The Copper City - Chris Scott Wilson [56]
“She’s long gone too. You’re too late, Harley. For once you’ve been screwed yourself.”
“I’ll kill you for this,” the businessman said in a low voice.
“I don’t think so,” Quantro said slowly, inspecting his empty glass. “Unless you didn’t notice, my right hand is under the table. Just so happens it’s aiming my Colt right at your most treasured possessions.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Quantro let the pistol barrel droop a fraction, then pulled the trigger. Harley jumped as the .44 bullet ploughed into the floorboards between his feet. His face paled, ghostly as the gun smoke drifted from beneath the table.
The door from the other room sprang open and a guard leapt into the salon. There was a Winchester in his hands. Quantro’s Colt appeared from beneath the table in a flash. He pulled the trigger. Mingled with the sound of the deafening gunshot was the guard’s cry as the bullet spun him against the wall. His rifle landed with a dull thud on the carpet. Unarmed, he cowered against the paneling, holding his wounded shoulder.
Quantro looked back at Harley. “Now put that fancy little Derringer you carry in your waistcoat pocket on the table, and tell your doorman there to shed his own gun.”
The two men did as they were told. Quantro emptied the guns with his left hand, wearing the glimmer of a smile. “Much better. Anybody else in the back room?” The guard shook his head. “Fine. There’s a lariat on my saddle outside. You, the one that’s still in one piece, go and fetch it. If you’re not back in fifteen seconds I’m going to blow your boss’s head clean off his shoulders.” Quantro smiled icily. “Now get going.”
The doorman ran.
Harley’s hands moved placatingly. “Okay, Quantro, you hold all the cards. Tell you what, you got a deal. Keep the $2,000. You did a good job. And there’s still a job here for you…”
“Bullshit. You’d kill me as soon as smile.”
Harley’s mouth twitched. He looked about ready to say some more when the doorman returned carrying the lariat. Quantro directed him to stand against the opposite wall next to the wounded guard, then stood up and placed his gun on the table.
“The rope.”
The guard tossed it. Quantro caught it. He went to stand behind Harley, ready to tie him up. In a blur of motion he reached around the businessman and snatched up the gun. Even as they saw it happen the muzzle of the big .44 was staring them in the face.
“If you think you could make it across the room while I’m using this rope, I’d be pleased if you’d try. It’d save me hog-tying you.”
The doorman shook his head while the bleeding guard looked on, grimacing in pain. When Harley was trussed up tight, Quantro beckoned over the doorman. It didn’t take long.
He stood back and eyed his handiwork critically. He nodded, then scooped up his Colt to check on the back room. It was empty except for the silver piled on the table. He moved back into the main saloon and looked at Harley’s glaring eyes above the gag securely tied across his mouth.
“You’d better be careful, Mr. Harley. Somebody might come in and steal all that money laid on the table in there.” Quantro picked up the guard’s Winchester from the carpet, then emptied the magazine. There was a patch of mud by the door. He plugged the rifle’s barrel with it, making sure they could all see him. “Don’t want you blowing off your hands trying to shoot this thing,” he explained. He collected the bullets from their handguns and dropped them in his pockets.
“I forgot,” he said, pausing by the door, waving the Colt casually. “I also took out the $30 bonuses you promised Pete and me for doing a good job.” He smiled then went out into the street.
The buckskin felt good beneath him as it worked up to a gallop once it was free of the deep mud of Cananea’s main street. It was still raining heavily but it didn’t bother Quantro. He liked it. It would wash out all his tracks. There would be no pursuit.
It was rapidly growing dark. Soon, he would be at the creek. His woman,