The Town Council Meeting by J. R. Roberts Page B

wasn’t sure he could describe it, because it was a decidedly female sound.
    The only way he could describe it was that it was kind of like . . . “Mmmm.”

TWENTY-SIX
    â€œWhere do you suppose he went?” Delbert Chambers asked the table at large.
    â€œMaybe he went to see Rivers and Holmes,” Ben Lawson suggested.
    â€œWhy would he do that?” The judge asked. “Both of them came here and spoke to him.”
    â€œMaybe he wants to see each of them alone,” Lawson said.
    â€œYeah,” Chambers said, “maybe he wants to beat the truth out of them.”
    â€œOr threaten them with his gun,” Lawson said.
    â€œDidn’t the two of you pay any attention when he was here?” the judge asked. “That’s not the kind of man he is.”
    â€œThe judge is right,” the mayor said. “Adams wouldn’t threaten them with his gun—he’d just shoot them.”
    Lawson looked at the mayor.
    â€œYou think he killed Kennedy?”
    â€œNo,” the mayor said, “I don’t.”
    â€œYou know,” the judge said, “you can ask him all these questions when he comes back.”
    â€œYou really think he’s comin’ back?” Lawson asked.
    â€œOh yes,” the judge said, “I’m certain of it.”
    â€œHow certain?” Lawson asked.
    All four men put their cards down.
    â€œAre you proposing a wager, Ben?”
    â€œThis is interesting,” Chambers said.
    â€œQuiet,” the mayor said. “Let’s listen to Ben and the judge.”
    â€œI say Adams is gone,” Lawson said, “never to return to this table, this saloon, or this town.”
    â€œAnd how much are you willin’ to risk on your belief, Ben?”
    â€œTwo hundred?”
    â€œYou don’t have much faith in your beliefs, do you?” the judge asked.
    â€œOkay, five hundred,” Lawson said. “Five hundred dollars says Adams doesn’t come back.”
    â€œI’ll cover that, Ben,” the judge said, “but I’ve got another five hundred that says he’s back by this time tomorrow.”
    â€œWhat time is it, Delbert?” Lawson asked.
    Chambers took out his watch and checked the face.
    â€œIt’s ten p.m.”
    â€œAll right,” Ben Lawson said, “five hundred more says he’s not back by this time tomorrow.”
    â€œWe’ll each write two checks,” the judge said, “and the mayor will hold them.”
    â€œAgreed,” Lawson said.
    â€œWell, get to writing the checks, then,” the mayor said, “so we can get back to our game.”

TWENTY-SEVEN
    Andy Rivers sat in the most comfortable chair in his study and smoked his cigar. On the table next to the chair was a snifter of brandy. When Parker Stark came to the door he stopped right there.
    â€œCigar?” Rivers asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBrandy?”
    â€œNo.”
    Rivers took his cigar out of his mouth and blew a long plume of smoke before speaking again.
    â€œEvery time you come in here I offer you a cigar and a brandy, and you always say no. Why is that?”
    â€œYou pay me for my services, Mr. Rivers,” Stark said, “and you pay me well. I wouldn’t enjoy your cigars and your brandy. I smoke three-for-a-nickel cheroots and drink rotgut . . . and I like it. You wanted to see me?”
    â€œYes,” Rivers said. “Do you think you can take the Gunsmith?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Stark said. “How can anybody know that?”
    â€œI’d like you to try.”
    â€œThen the question is,” Stark said, “can you pay me enough to try?”
    â€œI might have a bottle of cheap whiskey around here somewhere, Stark,” Rivers said. “Maybe we can have a drink and . . . discuss it?”
    â€œWhy not?”
    Â 
    Over drinks—Rivers expensive brandy, and Stark cheap rotgut whiskey—they discussed the price and