Read Online Cotton's Law (9781101553848) by Phil Dunlap - Free Book Online
Authors: Phil Dunlap
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that this lowly purveyor of spirits had the nerve to presume he was there for some nefarious reason. It wasn’t any of the bastard’s business, anyway. He mulled over whether he was goin’ to blurt out the names or turn around and stalk out. He was known to be fast with his gun, but with his
brains
, figuring out the best moves to make—well, not so great. He stared at the bartender for a full three minutes before the decision was made. He had no choice. He could bestubborn some other time. Now wasn’t that time. Not with Bart Havens expecting him back in Las Vegas with four top gunmen. He needed to avoid getting sensitive or, worse yet, letting that nervous trigger finger get the best of him.
“Okay. Reckon I’ll have to live with that. Name’s Sleeve Jackson. I’m lookin’ for Buck Kentner, Black Duck Slater, Comanche Dan Sobro, and Plink Granville. You seen any of ’em around lately?”
“Maybe one or two of ’em. I heard Black Duck was in Abilene, and Comanche Dan, well, he may or may not be dead.”
“Dead?”
“Said maybe.”
“So, where did he ‘maybe’ get dead?”
“Can’t rightly say. I know it weren’t here. The sheriff we got couldn’t hit his own foot with a scattergun. Coulda happened down near the border. Maybe one of them others will recollect. I ain’t never even seen the man.”
“That leaves Buck and Plink.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen them in the past week or so. I’ll put out the word there’s some fella lookin’ for them. I assume you ain’t lookin’ to shoot ’em, are you?”
“No. I want to hire them. There’s good money in it.”
“Hell, why didn’t you say so? There’s Buck at that table in the far corner. He’s the lonely fella suckin’ on that bottle like it was his mommy’s tit.”
Sleeve tried to hide his disdain for the bartender. Any other time, he’d likely have blown the man into the next century. But for now, striking up a conversation with Buck Kentner was his first aim. As he approached the table, Buck glanced up with rheumy eyes, giving Sleeve the once-over.
“Buck Kentner?” Sleeve asked.
“Who wants to know?” Buck put the bottle down, nearly tipping it over. A last-second grab saved the contents from spilling. Sleeve was immediately impressed by Buck’s ability to react quickly even in a drunken state.
“Name’s Sleeve Jackson. And I may have a job for you, if you’re willin’ to give me a minute of your time.”
“Pull up a chair and fill me in on this ‘job’ you’re offerin’.”
“You ever heard of a fella named Bart Havens?” Sleeve said.
“Who ain’t? Some kinda banker prone to stealin’ other folks’ land, way I hear it.”
“Close enough. He’s plannin’ another town takeover and he needs a few good guns to back his play.”
“Who I gotta kill and how much does it pay?”
“Pay is one thousand dollars up front and another two thousand to the man who actually gets the job done. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds good. Who’s the target?”
“A sheriff by the name of Cotton Burke.”
“Whoa.
The
Cotton Burke?”
“The one and only,” Sleeve said, raising his eyebrows.
“Hellfire and damnation, I’d have to have twice that amount to tangle with Burke.”
Chapter 11
“W hat’s eatin’ at you, Cotton? You’ve been moody ever since you got back. It can’t be that fellow that tried to shoot you, since you put him in his grave. It’s all over, isn’t it?” Emily and Cotton were sitting on her porch swing. She leaned in close to him, her arms crossed to ward off an evening chill. The sun was just setting, and the horizon was blood red as nightfall began its march from the east.
“I’m afraid it has just started. I reckon it’s best if you hear it now . . . from me. If the rumors are true, there’s a rattler named Bart Havens who’s intending on starting another bank. If he does, all hell will break loose in Apache Springs.”
“Why? The town can probably support another
brains
, figuring out the best moves to make—well, not so great. He stared at the bartender for a full three minutes before the decision was made. He had no choice. He could bestubborn some other time. Now wasn’t that time. Not with Bart Havens expecting him back in Las Vegas with four top gunmen. He needed to avoid getting sensitive or, worse yet, letting that nervous trigger finger get the best of him.
“Okay. Reckon I’ll have to live with that. Name’s Sleeve Jackson. I’m lookin’ for Buck Kentner, Black Duck Slater, Comanche Dan Sobro, and Plink Granville. You seen any of ’em around lately?”
“Maybe one or two of ’em. I heard Black Duck was in Abilene, and Comanche Dan, well, he may or may not be dead.”
“Dead?”
“Said maybe.”
“So, where did he ‘maybe’ get dead?”
“Can’t rightly say. I know it weren’t here. The sheriff we got couldn’t hit his own foot with a scattergun. Coulda happened down near the border. Maybe one of them others will recollect. I ain’t never even seen the man.”
“That leaves Buck and Plink.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen them in the past week or so. I’ll put out the word there’s some fella lookin’ for them. I assume you ain’t lookin’ to shoot ’em, are you?”
“No. I want to hire them. There’s good money in it.”
“Hell, why didn’t you say so? There’s Buck at that table in the far corner. He’s the lonely fella suckin’ on that bottle like it was his mommy’s tit.”
Sleeve tried to hide his disdain for the bartender. Any other time, he’d likely have blown the man into the next century. But for now, striking up a conversation with Buck Kentner was his first aim. As he approached the table, Buck glanced up with rheumy eyes, giving Sleeve the once-over.
“Buck Kentner?” Sleeve asked.
“Who wants to know?” Buck put the bottle down, nearly tipping it over. A last-second grab saved the contents from spilling. Sleeve was immediately impressed by Buck’s ability to react quickly even in a drunken state.
“Name’s Sleeve Jackson. And I may have a job for you, if you’re willin’ to give me a minute of your time.”
“Pull up a chair and fill me in on this ‘job’ you’re offerin’.”
“You ever heard of a fella named Bart Havens?” Sleeve said.
“Who ain’t? Some kinda banker prone to stealin’ other folks’ land, way I hear it.”
“Close enough. He’s plannin’ another town takeover and he needs a few good guns to back his play.”
“Who I gotta kill and how much does it pay?”
“Pay is one thousand dollars up front and another two thousand to the man who actually gets the job done. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds good. Who’s the target?”
“A sheriff by the name of Cotton Burke.”
“Whoa.
The
Cotton Burke?”
“The one and only,” Sleeve said, raising his eyebrows.
“Hellfire and damnation, I’d have to have twice that amount to tangle with Burke.”
Chapter 11
“W hat’s eatin’ at you, Cotton? You’ve been moody ever since you got back. It can’t be that fellow that tried to shoot you, since you put him in his grave. It’s all over, isn’t it?” Emily and Cotton were sitting on her porch swing. She leaned in close to him, her arms crossed to ward off an evening chill. The sun was just setting, and the horizon was blood red as nightfall began its march from the east.
“I’m afraid it has just started. I reckon it’s best if you hear it now . . . from me. If the rumors are true, there’s a rattler named Bart Havens who’s intending on starting another bank. If he does, all hell will break loose in Apache Springs.”
“Why? The town can probably support another
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