The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Six by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online

Phyllis was sure she had not been followed. She had taken over an hour to come back, making sure. But there was no way out now. They would kill him. Unless he could somehow get free.
    Desperation lent him strength. He began to struggle, to chafe the clothesline that bound him against the edge of the wooden step. It was a new board, and sharp-edged.
    Upstairs, he heard a door slam and heavy feet went down the front steps. The floor creaked up above. Phyllis was still there…no use to ask her help, she was the one who killed the man on Redondo.
    He began to sweat. Sweat and dust got into the cuts on his face. They smarted. His head throbbed. He worked, bitterly, desperately, his muscles aching.
             
    K URT E BERHARDT WAS FRIGHTENED . He got out of the house because he was scared. Despite what Phyl said, they might have followed her. He walked swiftly north, stopped there on a corner, and watched the house. Nobody around, no cars parked. After ten minutes, he decided she had not been followed and walked on, slower.
    He had to see Rubio. Rubio would know what to do. He went to his car, got in, and drove downtown. He tried to call Rubio…no answer. He called two or three places, no luck. At the last one, he asked, “When is he leavin’?”
    “You nuts?” The man’s voice was scoffing. “He ain’t goin’ noplace. He can’t. He’s tied up here, wit’ big dough.”
    Then, maybe Rubio would not use the tickets, either. He wouldn’t want the visa and passport.
    His stomach empty and sick, Kurt Eberhardt started up the street. On the corner, he stopped and looked back, seeing the sign. The Shadow Club…it was early yet. It might not be open. He stood there, trying to think, looking for an out.
    He had never killed a man. He had bragged about it, but he never had. When Phyllis told him she had, he was scared, but he dared not show it. The fear had made him beat Sixte.
    That had been foolish. With that beat-up face…still, the guy was scared now, bound to be. They could say he had been in an accident. Sixte wouldn’t talk out of turn. He could draw out the money…not a bad deal. He could even take it and the tickets and scram. No, they would stop him…unless he killed Sixte.
    It was better to play it straight with the guy.
    Phyl…she made the trouble. She got him into this. Too rattlebrained. Lola now, she never made a wrong move. Killing that guy, Lola wouldn’t have done it. Lola…no use thinking about that. It was over.
    He would get Rubio. He would wait at his place until he came.
             
    M IKE F ROST SAT at his desk. It was 4:00 P.M . The plane for Bolivia left at 9:45. The banks were closed now, but there were a few places around town where a check might be cashed…they were covered.
    No more chance on the liquor stores. The men checking up on those were pulled off. They were still worrying over the bone of Kurt Eberhardt and that of Phyllis Edsall. No luck on either of them. Nobody seemed to know either of them beyond what they had learned.
    At 4:17 P.M ., a call came in. Rubio Turchi’s green sedan had been spotted coming out of the hills at Arroyo and the Coast Road. It would be picked up by an unmarked police car.
    At 4:23 P.M . another call. A dark sedan with a dark-haired young man had been parked in front of Rubio’s apartment for more than an hour. The fellow seemed to have fallen asleep in the car, apparently waiting. It was the first time the man covering Rubio’s apartment had been able to get to a phone. He gave them the car’s number.
    The license had been issued to one Phyllis Hart, but she had moved from the old address, left no forwarding address.
    Mike Frost rubbed the stubble on his face and swore softly. He walked to the door of an adjoining office and stuck his head in. “Joe? You got that electric razor here? I feel like hell.”
    He carried the razor back, loosened his tie, and took off his coat. He plugged in the razor and started to shave. Rubio would