Potshot

I heard Luther Barnes inhale as though his patience was being tried. He was a young-looking guy with gray hair, and thick eyebrows. His face was one of those pale English-ancestry faces that would never tan. The closest he had gotten was a mild sunburn.

"Could we get to it, Roscoe," he said.

Very businesslike. He'd been to law school, and he wasn't a man to waste time chitchatting.

"Oh throttle it back, Luther," the mayor said. "No reason not to talk a little before you make someone an offer."

Barnes nodded and tightened his mouth and looked at Henry Brown and rolled his eyes.

"The thing is," Brown said, "after what we've seen of you in action, we think you might be able to help us solve a problem."

I waited.

"This is an affluent town, and we have access to a considerable amount of money."

"Isn't that nice," I said.

"It might be nice for you," Brown said. "You know who those people were that you tangled with today."

"I know The Preacher," I said.

"So you know about the Dell?"

"Yes."

"Those men were from the Dell."

"I sort of intuited that," I said. "Years of training."

Brown shifted gears a little.

"You're here looking into Steve Buckman's death."

I smiled helpfully.

"The prevailing theory is that he was killed by the Dell," Brown said. "Because he refused to pay them off."

"I've heard that," I said.

"The Dell is a cancer on this town."

"I've heard that, too."

"They intimidate our police. They extort money from our businesses. They frighten the citizens. They come in here, everywhere, and run up a bill and leave without paying. Their presence is destroying our businesses, which depend largely on people coming here for the desert air. Our real estate values are nonexistent. We have complained to the police. They are either afraid or corrupt. I would guess both. In any case, they do nothing. The Sheriff's Department has sent investigators, but witnesses are intimidated, and no one can make a case. And frankly, I'm not sure we are the sheriff's top priority. Many natives look at us as a bunch of yuppie intruders."

"Incredible," I said.

"You're not too talkative, are you," Luther Barnes said.

"I'm a good listener," I said. "And a very good dancer, too."

Barnes frowned.

"Well when you do talk," he said, "must you be a wiseacre?"

"I fight it all the time," I said. "Was there something you wanted me to do for you?"

"We'd like you to rid us of the Dell," Barnes said.

"You mind if I freshen up a bit first?" I said.

"Damn it, this is serious," Barnes said.

"I'll say."

"We don't expect you to do it alone. We are prepared to provide funds for you to hire a band of mercenaries, as many as you need, to clean out the Dell."

"And we sneak in there some night and napalm the place?" I said.

"You do whatever you must," Barnes said.

The rest of the group nodded. The mayor liked the sound of it.

"Whatever you must," the mayor said.

I sat back and looked at my hands resting on the table top. The left one was swollen. If I could get into my room without being sexually assaulted, I could ice it.

"I might be able to help you," I said. "But there are conditions."

"We will not quibble with you over price," Barnes said.

Everyone nodded.

"I'm sure you won't. But be clear about one thing. I am not an assassin. If I sign on for this, I can hire some people, and we can come out here and see what we can do. But it won't include murdering anybody."

"Well how…?" Brown said.

"I don't know. My first priority is to find out who killed Steve Buckman. That would not seem to exclude your goal, but you are second on the list. And if we come, you don't get to change your mind in the middle of it and call everything off."

None of them seemed quite sure what to say about that.

"What would it take to make us number one on your list?" Barnes said.

"Nothing."

"If it's a matter of money," Brown said.

"It's not."

"Well," the mayor said, "you'd consult with us."

"Maybe," I said.

"You don't give much, do you," the mayor said.

"Not much," I said.

"Will you do it?" Barnes said.

"If the price is right," I said.

"We'll make it right," Henry Brown said.

I looked at J. George, one of my oldest friends in Potshot, who had sat subserviently through the whole discussion without saying a word.

"What do you think, George?"

He smiled as if he'd just accidentally sold a house for cash.

"It'll be great," he said. "Just great."

Chapter 13

I WENT INTO my hotel room very carefully, but Bebe hadn't returned. Maybe romance was dead. My hands were swollen from yesterday's fight. I iced them for awhile, then in the early evening, I went back out to visit Lou Buckman.

Buckman Outfitters was closed. There was a sign on the front door that read I'M AT THE STABLE. The sign was correct. When I drove over there, she was in the corral, washing one of the horses with a hose. I got out of the rental car. Being tough as nails, I did not stagger when I hit the heat.

"Hello," I said.

The horse's lead was tied to a fencepost. He stood placidly, his dark brown coat gleaming, while the water sluiced over him. When I spoke he raised his head and looked at me with thoughtful dark eyes, and then let his head drop again.

"Hi," Lou said.

I sat on the top rail of the fence. I didn't look right. I needed a big hat.

"I talked to The Preacher," I said.

"And punched out two of his men."

"Before that," I said. "I went up to the Dell and talked with him."

"To the Dell?"

"Yep. Preacher says he didn't kill your husband."

"Of course he didn't. He had it done."

"Says he didn't have it done, either," I said.

"Well of course he'd say that."

"I think if he'd done it, or had it done, he'd have let me know," I said.

Lou was scornful.

"Because he's so truthful?"

"Because he's so full of himself. He'd want me to know he could do whatever he pleased and get away with it."

"You know him so well, already?"

"I know people like him," I said. "They'd be inclined to let me know they'd done it and challenge me to do anything about it."

"Well, thank God I don't know anyone like that, and I don't believe it for a minute. Steve stood up to them. First they threatened. Steve wouldn't back down. And they killed him."

"We'll see," I said.

"Well who the hell else would it be," she said.

I shrugged. Lou turned the chestnut horse loose and got another one, a darker chestnut. She hooked the shank to the fence rail and sponged him down with soapy water from a bucket.

"Have they frightened you off?" she said. "Or paid you?"

"If they're paying me," I said, "I just recently bit the hand that feeds me."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"I agree."