Chapter 7 Alleyman
Ben Snow looked up from a new handful of cards and looked at the tall man across the table.The other players, cursing their own luck and the skill of the dealer, have already withdrawn. At this time, he is the only customer.After dealing two hands and winning both, Ben whispered, "What's the catch?"
The tall man nodded slightly.He was handsome, well-dressed, and half-French.His name was Claude Musset, and he was with the New Orleans branch of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency. "I think we've found him for you, Mr. Snow."
"Where?"
"St. Louis."
"What name did he use?"
Claude Mousse frowned slightly hesitantly, "I'll tell you when I think of St. Louis. Can you be there before Friday?"
Ben's mind flashed to the job and the girl that had kept him in Kansas City so long.If the man he was looking for was in St. Louis, then he had to go. "Tomorrow night, I'm leaving by train," he said to Mousse.
"Very well. Meet me in front of the Fine Arts Building in Forest Park at nine o'clock Friday morning. He lives near there."
"Okay," Ben said, "just play again?"
The man from Pinkerton's office shook his head, "If you keep playing, you'll win back all our investigation fees. Goodbye, Mr. Snow."
Ben waited until the hour for another dealer to replace him.He paced slowly, passing through this resplendent palace, looking for the boss.The bar gradually filled with weekend night crowds, some from the East, some from the West, urbanites, ruralites, and a few veterans mixed here and there. "I was right behind Teddy in the San Juan Hills, and now he's the vice president!" Ben smiled and walked on.After a small war like this is over, there are bound to be a lot of soldiers discharged.And they all had personal relationships with Teddy Roosevelt.
He went back to his room, which was so small that he had never considered it his home.He started packing.He told his boss that he was leaving, and now Jen was the only one left to tell.In Kansas City, he had no one else to care about.
When he was busy packing his luggage, she came in, "Where are you going?"
"Going away for a few days. Going to St. Louis. I'll be back."
"What are you doing in St. Louis?"
"Business."
"The Frenchman?" he had said to her one night.Talked too much about her.
"Yes, if you must. He found the man I was looking for."
"Is this so important to you, Ben? Even more than your job and...me?"
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her close to him, feeling the familiar silky touch under her skirt. "Jane, Jane—look at me. I'm forty-one, and what have I been doing with my life? Cowboys, mercenaries, bartenders, casino dealers—a job a year, a town a year. I stay , living an ordinary life until someone happens to know that name, that face, or that gossip. Ben Snow, of course! The fastest shooter in the West, whose real identity is Billy the Kid, because everyone Know Billy isn't dead."
"Book……"
"It's like that in every town. Whether I go or stay. If I stay, I kill somebody. They all want to shoot Billy the Kid. Or they want to hire me as a shooter for their purposes. "
"But that's all over, Ben! It's 1901—the twentieth century! The West is civilized. Nobody carries a gun anymore, at least not in Kansas City."
"I'm going to keep going east, but even here I can't escape the gossip. I tried to change my name, but it didn't work. I couldn't do anything, until I hired this Pinkerton detective. You see, I had to Think maybe these rumors are true. Maybe Billy the Kid didn't die in New Mexico in 1881. Maybe he's still alive, and if I can find him, I'll be out of trouble."
"So the Frenchman found him?"
Ben shrugged. "He's been looking for six months. He's got some clues - a guy in St. Louis - but I don't know the details yet. Don't you see I have to go?" "
"I see. I think I see what this means to you, Ben."
He kissed her lightly, "I'll be back."
"Unless you find him. Unless you find him, Ben, he'll kill you."
"Don't worry about it. I'm too young to die."
"If Billy's alive, he's your age, Ben. Maybe he thinks he's young, too."
"Maybe……"
St. Louis stretches out under the August heat.Forest Park is located on the west edge of the city. This originally pristine wilderness is now full of construction noise.Although the Louisiana Sourcing Fair is nearly three years away, the place is already taking shape.More than 1,200 acres have been cleared, with numbered holes indicating preliminary stages of temporary and permanent construction.Ben finally found the Art Building, which was just a hole in the ground.He sat down under a nearby tree and waited for Mousse.
He didn't like hot weather, never had.Here, along the long-running Mississippi River, the climate is not as dry as in the desert, but a damp mist envelops his skin.He could feel in his pocket the Delinger he always carried, and from another pocket he produced a copy of Plenty Weekly.It didn't take long for everyone east of Kansas City to pick up the habit of reading Arthur S. Planty's biting political views and commentary on world affairs in Plenty. "President on furlough in Ohio as Supreme Court rejects citizenship rights for Puerto Rican people," read one subheading.Although these words are not rigorous enough, they have whetted the appetite of the readers of "Plenty".
