started to move away but Decker said, “Uh-uh, sweetheart. Stay right there.”
She stiffened, then stood still.
“On the bar, Carl. Easy, so we don’t start any trouble.”
“You’re the one looking for trouble, mister.”
“No, I’m looking for Joe Rigger. I’m a friend of his.”
“Sure…” the bartender said, gingerly lifting his shotgun up onto the bar.
“Break it and unload it.”
The bartender opened the shotgun and slid the shells out, holding them in one hand.
“Put the shells in my shirt pocket.”
The bartender did so, jamming them in forcefully. Decker let the man have his little moment of triumph.
“What makes you think I don’t have more shells back here?” the bartender asked.
“Oh, I know you do. But by the time you can get them loaded, you’ll be dead. Now, look into my eyes and tell me I’m lying.”
The bartender tried to match Decker’s stare but finally looked away.
“Yeah, you know I’m not lying,” Decker said. “Now, both of you stay right where you are until I’m upstairs.”
“You can’t—” the bartender started, but he stopped when Decker cocked his gun.
“You do what I tell you, bartender, you hear?”
“I hear.”
Decker eased the hammer back down and slid the gun into his holster.
“You understand, darlin’?” he asked the girl.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I understand.”
“You’re gonna get yourself killed, my friend,” the bartender said.
“Well now, that’s my problem, isn’t it?”
“You bet,” the bartender said. “You bet it is. Go on up, go ahead. You won’t ever come down again.”
Decker smiled and said, “You wish.”
Backing away from the bar, he moved toward the stairs. He didn’t turn until he felt them behind him. Even then he kept an eye on the bartender over his shoulder. If the man went for his gun, he’d have to do something. Maybe he should have taken the shotgun with him, he thought, but he didn’t expect the bartender had the guts to make the move.
He was right.
Upstairs he saw that there had once been several doors in the hallways, but all except one had been boarded up. The upstairs had probably been converted to one big apartment for Rigger.
He went to the single door and kicked it in.
Rigger sat straight up on his bed and lunged for the gun on the headboard. At the same time he pushed the woman who was with him off of him. She fell to the floor, naked, in a tangle of bedsheets.
“Don’t!” Decker snapped. “Don’t do it, Joe.”
Rigger frowned for a moment, then said, “Decker!” in disbelief.
“Hello, Joe,” Decker said. “Jeez, you look like shit.”
“Put the gun up, Deck,” Joe Rigger said. “What’s the big idea?”
“Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten your promise of three years ago.”
“Promise?” Rigger said, frowning. He was still upright in bed, stark naked, and the woman on the floor was gathering all the bedclothes around her—but not quickly enough to keep Decker from seeing all she had to show.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Decker stated simply.
Rigger thought a moment, then said, “Oh, that!” and smiled for the first time. “You don’t mean to say that you think I’m still angry over that. Come on, Deck. Put up the gun and we’ll have a drink and talk about old times.”
“Not until I have your gun, Joe.”
Rigger frowned. “You’re serious?” he asked.
“Dead serious.”
Rigger, whose face always held a deceptively placid look, even just before he killed, shrugged and said, “Well, all right, then.”
He started to reach for the gun and Decker said, “Not you, Joe! The woman.”
Rigger looked at Decker and said, “What is it, Deck? I know you’re not afraid of me.”
“I have a healthy respect for you, Joe. I always have. I know what you can do with a gun.”
Rigger withdrew his hand and said, “All right. Felicia, give the man my gun.”
The woman on the floor—a busty brunette in her late twenties—said, “Joe, I ain’t got any clothes on.”
“Come on now, Felicia, don’t be shy,” Joe Rigger said. “Decker’s an old friend of mine.”
“A friend?” she said in disbelief.
“Sure, from way back. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t already see all there is to see. Come on, sweet. Give the man my gun.”
The girl stared at Rigger, then at Decker, then shrugged and stood up, dropping the bedclothes. Her breasts were full and her nipples dark. Her slim waist contrasted with her rounded hips. She moved slowly, almost seductively, around the bed, as if enjoying the fact that both men’s eyes were on her.
Or was that what Rigger had in mind?
As she started to slide the gun from the holster Decker said, “Bring the whole thing.”
Obeying, she slid the holster from the bedpost and turned to him with it. Had he allowed her to approach him, with his eyes firmly fixed on her body, Rigger could easily have leaped from the bed onto him.
“Put it on that table over there,” Decker ordered, pointing away from himself.
She paused, then nodded and obeyed, walking away from him, but not so far that he couldn’t keep his eyes on both her and Rigger.
“Now you can leave,” Decker told her.
She looked at Rigger, who nodded and said, “Go ahead, Felicia.”
“Like this?” she demanded, horrified at the prospect.
Decker allowed her to dress, and then she moved quickly to the door.
“Do you want her to bring reinforcements, Joe?” Decker asked as she paused with her hand on the knob.
“Yes,” Rigger said, then smiled and added, “a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.” He looked directly at the woman and said, “And that’s all, Felicia.”
She nodded and left.
“Can I get dressed now?” Rigger asked.
“Sure, Joe,” Decker said, holstering his gun.
Rigger stood up and dressed, except for his boots.
“We can go into the next room. It’s my…office.”
“Lead the way.”
“I’ve got some guns in there, but I don’t intend to go for any of ’em. As far as I’m concerned,” he said, leading the way, “this is a visit between two friends.”
“You’ve got a funny way of remembering things, Joe.”
In Rigger’s office there was a desk with two chairs—one behind, one in front—and a divan against one wall. Rigger sat behind his desk, and Decker took the chair in front.
“If this is not a friendly visit, Decker, then why
