Free The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Six by Louis L’Amour

mingled with people at the elevator, and then, in the foyer of the building, stamped and addressed the envelope to himself and dropped it in a large mailbox near the door.
    It was Saturday morning and there was no delivery until Monday, so he went back to his work, pretending to be unconcerned as always. Yet when he finished his day and was once more in his room, he could scarcely restrain his exuberance.
    Fifteen thousand,
and all
his
! Standing before the mirror, he brushed his sleek blond hair and stared triumphantly at the vistas of wealth that opened before him. He would go about his work quietly for another month, and then make an excuse, and quit. After that, Rio, Havana, Buenos Aires! He was seeing himself immaculately clad on the terrace of a hotel in Rio when the phone rang.
    “Cruzon?” The voice was low, unfamiliar. “That was pretty slick! Nobody saw it but me, and I’m not talking…as long as I can do business with you.”
    Shock held him speechless. His lips were numb and his stomach had gone hollow. He managed the words, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who is this?”
    “You’ll know soon enough. The only reason you’re not in jail is because I’ve kept my mouth shut.”
    Eddie Cruzon had stared past the curtain at the drizzle of falling rain, his mind blank, his whole consciousness clambering at the walls of fear. “No reason why we should have trouble,” the voice continued. “In ten minutes, I’ll be sitting in the back booth of the coffee shop on your corner. All I want is my cut.”
    Cruzon’s lips fumbled for words.
    Into the silence the voice said, “They will pay five hundred for information. Think that over.”
    The man hung up suddenly, and Cruzon stared at the phone as if hypnotized. Then, slowly, he replaced the handset on its cradle.
    For a long time he remained perfectly still, his mind a blank. One fact stood isolated in his mind. He must share the fifteen thousand dollars.
    Yet almost at once his mind refused that solution. He had planned it, he had taken the risk, he would share it with no one.
    The answer to that was stark and clear. The unknown, whoever he was, would inform on him if he didn’t pay up.
    He could share his loot, go to prison, or…
    That was when he first thought of murder.
    What right had the stranger to force his way into the affair? Theft was a rough game. If anything happened to him, it was just his bad luck.
    Then he thought of the gravel pit. Only a few weeks ago he had visited the place, driving out the old road, now badly washed out and obviously unused. Curiosity impelled him to stop his car and walk up the grass-grown path along the fence.
    The pit lay in the rough triangle formed by a wide field of pumping wells, the unused road, and the fence surrounding a golf course, but far from any of the fairways. It was screened by low trees and a tangle of thick brush. There was no evidence that anyone had been near it in a long time.
    His car could be pulled into the brush, and it should take him no more than ten minutes to walk up to the pit and come back alone. There was small chance of being seen. It might be months before the body was found.
    Even when the plan was detailed in his mind, something within him refused to accept it. He, Eddie Cruzon, was going to kill a man!
    Later, looking across at the wide face of the man in the restaurant, he pretended to accept his entry into the affair with ease. “Why not?” he said. “I don’t mind a split.” He leaned over the table, anxious to convince the man of his sincerity. “Maybe we can work out something else. This job was a cinch.”
    “It was slick, all right!” The little man with the round face was frankly admiring. “Slick as anything I ever saw! It took me a minute or two to realize what had happened, and I saw it!”
    Eddie had leaned forward. “The money’s cached. We’ll have to hire a car….” He had decided not to use his own.
    “I’ve got a car. Want to go now?”