Just as Ben was struggling to read an editorial about the assassination of King Herbert of Italy a year earlier, the tall Pinkerton detective came into view from among the trees. "You're late," Ben greeted him. "I'm starting to wonder if I'm in the wrong place."
Muse smiled. "Nice park, right? Your first time in St. Louis?"
"It's my first time. Where is the man we're looking for?"
"Well, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, my friend. He's gone."
"Leaving! After I've come all the way?"
"Listen, please. The man we're looking for, using the name William Kidd—"
"That's him! William Kidd—Billy the Kid!" Ben felt his heart beat faster.
Mousse smiled slowly. "Don't jump to conclusions. Remember, that's how you've been treated for nearly two decades. Unfortunately, the name is our best proof. William Kidd's Matched age, used to live out West, but that's about all I can tell you. Here in St. Louis, he's doing odd jobs and connected with some really interesting people."
"Like who?"
"He has a wife—or mistress—named Sadie who travels with him all the time. Before yesterday, they had an apartment in front of this park. He had a frequent affair with a woman named Emma Goldman. Governmentists approached, and this woman was famous. She was from Rochester, New York, and traveled all over the country, giving speeches along the way."
"If she's still here, can't we ask her where Kidd might go?"
"Oh, I know where he's going. He and Sadie bought train tickets to Buffalo."
"Buffalo!"
"Near Rochester, it might be some kind of anarchist gathering. On the other hand, it might be that Kidd just likes to go to fairs. The Pan-American Exposition is now being held in Buffalo, and a lot of St. Louis people go there, for 1904 Looking for ideas, you know."
"Can't we go there?" Ben asked. "I've come this far."
The Frenchman smiled. "I expected that. I've given my office over to someone else, and we can go to Buffalo."
Ben laughed, and together they walked out of the park. "Do you really think this is Billy, Cloud?" he asked, using the name the detective had used when they first met.
"Who knows, my friend? Maybe he's just a descendant of Captain Kidd..."
The Buffalo-bound train was crowded and hot, and not even a summer rainstorm en route made Ben feel any better.It's been over a year since I last rode a horse—maybe it's an improvement, but this new form of transportation doesn't excite Ben at all.For Ben, trains are more suitable for transporting animals than humans.As they headed northeast, Ben's distaste for this mode of transportation and the surrounding countryside grew.The chimneys and mills and streets were filled with carriages, crowds, and more crowds.Kansas City and even St. Louis looked lovely when they arrived here in the steel giants of Pittsburgh.
Buffalo is a smaller city, but the crowds are more intense here.There was talk of the fair everywhere.Tourists — Americans and Canadians alike — flock to this midsummer town. "I didn't see a buffalo," said Ben, though he didn't expect to see one at all.
Muse shrugged. "Used to be called Buffalo Creek. Named after an Indian or something."
"How do we find Kidd and the girl (Sadie) in a sea of people like this?"
He smiled slowly at Ben. "That's my job. Stay near the hotel and I'll be in touch with you in a day or two."
Ben didn't like the idea, but there was nothing else he could do.For the rest of the day, he just wandered the streets, corner newsboys busy selling the latest New York Times, Plenty Weekly, and local Buffalo papers.He visited a new lighted bar, bought a beer, and strolled back to the hotel.At six o'clock sharp, Mousse came to see him.
"It's easier than I thought," the detective told him. "Kidd's friend, Emma Goldman, gave a speech in Cleveland in May of this year, and she met a man named Leo Kozoros there. man."
"What the hell kind of name is that?"
"Poles. He's had some occasional contact with this group of anarchists. But what's important is that he's living now in West San Ricardo, just outside of Buffalo. He's renting a room in a small hotel here." , Kidd visited him this afternoon."
"Where does Kidd live?"
"Right in town, with Sadie. They rented a room at John Novak's Salon on Broadway. 1078 Broadway. He might be what you're looking for, but so far he's There was nothing suspicious about it. I followed him all the way back from West St. Ricardo, and he didn't see him."
"Thank you, Claude. I need this information." The Derlinger gun in Ben's pocket suddenly became heavy.After all these years, he was finally going to meet the man—William Kidd, William Bonney, Billy the Kid—whom he had never seen before.
"Don't get your hopes up, my friend," said Musser cautiously. "From what we know so far, the real Billy should be buried in a grave in New Mexico."
"I just want to talk to him. I'll be careful."
