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

moving in there?”
    “Are you crazy? That broad gives me the shivers. She’s stacked, all right, but she’d cut your heart out for a buck.”
    “Bill handled her.”
    “You mean she handled him. She was the brains of that setup.”
    “Leave it to Bill to try to pick up a fast buck.”
    “Yeah, and look at him now.”
    There was silence, and Fordyce sipped his drink unconcernedly, waiting. After a while it started again.
    “She’s probably working that bar on Sixth Street.”
    “Maybe. She said the other day she was going to quit. That she was expecting a legacy.”
    “I’ll bet. She’s got a take lined up.”
    A few moments later, Fordyce finished his drink and left the place. He went to Sixth Street, studied the bars as he drove along. It might be any one of them. He tried a couple but without luck.
    The next morning he slept late. While he was shaving, he studied his face in the mirror. He told himself he did not look like a murderer. But then, what did murderers look like? They were just people.
    His face was long, his cheekbones high, and he had a quick, easy smile. His hair was straight and brown, his eyes a light blue. He was nearing thirty and had the assured manner of any young professional man. Despite the fact that he had always held good jobs, he had saved no money to speak of, had always looked ahead for a better position and better chances at money.
    He dressed carefully, thinking as he dressed. To get the money, Gertrude Ellis would have to go to the box. She would not expect him to be watching, since she would probably believe he would be at work. Even so, he would have to be careful, for she would be careful herself. She might walk by and merely glance in at first. He would have to get her to open the box. He considered that, then had a hunch.
    Shuffling through his own mail, he found what he wanted. It was an advertisement of the type mailed to Boxholder or Occupant. He withdrew the advertising matter to make sure his own name was not on it. Then he carefully removed the address with ink eradicator and substituted the number she had given him.
    Her true name would probably be not unlike Gertrude Ellis, which was obviously assumed. The first name was Gracie, and it was a fairly safe bet the last would begin with an E. Unless, as sometimes happened, she used the name of a husband or some friend.
    Considering the situation, he had another idea. Eddie’s Bar and Sixth Street were not far apart. Hence, she must live somewhere in that vicinity.

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    H E RETURNED TO Eddie’s that night, and the bartender greeted him briefly. They exchanged a few comments, and then Fordyce asked, “Many babes come in here?”
    “Yeah, now and again. Most of ’em are bags. Once in a while, something good shows up.”
    He went away to attend to the wants of another customer, and Arthur Fordyce waited, stalling over his drink, listening. He heard nothing.
    It was much later, when he had finished his third drink, and was turning to look around, that he bumped into someone. She was about to sit down, and he collided with her outstretched arm.
    “Oh, I’m sorry! Pardon me.”
    “That’s all right.” She was a straight-haired brunette with rather thin lips and cool eyes. But she was pretty, damned pretty. Her clothes were not like those Alice wore, but she did have a style of her own.
    She ordered a drink, and he ignored her. After a minute, she got up and went to the ladies’ room. The bartender strolled over. “Speaking of babes,” he said, “there’s a cute one. Should be about ready, too. She’s fresh out of boyfriends.”
    “Her? How come? She’s really built.”
    The bartender shrugged. “Runs with some fast company sometimes. Her boyfriend tried to make a quick buck with a gun and got killed. Chafey. Maybe you read about it.”
    “Chafey?” Fordyce looked puzzled, although inside he was jumping. “Don’t recall the name.” He hesitated. “Introduce me?”
    “You don’t need it. Just buy her a