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

The little man was eager, his eyes bright and avid.
    “Not now. I’ve got a date, and this girl might start asking questions. Neither of us should do anything out of the normal. We just act like we always have.”
    “That’s right. I can see that,” the fellow agreed, blinking. He was stupid, Cruzon thought, absolutely stupid! “When do we go after it?”
    “Tomorrow night. You drive by and pick me up. We’ll go out where I hid the money, split it two ways, have a good dinner to celebrate, and go our ways. Meanwhile, you be thinking. You’re in a position to know about payrolls and can tip me to something else, later. With this parcel service job, I can go anywhere and never be noticed.”
    Nothing but talk, of course. Cruzon hated the milky blue eyes and the pasty face. He wanted only to be rid of him.
    When he saw the car roll up before his apartment house, he felt in his waistband for the short iron bar he had picked off a junk pile. Then, pulling his hat brim lower, he walked out the door.
    Weber opened the door for him, and Cruzon got in, striving for a nonchalance he did not feel. He gave directions and then sank back in the seat. His mouth was dry and he kept touching his lips with his tongue.
    Out of the corners of his eyes, he studied the man beside him. Weber was shorter than he, and stocky. Once at the pit, he must kill and kill quickly, for the man would be suspicious.
    They had seen no other car for miles when he motioned Weber to pull off the road. Weber stared about suspiciously, uneasily. It was dark here, and gloomy, a place of slanting rain, wet pavement, and dripping brush. “You hid it clear out here? What for?”
    “You think I want it on me? What if they came to search my place? And where could I hide it where I’d not be seen?” He opened the door and got out into the rain. “Right up this path,” he invited, “it isn’t far.”
    Weber was out of the car, but he looked up the path and shook his head. “Not me. I’ll stay with the car.”
    Cruzon hesitated. He had not considered this, being sure the man would want to be with him. Weber stared at him, then up the path. Cruzon could almost see suspicion forming in the man’s mind.
    “Will you wait, then?” he asked irritably. “I don’t want to be left out here.”
    “Don’t worry!” Weber’s voice was grim. “And don’t try any tricks. I’ve got a gun.”
    “Who wants to try anything?” Cruzon demanded impatiently. Actually, he was in a panic. What could he do now?
    Weber himself made it easy. “Go ahead,” he said shortly, “and hurry. I’ll wait in the car.” He turned to get back into the car, and Cruzon hit him.
    He struck hard with his fist, staggering Weber. The stocky man was fumbling for the gun with one hand when Cruzon jerked out the iron bar. He struck viciously. Once…twice…a third time.
    And then there was only the softly falling rain, the dark body at his feet, and the night.
    He was panting hoarsely. He must work fast now…fast. Careful to avoid any blood, he lifted the man in a fireman’s carry and started up the path.
    Once, when almost halfway, he slipped on the wet grass and grabbed wildly at a bush, hanging on grimly until he got his feet under him. When at last he reached the brink of the pit, he heaved Weber’s body over and stood there, gasping for breath, listening to the slide of gravel.
    Done!
    It was all his now! Rain glistened on the stones, and the pit gaped beneath him, wide and dark. He turned from it, almost running. Luckily, there was nobody in sight. He climbed in and released the brake, starting the car by coasting. An hour later he deserted the car on a dark and lonely street, then straightened his clothes and hurried to the corner.
    Walking four fast blocks, he boarded a bus and sank into a seat near the rear door. When he’d gone a dozen blocks, he got off and walked another block before catching a cab.
    He was getting into the cab when the driver noticed his hand.