"He has companions. But I can tell you that Kozoros will be out of town. While I was spying on his residence, he received a telegram. I managed to get a copy of the telegram by a little bribery of the Western Union clerk. It was from From New York, signed by Asp. He instructed Kozoros to sail to Cleveland tonight and return Saturday."
"Asp? Are you sure you haven't read Nick Carter's book?"
The detective smiled, "The anarchists are a bunch of weirdos. They like this kind of cipher code, you chase me and run away. But it seems that something big is about to happen."
"Okay," Ben said, "it's Thursday. If Kidd's friend doesn't come back until Saturday, then I'll have enough time to meet him. Maybe next Monday, I can go back west."
"Monday is a holiday—Labor Day. We can stay until then and go around the fair."
"I haven't even heard of this festival! There are so many wonderful cities in the East."
"They even have laws against killing, my friend. It's so different from the laws in the West."
Ben chuckled lightly, but moved his hand to the pistol in his pocket again. "Don't worry. I can't let him die. If he's Billy, I want him alive and kick him into jail."
At about eight o'clock they parted in the hotel lobby.Ben came to the Broadway Hotel where Kidd stayed.But neither he nor the girl was in the room.That night, Ben waited three hours before finally giving up.He returned to his room, a little discouraged, wondering what Claude Mousse was up to in such a strange city far from home.
It's a warm Friday, and the scattered white clouds seem to gather into a real quilt.Mousse was still away, on some mysterious mission, so Ben was again at the hotel above Novak's salon.This time he was lucky.The hotel attendant raised tired eyes, glanced at a small room off the lobby, and pointed. "Of course. Mr. Kidd and his wife just went to the bar." Ben thanked him and walked in the direction.
William Kidd was a short man who looked younger than his forty-one years.But Billy always looked like a boy, which explains why the nickname stuck with him for so many years.Ben watched from his vantage point in the bar, and the more he watched, the more convinced he was that this man was the one, the man who could give him a peaceful life after years of fighting and violence.He was too interested in Kidd to pay any attention to the woman named Sadie.She was about ten years younger, with a once-beautiful but somewhat hard face.She was a western woman, further west than St. Louis.Ben had seen women of her type, in bars, even on the street.A woman from a mining camp, a woman from a military base—wherever there are men who spend money, there are women like that.
He was about to find an excuse to strike up a conversation with them, but saw Claude Musset standing at the door, searching for faces in the bar.Ben put down his beer and walked slowly over to him, "Looking for me?"
Moose nodded slightly. "I knew you'd be here. Talked to Kidd?"
"Not yet. I'm thinking of going."
"Be careful. We've got some big trouble. Big, and they're dangerous."
"What kind of dangerous law?"
Mousse didn't smile today. "I went to Kozoroz's hotel again. He paid for the room with a faulty revolver that he no longer needed. I think he still has one."
"What you're worried about is Ke Zorozi, and what I'm looking for is Kidd."
Mu Sai nodded, "See you at the hotel."
Ben returned to his seat and ordered another beer.When he turned his head to look at the table again, he was surprised to find that Kidd was no longer there.Sadie sat there alone, fingering her empty wine glass.Well, maybe he went to the bathroom.Ben decided this was an excellent time to attack.He picked up his glass and walked over to the table.
"Are you alone?" He knew that this kind of approach would neither surprise nor anger a woman like her.
"Forget it, sir."
"Just wanted to buy you something to drink."
"Go away!"
"The guy sitting next to you looks familiar."
"He's my husband. If he catches you flirting with me, he'll blow your head off."
"Then I'll take a chance." He pulled out an empty chair and sat down. "I know a man named William Kidd. Is that your husband?"
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, "How do you know him?"
"Acquainted in New Mexico, a long time ago."
"I never heard he was from New Mexico. Are you sure?"
Ben flinched a little, "Well, we'll ask him when he comes back. Where did he go?"
"You asked me," she said, shrugging her shoulders, "but he won't be back for a while."
Ben finally persuaded her to order another drink, and they sat for a while, talking awkwardly.Apparently Sadie met Kidd in Texas two years ago.They went to St. Louis, got married there, and settled for—what?Ben didn't ignore Sadie's careful refraining from talking about her husband's career.It was close to midnight, and it was obvious that Kidd would not come back, so she left and went back to the room with an excuse.Ben ordered another beer and went home alone.
There was a commotion on the street in front of the hotel—more and more nightlife people gathered, and the diameter of the crowd became larger and larger.As Ben pushed his way through, a woman in the center of the crowd let out a scream. "He's dead!" shouted another.Ben's heart beat faster, like he knew what was going on before he even looked.Collapsing in the gaslight, his face was neither contorted nor pained - if anything, it was more surprise.
