going to ask you again,” Clint said. “Where’s the sheriff?”

  “Down the street in Ma’s Café havin’ lunch,” the young deputy blurted out.

  Clint released his hold on the badge, turned, and left the office.

  As he entered Ma’s Café, the smell of burning meat hit him and his stomach grumbled. There were several tables taken. Near the back he saw a man with a badge, a shock of gray hair, and a heavily lined face eating a steak. He walked to the table.

  “Sheriff?”

  “That’s right,” the man said, “but I’m eatin’.”

  “Your deputy told me where to find you.”

  “Then he’s fired.”

  “My name is Clint Adams.”

  The sheriff stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth and looked up at Clint.

  “You on the level?”

  “I am.”

  The lawman put his fork down and sat back in his chair.

  “Just get to town?”

  “A minute ago.”

  “Have a seat,” the man said.

  “I really don’t have time for that,” Clint said. “I’m looking for a man named Reardon, William Reardon.”

  “Bill Reardon.”

  “You know him?”

  “I do, yeah.”

  “I have reason to believe his life is in danger.”

  “From you?”

  “No.”

  “Then who?”

  “I don’t know that.”

  “Then how do you know he’s in danger?”

  “Look,” Clint said, “if you can take me to him, I’ll explain on the way.”

  The sheriff looked down at his steak. Clint looked at it, too. It was too well done for him, but he could have made an exception at that moment.

  “When did you eat last?” the sheriff asked.

  “Miles and miles back.”

  “Ma!” he yelled.

  An older woman came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron.

  “Yeah, whataya want, Ray?”