Free Dutchman and the Devil : The Lost Story (9781456612887) Page B

it right there, you lazy good-for-nothing excuse for a partner. I been sitting in this cell for hours waiting for you to show up. If you think you can walk away, you better think again. You ain’t pulled your weight since we left St. Louis, an’ you damn well better start now!”
    Weiser looked at Waltz behind bars and realized this was a golden opportunity to even the score for Waltz’s socking him in Los Angeles. And to replenish his own supply of gold while he was at it. “Wait a minute, Waltz. Right now you need me a hell of a lot more than I need you,” Weiser said. “You better watch your step or I’ll leave you here to rot.”
    Waltz jumped to his feet, shook the bars of his cell violently, and shouted, “If you go out that door, you’re a dead man! I’ll tear this place down brick by brick an’ come after you. An’ you can’t run fast enough or far enough to get away from me!”
    Weiser’s eyes widened. And the wheels began to turn in his head. His protesting partner had not outlived his usefulness just yet, not until Weiser had his fifty thousand. And he knew he was going to have to play it cool until he did, like it or not.
    Backtracking with a nervous laugh, he said, “Take it easy, Waltz. I was only fooling. Can’t you take a joke? You must know by now I wouldn’t go off an’ leave you, not for a million bucks! I’m your partner, ain’t I?”
    Waltz let go of the bars and roared, “Well, what’re you waiting for? Get going before I lose my temper!”
    Weiser met Waltz’s eyes and said, “I’m waiting because I gave my last nugget to that policeman out there. You’re gonna have to tell me where you’re hiding your gold.”
    Waltz’s black eyes narrowed and his bushy black brows moved toward each other as he stared at Weiser and thought, “That bastard is using this situation to justify getting my gold. But he’s got me by the short hairs, all right, an’ we both know it.” Resigned to the situation, he simply said, “It’s at the bottom of my saddlebags.”
    Weiser went out front and said, “I’m going back to our hotel to get bail for my partner. How much is it going to cost me?”
    “That little nugget you gave me earlier is worth about twenty bucks,” the policeman said. “Two more’ll get him out.”
    “That’s a lot,” Weiser said, “an’ I’m not rich yet. How about settling for one nugget?”
    The policeman grinned and replied, “I ain’t rich, either. Sixty bucks is the going rate. Take it or leave it. And you better get moving — the night duty officer won’t let you off so easy.”
    An hour later, a little to Waltz’ surprise, Weiser showed up with the gold, and Waltz was a free man. In an attempt to salvage what was left of the evening, Weiser suggested they go to a restaurant and have an expensive meal on Waltz’s money.
    Without answering, Waltz strode swiftly down the stairs. Weiser hurried after him. “What about supper?” he repeated. Waltz kept walking as if Weiser hadn’t spoken.
    “What’s the matter, Waltz?” Weiser said, raising his voice. “I thought you’d be grateful I got you out of jail. You’re acting like you don’t even want me around.”
    Waltz wheeled abruptly and snapped, “You got that right, Weiser. I don’t want you around, but obviously we’re stuck with each other. If we want to get our share of the gold that’s out there, we’re going to have to put up with each other. Just keep your distance an’ don’t double cross me.”
    Stunned at such audacity from Waltz and realizing he needed to pacify his partner, Weiser backpedaled . “Listen here, Waltz. While you was relaxing in that jail cell, I spent my entire evening looking for you. I was worried sick. And then, when I finally found you, you got mad. I’m just looking for a little appreciation from my partner, that’s all.”
    Weiser’s absurd claim was enough to make Waltz want to belt him again. But he knew that wouldn’t help him in the long run. Waltz