Claude Musset, a detective, but also a friend, a man who should not have died.But it was him, the dagger pierced deeply into his chest. "I saw him stumbling around, and I thought he was drunk." Just a few minutes, five minutes, ten minutes earlier, Cloud might not have died. "Did someone call the police?" Ben turned around, feeling powerless and hopeless, as if this search, this search that spanned half the country, was just for such an ending.
Violence still follows him.Even here, among the Easterners, there is only death.And death is the same everywhere.
Ben didn't sleep that night, but sat by the window of his hotel room, gazing at the passers-by on the darkened street below.Roll a cigarette every now and then until there's only half an inch left.Luckily, hotel staff did not link him to Mousse, nor would he offer any leads to police.He is a stranger in this remote land, and he only knows the well-known "torture to extract confessions" and "temperature box torture" about the eastern police, and the rubber hose is applicable regardless of gender.He didn't want to mess with that kind of thing.And if anyone wants to avenge Mousse, then this responsibility belongs to him.It was he who had hired the Frenchman and taken him to Buffalo to track down a man who might have been dead for twenty years.
But Musser had mentioned some "big event," something apparently bigger than finding out that Billy the Kid was still alive.Ben was puzzled by this for a long time, trying to piece together what he had seen and heard.The detective's murderer, it seemed, could only have been one of three—Kidd, Sadie, or Kozoroz—for those were the only men he had been in contact with in Buffalo.These three people - and the mysterious name in the telegram, The Asp.But Ben himself and Sadie had been talking at the bar all night, and Kozoroz would have been in Cleveland that day.Only Kidd was left, and at this moment, Ben clearly remembered that he had followed Mousse out of the bar.Had he caught sight of the detective earlier in the week, followed him from the bar, hid in the shadows of the hotel in sight, and stabbed him?So what did Muser discover that brought about his death?
It was dawn when Ben finally lay down in bed.The gentle breeze of Lake Ellie blew into the room and he covered himself up and fell asleep. . . Saturday's papers were full of reports of the murder, though Musser's identity as Pinkerton's detective had yet to be identified. .I guessed that when the reporter heard the news, it would definitely trigger another wave of headlines.As it was getting late, he headed out to the Broadway Hotel, hoping vaguely that Kidd and Sadie had left, boarded a plane, and flew like autumn birds to unknown distances.But they are still registered, but they are not there at this time.Ben waited a while, then went back to his hotel.If they're still in town, obviously they're waiting for the murder to calm down.Maybe, if he was lucky, they didn't even notice that he and Mousse were talking at the bar.
On Sunday, his luck turned.It was September 1st, and the next day was Labor Day, the semi-holiday that Musser had mentioned.It was a hot afternoon, and the men in T-shirts watched helplessly as the bartender rolled kegs of beer into the dark, shady cellar.Ben was drinking a beer in the bar below the hotel when he saw Kidd enter the small lobby and greet a man.The man was slender, with a slightly hunched back, and a round and smooth face.He strolled casually to the door just in time to hear their conversation.
"Did you go last night, Leo?" Kidd asked.
"Yeah, I came back by boat." The man with dull eyes said.He must be Ke Zorozi. "How are things going?"
"Very well. We'll meet him tonight at ten."
Kozoros nodded, and they passed Ben and entered the bar.If Kidd had recognized him as Mousse's companion, he hadn't given it away.Ben waited for them to sit down with beers, and then walked outside to the sweaty hotel waiter, "See that little brown-haired man over there?"
"yes."
"Does he live here?"
"yes."
"What's his name?"
"anonymous."
"Are you joking?"
"Look, sir, you asked me for his name. He's registered as Anonymous, and that's all I can tell you. We never ask."
"Thank you," Ben said with a sigh, and turned to leave.what does this mean?Just a few days ago, Ke Zorozi registered with his real name with peace of mind.He suddenly became mysterious, is it related to Musai's killing?
He thought about it almost all night.At ten o'clock that night he stood in the shadow of the hotel on Broadway.They came out together, Kidd and Kozoroz, walked straight to a deserted street nearby.About half a block away from the hotel, they stopped at the mouth of a narrow alley, looked around, and walked in.Ben crossed the road, following them, his hand in his pocket lovingly clutching the cold metal casing of the Delinger.
