Fargo hurried over to the bed and jerked the sheet down.
“Holy shit!” he said, looking down at the body of the man he had just killed.
It wasn’t Ponci.
“Who is this?” he demanded.
By now, Suzie had recognized Fargo, and her screams stopped.
“Fargo, what the hell has gotten into you? What are you doing?” she shouted at him, hitting him angrily. “Why did you come in here shooting like that?”
“Stop it! Stop hitting me!” Fargo replied, covering up from her blows. He pushed her away, then using his still- smoking pistol, pointed it at the body of the man he had just shot.
“I thought that was Ponci.”
By now several dogs were barking outside.
“That’s it? You thought it was Ponci, so you came in here shooting?”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry? You break into my crib, kill the man who is in my bed, scare me to death, and all you can say is you are sorry?”
“I told you, I thought it was Ponci. Where is Ponci anyway?” Fargo asked.
The dogs continued to bark, and now, from a nearby house, a baby added its crying to the noise.
“Why are you asking me where Ponci is? How the hell am I supposed to know?” she asked. “I haven’t seen Ponci in nearly a year. I thought he was with you.”
“No, Ponci isn’t with me,” Fargo said angrily. “If he was with me, I would have already killed the son of a bitch, instead of coming here to do it.”
“Yeah? Well, you didn’t do it. You killed poor Mr. Thompson.”
“Who is Mr. Thompson?”
“
“One of the Mex whores down at the cantina told me the man you were with has a limp. Does this man have a limp?”
“He doesn’t have anything now, you ignorant bastard,” Suzie said. “You just killed him.”
“All right, before I killed him, did he have a limp?” Fargo asked.
“Yes, he did have a limp. One of his legs was deformed.”
“Yeah, well, then you can see that it was an honest mistake. She said he had a limp, so I thought it was Ponci.”
“What are you talking about? Ponci doesn’t have a limp.”
“He does now.”
“What was that shooting?” a man’s voice called from outside.
“I don’t know, it come from down that way,” a muffled voice answered. “And I think I heard a woman scream.”
“Listen, you’d better get out of here,” Suzie said, shoving him toward the door. “And if I were you, I would leave town.”
“How are you going to handle this?” Fargo asked.
“What are you going to tell the sheriff when he finds a dead man in your bed?”
Suzie sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll just tell him what happened, that someone broke in here and shot him.”
Fargo’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell him who did it. I’ll just say I don’t know who it was.”
“What if they blame you?” Fargo asked.
“They aren’t going to blame me,” Suzie replied. “As soon as you are out of here, I’m going to start screaming bloody murder. And anyway, do you really give a shit if I get blamed for this?”
Fargo shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t give a shit.”
“I didn’t think you would. Now, get the hell out of here.”
Fargo left the house, then ran back up between the two buildings.
“Hurry, there’s some people comin’,” Casey said, handing the reins back to Fargo. “I can see ’em comin’ this way from the other end of the street.”
“Did you get the money?” Monroe asked.
“No,” Fargo answered, swinging into the saddle.
“What the hell, you killed the son of a bitch and you didn’t even get the money?”
