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

her right hand in her pocket. “We’ll get out by the alley.”
    They went up a set of stairs and stopped before a blank door. Phyllis knocked and after a minute a man answered. At her name, he opened the door, then wider. They walked in. When the man saw Sixte’s face, his eyes changed a little. They seemed to mask, to film. The man turned, went through another door, and walked to his desk.
    He was a stocky man in a striped shirt. His neck was thick. “Whatya want, Phyl?” He dropped into his chair.
    “Look,” she said quickly, “this guy is a friend. He’s got dough in the bank and he’s got to get out of town. He wants to cash a check for five G’s.”
    “That’s a lot of cash.” The man looked from one to the other. “What’s it worth?”
    “A hundred dollars.”
    The man chuckled. “You tell that to Vince Montesori? It’s worth more.”
    Sixte produced his identification, and indicated the balance in his checking account. “The check’s good,” he said quietly, “and I’ll boost the ante to five hundred extra if you cash it right away.”
    Montesori got to his feet. “I gotta check. There’s a guy works for the bank. If he says you’re okay, I’ll cash it, okay?” He indicated a door. “You wait in there.”
    It was a small private sitting room, comfortably fixed up. There was a bar with glasses and several bottles of wine, one of bourbon. Tom Sixte stepped to the bar. “I could use a drink. How about you?”
    Phyllis was watching him carefully. “All right.”
    He picked up the bourbon and then through the thin wall over the bar, he heard a faint voice, audible only by straining his ears.
    “Yeah,” it was Montesori, “they just came in. Tell Rubio. I’ll stall ’em.”
    Sixte finished pouring the drinks, added ice and soda. He walked back and held the drink out to Phyllis. She stood back, very carefully. “Put it down on the table,” she said, “I’ll pick it up.”
    This was not going to work. Whatever happened, he had to get out of here…fast.
             
    A T 5:47, a call came in from a radio car. They had tailed Rubio and the other two men to a frame house, old place off Mission Road. They had all gone in, then had come rushing out and piled into the car.
    After they had gone, followed by other cars, a check of the house revealed some cut clothesline in the cellar, an unopened bottle of Madeira, and clothes for a girl and a man. There was some blood on the cellar floor, and a few spots on the living room carpet.
    Mike Frost got up and put on his coat. It looked like a double-cross. The babe had taken Sixte and lit out, for where?
    The source of information at the Shadow Club would not talk…closed up like a clam. In itself, that meant something.
    Frost motioned to Noonan and they walked out to the car. “The Shadow Club,” he told Noonan. He sat back in the seat, closing his eyes. After a while all this waiting could get to a guy. It was time to squeeze someone and squeeze them hard. Patience got you only so far.
             
    T HE GIRL WAS too cautious, Sixte could see that. He was on edge now. It had been a long time since he had played rough. Not since the Army days. But the events of the past hours had sharpened him up. He was bruised and stiff, but he was mad; he was both mad and desperate.
    “It’s a double-cross,” he said, looking at Phyllis. “That guy out there, that Vince Montesori. He called Rubio.”
    Her eyes were level and cold. He could see how this girl could kill, and quickly. He explained what he had heard. “It’s your neck, too,” he said, “you were making a deal on your own, but our deal stands if we get out of here.”
    “We’ll get out. Open the door.”
    It was locked. No answer came from the other side. Phyllis was frightened now. Sixte turned swiftly and picked up a stool that stood beside the little bar. He had heard voices through the wall, low voices, so—he swung the stool.
    The crash of smashing wood filled the