Potshot

Chapter 47

IT WAS COOLER once the sun went down. Hawk and I sat on the front porch of The Jack Rabbit Inn drinking Coors beer from long-neck bottles, and looking at the darkening street.

"So Mary Lou told you shit," Hawk said.

"She told me I was the only one who could help her," I said.

"Probably the first guy she ever said that to."

Hawk was wearing faded blue jeans and a copper-colored silk tweed jacket over a white shirt. His mahogany-colored cowboy boots gleamed with polish. Everything fit him flawlessly. I knew that he was wearing his gun at the small of his back so as not to break the drape.

"I'm very special to her," I said.

"Un-huh. She say anything about Walker and Ratliff?"

"She said they weren't intimate."

"We believe her, don't we?" Hawk said.

"There's a lot she isn't saying," I said.

"We knew that 'fore you talked with her," Hawk said.

"Well, we know it again," I said.

"Skilled interrogation be the keystone of detective work," Hawk said.

"Yes it be," I said.

"Snooping around town work pretty well, too."

"The Dell came in for collections," I said.

"Un-huh. Two Jeep loads. Actually one a Jeep, the other one an old Scout, don't even make anymore."

"I've seen it," I said. "What time?"

"10:20 in the morning," Hawk said.

"Not early birds," I said.

"Still got themselves a worm though."

"Preacher come with them?"

"Casper the ghost," Hawk said. "Skinny? No hair?"

"That's him."

"He done the collecting," Hawk said. "Started down there, head of the street, at the Western Wear Store, and worked right down Main Street."

"How much backup?"

"Seven, besides him. Four in each vehicle. When he went in the stores, a big fat guy went with him. Carried the black bag."

"Pony," I said.

"Pony?"

"That's his name."

"Guy's big enough to haul a beer wagon."

"Maybe they're being ironic," I said.

"Tha's probably it," Hawk said. "I bet there's a tot of irony out there in the old Dell."

"What'd the other guys do while The Preacher was collecting?"

"Moved along down the street with him," Hawk said. "Stayed in the vehicles while Preacher and Pony went in."

"Weapons?"

"Handguns probably. I didn't see anything bigger."

When Hawk was engaged by something, he occasionally forgot his mocking black accent. It was how you could tell he was engaged.

"This is beginning to sound easy," I said.

"It'll be easy," Hawk said.

"They know we're here," I said.

"Probably. But The Preacher's been the stud horse around here a long time. He's so used to not having trouble that he forgot there is any. My guess, he don't care if we're here."

"You working on a plan?" I said.

Hawk nodded toward the head of the street

"We park Sapp in one car up there," he said. "And we put Bobby Horse in the other car, at the bottom of the street. Chollo in the alley there."

Hawk pointed with his chin at a point midway along Main Street.

"The little Vegas guy…"

"Bernard," I said. "Bernard J. Fortunato:"

"Him," Hawk said. "Across and down a little, between the bakery and the drug store. And Vinnie in the hotel window, top floor."

"Why Vinnie?" I said.

"Best shooter," Hawk said.

"I'm not sure he's better than Chollo," I said.

"He ain't worse," Hawk said.

"No. You're right. Vinnie's in the window. Which leaves you and me to brace Pony and The Preacher."

"Best for last," Hawk said and took a pull at his beer.

"Okay," I said. "That'll work."

"'Course it'll work," Hawk said. "You just jealous you didn't think it up."

"How hard was it to think up?" I said.

"Tha's not the point," Hawk said.

"Of course it isn't," I said. "Next week we'll implement your plan."

"Hot diggity," Hawk said.