Lone Creek

54

It was getting toward midnight when the lights in Wesley Balcomb's office went on. Madbird and I were waiting outside the compound's security fence, in the spot where I had earlier planned to shoot from. He had a powerful flashlight. I was lying prone a few yards away with Kirk's rifle, just in case.

When Balcomb walked into the room and sat at his desk, Madbird started shining the flashlight in quick bursts. Balcomb's head swung toward it in alarm. He jumped up and lunged for the light switch. The windows went dark.

Then we heard the sound of one of them cautiously being opened.

"Identify yourself," Balcomb said harshly. "I'm warning you, I've got a gun."

"I'm the one called you last night about them people you were looking for," Madbird said.

Balcomb's voice turned furious. "Who the hell are you? What are you-"

Madbird cut him off. "I found them again. Get your rig and follow me, I'm parked up at the highway. You ain't there in two minutes, I'm leaving." He turned and started loping in that direction.

"You'd better have my ten thousand dollars, goddammit!"

"Gonna cost you ten more," Madbird yelled over his shoulder, and kept running.

I took off running for the road, too. This was the best plan I'd been able to think of for luring him out of there without leaving a phone record. I wasn't at all sure he'd go for it. He always operated at a remove, and he'd be real unhappy about dealing with Madbird. But he had to be going crazy by now, with no idea what was happening and two of his hired guns vanished-primed to grab at any chance.

Within another minute, a vehicle engine started inside the compound. Headlights appeared, with the hulking shape of Balcomb's Humvee behind them.

The security gate opened in front of him and closed after he drove through. He advanced slowly until Madbird turned on the flashlight again, flagging him to stop.

Balcomb's window rolled down. I could see the glint of metal in his hand.

"Go ahead and shoot me," Madbird said. "We ought to get to hell just about the same time."

Reuben stepped out of the shadows with his shotgun leveled.

"I'd let go of that gun if I was you, Wesley," he said. "You know what kind of a mess one of these can make."

I stepped to the window and put the rifle's muzzle against the back of Balcomb's neck.

He let the pistol fall to the ground. It looked like a Smith amp; Wesson Airweight with a shrouded hammer. They were easy to conceal, very reliable, and very effective point-blank-probably what he'd intended for Madbird. I scooped it up and shoved it in my pocket.

"We're going to take a drive," Reuben said. "Hear what you got to say about dead horses and diamonds."