Read Online Gut-Shot by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B

with bourbon.
    â€œGet out of here, Frisco,” he said. “I need time to think.”
    The big foreman stepped to the parlor door, but McCord’s voice stopped him.
    â€œLook around, Frisco, see if there’s a suitable brood mare I can breed with. No whores, though. I want a gal with good bloodlines.”
    â€œLike Polly Mallory?”
    â€œYeah, but less damned uppity.”
    â€œI’ll see what I can do, boss.”
    â€œAnd Frisco . . .”
    â€œYeah, boss?”
    Trace McCord’s smile was thin. “Remember, no whores or married women. Those will come after I tie the knot.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    The shattered window in Sam Flintlock’s room was a source of great distress to hotel proprietor Hans Albrecht and now he hinted darkly of eviction followed by legal action.
    â€œHell, I didn’t break the window,” Flintlock said. “Your townies did.”
    â€œBut they were shooting at you, mein Herr, ” Albrecht said. “That much is clear.”
    He was a plump, self-important man dressed in checked pants and a collarless white shirt, a kitchen-stained apron covering his front.
    Then, to reinforce his indignation, he said, “The whole window must be replaced. Mein Gott, meine Frau and meine Kinder will starve. Do you know how much glass costs?”
    â€œHow much will it cost?” Jamie McPhee said.
    The German was horrified when he saw the wanted young man for the first time.
    â€œI don’t know you,” he said. His eyes popped out of his head. “You’re not in my hotel.”
    â€œYeah, he is. He’s standing right there in the corner,” Flintlock said.
    â€œ Nein! Nein! I don’t see him!” Albrecht said, squeezing his eyes shut. “He’s in Timbuktu, not here in my hotel.”
    â€œThere are none so blind as those who will not see,” McPhee said, smiling.
    Albrecht looked blindly around him. “Who said that? Wer sagt das? ”
    The little German might have kept up the charade of denying the existence of a guest who was right in the room with him had not a sharp rap on the door interrupted him.
    Flintlock pulled his Colt and said, “Who’s there?”
    â€œOpen up!”
    A man’s voice. Thin, reedy, but authoritative.
    â€œMy next move is a bullet through the door,” Flintlock said. “Identify yourself.”
    â€œThis is Frank Constable, attorney-at-law. Open the door, you mannerless lout.”
    Flintlock, gun in hand, cautiously pulled the door open and a small, quick, darting man stepped inside.
    Immediately Hans Albrecht’s attitude changed from stubbornness to one of fawning, bowing servility. “Herr Constable, how pleasant it is to see you,” he said. “You honor my poor establishment.”
    â€œWhat’s amiss here?” the lawyer snapped.
    No one answered.
    â€œCome now, speak up and be succinct,” the lawyer said. “I have no time to dilly-dally.”
    â€œHerman the German here—”
    â€œMy name is Hans, Herr Flintlock,” Albrecht said.
    â€œWants me to pay for the window his cronies shot out.”
    â€œI am a poor man, Herr Constable,” the proprietor said, spreading his hands. “A window means a great deal to me and meine Kinder .” He patted his round belly. “Look at me, fading away from a lack of food.”
    â€œSend the bill to me, Mr. Albrecht,” the lawyer said. “Speak at once, fellow. Is that suitable?”
    â€œYes, Herr Constable. Meine Frau will be—”
    The lawyer clapped his hands. “Go! Schnell! Schnell! ”
    As Albrecht bowed his way out of the door Flintlock kicked it shut and to his joy heard a Teutonic yelp of pain.
    â€œYou are the thug I’ve hired to guard my client,” Constable said. “Speak up, man. Are you?”
    â€œYeah. I’m the thug.”
    â€œYou have a neck made for a noose.”
    â€œIt seems so does your