The gas lamps in the block were far away, so he stepped into the alley, hiding in the shadows, feeling his way through the rough walls with his left hand.This alley led to the next street, and there was only a gas lamp at the mouth of the alley, so he could only see the outlines of the three people.Three people—Kidd and Kozoroz, and a third person who was even taller.They were talking in low tones, but something was passing between them—an envelope, probably, to Kidd, and then another to Kozoroz.Something in the tall man's hand, probably a diamond ring, flashes in the reflection, and then it's over.The tall man turned to look at a carriage waiting under the gas lamp.Ben took the gun out of his pocket, knowing in his heart that if he had to act, it would be now.
But what can he do?Shooting them in an alley for a murder they probably didn't know about?Maybe Mousse was the victim of a simple robbery.No, not yet.Ben cautiously backed out of the alley and slipped softly into a doorway beside him.After a while, Kidd and Kozoroz came into view and walked towards the hotel.
At this point, Ben's hunt really begins.He had tracked the Indians across the western plains in the army, and now he tracked the two through the streets of Buffalo.Early on Monday morning, he arrived at the hotel and waited outside for the first person to come out.It's Kidd, and he's just wandering around town aimlessly.But the next day, his luck turned for the better.He followed Kozoroz into a store on Main Street, where he stood a few paces away, watching as the little man bought an Alvin Johnson .32 revolver, hard The rubber grip of the gun is engraved with an owl's head on both sides.
There was a great deal of activity in town on Wednesday night, as the President was coming to the fair the next day.He missed the June trip due to his wife's illness, but now the city gave him a regal welcome, ending with a cannon salute that blazed through the night.Kidd and Kozoros stay in their room, but Ben finds Sadie sitting alone at the bar again.
"Hey, hello!" he said, and sat down without waiting for an invitation.
"Oh! It's you again?"
"Didn't you go to the station to meet the president?"
"I'm not going. I'm leaving that politics to my husband."
Ben gestured to the bartender and ordered two beers. "I still want to see him."
"He's always there. Him and his friends."
"Do they have jobs here?"
"Who knows? As long as I have money, I won't ask more." She picked up the beer and downed half a glass in one gulp, "Very good, I'm very thirsty."
"How long are you going to stay here? I still want to see your husband."
"He seemed to say he was leaving this weekend."
I didn't spend much time with her this time.It's not good for Kidd to find out that they are together, not yet.But soon, before this weekend, Ben will have to act.
On Thursday, Kozoroz, along with 50,000 people, visited the fair.At the meeting, President McGinley delivered a surprising speech that changed his view on reciprocal trade.Ben didn't pay much attention to the speech, but the place itself astounded him.Booths and exhibits are all over the place - with weird names like Temple of Music, Fountain of Wealth, and Garden of Lilies.Towards evening, the huge cream-colored lighthouse, more than 400 feet high, is lit by 35,000 bulbs.Most of the buildings have a stately style of Spanish ecclesiastical architecture, echoing the Pan-American theme.There are beautiful electric lights everywhere, and the electricity is supplied by Niagara Falls, fifteen miles away (how Ben can't understand).
Just as the lights came on one after another, Kozoroz left the exposition, strolled back to the city center, and sat alone in the park until ten o'clock.It was a gloomy night, warm and gloomy, but to Ben—the spy—a suffocating sense of impending doom.
With Kidd's time in the city dwindling Friday morning -- at least according to Sadie -- Ben knew he had to act.But, maybe today they will show their fox tails.He chuckled to himself, thinking that his indecision was a lot like a guy named Hamlet in a play he saw in Kansas City.
So he followed Kozoroz again.This morning, the slender man seemed to be acting on purpose.He bought a cigar at a bar and wandered the few blocks to an open sewer well.He stopped and dropped the stack of papers.He had breakfast at a side street restaurant and had his hair cut at a barber's.He boarded a streetcar bound for Nicaragua Falls, but quickly changed his mind and returned to downtown Buffalo.All the time he seemed to be preparing—for what?
This afternoon, just after two o'clock, he was at the Pan-American Exposition again, with Ben not far behind him.At this time, he lined up outside the temple of music, standing patiently under the statue of the composer's head who defied everything.Ben stood a little far away, watching, and asked a passing policeman, "What is this team doing?"
"Shake the President's hand. Four o'clock sharp. You'd better get a seat."
"Thank you." Ben frowned suspiciously, looked at the team, and rolled a cigarette.Kozoroz doesn't look like the kind of guy who stands in the hot sun waiting to shake the president's hand.Then, his eyes sweeping over the crowd, he caught sight of Kidd, strolling leisurely under the cool Fountain of Wealth.Both of them are here!
