Now Haig Hanasian came into the jail office.
His eyes sought out Frye.
"Did you hear?"
"You mean he's in De Spain's?"
Haig nodded. "I have a message from him. He wants you to meet him inside."
"You were talking to him?"
"For a few minutes. He came to find Digo."
"Where?"
"In my living room."
"Oh--"
"He was talking to my wife."
Frye said quickly, "He came to find Digo and when you told him he's in jail he asked for me?"
Haig nodded. "I think he finally realizes this is not a game . . . and he holds you responsible fo r what has happened. I think he enjoyed it when h e had others with him, but now he is alone."
"No, it's not a game," Danaher said mildly. He went to the gun rack and took down a Henry. "I'l l round up the others."
Frye hesitated. "John, I better do this myself."
"You don't get extra pay doing it alone."
"He's calling me."
"All right, you'll show with a full house."
"Remember, you said before I'd have to nail his ears to the door to get everybody's respect."
"I was just talking. What you did to Clay Jordan is enough. After that spreads around you're goo d here for life."
"John, I'm going over to talk to him."
Danaher studied his deputy. He took a cigar from his breast pocket and bit the tip off. "Kirby, a s far as I'm concerned you've got nothing to prove.
Phil's crazy enough to start shooting." Danaher hesitated. "It wouldn't be worth it."
"He'd like to back me down," Frye said. "Just to look good one last time."
"Taking men with you isn't backing down,"
Danaher insisted.
"It would be to Phil," Frye said. "And it might be to all those people outside."
Harold Mendez said, "The hell with them."
"It's not that easy," Frye said.
Harold shrugged. "It's as easy as you want to make it."
Frye started for the door and Danaher said quickly, "Kirby, he doesn't use his head. You watc h his gun now!"
"I will, John."
He was outside then, going down the three steps and the men in the street were turning to look a t him, those in his way stepping aside as he starte d across. He saw Milmary in front of the Metropolitan and he looked away from her quickly, his eyes returning to the dark square of De Spain's ope n doorway.
His right hand hung at his side as he stepped up onto the porch and he felt his thumb brush the gri p of the Colt. Take it slow, he thought. Don't try t o read his mind.
He walked into the dimness of De Spain's.
Phil Sundeen stood three quarters of the way down the bar. He was facing the front, his left elbow on the edge of the bar and a three-ounce whisky glass was in his hand held waist high. Hi s eyes stayed with Frye.
Behind the bar, De Spain waited until Frye stopped, ten feet separating him from Sundee n now. Then De Spain moved toward him.
Sundeen's eyes shifted momentarily to De Spain.
"Pour him a drink."
Frye watched Sundeen and said nothing. He could see that Phil had been drinking. And no w he watched him gulp the shot of whisky he wa s holding.
Sundeen brought the glass down on the bar. "Go ahead . . . drink it."
"Why?"
"We're seeing what kind of a man you are."
"Then what?"
"I think," Sundeen said, slowly, "you're scared to raise the glass."
Frye hesitated. He half turned to the bar, lifted the shot glass with his left hand and drank it in on e motion. His eyes flashed back to Sundeen and h e saw him grinning now.
"You thought I was going to draw on you," Sundeen said.
"That can work both ways," Frye said.
"If you're man enough." Sundeen grinned. He glanced at De Spain and the bartender filled thei r glasses again. Sundeen raised his, looking at Fry e coolly, then drank it down.
"Why didn't you try?" Sundeen said.
Frye said nothing.
"Maybe you're not fast enough."
Still Frye did not speak.
"Maybe you're just a kid with a big mouth."
"I'm not saying a word."
"A kid with a big mouth and nothing to back it up," Sundeen said evenly.
Frye hesitated.
"Take a drink!"
Frye half turned and drank the shot, using his left hand, taking his eyes from Sundeen only lon g enough to swallow the whisky. He watched Sundeen signal again and De Spain refilled their glasses.
"Kirby, you look nervous." Sundeen lounged against the bar with his hip cocked.
"I'm just waiting for you," Frye said.
