Read Online The Dublin Detective by J. R. Roberts - Free Book Online Page B

replied. “He says he wants to leave McBeth a message.” When Santee said the name, it sounded like two names—Mack-Beth.
    â€œHe just wants to play with him a little,” Ludlow said.
    â€œIf this man McBeth is the man Dolan says he is,” Santee replied, “then he is sending these two hombres to their graves.”
    â€œThese Irishmen can’t handle a gun worth a damn,” Ed Grey said. “They got no draw.”
    â€œIt is not the man who draws his gun the fastest who lives,” Santee said. “It is the man who shoots the straightest.”
    â€œWell, I do both,” Grey said. “He wants that Irish lawman handled, he should leave it to me.”
    â€œOh, he wants that one for himself.”
    As they watched, Dolan passed some money over to the two men Santee had brought in. They put their sombreros back on and left the cantina.
    â€œDrink up,” Santee said. “I believe we are leaving.”
    â€œHey,” Grey said, “I wanted to see about the local cathouse—”
    â€œWe ain’t stayin’?” Ludlow asked.
    â€œWe are not staying,” Santee said. He looked at Grey. “There will be plenty of women in the next town, Ed. Plenty of them.”

TWENTY-THREE
    McBeth rode into Los Ninos and immediately felt all the eyes that were on him. It was as if the whole town had known he was coming. It was a little town, though, so maybe the danger was limited.
    Sometimes McBeth wished he had some kind of badge to pin to his shirt. It would be a target to some people, but probably more of them would simply turn and walk away.
    He reined in his horse in front of a cantina. From his saddle he could pretty much see every building in town. There was no sheriff’s office in sight. The only building with any identifying name was the one he was in front of. Over the door was a crude sign that read CANTINA.
    He dismounted, tied his horse off, and went inside.
    â€œ Senor ,” the bartender said, “welcome to Los Ninos. What will you have?”
    â€œA beer.”
    The bartender filled a mug and set it in front of him.
    â€œ Cerveza ,” he said. “Anything else?”
    There were several men in the cantina all watching McBeth drink his beer.
    â€œYes,” McBeth said, “why is everyone so interested in me?”
    The bartender shrugged.
    â€œYou are a stranger.”
    â€œDon’t you get strangers in here?”
    â€œ Sí, senor , we do.”
    â€œAnd do they all get this much attention?”
    The man shrugged.
    McBeth turned and looked at the four other men in the place. They were way too interested in him. Almost as if they had been waiting for him.
    It wasn’t Dolan’s style to set up an ambush for him. He knew when he finally caught up to the man that Dolan would face him one to one. But until then, he wouldn’t put it past Dolan to test him, or play with him.
    If these fellows were waiting for him, it wasn’t to kill him, just maybe to slow him down.
    He looked at the bartender.
    â€œYou know what is goin’ on, don’t you?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œYou in on it?”
    The barman licked his lips and said, “No, sir.”
    â€œAll right, then,” McBeth said. “You hit the floor behind the bar when everything starts.”
    â€œI got a scattergun back here,” the man said. “You are welcome to it.”
    â€œThat may not be a bad idea,” McBeth said. “Keep it close.”
    â€œSure thing.”
    McBeth turned to face the four men. . . .
    Â 
    One of them was named Jorge Chavez, another Eibar Rodriguez. These were the two men Dolan had hired to “slow McBeth down.” Unfortunately, slow to these two men meant dead , so they got two more helpers—Lopez and Martinez—to sit with them and wait for McBeth, who Dolan had figured would arrive . . . today.
    Chavez was about to signal the others to start shooting at the