Free The Prettiest Girl I Ever Killed by Charles Runyon Page A

out the sheriff’s emblem on the side.
    “Get in the house,” said Curt.
    “But why—?”
    “Go on. I don’t want you to cramp the sheriff’s style.”
    I went in and looked out the window; I felt resentful, not because I’d been sent inside, though that was part of it, but because Curt had obviously planned this when he had me park behind the house. I was being used as … what? An impartial witness? An ace in the hole? How did he plan things so far in advance?
    The car parked at the foot of the hill, near the crumbled foundation of a barn. Sheriff Wade got out, followed by Deputy Hoff. I felt a thrill of fear for Curt as the two men strode up the hill. Deputy Hoff was the sheriff’s nephew, but they looked enough alike to he father and son: hulking thick-necked men, with the deputy slightly taller and broader than his uncle. He’d left off wearing his theatrical forty-fives and now wore a.38 in a holster clipped to his belt, just like the sheriff.
    Curt greeted them without rising from the steps. “Howdy, Shurf,” he said in an exaggerated drawl. “What brings you out to these parts?”
    The sheriff’s white teeth showed in a humorless smile. “Drop the humor, Friedland. You ain’t Chester and I ain’t Matt Dillon. We came out to look around.”
    “Look away,” said Curt, waving at the barren hills. “I see you brought Deputy Hoff, whose fearless gun is all that stands in the way of Franklin County being drenched in the blood of innocents.”
    Deputy Hoff hunched his shoulders. “Now listen, Friedland—”
    “Easy, Bobby,” said the sheriff. To Curt he said: “You was just a kid when you left. They say you’re smarter than your brothers, but so far you ain’t showed any signs of it. You got a rumor started I railroaded your brother to the pen and I don’t like that a little bit. You got the county saying the Struble woman got shoved in the well, and her old man’s tearing his hair. He ran to me, and I had to go through all the evidence with him again. Now I’d like to know what business you’ve got in this county.”
    “That’s none of your business, sheriff.”
    The deputy blurted: “Uncle Glen, let me—”
    “No Bobby, he’s right. Legally it’s none of my business. One thing that is, Friedland, and that’s if you got any firearms in that house.”
    Curt rose slowly. “I didn’t know the state had a Sullivan law.”
    “I don’t know what they call it. All I know is I gotta register all the firearms in the county.”
    “Well, just out of curiosity, how many have you registered so far?”
    The sheriff’s face froze in surprise, just long enough to convince me there was no such law. His features quickly smoothed over. “That’s none of your business, boy. You gonna let us see them guns?”
    “I’d like to see something first. Something like a search warrant.”
    The sheriff’s neck reddened. “You aim for me to drive to Franklin for a piece of paper while you stash the guns out in the brush?”
    “You can leave Paladin here to watch me.” Curt walked slowly down the steps. I couldn’t see his face, but his voice look on a strange, velvety menace. “You’re not afraid to stay, are you Bobby? I’ll set up a target so you can practice with your shootin’ iron. You need it, Bobby. Anybody who hits a man in the back when he’s aiming at his legs—”
    “You better shut your goddam trap, Friedland.”
    “You did aim for his legs, didn’t you Bobby? That’s what you said at the trial.”
    “One more word, Friedland—”
    “Go to the car, Bobby,” said the sheriff.
    “Let him stay.” Curt stepped onto the graveled area in front of the steps. “He can leave his gun on. It doesn’t scare me. Any son-of-a-bitch who can’t shoot better—”
    Bobby tore his gun front his belt and snarled. “I don’t need a gun for you.”
    He rushed Curt, starting his wide swing while still a yard away. Curt sidestepped and seized the arm. I saw a blur of movement, then felt the