Imposter by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page B

shook his head. “Nope. You’re the law. You’re wearin’ a badge and people have to respect that. If they don’t, well, then, we’ve got a breakdown in the system, don’t we?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œToss his butt in jail.”
    â€œHas he ever bowed up on you, Tom?”
    â€œOnce. I told him if he ever done it again, I’d go back to my office, get a Greener, and spread his guts all over the street. He don’t like me, I don’t like him. But he’s polite around me since that happened.”
    There was some real sand in the fat man’s craw, Frank thought. When push came to shove, Tom would stand.
    Frank looked around in the waning light of late afternoon. It would be dark soon and he still had not checked out the town’s two saloons.
    â€œWhat’s worryin’ you, Frank?” Tom asked.
    â€œNothing, really. Just thinking about the two saloons in town, that’s all.”
    â€œThe Gold Nugget and the Purple Lily. The Lily is the tough one. Sorry ’bout that, Frank. I should have told you. You kinda got that badge shoved on you real quick.”
    â€œNo problem, Tom.”
    â€œYou want some backup?”
    Frank shook his head. “No. I’m just going to walk in, look around, and walk out.” He smiled. “I hope.”
    â€œShouldn’t be any trouble in the middle of the week. On Friday and Saturday nights it’s mostly drunks who act up a little.”
    â€œI’ll see you in the morning, Tom. Have yourself a nice quiet evening.”
    â€œTake care, Frank.” The marshal walked slowly away, blending quickly into the gathering dusk of fast-approaching night.
    Frank flexed his hands a couple of times. They didn’t hurt and did not appear to be stiffening up. A few hours might make a difference, but for now they were all right. He crossed the street and walked down to the Purple Lily Saloon. A piano player was hammering out a fast tune, and there were several tables of cardplayers and a half dozen or so men dressed in rough range clothing standing at the bar.
    Frank pushed open the batwings and stepped inside. The piano player spotted him and stopped playing. The men at the bar turned to stare at him. The cardplayers stopped their games and stared.
    â€œDon’t let me interrupt, boys,” Frank told the group. “I’m just looking around and getting acquainted.”
    â€œDon’t bother in here, Morgan,” a man standing at the bar said. “Don’t nobody here want to meet you.”
    Frank looked at him for a moment, recognition slowly lighting in his eyes. “Hello, Slick. It’s been a long time.”
    â€œNot long enough, Morgan. I heard you got killed over in Montana. I celebrated that news for two days. Now you come show up and spoil everything.”
    â€œSorry to spoil your celebration, Slick.”
    â€œNot as sorry as I am. My shoulder still bothers me where that doc dug out the lead you put in me.”
    â€œI had to hurry that shot, Slick. It was my intention to kill you.”
    Slick turned back to the bar and picked up his drink.
    Frank walked to the end of the bar closest to the batwings and signaled to the bartender. “Coffee, please.”
    â€œMy, my,” a man said from a card table. “Ain’t he the po-lite one?”
    â€œHello, Curly,” Frank said. “You didn’t think I recognized you, did you?”
    â€œHell with you, Morgan!” Curly replied.
    â€œYou’re a long way from Wyoming,” Frank said.
    â€œFree country.”
    â€œYes, it is. You working around here, Curly?”
    â€œI might be.”
    â€œHow about you, Slick?”
    â€œI been thinkin’ ’bout signin’ on with the ES spread.”
    â€œEd Simpson’s brand?”
    â€œYeah. You got a problem with that?”
    â€œYou real sure you remember how to rope and brand?”
    Slick did not reply, just stared at