Not that a, b, or c made any difference to Tolan. Anytime they were anywhere near fresh fruit, Tolan would buy some and toss it into his carpetbag. And leave it there to rot. Who the hell wanted to lie awake half the night picking pieces of apples or plums or pears from your teeth?
Such was life with Tolan lo these many, many years.
Rooney searched for nearly fifteen minutes, stopping every time he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Once he got nervous enough to excrete a sheath of cold sweat that covered his entire body. Another time his bowels clenched with such force that he doubled over. Damn.
None of the warnings turned into anything.
He went back to work. Under the bed. Under the mattress. The bureau drawers. The closet. The closet shelf. Nothing nothing nothing.
And then the most dreaded place of alclass="underline" the inside of the carpetbag. Easy to imagine pit vipers in the deep, dark interior. Or hellfire-breathing dragons from the medieval fantasies of his boyhood reading. Maybe it was the portal to Hades itself and would suck him in with the force of a vortex.
Whatever it was, he knew it would be vile. God, just touching the outside of it was slimy enough. Imagine the inside.
He closed his eyes, held his breath, and began to insert his arm when
He heard noise in the next room. His room.
His first thought was that Prine and Neville had found them. But how, with the head start they'd had? And how, when they had no idea where he and Tolan had been headed? He thought of the old man in the ghost town saloon. But how could the old man talk? Rooney had killed him personally. He'd checked his pulse at neck and wrist. Dead for sure.
Then who the hell was in there?
He realized what was going on soon enough. A hotel. Daytime. This was the busiest time of day for hotel thieves. They'd figure that most gents who stayed in a place like this would be drummers or traveling businessmen of some kind. The perfect time to toss a room and steal any and all of its valuables.
Frustrated that he hadn't found any of Tolan's money, he decided to have some fun. He'd kill the bastard who was in his room, was what he'd do. Then he'd wait for Tolan to show up and rob him right at gunpoint.
I want your money, Tolan. Or I'll kill you right here on the spot. And when he got the money, off he'd go. Points unknown. Tolan would never find him again, because Tolan would be dead.
For the first time in decades, Rooney would be a free man. No more dragging Tolan along. Being embarrassed by him whenever they were in polite company. Always worried that he'd get some dumb-ass idea to steal the money that Rooney had had the initiative to go out and steal himself.
Drawing his Colt, he crept out of Tolan's room, tiptoed to the adjoining room, and then flung the door open.
And it opened, all right—just fine and dandy, it opened. But the sight it opened on was enough to make Rooney slump against the door frame.
"What the hell're you doing in my room?" he said.
"You're s'posed to be the smart one, you figure it out." Tolan's Peacemaker was pointed right directly exactly unerringly at Rooney's head.
"You mean while I . . ."
Tolan smiled that dark rotted smile of his. "While you were robbin' my room, I was robbin' your room." The smile vanished. "Get in here and close the door."
"Thanks for inviting me into my own room."
"You're more than welcome."
Rooney closed the door and went over and sat down. The bed squeaked. A bird had left a streak of white shit on the window in Rooney's absence. Now he had Tolan to contend with.
"Guess what I found?" Tolan said, and held up an envelope that Rooney recognized right away.
"You bastard."
"For a smart man, you can be pretty dumb sometimes. Slitting a hole in the side of the mattress and shoving the envelope in there. All them little strings hanging out when you cut it open—hell, they led me right to the money, Rooney." The grubby smile again. "You, on the other hand, you didn't find nothin', did you?"
"You sonofabitch, Tolan."
Tolan stood up, confidently opened Rooney's envelope, peeked inside.
"I'm gonna have me one hell of a time in California, Rooney."
"Give me my money."
"Why the hell should I?"
"Because it's mine."
The smile. "You were tryin' to do the same thing to me. If you'da found it, you'da kept it."
"Tolan, listen, this is the most money—"
"You don't have to tell me, Rooney. This is the most money we ever had at one time. Least, that I know of, anyways. You pro'ly stole this much from me over the years, but I didn't know anything about it."
He crossed the room in three steps and slashed the barrel of his gun down across Rooney's jaw. A fireline of blood opened up instantly.
He stepped away. He knew that if he hit Rooney again, he wouldn't be able to stop hitting him. Too much anger stored up for too long. Too much humiliation. He'd heard Rooney making jokes about him to other people. Tolan knew how the sight of him disgusted people. Ever since little Daisy ate that glass, he'd been ugly. As if the same ugliness on his soul was now on his face. Both to his face and behind his back, Rooney had commented on this many, many times. Too many times for Tolan to handle any more.
"How was you gonna do it, Rooney, if you didn't find it in my room? Wait till it was dark and then backshoot me right before the train rolled in? You'd be in Denver by the time they figured out who killed me. Then it would all be yours."
"Why the hell'd you hit me?"
"Because I'm sick of your bullshit. Sick of the way you look down on me. You think I don't know how ugly I am? You think I don't see when women get sick inside when they see me? You think I don't know what all your fancy friends think when they see me? I think about it all the time, Rooney. And every time I think about it, I hear you laughin' in the background. You got a real mean laugh, Rooney. And half the time you're fuckin' laughin' at me."
This time Tolan used his fist, hooking it up under Rooney's jaw, knocking him back flat on the bed. Now there would be a bruise through the line of blood Tolan had opened up.
"I'll tell you how it's gonna be, Rooney. You 'n' me are goin' to Denver together. I'm keepin' your money till we get there. I'm gonna take your gun. You won't have no weapon. And if you try anything on me, I swear I'll kill you on the spot."
"What about my money?" Rooney said, closing his eyes, apparently from the pain of Tolan's fist.
"When we get to Denver, you get half."
"Half? What the hell're you talking about, half?" He came up off the bed angry. Rage had revived him. "Half? Bullshit."
"Half. Or nothing. Up to you."
"Why the hell should you get half?"
"Well, for one reason because you wouldn't give me even half if you were in my place. So I'm being generous. And for another reason, the money I take from you should clear us for all the money you stole from me over the years."
"Half," Rooney said. "You sonofabitch." Then, bitterly and to himself: "Half."
"It's up to you."
"So you're with me till train time?"
"You ain't gettin' out of my sight."
"Maybe you'll change your mind, Tolan. Maybe you'll start thinking more clearly."