Illegal

SIXTY-FIVE

Sitting ramrod straight astride his stallion, Rutledge felt like knocking the wiseass shyster off the Appaloosa and straight onto his skinny ass. "Goddammit, Payne. I offer you two hundred grand and you give me guff?"

Payne leaned on the saddle horn, taking pressure off his bad leg. "That's the thing. The money's way too rich. So I'm asking myself, what are you afraid of? What's the harm to you if I find Marisol Perez?"

"For once in your life, Payne, be smart."

"By dancing with the devil?"

"This devil don't dance. This devil calls the tunes."

"Just so we're clear, Rutledge. If I stop looking for Marisol, you make my life comfortable. What happens if I don't?"

"No need to go there."

"Bullshit. You're threatening me."

"I know your life's crap," Rutledge barked. "You lost your son. You lost your wife to that asshole on TV. You'll probably lose your law license. Maybe you don't believe it, but I feel for you."

"You're right. I don't believe it."

Rutledge's glare turned cold as a frozen lake. "I've taken enough of your shit. What'll it be, yea or nay?"

"Keep your money. I promised a boy I'd find his mother."

Rutledge hadn't expected this. In his experience, most men buckled at sweet pussy or fast money. But this two-bit shyster, prickly as a bale of straw, was saying no, and saying it loud. "You know what you are, Payne? You're a dishonest man with principles. That makes you dangerous. Believe me, I know."

"I'm just trying to do what's right."

Rutledge shook his head, as if saddened to put down a crippled horse. He would make one last offer. If Payne took it, fine. If not, there were a hundred miles of levee where he could bury the son-of-a-bitch.

"I can give you something you want more than a potful of gold," Rutledge said. "Something you want more than anything in the world."

"I seriously doubt it."

"I can give you Manuel Garcia," Rutledge said. "I can give you the drunken bastard who killed your son. And I can do it tonight."