At exactly four o'clock, the high door of the Music Temple suddenly opened, and the presidential reception began.The line of waiting members of the public, sandwiched between two lines of police and soldiers, moved toward the president, who was wearing a long black tuxedo and white shirt.There were also men standing beside him, apparently from the secret police.Under the 180-foot dome, the temperature was so high that some people wiped their sweat with handkerchiefs.
Ben watched from the door.He stared at Kidd, who was relaxing under the heat, at Kozoroz, who took out a large handkerchief from his pocket, and at a man who was shaking hands with the president and wearing bandages.
Just then, he saw it.
Kozoroz didn't use the handkerchief to wipe his sweat—he held the handkerchief close to his body, as if his hands were also wrapped in bandages.But there was nothing wrong with Leo Kozoroz's hands at all!
no problem.Something is wrong.Everything is wrong!
At this time, Kozoroz lined up in front of President McGinley, and a security guard on the side urged him gently.Ben's hand reached into the pocket that held the Delinger.Just a few seconds.God, a few seconds... Kozoroz fired twice through the handkerchief.
McGinley shuddered, straightened up in surprise, and then fell backwards as the military police and security jumped on the assassin, pinning him to the ground.His handkerchief was ignited by gunpowder, and fists, feet and the butt of the gun beat him hard. "Don't be rough on him, kids!" McGinley yelled, blood pouring from his stomach, but still alive.
"I've done my job," he murmured.They pulled him away, still punching and kicking him non-stop.
Ben watched in disbelief, sending a chill down his spine.When he turned to look for Kidd, he found that he had left, lost in the rush of screaming and running people.What should we do now?Now that he knows what Claude Mousse knew before he died, what now...?
In the United States, no president dies silently.Although it took McGinley eight days to breathe his last breath, the shock had already swept across the country.Ke Zoroz admitted that he was an anarchist under torture, but he has always refused to confess to other people involved in the case.But the mere word anarchist is enough to set the country on fire.Manhunts stretched from New York to New Mexico, and in Wyoming a man sympathetic to Kozoroz was tarred, feathered, and tortured.In New York, when the police were still trying to get the truth out of Kozorozi, "Plenty Weekly" published a special project, and the words were like thunder: "A little-known anarchist used a price The four-dollar and fifty-cent pistol plunged the entire country into chaos. When President McKinley was hovering between life and death in the Buffalo residence, the eyes of the whole country were on Theodore Roosevelt. Young President."
After several days of questioning, Kozoroz admitted his connection to Emma Goldman but denied her involvement in the crime.A warrant was issued in St. Louis, but she fled the city before it could be executed, fearing a harsh police interrogation.Eventually, she turned herself in to Chicago police a few days later, but she was not treated much better.A policeman punched her in the face, and she must have understood that torture is the same in any city.Meanwhile, in Rochester, her father was excommunicated.
In Buffalo, Ben Snow read all the papers, listened to all the talk shows, and waited.William and Sadie didn't make it out of town in time.They were questioned and detained by the police for a few more days, but it seemed certain that they would be released soon, unless Kozoroz got overwhelmed and confessed everything.At first, the police were confident that others were involved in the assassination, but as September wore on and Kozoroz remained silent, Ben felt more and more that others might escape.He thought of the shadowed man in the alley, and the sparkling diamond ring, and wondered if they would meet again.
McGinley died on September fourteenth, and Theodore Roosevelt became president.Two days later, on a Monday, Buffalo police released Kidd and his wife because of insufficient evidence.Ben followed them back to the hotel, and as they packed their bags, a sense of impending doom grew in him.They were leaving, the police couldn't detain them, and neither could he.Even if he explained everything to the police, what would that prove?How could he link Mousse's killing to this assassination a week ago?With every tick of the clock, Kidd is getting away from it all, from Ben's life.
What if he was Billy the Kid?
There is only one thing, and only one way to know the answer.An event that had haunted Ben like a nightmare all these years.The reason they identified him as Billy was because he drew his gun fast.Twenty years ago, Billy was the fastest shooter in New Mexico.He must still be fast -- perhaps faster than Ben -- but that's one way to get to the answer.If instinct forced him to draw his gun and hit him in the shoulder or elbow, he might get the answers he needed.Even if Billy hadn't hanged for McGinley's assassination, there would have been twenty-one murders awaiting him in New Mexico.