Sundeen raised his whisky and drank it slowly, then turned to the bar to put the glass down, takin g his eyes from Frye for a full five seconds before facing him again.
"There you had plenty of time," Sundeen said.
He grinned again. "Plenty of time, but not plenty of guts."
Frye raised his glass unexpectedly and drained it.
He saw the look of surprise on Sundeen's face, then saw De Spain fill the glasses again, this time without a signal from Sundeen.
"Now he's drinking for guts," Sundeen said. "A c ouple more of them and he'll be taking that goddamn warrant out." He drank off his shot quickly.
"Kirby, did you bring that warrant with you?"
"Right in my pocket," Frye said. He saw De Spain fill Sundeen's glass again.
"Let's see you serve it."
"Right now?"
"It don't matter when. It's no goddamn good anyway."
"It's got Judge Finnerty's name on it."
Sundeen grinned. "What else you got?"
"A witness outside. Merl White."
"I can handle Merl any seven-day week."
"What if Merl was standing right here?"
"That'd be his second big mistake."
"Everybody's wrong but you," Frye said. He watched Sundeen take another drink. He did no t touch his, but said quickly, "We let Tindal an d Stedman go, but we're going to lock you up tigh t until Judge Finnerty's ready for you."
"You're not locking anybody up."
"You'll sit about three weeks waiting for the trial. Then Finnerty'll send you to Yuma for a fe w years." Frye glanced at De Spain and the bartende r slid the bottle along the bar to Sundeen and fille d his glass to the top. "Be the driest years you eve r spent," Frye said.
Sundeen raised the glass and drank it off, slamming the glass down on the bar. "I'd like to see Finnerty with enough guts to send me to Yuma!"
"You'll see it."
"He's got guts like you have," Sundeen said. "In his mouth."
"Phil," Frye said mildly, "how long have you been bluffing people?"
Sundeen grinned. "You think I'm bluffing?"
"You can shoot quicker, ride faster . . . drink more than anybody else."
"You sound like you don't believe it."
"Well--"
Sundeen reached to the inside edge of the bar and picked up two of the shot glasses that wer e lined there and placed them next to the one he wa s using. He pulled the bottle from De Spain's han d and filled them himself. And when the whisky wa s poured he raised each shot glass in turn, drinkin g the three of them down without pausing. His eye s squeezed closed and he belched, then he relaxe d and rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth.
He looked at Frye. "Now it's your turn."
"I never made any claim as a drinker." He saw Sundeen start to smile and he said to De Spain, "Go ahead," then watched Sundeen again as the bartender filled the glasses. Sundeen lounged against the bar staring back at him.
Frye took his eyes from Sundeen momentarily, picking up the first glass, making himself relax. He glanced at Sundeen, then tossed it down, breathe d in as he picked up the second one and drank it, feeling saliva thick in his mouth as he raised the third glass, then gulped it and made himself place th e glass on
the bar again gently. He breathed slowl y with his mouth open, then swallowed to keep th e saliva down, feeling the whisky burning in his ches t and in his stomach. Nausea that was there momentarily passed off.
Now he felt more sure of himself, but he knew that it was the whisky and not a feeling he coul d trust. He could take more, if they did it slowly; bu t not many more even then. If he had to drink thre e consecutively again he knew he would not get th e last one down. And thinking this he was suddenl y less sure of himself. God, help me. Help me to hol d on to myself. He breathed slowly, making himsel f relax. He's had more than you have, but he wants t o make a fool out of you and that's all he's thinkin g about. He watched Sundeen steadily and it stayed i n his mind: He's drinking more than you are. D e Spain was filling the glasses without waiting for a nod from Sundeen and this also stayed in his mind.
He watched Sundeen take another drink.
Sundeen set the glass down, blowing his breath out slowly, then nodded to Frye. "Your turn."
He lifted the glass, smelling the raw hot smell of the whisky as it reached his mouth and he started t o drink.
"Frye!"
The glass came down and he choked on the whisky, coughing, only half seeing Sundeen in hi s eye-watered vision. He dropped the glass, blinkin g his eyes, rubbing his left hand over them and no w he saw Sundeen. He was laughing, still leanin g against the bar. Frye stopped, picking up the glass.
