Madigan's Luck by Bill Dugan

Author:Bill Dugan [Dugan, Bill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-062-10944-6
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

11

THE BANK WASN’T OPEN YET, and Sarah offered to wait while Madigan went to the general store to pick up a couple of things. Bill Matlock, the owner, was behind the counter when Madigan walked in. He glanced at Madigan, but didn’t say anything, which struck Madigan as odd. He had known Matlock for years, and the man was about as voluble as anyone in Clarion.

Walking to the counter, Madigan said, “Morning, Bill.”

Matlock looked away for a moment before answering, “Mr. Madigan.”

Madigan was convinced now that something was wrong. Matlock might not feel like shooting the breeze, and that was fine, but this reception was downright chilly. The formality was something more appropriate for a minister or an undertaker. “You feeling all right, Bill?” he asked.

Once more, Matlock shifted his gaze. He played with some papers on the counter, not really reading them, but not doing anything else with them, either, except shuffle them around a little. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You just don’t seem yourself this morning is all.”

“I’m fine,” Matlock snapped. “What do you want?”

“You sure you’re going to sell it to me if I tell you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Matlock demanded.

Madigan pushed his hat back on his head a little, and pawed at a lock of hair sticking out from under the brim. “Well, I guess what it means is it sounds like you don’t care whether you do business with me or not. Which could be a problem, since there ain’t no other store in town.”

“Business. Is that what you call it when you run a tab must be three, four hundred dollars? Because I don’t.”

“I always pay you, you know that, Bill. What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“I can’t be giving charity to every damn deadbeat comes in here with a line of talk and a happy grin, Madigan. Now, you want something, or don’t you?”

“Well, since you put it that way, yeah, I guess I do. Three pounds of coffee and a box of Winchester .44 shells. That ought to do it.”

“Cash money?”

“Actually, I thought I’d put it on my account.”

Matlock shook his head. Once more, he looked away, as if he were reading a script. “No more credit. It’s pay as you go. Or just go.”

Madigan looked confused for a moment, but checked his pockets. He had two silver dollars and some loose change. “How much for the coffee and the shells?”

Matlock took a pencil from behind his ear and scratched some numbers on a brown paper sack, stabbing the point into it when he totaled it up. “Be three dollars and twenty cents.”

Madigan fished through the change, saw that he had enough, and smacked the coins down to the countertop with a defiant slap. “Nice of you to leave me enough for a beer,” he said. Glaring at Matlock’s back, he watched while the merchant weighed out the coffee in the tray of his scale, then tipped it into a sack. He rolled the paper top closed, sending a

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