The Assassin (Isaac Bell 8)
Page 39
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“Ah don’t envy Humble’s sheriff,” drawled Texas Walt Hatfield.
Texas Walt and Archie Abbott and Isaac Bell were wolfing down the Toppling Derrick’s blue plate special breakfast of fried fatback and eggs.
“Ah mean every time the man turns around, someone’s shot, and whoever does the shooting gets clean away. Dumb luck last night, only one dead with all that lead flying, and thankfully none of the ladies. Good luck for you, though, Isaac.”
“Look out!”
A flicker of motion in the corner of Isaac Bell’s eye exploded into a rock shattering the window. Bell shoved Archie. The rock missed Abbott’s aristocratic nose by a half inch and broke the coffee cup Texas Walt was lifting to his lips.
The drunk who had thrown the rock—a middle-aged, unshaven cowhand in tattered shirt and bibless overalls, and one boot peeling off its sole—stood swaying in the middle of Main Street. His truculent expression froze in astonishment when three tall Van Dorn detectives boiled out the swinging doors with guns drawn. Isaac Bell covered the sidewalk to their left with his automatic pistol. Archie Abbott guarded their right with a city slicker’s snub-nosed revolver in one hand and a blackjack in the other.
Texas Walt stalked into the street and leveled two long-barrel Smith & Wessons at the rock thrower’s face. His voice was cold, his eyes colder. “You want to explain why you ruined my breakfast?”
The drunk trembled. “Looks like I bit off more than I can chew.”
“What in Sam Hill are you talking about?”
“Did you read the note?”
“Note? What note?”
“This note,” said Isaac Bell, who had picked up the rock on his way out the door. He sl
id a throwing knife from his boot, cut the twine that tied a sheet of paper around the rock, spread the paper, and read it.
“Who gave you this?”
“Feller with five bucks.”
“What did he look like?”
“Big.”
“Beard? Mustache?”
“Nope.”
“What color hair?”
“Yeller.”
Texas Walt interrupted to ask, “Do you want me to shoot him, Isaac?”
“Hold on a minute. When did the fellow give this note?”
“Couple of hours ago. I guess.”
“Why’d you wait to throw it?”
“Thought I’d have a snort first.”
“Got any money left?”
“Nope.”
“Here. Get yourself something to eat.” Bell shoved a gold piece in his dirty palm and went back to breakfast. Archie and Walt followed.