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nose.
    â€œWhat can I get for you gents?” she asked.
    â€œTwo beers, Angie,” Byrnes said.
    â€œComin’ up, Captain,” she said, but before leaving she asked, “Who’s your handsome friend?”
    â€œThis is Clint . . .” Byrnes almost said the last name, but caught himself.
    â€œWelcome to the tavern, Clint.”
    â€œAngie, the beers?”
    â€œComin’ up, Captain.”
    She turned and sashayed back to the bar so Clint could watch her round bottom.
    â€œRoper didn’t say what he wanted me to help you with,” Byrnes said, “just that he wanted me to help you.”
    â€œRoper had a client who was killed in Denver,” Clint said. “A lady. Seems she walked in on some men looting her home.”
    â€œThey killed her? How?”
    â€œHit her over the head with a lamp.”
    â€œWhy’s he not looking into this himself?”
    â€œHe had just taken a job he couldn’t get out of,” Clint said. “He asked me to come in his stead.”
    â€œAnd you agreed?”
    â€œThat’s what friends are for.”
    â€œWhat makes Roper think the killer came to New York?” Byrnes asked.
    â€œHe figures this is the best place for them to fence the goods they stole,” Clint said.
    â€œWhat kind of goods are we talkin’ about?” Byrnes asked.
    â€œFurniture, silverware, housewares,” Clint said. “They just about cleaned the house out.”
    Byrnes rubbed his jaw.
    â€œWe got quite a few fences in Manhattan who can handle that kind of merchandise,” Byrnes said. “I’ll put the word out and see what I can find out.”
    â€œI don’t guess they’d be here yet,” Clint said. “They’ve got to be pulling two, three wagons with them.”
    â€œThey’ll be days behind you, then,” Byrnes said. “I can still find out which fence is waitin’ for a haul that big.”
    â€œI’d be much obliged, Captain.”
    â€œCall me Tom,” Byrnes said. “Tell me, Mr. Adams—”
    â€œCall me Clint, Tom.”
    â€œOkay, Clint,” Byrnes said. “Knowing Tal Roper the way I do, he’s concerned with the merchandise second.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Clint said. “He’s more concerned with who killed Mrs. Wellington.”
    â€œSeems to me you might have come here a little too quickly, Clint,” Byrnes said. “You probably should’ve snooped around a little more in Denver. Now you’ve got some days to kill.”
    Clint sat back in his chair as Angie came back with their beers. She leaned over him and he could smell the sweet fragrance wafting up from between her breasts.
    â€œYou boys tell me if you need anything else.”
    Clint could think of quite a few things, but not right at that moment.
    â€œThanks, Angie.”
    As she walked away, he looked at Byrnes.
    â€œRoper was right. You are smart,” Clint said.
    â€œGuess I should’ve looked into it a bit in Denver.”
    â€œRoper probably would’ve thought of it himself if he wasn’t upset about the woman,” Byrnes said.
    â€œYou’re right,” Clint said.
    â€œIs there somebody else in Denver who might look into it for you?” Byrnes asked.
    â€œAs a matter of fact, there is,” Clint said. “I’ll send a telegram as soon as I can.”
    â€œWho we talking about?”
    â€œBat Masterson.”
    Byrnes raised his eyebrows over his beer mug.
    â€œSounds like you have some pretty impressive friends, Clint.”
    â€œBat was going to hang around Denver for a while,” Clint said. “He should still be there.”
    â€œThere’s a telegraph office right down the street,” Byrnes said. “We can finish these beers and I’ll take you over there. Then I better get back to work.”
    â€œAnd I’ll get settled at the hotel.”
    â€œWhich hotel?” Angie