Sundeen said, "You thought that was it, didn't you?"
For a moment Frye watched him in silence. Then he said, "You want the warrant now?"
Sundeen straightened slowly. "Let's see you serve it."
"Without Jordan to help you?"
"I don't need Jordan."
"You did once."
"He was just earning his wages."
"How much did you pay him?"
"Enough."
"Was he worth it?"
"Maybe."
"They say he was pretty good with a gun."
Sundeen grinned. "That's what they say."
Frye's hand dipped into his coat pocket. He brought out Jordan's billfold and threw it down th e bar to Sundeen.
"But not good enough," Frye said mildly.
Sundeen glanced at it. "What's that?"
"Jordan's."
"You got him?"
"We buried him."
Sundeen hesitated. "Who?"
"Me."
"What, from behind?"
"Five feet smack in front of him."
"I don't believe it."
"You mean you don't want to believe it."
For the first time, Sundeen had nothing to say.
He lifted the whisky glass, drank it and moved his hand slowly putting the glass down.
Frye glanced at De Spain. The bartender filled Sundeen's glass again and Sundeen lifted it an d drank it down as soon as the neck of the bottl e tilted away from it. Frye held his glass in his hand , but did not drink. "You might as well fill it again,"
Frye said. "Mr. Sundeen's got some thinking to do."
Sundeen glared at him. "You think you're scaring me?"
"I think you've slowed down some."
"You don't scare nobody."
"Take that whisky, Phil. You'll sound more convincing." He raised his own glass to his lips, seeing Phil tighten, then drank it down, taking his time , and placed the glass on the bar. Sundeen was stil l tensed.
"Phil, you almost did it that time."
Sundeen gulped his drink. Bringing his glass down he lurched from the bar a half step and ha d to reach with his right hand to catch the edge of it.
"You almost went for your gun, Phil."
"Listen, you son of a bitch--"
"What stopped you?"
Sundeen hesitated. "I'm waiting to see that warrant."
"You're waiting, but not to see the warrant."
"You do a lot of talking--"
"You're waiting because you don't know what to do."
"Try serving it and I'll show you what I'll do!"
"Jordan had his gun out."
Sundeen flared, "You're a goddamn liar!"
Frye waited momentarily. "Why'd he leave you?"
"That's my business!" Sundeen stared at him with hate in his eyes, then picked up the whisky , spilling some of it, and drank it down. "You r turn!"
Frye kept his eyes on Sundeen as he raised his glass, then took it quickly. Setting it down he sa w Sundeen raise another.
Phil drank it, exhaling loudly as he brought the glass down. "Your turn!" he said thickly.
"Phil," Fry said quietly, "I think you're drunk."
"What!"
"You look drunk, that's all."
"I'll drink you into next week!"
Frye shrugged. "You look to me about ready to fall over."
Sundeen's face tightened as he stared at Frye, then seemed to relax though his hand still grippe d the edge of the bar. "Now you're calling," Sundee n said, "but you're going to show what you've got , too." Still watching Frye, his hand reached acros s the bar knocking down some of the shot glasse s lined there, but clutching two and bringing thes e back to the middle of the bar. He reached acros s and took one more. "I look drunk, huh?" He glanced at De Spain then. "Fill up!"
De Spain said, "Yes, sir," though his expression said nothing and he placed the six shot glasses in a line. He poured whisky into two of them, finishin g what was left in the bottle. Then took a fresh bottl e from the counter behind him and filled the othe r four, glancing at Frye as he put the bottle down.
"Well, I've got to see it to believe it," Frye said.
"You'll see it," Sundeen grinned. "Then I'll watch you do it."
He took the first two standing straight with his feet spread and planted firmly, then backed up a step from the bar, holding the edge with his lef t hand, as he drank the third one. Frye moved toward him, watching him spill part of the fourth shot, the whisky running over his chin as he gulpe d it. His hand slipped from the bar and he started t o go back, but he lurched forward and caught i t again. His mouth was open gulping in air as h e raised the fifth whisky and as his head jerked bac k to take it he spilled most of it. He dropped the glas s to the floor and reached for the sixth one, no w holding his body tight against the bar. He drank i t and brought his hand down, but the glass hit the inside edge of the bar and shattered on the floor. He held on to the bar now with both hands, swallow-280 i ng, taking in breaths of air with his mouth open.