本跟着他们穿过漆黑的街道，距离渐渐缩短，他只能看到一个提着手提箱的矮个子男人和一个提着帽箱的女人。他等待着，直到他们去往火车站的道路将他们领入一个偏僻的地带，在这里，不会有人来打扰即将发生的事情。他心中仍然存着怀疑、犹豫不定，但他意识到机不可失，时不再来。他必须行动了，否则克劳德·穆塞就白白送命了。
“比利！”他在距他们五十公尺远的地方大吼一声。
他们惊愕地转过身，在唯一的一盏煤气路灯那摇曳闪烁的光亮下，萨迪认出了他。“就是他！就是那个对我问这问那的家伙！”
靠近一些，要在德林格枪的射程范围内。靠近一些，但是不能太近……“我为了找你，跑遍了全国，比利。拔枪吧！”
“到底是什么？……”
“拔枪吧！”
……瞄准肩膀……或者手肘……迅速，他一掏出枪……一掏枪……本看到他拔出了，动作快得眼睛几乎看不清，利刃划破了他的衬衫，感到一阵割痛。德林格枪发出作为回应的一声怒吼，精准地——过于精准地——瞄准了它的目标。袭来的不是预料中的枪弹，取而代之的是一把匕首，这让他的大脑拒绝执行计划好的谨慎的一击，一生的积习表现出了自己的权威。基德踉跄几步，向前扑倒，一只手已经摸出了第二把匕首。
“你杀了他！”萨迪尖叫道，“他死了！”
本慢慢地走过去，抹去身侧的血迹和疼痛。“对不起。我只想打伤他，”他曾经多少次在心中讲过这几个字？枪手永远的悔恨。他把手伸入衣袋，掏出几张纸币，“拿着这个。离开这个城镇，萨迪……”
但她只是不停地在空无一人的街道上嘶喊尖叫，他惊诧地恍然意识到她真心爱着这个倒在她脚下的男人。他悲伤地转身，飞快地走开了——虽然他现在想起了插在克劳德·穆塞胸前的那把匕首，但也于事无补了。基德，不管他是谁，已经偿还了他的罪行，不管是什么样的罪行。
离开了那里，离开了那个尖叫的女人和死去的男人，他气喘吁吁地停下脚步，整理思绪。还有一个人可以告诉他他想知道的，一个可能知道威廉姆·基德真实身份的人。那个小巷中的男人……《丰足周刊》的编辑部占据了曼哈顿下区一栋细高大楼的整个九层。对于本来说，纽约的一切都是那么令人难以置信，所以他干脆置之不理。他来这个城市的目的只有一个。他乘上装饰华丽，开放的栅栏式电梯，等了很长一段时间，终于与那个传说中的人物面对面了。
阿瑟·普兰提靠在他那超大的椅子背上，冲着桌子上的一罐啤酒做了个手势。“请自便，好心的先生。如果没有啤酒，没有人可以熬过纽约的夏天——丰足的啤酒，你可以这样说！哈，哈，哈！”
“谢谢你。”本轻声说道。
“请你再说一遍你来访的目的？忙碌，你知道。做周刊可是件辛苦活儿。哈！”
“我读了你写的关于麦克金利被刺的特辑。”
“可怕的事情，可怕！我只祈祷这个罗斯福可以令这个国家重整旗鼓。”他为自己倒了一杯啤酒，擦去满是横肉的脸上的汗水。
本·斯诺挤出一个笑容，“你的关心令我感到很惊讶，因为你以前常常批评麦克金利。你甚至几周前写出了一篇关于暗杀的文章……”
“是的，没错。惊人的巧合。”
“惊人。你知道，我在布法罗也算是柯佐罗滋的一个熟人。”
这个健壮男人的举止突然有了些微妙的改变。 "You know him?"
“他还有其他一些人。威廉姆·基德和一个叫萨迪的女人……”
“好吧，柯佐罗滋的审判很快，但是很公正。现在已经结束了。”
本点点头，面无笑意。他想抽烟，但是他得让两只手都空着。“十月底，柯佐罗滋就会被处决。但很遗憾，只有他独上刑场。雇他行刺麦克金利的人仍然逍遥法外。”
“你一定弄错了，斯诺先生。没有人雇用柯佐罗滋。天晓得布法罗警方有多么努力地试图套出其他人，但是他们几乎毫无收获。”
“只是他们没有找对地方，普兰提先生。他们没有查找，比如说，百老汇的小巷，在那儿柯佐罗滋和基德收了行刺的报酬。十点整，行刺前的那个星期日的晚上。”
“你应该为我写小说，斯诺先生。”普兰提的手伸向啤酒罐，但这次倒酒的时候有些颤抖。
“不是小说，是事实。我亲眼所见。我看到一个高大的男人，手指上戴着一枚戒指，很像你手上的那枚，普兰提先生。”
“你是什么人，先生？你找我有何贵干？”此时，啤酒已经被遗忘了，他脑袋后面，午后微风突起，掀起了窗帘。
“我已经告诉你我的名字了。普兰提先生。我的职业可以算做判官。上个星期，我已经对你的朋友基德做出了审判。”
"Kidd!"
