Broadway Bounty

Chapter Twenty-seven

Decker kept a lookout on the front street, looking for Billy Rosewood. Finally he saw Rosewood’s cab pull up. He hoped Billy would stay there long enough for him to get down there.

Decker put the little .32 in his pocket and then picked up his sawed-off shotgun. It was about time his old friend went along with him. The next time somebody tried to take a piece out of him, that somebody was going to end up in pieces—after Decker questioned him. He tucked the shotgun inside his coat and left the room.

Decker went downstairs and found Rosewood leaning against the cab.

“I wondered if you died up there,” Rosewood said.

“What made you come back?”

“Cap’n,” Rosewood said, “you don’t strike me as the type to let a little bullet and razor keep you from doing what’s got to be done.”

“Good man,” Decker said. “There’s a policeman across the street.”

“Yep,” Rosewood said, “and one in the lobby.”

“I want to lose both of them.”

“Well, hop in and let’s get it done.”

Decker got into the cab, and Rosewood climbed up top and got it moving.

Looking out the back, Decker saw the two policeman scramble into a cab of their own. Soon it was clear that their driver was not as skillful as Rosewood or as knowledgable about the city’s side streets. In a matter of minutes, Rosewood had lost them.

“Where to now, Cap’n?” he shouted down.

“A reliable gunsmith,” Decker shouted back.

“Sit tight,” Rosewood said, “be there in a couple of minutes.”

Julian’s Gun Shop was a hole in the wall off the Hudson River. Rosewood stopped the cab and jumped down, opening the door for Decker.

“I suspect you want something special,” he said.

“You suspect right. Is this fella any good?”

“Are you kidding? Even the police come here for their special items. What do you want done?”

Decker took his shotgun out of the cab.

“That little gun of yours is fine, Billy, but I think I need my own weapon along from now on.”

“Gonna ruin the lines of that nice new jacket.”

“I thought you said he was good.”

Rosewood shrugged and said, “He’s good, but he ain’t no tailor.”

Rosewood led the way into the shop. Behind the counter was the tallest man Decker had ever seen. Painfully thin, he had black hair that came to a widow’s peak. Even though it was only 11:00 a.m., he had a five o’clock shadow.

“Lee,” Rosewood said, “this here’s a friend of mine. His name is Decker.”

“Decker,” Lee said, nodding his head. “Seems I’ve heard that name somewhere.”

Decker wondered where. Tally had done his job keeping Decker’s name out of the newspapers so that Ready would think Dover was still after him.

“I thought the name of this place was Julian’s?” Decker asked.

“It is,” Lee said. “I’m Lee Christopher. My brother’s name is Julian. He started this job, and I took it over when he died.”

“I see.”

“Decker,” Lee Christopher said, still chewing the name over. “Yeah, I’ve heard your name before. Well, it’ll come to me. What can I do for you?”

“I want to carry this,” Decker said, putting his shotgun on the counter, “without anyone knowing.”

“You could use a smaller gun,” Lee said.

“We been through that, Lee,” Rosewood said. “The man knows what he wants.”

“OK,” Christopher said, picking it up. “Let’s see what we got. You want to use that jacket?”

“Yes.”

“Let me have it.”

Decker took the coat off, moving gingerly.

“Looks like you’ve had some trouble already.”

“Some,” Decker said, handing over the coat.

“Well,” Christopher said, holding the coat up, “it would help if you were some heavier, but I can rig a holster on the inside of this jacket—not a full holster, mind you. Wait a minute. I know what I can do—here.” He looked at Decker and asked, “How much time have I got?”

“We need it yesterday,” Rosewood said.

“Are you paying?”

“Yes,” Decker said.

“Come back in an hour. I’ll be closed, but bang on the door.”

“Thanks,” Decker said, but the man didn’t hear, already lost in deep thought.

“Come on,” Rosewood said, “I know where we can get a drink while we’re waiting.”

Decker and Rosewood left the shop and walked to a nearby saloon. Decker took a table, and Rose-wood got two beers from the bar and joined him.

“Once you’ve got your jacket rigged, where are we headin’?” he asked Decker.

“The Bowery.”

“What the hell for?”

“You know a place called the Bucket of Blood?”

“Know it?” Rosewood said. “Cap’n, even I stay clear of that place.”

“Well, that’s where I want to go.”

“Why?”

“Because the next guy who’s going to try to kill me drinks there.”

“And that’s a reason to go?” Rosewood asked. Then he held his hands up and said, “Wait, I know—that’s the best reason to go.”

“Right. This time I don’t want to wait for him to find me. I want to find him.”

“I suppose from your point of view, that’s the way to do it.”

“And from yours?”

“I believe I’d give serious thought to finding a new city to live in.”

“Billy, if you don’t want to go—”

“No, no, I’ll take you, Cap’n. You’re the one paying the freight.”

“That reminds me,” Decker said. “I owe you money—”

Rosewood raised his hand and said, “We got time to settle up later.”

“You’re an optimist.”

“Well, if you get killed at the Bucket, I believe I’ll be in too much trouble with Tally to spend any money—that is, if I ain’t dead, too.”

“You won’t be,” Decker said. “You’re just going to drop me off. You aren’t coming in.”

“You got eyes in back of your head?”

“What’s that mean?”

“In that place two eyes aint’ nearly enough, and even four is like to make you go cross-eyed, but four’s all we got between us, and we might as well use them all.”

“You’ll need this, then,” Decker said. He took the .32 out of his pocket and passed it to Rosewood under the table.

“I had a feeling this thing was gonna be coming back to me sooner or later,” Rosewood said, putting it in his pocket. “I think I would rather it was later.”