That had been a few years ago, just before the Baron had appeared on the scene. Decker wondered if Rigger was still angry.
He’d find out soon enough.
Decker entered El Segundo under the cover of night. He didn’t want to run into Rigger by accident. He had a definite idea about how to handle their first face-to-face meeting in three years.
He knew that Rigger owned the Hunter Saloon and kept the entire second floor for his own use. If anyone wanted to dally with one of Rigger’s girls after hours, he’d have to supply the hotel room.
Decker walked his gelding, John Henry, behind the saloon and left him there. He moved around to the front of the saloon again and peeked through the window to make sure Rigger wasn’t there. If he had been, Decker would have made his entry through the second floor. Since Rigger wasn’t inside, that meant he was already upstairs.
Unless he was away on a job. If that was the case, Decker knew he’d have to find another angle to work.
He entered the saloon and walked to the bar. The place was about half full. It wasn’t the biggest saloon in town, and Decker wondered how much business it usually did. Of course, Rigger’s livelihood didn’t depend on it, so half full was probably fine with him.
Decker ordered a beer from the bartender, a heavyset man with hands like hams and the face of a pig.
Beer in hand, he turned his back to the bar and checked the room. There were two girls working it, a fairly attractive blonde who had seen better days and a young brunette with the face of a schoolteacher and the body of a—well, no schoolteacher Decker had ever known had had a body like that.
The blonde was sitting on a man’s lap, and the brunette, who had just dropped off some drinks at another table, was returning to the bar.
He didn’t see anyone else working the saloon, so he assumed that either the bartender or one of the girls would know where Rigger was.
Looking closely at the younger girl, he decided she was his best bet. She’d be most likely to give Rigger’s whereabouts away without meaning to.
As she approached the bar he touched her arm lightly.
“Two beers, Carl,” she said to the bartender, then she turned her eyes—violet eyes, he noticed—toward Decker and went to work. “Can I help you?” she asked flirtatiously.
“Sure can,” he said and smiled. She smiled back, a slow, sexy smile that would come easier and better after some more practice.
“You gonna tell me how?” she asked.
“Where’s Rigger?”
Her smile slipped and for an instant—just for a split second—she glanced up at the ceiling.
“Who?” she asked innocently, but her eyes had said, “He’s upstairs.”
“Joe Rigger, the fella who owns this place.”
The bartender returned with the beers the girl had ordered. He leaned across the bar and said, “Trouble, Viola?”
“This man is looking for someone named Rigger,” Viola said. “He says he owns this saloon.”
“I own this place, friend,” the bartender said. “Can I help you?”
“No,” Decker said, “you can’t.”
“There’s no Rigger here.”
“Fine, if you say so.”
“I say so,” the man said.
As the big man’s right shoulder dipped, Decker pulled out his gun and laid it across the bar so that no one in the room could see it but the bartender and Viola.
“Put the shotgun on the bar, slowly,” Decker said, his low voice menacing. Clutching the tray of beer, Viola started to move away but Decker said, “Uh-uh, sweetheart. Stay right there.”
She stiffened, then stood still.
“On the bar, Carl. Easy, so we don’t start any trouble.”
“You’re the one looking for trouble, mister.”
“No, I’m looking for Joe Rigger. I’m a friend of his.”
“Sure…” the bartender said, gingerly lifting his shotgun up onto the bar.
“Break it and unload it.”
The bartender opened the shotgun and slid the shells out, holding them in one hand.
“Put the shells in my shirt pocket.”
The bartender did so, jamming them in forcefully. Decker let the man have his little moment of triumph.
“What makes you think I don’t have more shells back here?” the bartender asked.
“Oh, I know you do. But by the time you can get them loaded, you’ll be dead. Now, look into my eyes and tell me I’m lying.”
The bartender tried to match Decker’s stare but finally looked away.
“Yeah, you know I’m not lying,” Decker said. “Now, both of you stay right where you are until I’m upstairs.”
“You can’t—” the bartender started, but he stopped when Decker cocked his gun.
“You do what I tell you, bartender, you hear?”
“I hear.”
Decker eased the hammer back down and slid the gun into his holster.
“You understand, darlin’?” he asked the girl.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I understand.”
“You’re gonna get yourself killed, my friend,” the bartender said.
“Well now, that’s my problem, isn’t it?”
“You bet,” the bartender said. “You bet it is. Go on up, go ahead. You won’t ever come down again.”
Decker smiled and said, “You wish.”
Backing away from the bar, he moved toward the stairs. He didn’t turn until he felt them behind him. Even then he kept an eye on the bartender over his shoulder. If the man went for his gun, he’d have to do something. Maybe he should have taken the shotgun with him, he thought, but he didn’t expect the bartender had the guts to make the move.
He was right.
Upstairs he saw that there had once been several doors in the hallways, but all except one had been boarded up. The upstairs had probably been converted to one big apartment for Rigger.
He went to the single door and kicked it in.
Rigger sat straight up on his bed and lunged for the gun on the headboard. At the same time he pushed the woman who was with him off of him. She fell to the floor, naked, in a tangle of bedsheets.
“Don’t!” Decker snapped. “Don’t do it, Joe.”
Rigger frowned for a moment, then said, “Decker!” in disbelief.
“Hello, Joe,” Decker said. “Jeez, you look like shit.”
Chapter Two
“Put the gun up, Deck,” Joe Rigger said. “What’s the big idea?”
“Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten your promise of three years ago.”
“Promise?” Rigger said, frowning. He was still upright in bed, stark naked, and the woman on the floor was gathering all the bedclothes around her—but not quickly enough to keep Decker from seeing all she had to show.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Decker stated simply.
Rigger thought a moment, then said, “Oh, that!” and smiled for the first time. “You don’t mean to say that you think I’m still angry over that. Come on, Deck. Put up the gun and we’ll have a drink and talk about old times.”
“Not until I have your gun, Joe.”
Rigger frowned. “You’re serious?” he asked.
“Dead serious.”
Rigger, whose face always held a deceptively placid look, even just before he killed, shrugged and said, “Well, all right, then.”
He started to reach for the gun and Decker said, “Not you, Joe! The woman.”
Rigger looked at Decker and said, “What is it, Deck? I know you’re not afraid of me.”