LITMIR.BIZ

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Marietta. He intended to let her get lulled into a false sense of security.

      The tall, spare man with the long, nasty-looking scar on his right cheek slowly withdrew the knife from its leather scabbard. The razor-sharp blade gleamed in the sunlight streaming in through the store’s front windows.

      He smiled satanically.

      He gripped the knife’s smooth handle, liking the feel of it in his palm. His beady, narrowed eyes gleaming, he slid his thumb and forefinger the length of the blade several times, caressing it as if deriving sexual pleasure from the act.

      “You might like this one better,” said Jake Stone, standing behind the counter of Stone’s Weaponry Store. He placed a black-handled, short-bladed knife before his customer. “This one might be easier to handle.”

      The man stroking the long shiny blade never glanced at the other knife.

      “I’ll take this one,” he said and slipped it back into the leather scabbard.

      He was strapping the sheathed knife onto the back of his low-riding gun belt, when the proprietor said, “A good choice, Lightnin’. Perfect for skinning trout or what have you.”

      Lightnin’ finally looked up, nodded, paid for the knife and left. He stepped out onto the wooden sidewalk just as Cole happened past Stone’s Weaponry. Cole was lost in thought, head down. The two men collided.

      “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” snarled Lightnin’.

      “Sorry,” Cole apologized and hurriedly walked on, silently cursing his timing.

      Maltese’s scar-faced bodyguard was the last person on earth whose attention he wanted to attract.

      Lightnin’ stared after Cole. He knew everyone in town, so he recognized Cole as a stranger. He wondered what the man was doing in Central City. He meant to find out.

      He trailed Cole back to the hotel. After Cole had gone up to his suite, Lightnin’ went directly to the front desk. The clerk looked up and smiled nervously.

      “May I help you?” he asked politely, recognizing Taylor Maltese’s evil-looking bodyguard.

      Unsmiling, Lightnin’ said, “That tall, dark fellow who just went upstairs. Who is he?”

      The desk clerk cleared his throat needlessly. “I’m sorry, sir, but the manager of the Teller House, Mr. Darren Ludlow, has made it a strict policy of this hotel that we not divulge the identity of our guests.”

      Lightnin’ looked around. The high-ceilinged lobby was almost empty. Only an elderly couple sat on one of the many sofas. Both were reading. Lightnin’ whipped out the shiny new knife he had just purchased at Stone’s. The blade flashed as he held the sharp point an inch from the frightened desk clerk’s chest.

      “I’m making a new policy,” he said. “You have exactly one minute to tell me who that stranger is.”

      “Yes, of course,” said the jittery clerk who quickly turned the registration book around so that Lightnin’ could look at it. “The guest to whom you’re referring is Mr. Cole Heflin from Texas.”

      “Heflin, Heflin,” Lightnin’ repeated the name, re-sheathing his knife. “When did Heflin get into town?”

      “A week…no, eight days ago, I believe.”

      “What’s he doing here and how long is he staying?”

      “That I couldn’t tell you,” said the clerk, then quickly amended, “I mean, I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

      Lightnin’ turned away and walked out of the hotel. His curiosity aroused, he headed for the opera house. The Burnetts were standing guard in the alley. Maltese was upstairs with Marietta.

      Lightnin’ went into the downstairs gaming hall. He stepped up to the bar and questioned Harry, the barkeep. Harry told him a Texan had come in for a drink the night of the opera’s debut, but didn’t give his name or say why he was in Central City.

      “He ask you anything about Marietta?”

      Harry’s mouth fell open. “Ah, he might have mentioned seeing her perform, I don’t recall.”

      Lightnin’ scratched the long scar going down his right cheek. “You tell him anything about her?”

      “No. I mean, what’s to tell?” The fat man shrugged and shook his head. “I know nothing about her, other than that she stars in the opera.”

      Lightnin’ left without responding. He went around into the alley to talk to the Burnett brothers. “Did Marietta go out this afternoon?” he asked.

      Con Burnett answered. “She did, but we were with her every step of the way, Lightnin’.”

      “Where did she go?”

      Jim said, “She went into that ladies shop up on the corner of Eureka and Glory. You know that place where they have all them dainty things for women.”

      “Anywhere else?”

      “The Far Canyon Café,” stated Con.

      Lightnin’s eyes narrowed. “How long did she stay?”

      “Quite a while,” admitted Jim, never noticing his brother’s silencing frown. “We just got back here not ten minutes before you and Maltese arrived.”

      “Did you go in the café with her?”

      The big brothers looked guilty. Con told Lightnin’, “Miss Marietta ordered us to stay outside. Said she wanted to enjoy her lunch in peace.”

      Lightnin’ frowned. “Either one of you big, dumb bastards bother to have a look through the front windows to see who else was having lunch?”

      The Burnetts exchanged worried looks. Con spoke up. “I’m telling you nobody else went in that café. We’d have seen ’em if they had. Marietta was alone the whole time.”

      Lightnin’ looked from one to the other. “All right. But you boys better start keeping a closer eye on that red-haired singer. I don’t trust her. She’s far too young and high-spirited for Maltese.” He paused, kicked at a clump of grass with the toe of his boot and reminded them, “Our only loyalty is to Maltese. If Marietta ever steps out of line, I’d better hear about it before he does. You understand me?”

      “Yes sir,” the brothers said in unison.

      “I don’t think Miss Marietta would do anything behind Maltese’s back, Lightnin’,” Jim offered.

      “That’s your trouble, Jim, you don’t think.” He reached out and thumped the side of Jim’s head. “Start using your noggin or you’ll be out of a job.”

      “We will,” said Con. “You’ll see.”

      “When I say, ‘Don’t let her out of your sight,’ I mean it.”

      “You can count on us,” promised Jim.

      Cole wished that when he grabbed Marietta, they could hop on the Colorado Central at Blackhawk and ride the narrow-gauge train down to Denver. But he knew that was out of the question. She would undoubtedly scream and carry on and have him arrested for kidnapping.

      So the day after their lunch at the Far Canyon, Cole visited Pollock’s Livery Stable where he purchased a fine-looking black stallion, assuring the stable owner he’d be back for the black within a day or two. He considered buying a pack burro, but decided against it. Once he had Marietta, he would need to make a quick getaway. A mule or burro would slow him down.

      From the stable, Cole went directly to Central City’s largest general store. Parker’s Emporium carried just about everything anyone could ever need. Cole picked out a comfortable saddle and a bridle with long leather reins. He shopped around, tossed a couple of blankets on the counter.

      He lifted a pair of soft chamois trousers, held them up to his lean frame

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