“我杀了他。”
“我不认识什么基德。”
“我想你认识。我想是你雇用他们两个去刺杀总统的。我想你就是国内无政府主义者的领导人物，普兰提先生。”
“你对我做出的这种指控，我可以让警察逮捕你。毫无证据支持的指控。”他拉开桌子的抽屉，伸手进去。
“杀死基德的枪正对着你的大肚子，以防你打什么主意。”
他拿出一盒雪茄，这个无害的举止好像使他松弛的肌肉得到了放松。“没有念头，斯诺先生。只是雪茄——无毒，无爆。我可不是个暴徒。”
“你刚才说到证据。我想除了我的亲眼所见，我有些证据。你太心急地出版了关于暗杀的特辑，在你的社论中，你说漏了嘴。你提到柯佐罗滋花了四美元五十美分买了手枪。”
“我想其他报刊也提到了这个事实。”
“但那时候还没有——这就是重点。你的社论刊登出来时，柯佐罗滋还没有开口招认。我知道那把手枪的价格，是因为他买的时候我就站在他旁边。但是你是怎么知道的呢，普兰提先生？这证明了你不仅在我看到你们在一起的那晚和他们有所接触，那个星期晚些时候你也联系过他——枪的话题就是你们那时讨论的。”
“是我的记者把这些东西带回来给我！”他吼着，捶着书桌，“有人告诉我这把枪值四美元五十美分！”
“然后还有电报的事。我的一个朋友，一位侦探，看到一封署名为The Asp的人发来的电报，在暗杀前一个星期给柯佐罗滋下达指示。很遗憾，我的这位朋友作为一名侦探太够格了。他不可能真的看到The Asp这几个字母，因为在电报中the甚少使用。我就没见过用的，但是我也知道这些字母都是大写的。所以，我朋友真正看到的不是The Asp，而只是简单的三个大写字母ASP，打印在一起。ASP就是阿瑟·S.普兰提的缩写。”
“这就是你所谓的证据？”
“仅凭比这少得多的证据，有些林肯案的同谋者照样被吊死了。”
这话戳到了他的软肋，他不再大呼小叫了。他只是坐在那儿，隔着桌子望着本，“好吧，你要多少？”
“只要正义，普兰提先生。就这个，这也是我的国家！”
“麦克金利一无是处。如果有人该死的话，就是他了。”
“我无权评断这个。你也无权，”他停顿一下，然后问出了那个重要的问题，“但是告诉我一件事。这个男人基德——他到底是谁？”
“我不知道——一个流浪汉，艾玛·戈德曼在圣路易斯选的人，”他手一挥，敷衍了事，“她在克利夫兰找到了柯佐罗滋。”
“她也参与了这次暗杀吗？”
他摆摆大手掌，“没有。我派柯佐罗滋去克利夫兰招募更多人手，但是他却空手而归。只有他和基德两人。他把其他无政府主义者的名字列了出来，但是我让他销毁掉了，免得警察在他的房间里搜到。”
“好吧，”本说，又是死路一条。威廉姆·基德的身份被深深埋葬了。
“你要钱吗？”
"don't want."
“你打算怎么做——告诉警察？”
本望着他，怜悯和反感在心中交织在一起。“我不知道。我还没想好。我想我得好好考虑一下，”他准备离开，“再见，普兰提先生。”
他走出编辑部，等待坐慢速电梯下楼，对于他应该怎么做，他不知所措。也许写封匿名信寄给警方……在入口处，本发现他的出路被慢慢聚集的人群堵住了，兴奋的人群。一个女人发出尖叫，还有一个好像昏了过去。他拨开人群，走到中央，就好像那晚他在布法罗旅馆门前做的那样。但是这次不是胸口插着匕首的克劳德·穆塞。
“他跳下来的！我看见他跳的！”
“天啊，一团乱。有人认识他吗？”
“是普兰提，杂志发行人。他每天中午都在我的餐馆吃饭。”
本走开了，觉得恶心。他猜想，这也是一种公正，却不是他所期望的。当然，一个觉得他有权夺走美国总统性命的人，被形势所逼，也会毫不犹豫地结束自己的生命。现在不用给警方写信了。柯佐罗滋独自为他的罪行偿了命，没有人会被欺骗。
也许除了历史书以外……
Notes:
Notes: