Read Online Slocum and the Three Fugitives by Jake Logan - Free Book Online

whiskey’s so strong ain’t many that can swill enough to actually die. Or go blind.”
    â€œShow us,” Slocum said. “I want to see a bottle of it.”
    Pete looked around nervously, then heaved to his feet and ducked into his saloon. He reached behind the bar and pulled out a clear glass bottle filled with a pale yellow fluid.
    â€œYou got to see this.” Pete sprinkled a few drops on the bar, reached up and took down a lamp, pulled off the chimney, and held the lighted wick just above the damp spot.
    Slocum and Annabelle recoiled when a violent flare erupted. It settled down and burned with only a hint of blue flame before finally extinguishing itself.
    â€œPotent, real potent,” Pete said.
    â€œI want a shot of it,” Slocum said. He grabbed a glass and slid it to the saloon owner. He watched as Pete poured with a shaking hand. Slocum knocked it back—and it almost knocked him back. He had swilled everything in his day but never anything like this. He choked.
    â€œGot the kick of a mule, don’t it?” Pete said.
    â€œHere,” Slocum said, fumbling out two bits and a dime. He looked up when Pete took only the dime. “What are you selling this for?”
    â€œDime, same as any other whiskey.”
    â€œHow can you do that?” Annabelle asked. “If you’re paying twenty dollars a bottle, you’re losing money.”
    â€œEven if Deutsch is selling it to you at half that, you’re losing a lot of money selling a shot for just a dime.”
    Pete looked uneasy again, then gathered his courage and looked Slocum straight in the eye as he delivered the answer.
    â€œI ain’t payin’ that. Only saloon owners who don’t have Rory Deutsch as a silent partner pay that much.”
    Everything came together in a rush for Slocum. Deutsch would drive owners out of business selling his overpriced Taos Lightning—or they could take him in as majority owner and continue to sell at the usual rate. By doing this, he forced the other owners to either compete, go out of business, or take him in as partner. Whichever it was didn’t matter since he ended up owning all the liquor establishments in town.
    â€œYou should go to the marshal,” Annabelle said, staring in disbelief. “I never thought such a thing could happen here.”
    â€œMarshal Donnelly ain’t no good. He’s scared of Deutsch. You ought to be, too, if you had any sense.” Pete screwed up his courage and said, “Your brother didn’t have a lick of sense, and look what it got him buckin’ Rory Deutsch.”
    Annabelle hissed like a cat, spun, and flounced away. Slocum stared at the bottle of Taos Lightning for a moment, then left without a word to Pete. The bar owner called for them to forgive him, but Slocum was past that. If Annabelle heard his whining pleas, she might come back and rip out his eyes.
    They returned to the Black Hole. Annabelle leaned against the bar, breathing hard as if she had run a mile. She looked up at Slocum.
    â€œWant a drink?” he asked.
    â€œSure. I don’t even care that it comes out of the profits,” she said.
    She drank down the shot of brandy he’d poured as if it were no more than water. He poured a second. She hesitated for only a moment, then downed that one, too. She sputtered, coughed, and finally got her breath back.
    â€œTime to open the shop. Let those thirsty beggars in.”
    Slocum started to ask what she intended to do about the whiskey supply, then decided this was something they could hash out later. Five cases of whiskey remained in the storeroom. The Black Hole might close or perhaps it could survive as a beer bar. He had heard of special taverns in San Francisco doing that, but they were high-class and catered to people with more money than taste.
    The night passed in a blur of clinking glasses and spilled beer. Once Annabelle barked at a cowboy who had spilled his whiskey,