Read Online Kill or Die by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page A

vine.”
    â€œThat’s just what I was thinking,” O’Hara said. “Find the money man, gun him and it’s over.”
    â€œI abhor violence, but it is obvious that Ritter cannot proceed with his plans without funding. As for you, Mr. Flintlock, I can help you in a more tangible way. You think the Colt in your waistband is badly balanced and does not sit well in your hand, is that not so?”
    Flintlock was stunned. “How the hell—”
    â€œLet’s say I just know,” Cornelius said. He stepped to a shelf and removed a walnut box. He returned to Flintlock and opened the lid.
    â€œThree years before he died this Colt revolver was presented to me by President Grant,” Cornelius said. “I was a member of his security detail and stepped in the way of an assassin’s bullet that was meant to kill him. Despite being wounded here”—Cornelius’s hand strayed to the left side of his chest—“I killed the assailant and thus saved the president’s life. The assassin was a woman, the widow of a Confederate soldier killed in the war. I have never used a gun since.”
    â€œDuring the war Cornelius served under General Hugh Judson Kilpatrick as a major in the Second United States Cavalry,” Evangeline said. “He stayed in the army for some time after the war ended.”
    â€œTry the revolver, Mr. Flintlock,” Cornelius said. “I wager it’s a better balanced weapon than the one you have.”
    â€œI can’t take your Colt,” Flintlock said. “I mean, you getting it from President Grant an’ all.”
    â€œI want you to have it, Mr. Flintlock. Trust me, your need for a fine weapon is greater than mine.” Cornelius took the Colt from the case, and spun it with great skill and dexterity, so fast that the spinning revolver blurred into a blue disc. The butt of the Colt slapped into Cornelius’s palm. He reversed the revolver and extended it to Flintlock, butt first.
    Flintlock reached for the gun but Cornelius executed an expert road agent’s spin and he found himself looking into the muzzle. “Way too trusting, Mr. Flintlock,” the little man said. “That can get you killed in the swamp.”
    Irritated, Flintlock grabbed the Colt from Cornelius’s hand, spun it faster than he had and a split second later the muzzle jammed into the space between Cornelius’s eyebrows. “Old Barnabas taught me the road agent’s spin when I was a younker,” he said. “I let you fool me was all.”
    â€œYes, because you underestimated me. Another mistake you must never make in the swamp. Do you like the Colt’s balance?”
    Despite his touchiness Flintlock admitted that the Colt’s balance was damn near perfect. “A beautiful revolver,” he said.
    â€œThen it’s yours and use it wisely and well,” Cornelius said.
    â€œI can’t—”
    â€œYes. you can. I have no more need for it.”
    Flintlock carefully placed the Colt in its case and reverently tucked it under his arm, as though Sam Colt’s finest creation was a holy object.
    â€œIf you two gunslingers are quite finished showing off, I’d like to ask you a question, Cornelius,” O’Hara said.
    â€œThat is why the museum is here, to answer questions, Mr. O’Hara.”
    â€œWhat is the mystery of the swamp?” O’Hara said.
    â€œGood question,” Cornelius said. “The mystery of the swamp is that there is no mystery. That is why we must find it.”
    â€œOh,” O’Hara said.
    And Flintlock, his mood warmed by the gun case under his arm, said, “Sounds logical to me.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    Brewster Ritter’s anger verged on madness.
    He stood beside his horse and said to Bonifaunt Toohy, “Search the swamp. Find him. I want the man who murdered Harry Stake dead, dead, dead.”
    â€œI’ll find him, boss,”