Ticket to Yuma by J. R. Roberts Page A

Kellogg and approached the front desk. His friend, Larry Kellogg, whose father owned the hotel, was working the desk.
    â€œHey, Ben,” Larry said. “How are ya?”
    â€œGood, Larry, good,” Ben said. “Listen, I been askin’ around to see if this feller was a guest in any of the hotels a few weeks ago.”
    â€œWhat fella?”
    â€œHis name’s Harlan Banks.”
    Larry’s face immediately reflected his recognition of the name.
    â€œGeez, Ben, what are ya askin’ about that for?”
    â€œI’m askin’ for a friend of mine,” Ben said, “whose name happens to be Clint Adams.”
    Larry’s eyes went wide and he said, “The Gunsmith?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAnd he’s your friend?”
    â€œSure he is.”
    â€œAnd he’s lookin’ for this fella, Banks?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t care why,” Ben said. “I’m just tryin’ to help him out. So?”
    â€œSo . . .”
    â€œCome on, Larry,” Ben said. “The way you’re actin’, I know the man had a room here.”
    Ben reached for the register. Larry made a halfhearted attempt to stop him, but Ben opened the book and saw that a page had been torn out.
    â€œLarry . . .”
    He turned the book around so Larry could see.
    â€œBen, look,” Larry said, “my dad said not to say nothin’ . . .”
    â€œAnd who told your dad not to say anythin’?”
    â€œWell, he’s on the town council,” Larry said. “So it musta been the mayor.”
    â€œBut why?”
    â€œI dunno,” Larry said. “Pa just does what the mayor tells ’im to do.”
    â€œYeah, I know,” Ben said. “A lot of people do.”
    â€œNot your ma,” Larry pointed out. “She pretty much does what she wants ta do.”
    â€œI know,” Ben said. “Ma’s a strong woman.”
    â€œYeah,” Larry said sadly, “my pa ain’t like that.”
    â€œOkay, so,” Ben said, to get back on the subject, “you remember this Banks fella?”
    â€œYeah, I do. He was—”
    â€œYou don’t gotta tell me,” Ben said, cutting him off. “Will you talk to Clint?”
    â€œThe Gunsmith?” Larry asked. “You want me to talk to the Gunsmith?”
    â€œYeah,” Ben said. “I’ll put the two of you together.”
    â€œWell, gee . . .”
    â€œLarry? Come on, man.”
    â€œYeah, okay,” Larry said. “Okay. I’ll talk to ’im.”
    â€œAll right,” Ben said. “You stay here and I’ll go and get him.”
    â€œYou know where he is?”
    â€œI’ll try his hotel,” Ben said, “and then I’ll see if maybe he went to the café. Just stay here ’til I get back, you hear?”
    â€œI hear ya, Ben,” Larry said, not sure he was doing the right thing. “I hear you.”

NINETEEN
    Clint lifted Hannah off the table, afraid it was going to break beneath her weight. It would certainly break under their combined weight.
    â€œThe kitchen,” she said, hanging on to him, kissing his neck, wrapping her strong legs around him. “There’s a table in the kitchen that’s strong.”
    He nodded, took them both to the kitchen, which was hotter than the rest of the place because of the stove, even though it had been shut down for the night.
    â€œThere,” she said, pointing.
    He saw the table. Somebody had built it to be extra sturdy. He went over to it and set her down on it, spread her legs, and wasted no time. He drove himself into her and she gasped, her eyes going wide.
    â€œOh my God,” she said very loudly, “it’s been so long . . .”
    She grabbed for him as he drove himself in and out of her, and before long the room was filled with their grunts, the smell