The Wrong Gun

substitution and remove the other gun from the case before they act.”

“Yes, but who?” Steve said. “Who could have done such a thing, and why would they want to?”

Timberlaine scowled and looked at his watch. “I don’t have time to get into that now,” he said irritably. “I have a business appointment to get to. I’m noted for my punctuality. If I’m late, people will be surprised and want to know why. I happen to be a rather poor liar. I don’t want to have to answer any questions.

“Now, I need the bullet compared and I need the gun back by tonight. The question is, can you do it?”

Steve glanced over at Tracy Garvin, who had been sitting there hanging on every word. If he said no, he’d have a mutiny on his hands.

“Of course I can do it,” Steve said. “The question is, how sincere are you about wanting it done?”

Timberlaine frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

Steve smiled. “Make me out a check for ten thousand dollars.”

3

Mark Taylor flopped his two-hundred-twenty pounds in the overstuffed clients’ chair, ran his hand through his curly red hair and said, “Shoot.”

Steve Winslow picked up the gun from his desk. “Interesting choice of words, Mark.”

“Good lord,” Taylor said. “What’s that?”

Steve handed the gun to Tracy to give to him. “Here. Take a look.”

Taylor took the gun, turned it over in his hands. “This goes back a few years,” he said. “Colt.45, right?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

Taylor grinned. “Actually, I’m guessing. Colt’s a pretty common gun. A revolver this vintage’s apt to be a Colt. Forty-five’s a common caliber, the barrel opening looks right for it.”

Steve nodded. “Very good, Mark. What else can you tell me about it?”

Taylor looked at the gun again. “Not that much. What’s this R carved in the handle?”

“That’s to indicate the gun was once owned by the notorious gunslinger, Pistol Pete Robbins.”

Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“That’s right, Mark.”

Taylor looked sideways at Tracy Garvin. “Is he shitting me?”

“Not at all, Mark. Tell him how he died, Steve.”

“How who died?” Taylor said.

“Pistol Pete,” Steve said. “The notorious gunslinger who shot down five men in his lifetime, and don’t you want to know how he died?”

Mark Taylor looked back and forth from Tracy to Steve. “I’m afraid to ask.”

Steve grinned. “You tell him, Tracy.”

“O.K.,” Tracy said. “Well, Mark, it seems the gentleman in question was gunned down by his boyhood companion, Sheriff Montana Pride.”

“What?”

“That’s right.”

“Sheriff Montana Pride?”

“You got it.”

“I don’t think I wanna know what he was named for.”

Steve grinned. “Pride is the family name, Mark. It’s the Montana that’s suspect.”

“This whole story’s suspect. Tracy said you had a case. You just havin’ fun with me, or is there a point to all this?”

“A little of both, Mark.” Steve took out the cigar tube with the bullet, had Tracy pass it over. “What do you make of that?”

Taylor took it, looked at it. Nodded. “Ah,” he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere. This is obviously a forty- five-caliber bullet. I assume you’d like me to prove it came from this gun.”

“No, I’d like you to prove that it didn’t.”

“What?”

Steve gave Mark Taylor a rundown of his meeting with Russ Timberlaine.

“Well, what do you think?” Steve said.

Taylor shrugged. “It’s a tough call. The guy’s either paranoid or he’s right. Just who does he think stole this gun, by the way?”

“He didn’t say.”

“No?”

“No. When I asked, he looked at his watch and remembered an important business engagement.”

“Uh-oh,” Taylor said. “That’s a bad sign.”

“Yes, it is.”

“On the other hand, if he gave you a retainer, who gives a shit? You want me to check out the gun?”

“Yes, I do. And I want it done by five o’clock this afternoon.”

“Oh?”

“That’s when he’ll be back in my office to pick it up. The gun has to be returned to its proper place so no one will notice he’s discovered the substitution.”

“Why does he care?”

“I don’t know, Mark. As I say, the gentleman had to run. So we have an interesting situation here. A client’s asked me to do something, he hasn’t told me the whole story, so basically we’re working in the dark.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So I want to protect myself. You say a Colt.45’s a pretty common gun, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I want you to find a dealer who has one that matches the one you have there. I want you to buy it, fire test bullets through it, file the serial number off it, carve an R in the handle and have it in my office by five o’clock this afternoon.”

Mark Taylor’s jaw dropped open. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all, Mark. I said I wanted to protect myself.”

“Great, but what about me? Filing a serial number off a gun happens to be a criminal offense.”

“I’m sure there’s a matter of intent involved.”

“Right. Your intent is not to commit a felony. Your intent is only to deceive and defraud your own client.” Taylor held up his hands. “You explain it to the cops. I am not filing any serial number off any gun.”

“Fine,” Steve said. “Forget the serial number. Just get the gun and fire the test bullets through it. You have no problem with that, do you?”

“Not at all. I have every right to own a gun.” Taylor held up the forty-five. “Does that mean you don’t want this one tested?”

“Not at all. Test them both. And you and the ballistics expert are very careful with the bullets. You get ’em labeled and you keep ’em straight.”

“How do you want ’em labeled?”

“Same as this one. Put ’em in a glass tube and label the tube.”

“This tube’s not labeled.”

“I know. Label it RT-ORIG for Russ Timberlaine original.” Steve pointed to the gun Taylor was holding. “Label the bullets from that RT-SUB for substitute. I want two bullets from the gun in separate tubes-RT-SUB and RT- SUB-2. Same thing with the gun you buy. A bullet in a separate tube, labeled SW.”

“For Steve Winslow?”

“Of course. Can you do that?”

“No problem,” Taylor said. “As long as there’s no serial number filing.”

“Don’t sweat it, Mark. If it’s illegal, I wouldn’t ask you to do it.”