He swayed and began to fall back, but he reached for the bar and fell against it heavily, his arms o n the smooth wet surface, his head down breathin g heavily and now saliva was coming from hi s mouth.
Frye stood two steps away from him.
"Phil, you want the warrant now?"
Sundeen lifted his head, squinting at him, blinking his eyes, "Wha--"
"Here's your warrant, Phil."
Sundeen pushed himself from the bar, holding it with one hand, turning, then stumbling again , falling against it with his back. He hesitated, studying Frye as if he could not focus his eyes. Suddenly then, his hand slapped against his holster, fumblin g momentarily, his body swaying away from the ba r as his hand came up with the Colt and waved it toward Frye.
Frye took one step. His left hand covered the cylinder of the Colt and he twisted, holding Phil's shirt front with his right hand. The Colt came fre e and he pushed Sundeen at the same time.
Sundeen fell heavily against the bar. He held on momentarily, but it seemed too great an effort an d he let himself slide down to the floor. He rose to hi s hands and knees, shaking his head, then sank dow n again and did not move.
Frye exhaled slowly and looked at De Spain.
"Send him the whisky bill. I'll see that he pays it."
He took the warrant from his pocket and tucked it inside Sundeen's shirt. Then he stooped, pullin g Sundeen up over his shoulders and this way he carried him out the front door and across the street.
He saw faces, wide open eyes, move from in front of him, but there was not a so
und until he reache d the steps of the jail. He heard it behind him then , sharp in the stillness, and he knew it was D e Spain--
"Didn't even draw his gun!"
Danaher helped him upstairs with Sundeen.
They put him in a cell and the last thing Frye remembered was Danaher saying, "Why don't you go in here . . . lie down for a while--"
Danaher went downstairs shaking his head. It was a strange world. He saw Tindal and Stedma n turn around as he reached the last step. They mus t have just come and were talking to Harol d Mendez, who was sitting at the desk.
Harold looked up. "They want to talk to Kirby."
"Kirby's taking a rest," Danaher said. "He's had a busy day."
About the Author has written more tha n three dozen books during his highly successfu l writing career, including the bestsellers Mr.
Paradise, Tishomingo Blues, Be Cool, Get Shorty, and Rum Punch. Many of his book s have been made into movies, including Ge t Shorty and Out of Sight. He is the recipient of the Grand Master Award of the Mystery Writer s of America. He lives with his wife, Christine, i n Bloomfield Village, Michigan.
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Praise for the western fiction of "CLASSIC WESTERN FARE."
San Francisco Chronicle "BEFORE LEONARD'S CONTEMPORARY
CADRE OF URBAN COWBOYS, THERE WAS
AN IMPRESSIVE LINEUP OF THE REAL THING.
BOUNTY HUNTERS, INDIANS, STAGECOACH
DRIVERS, BANK ROBBERS, SHERIFFS, AND
COWPUNCHERS PEOPLED THE PAGES
OF HIS NOVELS IN A GRITTY MIX RICH IN
THE FLAVOR AND INDIVIDUALISM
OF THE OLD WEST." Florida Times-Union "LEONARD BEGAN HIS CAREER TELLING
WESTERN STORIES. . . . HE KNOWS HIS WAY
ONTO A HORSE AND OUT OF A GUNFIGHT
AS WELL AS HE KNOWS THE SPECIAL KING'S ENGLISH SPOKEN BY HIS PATENTED , NOT-SO-LOVABLE URBAN LOWLIFES."
Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel "LEONARD'S SPECIAL KIND OF TOUGH GUYS
WERE BORN IN THE OLD WEST, WHERE HE
POLISHED HIS WISECRACKING VIEW OF
VIOLENCE AND MORALITY ON THE WORKINGS OF FRONTIER JUSTICE."
Elmore Leonard's Western Roundup #2 Page 18
