Free Collection 1983 - The Hills Of Homicide (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page A

between life as you live it and the gas chamber.”
    Her voice grew brusque. “Small bills, understand? Nothing bigger than a twenty. And send it to Gertrude Ellis, Box X78, here in town. Send me that thousand dollars by Friday and send the five hundred on the fifth of every month. If you miss by as much as ten days, the whole story goes to your girl friend, to your boss, and to the police.” The phone clicked, the line buzzed emptily. Slowly, Fordyce replaced the phone.
    So there it was. Now he had not only disgrace and prison before him, but the gas chamber.
    A single mistake—an instant when his reason was in abeyance—and here he was—trapped.
    He could call her bluff. He could refuse. The woman was obviously unprincipled and she had sounded vindictive. She would certainly follow through as she had threatened.
    For hours, he paced the floor, racking his brain for some way out, some avenue of escape. He could go to Charlton, confess everything, and ask for help. Charlton would give it to him, for he was that kind of man, but when it was over, he would drop Fordyce quickly and quietly.
    Alice—his future—everything depended on finding some other way. Some alternative.
    If something should happen to this woman—It might. People were killed every day. There were accidents. He shied away from the idea that lay behind this, but slowly it forced its way into his consciousness. He was considering murder.
    No. Never that. He would not—he could not. He had killed Chafey, but that had been different. It had not been murder, although if all the facts were known, it might be considered so. It had been an accident. All he had done was strike out. If he killed now, deliberately and with intent, it would be different.
    He ran his fingers through his hair and stared blindly at the floor. Accidentally, he caught a glimpse of his face in a mirror. He looked haggard, beaten. But he was not beaten. There was a way out. There had to be.
    Morning found him on the job, working swiftly and silently. He handled the few clients who came in, talked with them and straightened out their problems. He was aware that Charlton was watching him. Finally, at noon, the boss came over.
    “Fordyce,” he said, “this thing has worried you. You’re doing a fine job this morning, so it looks as though you’re getting it whipped, but nevertheless, I think a few days’ rest would put you right up to snuff. You just go home now, and don’t come in until Monday. Go out of town, see a lot of Alice, just anything. But relax.”
    “Thanks.” A flood of relief went over Fordyce as he got up, and genuine gratitude must have showed in his eyes, for Charlton expanded. “I do need a rest.”
    “Sure!” Ed put a hand on his shoulder. “You go call Alice. Take her for a drive. Wonderful girl that. You’re lucky. Good connections, too,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
    The sun was bright in the street, and he stood there thinking. He would call Alice, make a date if possible. He had to do that much, for Ed would be sure to comment later. Then—then he must find this woman, this Gertrude Ellis.
    He got through the afternoon without a hitch. He and Alice drove out along the ocean drive, parked by the sea, and then stopped for dinner. It was shortly after ten when he finally dropped her at her home.
    He remembered what the police had said about Bill Chafey. They had known about him and they had mentioned that he had been one of several known criminals who frequented a place called Eddie’s Bar. If Chafey had gone there, it was possible his girl did, too.
    It was a shadowy place with one bartender and a row of leather-covered stools and a half-dozen booths. He picked out a stool and ordered a drink. He was halfway down his second bourbon and soda before the first lead came to him.
    A tall Latin-looking young man was talking to the bartender. “Gracie been around? I haven’t seen her but once since Chafey got it in the neck.”
    “You figuring on