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beating,” Dulles said. “It looks like the poor old fart has been dead for the last two or three hours.”
    The vigilante looked at the man known as the Silver King, the most ruthless man in Colorado. “For one thing, Nek, I’m not a cop. My name is Hawker. James Hawker. Maybe you’ve heard of me. If you haven’t, then I know you’ll remember that a couple of days ago you sent a half-dozen of your goons into the mountains to kidnap Lomela Carthay and her two children. But your goons haven’t come back yet, have they? And do you know what? They never will come back, Nek. They’ll never come back because I killed them.”
    The color had slowly drained from Nek’s face. But he did a good job of hiding the shock he clearly felt. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Hawker. If you’ve come up here to try to snow me, it won’t work. Better men than you have tried it, and I’ve buried each and every one of them—figuratively, of course.” His eyes glittered as if to say he wasn’t speaking at all figuratively. “Now, if you really have murdered some men, then, as a respected citizen of Denver, I think it’s only fair to warn you that it’s my duty to notify the authorities.”
    The vigilante shrugged. “There’s a phone on the desk. Go ahead and call them. I’ll wait right here.”
    Nek put down the book he had been reading and walked toward the phone. Hawker said, “When the cops get here, maybe you can explain to them why you kidnapped your old partners Jimmy Estes and Chuck Phillips, and why Robert Carthay was half-crazy after he managed to escape from your goons.”
    Nek hesitated. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.
    â€œOh, no? Then how about this: maybe I’ll have the cops ask why you have the bandage on your hand.”
    The man touched his hand reflexively, as if to cover the bandage. “I was working in the garden and cut myself,” Nek said testily.
    â€œBullshit,” snapped Hawker. “You killed one of your own men two days ago up in the mountains. He was hanging over a cliff and you cut the rope because you heard him agree to tell me about you and your operation.”
    It jarred the old man. His face paled, and he sat down in a chair by the fire, no longer interested in calling the police. It jarred him, but it didn’t beat him, and he sure as hell wasn’t intimidated. “That’s the wildest tale I’ve ever heard, Hawker. I suppose you plan on lying to the cops. Maybe tell them you saw me cut the rope, huh?”
    â€œI could tell them that. Or I could tell them I saw your boots there drying by the fire, and that I noticed that the lacings are covered with the same kind of beggar lice that got on my boots while I was in that valley. Or I could tell them that the killer was left-handed and he gashed his right hand with the knife while he was cutting the rope.” Hawker nodded. “That’s how you got that bandage on your hand, isn’t it?”
    Nek had recovered his poise. “Just an unfortunate gardening accident,” he smiled. “I have a dozen people who saw me cut my hand on a machete.”
    Hawker shrugged. “Then I guess I would have to tell the police that I saw you cut the rope. Makes no difference to me. I don’t mind lying. We have that in common, don’t we, Nek? Neither of us minds lying.”
    The old man’s face had turned so red it was nearly purple. His voice quivered as he spoke, “Listen to me, you nasty young motherfucker. Twenty years ago, I’d have kicked your little pink ass for talking to me like that—”
    â€œYou were a coward twenty years ago, too, Nek,” Hawker interrupted. “What were you then? Fifty? Maybe a little younger? People who are cowards stay cowards. You didn’t have the guts to face up to your three partners