“You’re—”
“Take your hand out of your pocket.”
His eyes moved from mine to look past my head, a flash of triumph burning in them.
I beat him to the first shot by a hairline, since he had wasted time waiting for me to fall for that ancient trick.
His bullet cut my neck.
Mine took him where his undershirt was tight over his fat chest.
He fell, tugging at his pocket, trying to get the gun out for another shot.
I could have jumped him, but he was going to die anyhow. That first bullet had got his lungs. I put another into him.
The hall filled with people.
“Get the doctor!” I called to them.
But Bardell didn’t need him. He was dead before I had the words out of my mouth.
Chick Orr came through the crowd, into the room.
I stood up, sticking my gun back in its holster.
“I’ve got nothing on you, Chick, yet,” I said slowly. “You know better than I do whether there is anything to get or not. If I were you, I’d drift out of Corkscrew without wasting too much time packing up.”
The ex-pug squinted his eyes at me, rubbed his chin, and made a clucking sound in his mouth.
His gold teeth showed in a grin.