To the delight of the clerk he left, and once out-side he hailed a cab and told the unhappy driver to take him to the New Orleans House.
If he hadn’t been so damned puzzled—and tired—he might have figured it out.
When he opened the door to his room, the first thing he saw was Rebecca on his bed, naked. When she saw him, she rose to her knees and preened for him, thrusting out her beautiful breasts and sucking in her already flat stomach. She was a vision, and he froze…long enough for Brian to step out from behind the door and put the barrel of his gun in Decker’s ear.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist a pretty…face.”
Across the room Rebecca was already off the bed and dressing, her face crimson.
“The money Decker,” Brian said. He took the satchel from Decker’s hand and tossed it on the bed. Rebecca turned and opened it. Meanwhile, Brian took Decker’s gun from his holster.
“I knew I could count on you, Decker.”
“You killed your own brother, didn’t you, Brent?” Decker asked. “I told him, I warned him that you would.”
“Shut up.”
“He found you on that island, where he went to talk to you, and you killed him.”
“He wanted the money, all of it, he said. He walked in there like he thought he could still control me. Well, I showed him who was in control.”
Rebecca had some of the money on the bed, pawing through it, and now she looked up, puzzled, as if parts of their conversation had gotten through to her, but not all of it.
“What?” she said.
“Your husband is not your husband, Mrs. Foxx,” Decker said “He’s your brother-in-law.”
“No, it can’t be…” she said, letting it trail off.
“Oh, I have a hunch that it is,” Decker replied.
“You’re saying that this is…Brent?” she said. “The man who killed my brother?”
“Brian went into the bayou, Rebecca, but Brent came out. You mean you haven’t noticed anything different about him since then?” Decker didn’t wait for her reply.
“Why did you let her send for me, Brent?” Decker asked.
“She insisted, and I didn’t want to resist too much. Apparently Brian really didn’t want to kill me. He thought he could talk me out of the money, the fool. I came out of the bayou and told her that’Brent’ wouldn’t give me the money. I was going to sneak back in eventually and get it, but she insisted on sending for you, so I figured I’d let you bring the money out, then I’d take the two of you back and leave you with my brother. It would look like you had finally tracked him down and everyone had died in a shoot-out.” He looked at Rebecca, who was just staring at him, and said, “Come on, put the money back in the bag, sweetheart.” Then to Decker he said, “Besides, I owe you, Decker, don’t I?”
“But…” she said, staring at him with loathing, “we made love…”
“And you were pretty good, too. Given time, I could have taught you a few things, but we don’t have any more time. Put the money back in the bag and close it. We’re all going for a little ride.”
“To the bayou?” Decker asked.
“How did you guess?”
Rebecca picked up some of the money and thrust it into the bag, then picked up another pack and did the same. Decker watched her carefully, and this time her hand didn’t come right out.
“Come on, come on, get it done!” Brent snapped.
And she did.
Her hand came out with the little “something extra” that had been in there, a. 32-caliber revolver. She fired at the same time that he did, and Decker moved, throwing himself to the floor. He rolled and, groping, found his sawed-off.
He turned as Brent, bleeding from a wound on his left shoulder, pointed his gun at him.
Decker pulled both triggers and smeared Brent Foxx all over the walls.
Epilogue
The following day, after having settled everything with the New Orleans police, Decker packed his saddlebags. Both Brian and Brent were dead, and so was Rebecca. All the Foxxes were dead.
He put thirty thousand in one saddlebag and thirty in the other. Luckily the packs were still marked with the names and locations of the banks, so it would be easy to return the money. It never occurred to him to keep it. He made his living on bounties and rewards, and he was sure that the banks would offer him ten percent of what he returned.
That meant about six thousand dollars, along with the twenty-five hundred on Brent’s head.
He wondered if there was any paper out on Brian and Rebecca yet.
HIGH PRAISE FOR
ROBERT J. RANDISI!
“Randisi always turns out a traditional Western with plenty of gunplay and interesting characters.”
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“Each of Randisi’s novels is better than its entertaining predecessor.”
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“Everybody seems to be looking for the next Louis L’Amour. Tome, they need look no further than Randisi.”
—Jake Foster, Author of
“Randisi knows his stuff and brings it to life.”
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“Randisi has a definite ability to construct a believable plot around his characters.”
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