Free MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy: The Killing by William W. Johnstone, J. A. Johnstone Page A

Cindy looked confused.
    “Mr. Camden, is it possible that you don’t understand?” Polly asked.
    “Don’t understand what?”
    “We don’t do that.”
    “What do you mean you don’t do that? That’s what all whores do, ain’t it?”
    “We wouldn’t know about that,” Cindy said. “We aren’t whores.”
    “What do you mean, you ain’t whores? What the hell are you doin’ up here, if you ain’t a whore?”
    “Didn’t you read the sign on the wall?” Polly asked, pointing to the sign.
    “No, I didn’t read no sign, on account of I cain’t read. What does it say?”
    “It says we are here for conversation only.”
    “Look here, I done spent me three dollars since I come up here.”
    “Yes, you have. You spent it on drinks for you and for us.”
    “Well, what the hell? You say I’ve spent it on drinks for you two, why would I do that iffen I wasn’t plannin’ on gettin’ somethin’ out of it?”
    “You have gotten something out of it,” Cindy said. “You’ve had our company and our conversation.”
    “That ain’t enough. One of you get out of here. The other’n stay. If you ain’t got no place else to go, we’ll just do it here.”
    “We will both leave,” Cindy said.
    As the two women started to leave, Camden reached out and grabbed the nearest one, who happened to be Cindy, by her arm.
    “You ain’t leavin,’ bitch, ’til I tell you you can leave!” he said angrily.
    Reacting quickly, Cindy used her free hand to rake her fingernails across his cheek, leaving four deep and bleeding scratchmarks.
    “Damn you!” Camden shouted. Pulling his knife from its sheath, Camden made a quick, totally unexpected slash, cutting open Cindy’s throat.
    With her eyes opened wide in shock and the realization of what had just happened, Cindy put her hands to her throat. Polly watched in horror as blood gushed through Cindy’s fingers. Cindy’s eyes rolled up in her head, and she fell.
    Polly screamed.

Chapter Seven
     
    Duff had been at the saloon for about half an hour, during which time he was nursing a single beer and visiting with some of the other customers. He drank only one beer, not because he was cheap, but because he didn’t want to get drunk. He was about to leave when a woman’s scream brought all conversation to a halt. A moment later, Duff and all the other patrons of the saloon looked up and saw a woman appear at the railing on the balcony that overlooked the grand floor. There was a man behind her, and he was holding a knife to the woman’s neck.
    All conversation stopped as everyone in the room stared up at the man and woman who were standing at the railing.
    “Polly, what is it? What’s going on?” the bartender shouted.
    “Please help me,” Polly said, her voice quivering in fear. “I’m so scared.”
    “Who is that with her?” someone asked.
    “I know him,” another said. “His name is Camden.”
    “Polly, where is Cindy?” the bartender asked.
    “She—she’s dead! He just killed Cindy. He cut her throat.”
    “Is that true, Mister? Camden, is it? Did you kill Cindy?” the bartender asked.
    “Yeah, the name is Camden. And yeah, I killed the other woman.”
    “What did you go and do that for?” one of the saloon customers asked.
    “I killed her ’cause I wanted to. And I’m goin’ to kill this one, too, unless all of you empty your pockets and put your money there in the piano player’s hat. Piano player, once they do that, you bring it on up to me.”
    “I’ll just take my tips out first,” the piano player replied.
    “Huh-uh,” Camden said. “Them tips you got in your hat will be your contribution.”
    One of the men near the front of the saloon started toward the door.
    “Hold it right there, Mister!” Camden yelled. “Unless you want to see me cut this woman now.”
    “Stay there, Ed. I think he means it,” the bartender said.
    “You damn right, I mean it. Now, all of you, do like I said,” the man shouted down to the others.