The Indian went to his knees. Blood trickled down the side of his face. Silk barked, “Stay down, Chief, I got no gripe with you.”
Rocky had grabbed another pool stick and was about to swing when Steele fumbled her gun out of her purse and pointed it at him. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”
Silk looked at Steele as if she’d ruined his birthday party. “Aw, leave him be,” Silk said, with open palms. “He ain’t gonna hurt nothing.”
Steele held the gun steady and wondered what else could go wrong that night.
“Put it down, lady,” a man’s voice boomed from behind her. When Steele turned, she saw a large man with a dirty, white apron tied around his bowling ball gut. He was holding a shotgun and leveling it at Steele. “Get out of my bar. . now.”
Steele held up her credentials. “I’m an FBI agent here on official business.”
“I don’t’ give a shit who you are.”
“You don’t understand-”
The shot reverberated throughout the spacious room, followed by screams and a frantic rush for the exit. People nearby lunged to the floor and began scrambling for the door on their hands and knees.
Steele flinched for a moment, but when she regained her focus, she saw the bar owner on the floor clutching his leg. Silk holstered his revolver, kicked aside the shotgun that lay next to the bar owner, and crouched over the fallen man. “Sorry, pal. You just don’t know how serious all this stuff is.”
Silk unfastened the bar owner’s apron and tied it snug around his upper thigh as a tourniquet. He motioned to the Indian, who was getting to his feet and pressed his hand up against his bloody ear. “Hey, Chief, get him to the hospital. Pronto. It looks like you could use a stitch or two yourself.”
The Indian stood expressionless.
Silk casually steered his revolver in the Indian’s direction. “What? I gotta shoot you too?”
The Indian moved toward the injured man.
The bar owner’s face was screwed up into a knot. He appeared to be fighting off the effects of shock.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Steele said, still breathing heavy from relief.
“You’re welcome,” Silk said, helping the bar owner to his feet and placing the man’s arm around the large Indian’s shoulder. The two of them shuffled off and Rocky began to accompany them.
Silk grabbed the back of Rocky’s shirt and pulled. “Where do you think you’re going, sport?”
Rocky unleashed an elbow into Silk’s ribs and caught him by surprise. Silk took a step back, then regrouped and kicked Rocky in the crotch like he was punting a football. Rocky curled over in pain.
Silk scowled. “What’s the matter with you, you don’t see me shoot that fat fuck with the apron? You think I’m like one of your cowfolk friends that carry around a six-shooter just to impress his girlfriend?”
The room was empty, but for the three of them now. Johnny Cash was singing about shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die; his voice resonated throughout the rafters of the elevated ceiling.
Silk lifted his foot and shoved Rocky to the ground. He landed on his back in between two pool tables and looked up at Silk. “Are you the law?” he asked in a breathy voice.
Silk opened the chamber of his revolver and dropped all five bullets into the palm of his hand. “More like an outlaw,” Silk grinned.
“What are you doing?” Steele asked.
“I’m not sure,” Silk said. “I think I’m trying to save the free world.”
Rocky squinted incredulously at what he was watching.
Silk slipped all but one of the bullets into his pants pocket. He waved the single bullet in front of the man, gently holding it between the index finger and thumb of his right hand. He eased the bullet into one of the six chambers, then flicked it shut with his wrist. He spun the cylinder. It clicked around like a roulette wheel. Rocky’s mouth opened.
“What are you doing?” Steele asked. Louder this time.
Silk spun the chamber again. He knelt next to Rocky and cocked the hammer. “You know what I’m doing, don’t you? I might have to put you to sleep, if ya know what I mean.”
Rocky sat frozen. He looked at Steele. His eyes pleaded for help, but his mouth only quivered.
“Silk, you’re not doing this,” Steele ordered.
“You see,” Silk said to the man, “I need to know something.” He stopped, then looked back at Steele. “He does know where this Angel guy lives, doesn’t he?”
Steele didn’t want it like this. Not her first big assignment. Not in the town she lived in. When everyone else had packed and gone home, she would still be there representing the Bureau. “This is not how we do things,” Steele said.
“Uh huh,” Silk said. “I’ll take that for a yes.”
He returned his attention to Rocky. He pressed the gun to the man’s temple and said, “I need to know where Angel lives. Can you tell me? Or do we start gambling with your life?”
“I don’t-”
Click.
Rocky screamed.
Steele aimed her pistol at Silk. “Stop it!”
Rocky’s face was drained white. He screamed incoherent words.
Silk cocked the hammer again and cupped his ear. “What did you say, I can’t hear you?”
Click. Silk pulled the trigger for the second time.
Rocky was convulsing. His eyes were saturated with tears.
Steele fired a shot over Silk’s head. The blast startled Rocky. It startled her. Silk didn’t flinch. “Stop it, or I’m going take you down,” she ordered.
Silk kept his hand cupped around his ear. “What?’ he said in Rocky’s face. “I can’t hear with all this racket.”
Click.
Steele blasted a second shot, closer this time. Wood splintered off of the side of a pool table and splashed Silk on his cheek.
Silk brushed his hand down the side of his face and glared at Steele. “You’re starting to piss me off here.”
“I’ll tell you!” Rocky screamed. “I’ll tell you!”
“See,” Silk said. “His memory came back to him.”
“He lives over on Sycamore,” the words rushed out of the man’s mouth. “Take 260 east toward Heber. About two miles past the Ranger Station on the right hand side is Sycamore. That’s the road he lives on. Second house on the left.”
Silk patted the Rocky’s face. “Good boy.” Then Silk’s face turned dark. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
Rocky shook his head furiously, his eyes fixed on Silk’s revolver. “N-n-n-o.”
Silk reached into the man’s back pocket and yanked out his wallet. He opened the billfold and pulled out some plastic cards. His forehead wrinkled. “Your name is Arthur? I thought she was asking you if your name was Rocky.”
The man was still trembling. “That’s what my friends call me.”
“Oh. You wanna know what my friends call me?”
The man’s eyes rose in anticipation, like he was extremely eager to hear something so important.
“Well, the ones that don’t lie to me call me Silk. Wanna hear what the ones who lie to me call me?”
Rocky’s tremble segued into a nod.
Silk smiled. “Well, let’s just say, graveyards don’t have any telephone booths. So they don’t get to call me so much.” Silk stood and held up the man’s wallet. “And I know where you live.”
Steele wiped her forehead with the back of her gun hand. “You’re crazy,” she muttered.
Silk dismissed Rocky. “Go home, Arthur,” he said. “And change those pants, will ya?”
Rocky got to his feet and shuffled backwards toward the door, dubiously staring at Silk, never showing him his back.
Silk walked up to Steele, opened his cell phone and began pushing buttons.
“What are you doing?” Steele said.
“I’m calling Nick with the info. That’s why we came, right?”
“We need to discuss what just happened.”
“What is it with you broads, always gotta talk?”
Steele ignored the comment. “There’s been a shooting. I have to write a report. You almost killed an innocent man.”
“What, the bartender?” Silk asked. “I shot him in the leg on purpose. If I wanted, I’d of nailed him between the eyes.”
“I’m not talking about him, I’m talking about your other victim.”