“Why did you let her send for me, Brent?” Decker asked.
“She insisted, and I didn’t want to resist too much. Apparently Brian really didn’t want to kill me. He thought he could talk me out of the money, the fool. I came out of the bayou and told her that’Brent’ wouldn’t give me the money. I was going to sneak back in eventually and get it, but she insisted on sending for you, so I figured I’d let you bring the money out, then I’d take the two of you back and leave you with my brother. It would look like you had finally tracked him down and everyone had died in a shoot-out.” He looked at Rebecca, who was just staring at him, and said, “Come on, put the money back in the bag, sweetheart.” Then to Decker he said, “Besides, I owe you, Decker, don’t I?”
“But…” she said, staring at him with loathing, “we made love…”
“And you were pretty good, too. Given time, I could have taught you a few things, but we don’t have any more time. Put the money back in the bag and close it. We’re all going for a little ride.”
“To the bayou?” Decker asked.
“How did you guess?”
Rebecca picked up some of the money and thrust it into the bag, then picked up another pack and did the same. Decker watched her carefully, and this time her hand didn’t come right out.
“Come on, come on, get it done!” Brent snapped.
And she did.
Her hand came out with the little “something extra” that had been in there, a. 32-caliber revolver. She fired at the same time that he did, and Decker moved, throwing himself to the floor. He rolled and, groping, found his sawed-off.
He turned as Brent, bleeding from a wound on his left shoulder, pointed his gun at him.
Decker pulled both triggers and smeared Brent Foxx all over the walls.
Epilogue
The following day, after having settled everything with the New Orleans police, Decker packed his saddlebags. Both Brian and Brent were dead, and so was Rebecca. All the Foxxes were dead.
He put thirty thousand in one saddlebag and thirty in the other. Luckily the packs were still marked with the names and locations of the banks, so it would be easy to return the money. It never occurred to him to keep it. He made his living on bounties and rewards, and he was sure that the banks would offer him ten percent of what he returned.
That meant about six thousand dollars, along with the twenty-five hundred on Brent’s head.
He wondered if there was any paper out on Brian and Rebecca yet.
HIGH PRAISE FOR
ROBERT J. RANDISI!
“Randisi always turns out a traditional Western with plenty of gunplay and interesting characters.”
—Roundup
“Each of Randisi’s novels is better than its entertaining predecessor.”
—Booklist
“Everybody seems to be looking for the next Louis L’Amour. Tome, they need look no further than Randisi.”
—Jake Foster, Author of Three Rode South
“Randisi knows his stuff and brings it to life.”
—Preview Magazine
“Randisi has a definite ability to construct a believable plot around his characters.”
—Booklist