Under a Turquoise Sky Read Online Free

Under a Turquoise Sky
Book: Under a Turquoise Sky Read Online Free
Author: J. R. Roberts
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said. “He was…brutal. Did you see the marks on the woman?”
    â€œOn the whore?” Clint asked.
    â€œWhore or not, he needn’t have marked her that way,” Markstein said. “Any man who would treat a woman that way deserves to be shot.”
    â€œWell, I just wish I hadn’t had to do it,” Clint said. “I only came out of my room because the noise woke me up.”
    â€œAnd lucky for me that you did,” Markstein said. He had a bandage on his head, and there was a little blood seeping through. “I hope you’ll let me repay you in some way.”
    â€œI think you’d better just concentrate on healing up, sir,” Clint said. “I just dropped by to see how you were doing.”
    â€œI’m doing quite well, thanks to you.”
    â€œAnd the doctor.”
    â€œYes, of course,” Markstein said. “Will you dine with me, sir? Perhaps tomorrow evening? My treat, of course.”
    â€œYou don’t have to—”
    â€œI’d like to talk with you about a business proposition.”
    â€œBusiness? What business are you in, Mr. Markstein?”
    â€œStone,” the man said, “precious stones.”
    The doctor was closing his bag and said, “You must be here about the mines, then.”
    â€œDoctor, how much do I owe you?” Markstein asked.
    â€œYou two settle up,” Clint said. “I just got to town last night and I haven’t eaten a thing yet. I’m going to go out and find a restaurant.”
    â€œFind a good one and we can go there tomorrow,” Markstein said. “I believe I can make it worth your while.”
    â€œSure,” Clint said, “why not? I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Mr. Markstein.”
    â€œNow, Doctor,” the man was saying as Clint left, “about your fee…”

SIX
    Clint found a place for a decent steak and a good cup of coffee, then found a saloon with cold beer and poker. He was definitely unhappy about having had to kill Mike Dolan, but everywhere he went he heard people talking about it, saying that “finally” somebody had killed Dolan, who “needed” it.
    The saloon he settled in was called the Nighthawk Saloon. Kingman, which just several years earlier had been a one-tent, one-saloon, one-horse town, was growing, but the Nighthawk had been one of the first saloons and was not only still around, but was prospering.
    He could still smell the new wood scent as he entered. While the long bar was scarred in places, they obviously were not years worth of scars. With a cold beer in hand he turned to examine the room. It had everything it was supposed to have—games, girls, music. And in one corner, eyeing Clint Adams, it had Carl Breckens and Aaron Edwards…
    Â 
    â€œIt’s a damn good thing we didn’t go into that hotel today,” Edwards said. “Who knew the goddamned Gunsmith would be in there. We’d both be dead by now.”
    â€œAnd why didn’t we go in?” Breckens asked.
    â€œI know, I know,” Edwards said, “it was because you wouldn’t let us. You was right, we got to go slow and think first.”
    â€œYou can go slow,” Breckens said, “but the thinking is gonna be up to me. Right?”
    â€œYeah, right.”
    â€œSo why don’t you go slowly up to the bar and get us two more beers,” Breckens said. “And try not to get killed while you’re doin’ it.”
    Â 
    At the far end of the bar to his left Clint saw somebody he recognized, but he couldn’t quite place him. It took him a few moments, but then he realized he’d seen the man in the hallway near his room in the hotel during all the ruckus.
    He called the bartender over and asked, “Who’s that fella down there? At the end of the bar, by the window?”
    â€œHim?” the bartender said. “That’s Wooster, Charlie Wooster. He’s the town
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