Read Online Send Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #2) by Frederick H. Christian - Free Book Online Page A

that’s all.’
    ‘ Different? How? We can’t pull out of this now,’ Reynolds
said, a trace of anger entering his tone.
    ‘ Agreed,’ Birch nodded. ‘But the old man says he wants us to
be in the clear when we make our move.’
    ‘ That
what he said?’ Reynolds remarked. ‘He’s gettin’ soft in his old
age, ain’t he?’
    ‘ Maybe,’ Birch admitted. ‘But this has gotta go as fine as
snake hair, Jace. Johnny Boot and Willy Mill got to ease off. Or
it’ll get out of hand.’
    ‘ Mmmm,’ Reynolds said. ‘Might be wise. We need opposition
now like a hole in the head. The whole thing could blow up in our
faces if we play it wrong.’
    ‘ That’s what I thought,’ Birch said. ‘Told the old man as
much, an’ he agreed. So he’s sendin’ his own man in.’
    ‘ Oh?’
    ‘ Said
he was goin’ to bring things to a head his own way, an’ we was to
make sure we had good alibis when his man went to work.’
    ‘ He
tell you what he had in mind?’
    Birch told him and
Reynolds ’
eyebrows rose.
    ‘ God,’
he said, sucking on the stem of the briar pipe, ‘he’s goin’ for
broke. Who’s the gun?’
    ‘ Larkin,’ Birch said, leaning back to enjoy the effect his
pronouncement had.
    The effect was electric: Reynolds sat up in
his chair, leaning forward.
    ‘ Larkin!’ he ejaculated. ‘But he’s—’
    ‘ I
know, I know,’ Birch waved his words down. ‘A paid killer. Hired
gun. Which is what we need right now. The old man is right. No more
mysterious disappearances to bring in the law. No more o’ that
business of ever’body reckonin’ it was Johnny or Willy but sittin’
tight on account o’ they couldn’t do nothin’ about provin’ it.
We’ll be in the clear, all of us. Larkin will ride in and take care
of things, and then be on his way. He’s what the old man called his
catalyst.’
    ‘ Catalyst is right,’ breathed Reynolds. ‘How come he’s in
such a hurry?’
    ‘ Somethin’ to do with politics,’ Birch explained. ‘The old
man reckons if we ain’t got ever’thin’ tied up neat by the end of
summer, the word will be out an’ we’ll be left at the startin’
post.’
    ‘ Perish the thought,’ said Reynolds. Birch balked at his
partner’s ironic comment. Always some smartass remark, always that
pretended intellectual superiority that he detested. One of these
days ... he choked back the bile in his throat and forced himself
to smile.
    ‘ He’ll
be in on the stage,’ he announced. Reynolds nodded.
    ‘ We’d
better throw a dinner party or somethin’. Your place or
mine?’
    ‘ Yours, I guess. Get Austin out there. Send somebody over to
bring Sim Bott up from South Ranch - everybody knows he ain’t mixed
up in things up here. Make sure Johnny brings Mill with him. We
don’t want nobody wonderin’ where any of us was.’
    ‘ Or
the night after that?’ queried Reynolds.
    ‘ As
long as it takes,’ Birch told him. ‘Until Larkin has done what he’s
comin’ here to do, we’re gonna act like a Sunday school
picnic’
    ‘ That’ll be the day,’ Reynolds told him, and uncoiled his
lanky frame from the bentwood chair, heading out of the Alhambra
and into the sunlit street.
    The lurching Concord careened
into the plaza at about five, with the usual welter of noise and
excitement, dust piling up as the ribbon shaker hauled the horses back on
their haunches and yelled out his announcement. Only three
passengers alighted into the street in front of the Alhambra. One
was a whiskey drummer, clutching his precious sample bag and
fanning his rotund face with a dust coated derby. The second was a
woman who was met by a trio of angular ladies who led her across
the street to the boarding house, their voices trailing behind them
like starlings on the wing. Those townspeople who looked upon the
arrival of the stage as the highlight of their day watched all
these activities with keen interest The third passenger to alight
was a man of medium height, thickset and mild in