Read Online Find Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #1) by Frederick H. Christian - Free Book Online Page B

clear of the Torelli place after all. One
last question: you know a man called Cravetts, Dick Cravetts?’ He
described the man. The bank manager pursed his lips, thought
awhile, then shook his head ruefully.
    ‘ Afraid not,’ he said. ‘I know most people in Socorro, but the
name’s not one I’ve heard before.’
    ‘ No
matter,’ Angel said. ‘I’ll find him.’
    He
went out of the bank, and the bank manager found for some reason
that he suddenly felt chilled. He went out into the plaza and stood
for a moment in the sunshine, watching as Frank Angel swung aboard
the lineback and moved on to the street, heading south.
    There
was something about the man which he could not quite define, and it
bothered him. It was much later that he associated the feeling with
the chill he had felt when Angel had said, very quietly, that he
would find the man he was looking for.
    The
road ranch was built in a clump of cottonwoods between the road and
the river. It was an unlovely place, and nobody had wasted any
money on paint for it. The boards were whitened and bleached by
years of merciless sun, the sprawling frame building askew here and
there with warped uprights. A hitching rack ran the length of the
front and two steps led up on to a shaded ramada.
    There
was a corral off to the right at the back of the place. There were
half a dozen horses switching their tails idly against the
persistent flies, heads low. He tied up at the hitching rail and
pushed in through the door.
    The
place was almost empty. At a table in the corner a drunk lay head
on table, a glass overturned in front of his folded arms. Two
teamsters were arguing friendlily over a beer at the bar. There
were two girls in short skirts at another table and they looked up
as Angel came in, pasting smiles on their wan faces. He heard them
whispering together, and eventually one of them got up and came
over to him. She was petite, dark-haired, sloe-eyed. Mixed blood,
Angel figured, some Indian, some Mexican, maybe even some Anglo, it
was hard to tell. Her skin was that smooth brown that does not give
away age. He figured she was about twenty-two, which was in fact
four years older than she actually was.
    ‘ Hello mister,’ the girl said. ‘Buy a girl a
drink?’
    He
smiled down at her. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘ Carmen,’ she said.
    ‘ Frank,’ he replied. He fished out a twenty-dollar piece and
spun it on the bar. The bartender, a fishy-eyed man of about fifty,
served the two whiskies Angel ordered. It was cheap rotgut and he
guessed that what the girl had was cold tea. She touched his thigh
boldly.
    ‘ You
goin’ to stay awhile?’ she asked.
    ‘ I
might,’ Angel told her. ‘Is Torelli here?’
    ‘ \Which one?’ she said, then her hand flew to her mouth. She
looked at the bartender but he appeared not to have heard what she
said. Her eyes were wide and she looked at Angel, whose face showed
nothing.
    ‘ I
know he’s here, Carmen,’ he said, softly. ‘No need for you to get
involved. It’s Frank I want. Where is he?’
    ‘ Upstairs,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, God, mister, there goin’ to be
trouble?
    ‘ Depends entirely on him,’ Angel told her. “You want to go and
tell him there’s a man down here called Frank Angel who’s come to
kill him?’
    The
bartender caught that and he started to duck below the level of the
bar, but before he had even gotten halfway, he froze. The big bore
of the Army Colt stared right back at him. The girl gasped. She had
not seen the movement of Angel’s hand.
    ‘ Lissen, mister,’ the bartender said, putting his hands
squarely on the rough pine bar. ‘Any shootin’ in here, innocent
people is gonna get hurt. You got a beef with someone, you take it
outside.’
    Angel
shook his head. ‘Wrong,’ he told the man. ‘Take yourself outside,
and take the girls with you. It’s Frank Torelli I want. No need for
anyone else to get hurt.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Go on up and tell
him what I told