Free Cotton's Law (9781101553848) by Phil Dunlap

yourself,
and
you’re the one that gets the sonofabitch, I’ll make sure there’s a healthy bonus in it for you. But if you spread that around to the others, the deal’s off.”
    “It better be damned healthy. Cotton Burke can shoot the head off a fly in midair. Leastways that’s what I’ve heard.”
    “I’d have to say that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Suffice to say, he’s quick all right, but he’s still just a man, not unlike others you’ve faced down. Now, you in or not?”
    “Yeah, reckon I’m in. Besides, I’m damned near busted, anyway.”
    “Good. Now, do you know where I can find Plink Granville?”
    “Aww, he’s around somewhere. Probably down at theSilver Strike. Leastways that’s where he generally hangs out, proppin’ his chin on the bar to keep from fallin’ into the cuspidor. Man’s a fallin’ down drunk, you know. What do you want with a kid like that? He’d be just as likely to shoot himself as he would Burke.”
    “Maybe the information I have for him will convince him to sober up for a spell.”
    “Yeah, what information is that?”
    “Cotton Burke killed his brother, Whitey, last week.”
    “Burke got Whitey Granville?”
    “Yep. Shot him twice before Whitey could even pull the trigger on that Sharps.”
    Buck got a sick look on his face as he stared at his glass. Sleeve noticed a change in the gunslinger’s demeanor at hearing the news. He wasn’t certain he could keep Buck from bolting. But he had to try.
    “I know it sounds like Cotton Burke is unbeatable, but he ain’t. One of Virgil Cruz’s men near killed him a month or so back. He’d be dead if it hadn’t been for Memphis Jack Stump.”
    “Stump? Damn! Is he in on this thing, too? On Burke’s side?”
    “Likely, unless we can take him out.”
    “Any more money in the deal for takin’ down the two of ’em?”
    “I don’t know. Depends on whether Bart Havens figures Memphis Jack for a threat.”
    “He does if he has any sense at all.”
    “So, Delilah, what are you doing in town? And how long do you figure on bein’ here?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    “Where are you stayin?”
    “The hotel says they’re full up tonight, but I can get a room tomorrow. Maybe I’ll just sit up in the lobby tonight.”
    “Not while ol’ Memphis Jack’s got a bed that’ll fit two just fine.”
    “You’re suggestin’ I spend the night with you?”
    “That’s about the size of it. What do you say?”
    “You
do
remember what happened the last time we were together, don’t you?”
    “Uh, yeah, but as I recall it didn’t have nothin’ to do with a problem over the sleepin’ arrangements.”
    “No, it had to do with me not wanting anything to do with a whiskey-­soaked drunk. So, unless you’re reformed, I think I’ll just avail myself of one of those plush chairs in the lobby for the night. Thanks, anyway.”
    “I have,” Jack said, “reformed, that is.”
    “I’m glad to hear it.”
    “So, you’ll take me up on my offer after all?”
    Delilah slowly broke into a smile. “One night.”
    “That’s Plink over there, the one with his head on the table, snorin’ away like a wounded grizzly. Don’t look much like a shootist, does he?” Buck said, as the two of them pushed through the doors of the Silver Strike Saloon.
    “No, I reckon he don’t, at that.” Sleeve sauntered up to where Plink Granville had chosen to sleep off a drunk, spilling whiskey all over the tabletop and lying in it. “Plink, wake up!”
    After Sleeve hollered his name several times, Plink slowly lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot. Spilled whiskey ran down his cheek.
    “Leave me alone, you bastard. I’m busy.”
    “Yeah, I can see that, you drunken pig. Wake the hell up. I got some news and a proposition for you,” Sleeve growled.
    “What’d you call me?” Plink went for his gun and got it halfway out of the holster, when he realized he was staring down the barrel of Sleeve’s Schofield. Sleeve gave Plink’s chair