Read Online Outlaw Hell by Len Levinson - Free Book Online

by the light of matches that kept going out. Duane heard footsteps behind him, as a crowd of saloon patrons spilled into the backyard from nearby alleys.
    â€œIt's the Pecos Kid again,” one of them said.
    â€œAnybody recognize these men?” Duane asked.
    Nobody said anything. Duane knew that he'd have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life, for one had gotten away and might show up when Duane least expected it. Why'd I leave that cave? he asked himself.
    A strange apparition approached across the backyard. It was the piano player from the LastChance saloon, wearing his red striped shirt and red string tie, with his derby tilted over one eye. “Are you the feller what shot all them people?”
    â€œSo what if I am?” Duane replied.
    â€œMaggie O'Day'd like to talk with you, sir.”
    â€œWho's Maggie O'Day?”
    The piano player appeared surprised. “She owns the Last Chance Saloon.”
    â€œWhat's she want?”
    â€œShe din't tell me, but she's a good person to have on yer side. Know what I mean? Besides, if you don't talk to her, she'll probably fire me.”
    The piano player led him through the alley, where outlaws and banditos studied Duane's face carefully. “It's the Kid all right,” one of them said.
    Duane followed the piano player into the Last Chance Saloon. The girls regarded him with unabashed fascination, as he continued toward the back corridor. At its end, the pianist knocked on a door and declared: “I've found ‘im.”
    â€œSend him in,” said a sultry female voice.
    Duane opened the door and stopped cold in his tracks. Sitting behind the desk was a stout big-busted woman with a bizarre hairdo of dyed red curls piled atop her head. “Have a seat,” she said, a panatella perched daintily between her fingers. Duane dropped to the chair before her. His experience with women was limited, and Maggie O'Day exceeded his wildest expectations. She looked mean as a man, yet was pretty in an odd way, with graceful movements of her hands. “Sounds like yer a-havin’ abusy night,” she drawled. “What's yer name?”
    Duane decided to play it to the hilt, since his identity was no longer a secret. Leaning toward her, he peered deeply into her eyes and said, “They call me the Pecos Kid.”
    She smiled, her eyes dancing gaily. “Howdy, Mister Pecos,” she said, thrusting her bejeweled hand over the desk.
    Duane had never shaken hands with a woman before, and didn't know how to proceed. Normally, a man will give a stranger a firm crunch, to let him know that no horseshit would be tolerated, but Duane couldn't do that to a woman. So he squeezed her hand gently, while she caught him in a viselike grip. Bones in his hand crackled. When she let him go, he tried to smile. “You can call me Duane Braddock.”
    He noticed her eyes roving over his body, stopping briefly at certain strategic places. “I was up on the roof tonight,” she began, “a-gittin’ a breath of fresh air, and I happened to see yer li'l gunplay in the middle of the street. I ain't never see'd nobody move so fast in my life. Yer a perfessional, I take it?”
    â€œNot me,” Duane replied. “I was a cowboy before I got in trouble with the law. Hell, I don't want to be a professional gunfighter. They all end up in the cemetery.”
    â€œSounds like yer headed thar anyways. What was the shootin’ about?”
    â€œBunch of owlhoots got mad at me. Don't ask me why.”

    â€œDon't take much to get some of ‘em a-goin’,” Maggie said. “They'd ruther shoot a man than give ‘im the time of day. The trouble with this town is we ain't got no law. Say, would you be innerested in bein’ our sheriff? One hundred dollars a month, with all the fines you can collect. We'll give you a jail and an office. What do you say?”
    Duane calculated that the pay was more than three times