“Okay,” Butler said, “one more question. Where does Sutherland live?”
“Wha—you crazy? I dunno that.”
“Then where would he go?”
“Anywhere,” Walt said. “Anywhere in Hell’s Half Acre. This is where he feels at home.”
Butler thought a moment. Sutherland was going to be wondering how Butler found him. Where would he go to find the answer?
Butler released Walt.
“Okay,” he said. “Get going.”
“You ain’t gonna kill me?”
“Not even going to put a scratch on you,” Butler said. “Get out of here!”
Walt skulked away and Butler was sure he’d tell Sutherland about this.
He was counting on it.
CHAPTER 38
When Sutherland entered the Bloody Spur his anger was so apparent that Zeke—not even knowing if it was meant for him—ran out from behind the bar and bolted toward the back of the room.
Sutherland caught him in a few steps. The three or four customers who were there watched as he grabbed the back of his collar and walked him through the curtains into what used to be Ed Cramer’s office. There was still dried blood and bits of brain on the wall behind the desk.
“Wait, wait, wait—” Zeke was shouting.
“Sit down!”
Sutherland slammed him into his boss’s old chair, also covered with dried blood.
“Oh, no, no,” Zeke said, trying to get up, but Sutherland drew his gun and pointed it at his face. The bartender stopped struggling and stared at the gun with wide, frightened eyes.
“You told Butler about Rosie’s, didn’t you?” Sutherland demanded.
“No, I didn’t,” Zeke said. “How was I supposed to know about Rosie’s? I didn’t know you was there.”
“You know about Rosie’s, and you know about Lily,” Sutherland said. “If you didn’t tell him, who did?”
“I dunno,” Zeke said. “Hey, come on, Sutherland. You know me.”
“Yeah, Zeke, I do know you,” Sutherland said. He pushed his gun into Zeke’s mouth and pulled the trigger. Zeke’s blood and brains mixed with those of his boss on the chair and wall.
Sutherland withdrew the gun, walked back through the curtains into the saloon. The place was empty. No one waited around to see what had happened.
Sutherland went behind the bar, took down a bottle of whiskey, and drank straight from it. He was going to have to get rid of Butler before he went after Luke Short. And since the man was out looking for him, maybe the best thing to do was let him find him.
On the other hand, maybe he didn’t actually have to kill Butler himself to be in line to collect the price on his head. Maybe it was good enough just to see that Butler was killed.
He took another swig from the bottle, put it back, then took it down again and left, carrying it with him.
When Butler entered the Bloody Spur he knew something was wrong. Nobody was there.
“Zeke?”
He drew his gun and walked across the room to the curtained doorway in the back. He used the barrel of the gun to move the curtains aside, and then entered. He stopped short when he saw the grizzly scene behind the desk.
Butler moved closer. The back of the man’s head had been blown out, and then he’d fallen facedown onto the desk. Butler leaned over to get a look at his face without moving him. It was Zeke, killed the way his boss had been killed—by the same man?
Sutherland?
The man had obviously come here straight from the whorehouse. He must have thought it was Zeke who told Butler where to find him.
“Sorry, friend,” Butler said.
He had to get out of there fast, just in case the law was on the way. Customers had obviously cleared out when they heard the shot.
Sutherland was trying to wipe out any trail to him, but Butler had the feeling that if he stood still, the man would find him.
CHAPTER 39
When Butler walked into the White Elephant Saloon he could see from the door the look of relief on Jerry the bartender’s face.
As he reached the bar Jerry said, “I was startin’ to think you was dead.”
“I’ll take a beer and we’ll drink to me still being alive,” Butler said.
“Suits me.”
As he was waiting for his beer a hand came down on his shoulder from behind. He turned quickly, thinking it was Sutherland, but it was Luke Short.
“Where the hell have you been?” He asked the question without rancor.
“I had some errands.”
“Where?”
“Hell’s Half Acre.”
“What the hell—”
“Have a beer and I’ll fill you in.”
Later Short said, “You’re crazy, do you know that? You could’ve got yourself killed.”
“Well, somebody got killed, all right,” Butler observed.
“Jesus,” Short said, “I’ve got to watch what I say from now on. Threaten to blow one person’s head off and suddenly there’s an epidemic.”
“The sheriff is going to come looking for you again,” Butler said. “Get yourself a good alibi.”
“I’ve got one,” Short said. “I was here this whole time, right out in front of people.”
“We better talk to Al Newman again, just in case,” Butler said.
“I can’t ask him to help again,” Short said.
“You didn’t ask him last time,” Butler pointed out, “I did.”
“Well, nothing’s happened yet,” Short said. “Let’s just wait and see. Meanwhile, what do we do about Sutherland?”
“He’s either going to come looking for me,” Butler said, “or send somebody.”
“Why wouldn’t he take you down himself?”
“He had a shot at me tonight,” Butler said, “and he didn’t take it. There must be a reason. I’m thinking he’s going to send some friends to look for me.”
“Meanwhile, what’s he going to be doing?” Short asked.
“I don’t know what’s on his mind now,” Butler said. “The man who was paying him is dead. Unless he’s suddenly got more ambition, Sutherland’s pretty much just a gunman for hire.”
“Maybe,” Short said, “if he starts making his own decisions, he’ll make some mistakes.
“Oh, he’s made plenty of mistakes, already,” Butler said. “He missed me once, and he killed his boss. Now he’s killed Zeke, the bartender. And I was able to find him.”
“Do you think you can find him again?” Short asked.
