Rockabye County 9 by J.T. Edson

Author:J.T. Edson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: piccadilly publishing, jt edson, brad counter, rockabye county, alice fayde, southwest usa, modern day westerns
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Nine

Standing up, Sandy followed Alice around the Bronco. Brad strolled up, throwing a glance at the Maverick Derringer in his partner’s hand.

‘Figuring on doing some shooting, boss-lady?’ the big blond inquired.

‘Maybe,’ Alice answered, but did not return the pistol to her pocket. ‘What happened up there?’

‘They’ve gone. Lit out running like a Nueces steer and I don’t reckon they’ll be back.’

‘Is that one dead?’ Sandy asked, indicating the body on the slope.

‘Yes,’ Brad replied. ‘Come on. We’ll tell the police at Chihuahua what’s happened and they’ll pick him up.’

‘What will they say when they hear you’ve killed two men?’ Sandy asked, sensing from his tone that he did not relish having to deliver the news.

‘I don’t know,’ Brad admitted. ‘Estradre, the last chief of police, would’ve said good riddance. They weren’t just a couple of two-bit punks I shot, but real, genuine professionals.’

Although the last words had been directed mainly to his partner, Brad found to his surprise that they did not bring about the expected interest. Realizing that she had been addressed, Alice jerked her gaze from Sandy’s right boot.

‘What was that, Brad?’

‘I said those yahoos in the Peugeot weren’t just small-town punks Ohris had picked up to help him. No punk would own a rifle like this, or take care of it so good. And you’re sure selling Gene short if you think there was a sniper’s rifle, Thompson and riot gun lying around Nonoava without him knowing they were there.’

‘I suppose so,’ Alice answered absently.

‘Then you’re sure that Estradre will accept your story’, Brad?’ Sandy put in.

‘He would have,’ the big blond drawled. ‘Trouble being, he’s not chief any more. He was replaced by Villanueva after the riots. And Villanueva’s said to be a more “liberal” man than Estradre.’

‘Which means he’s probably as far left as Michael Foot’s toothbrush,’ Sandy commented wryly and half to herself. ‘And that means he’ll have no love for Americans. I hope he doesn’t make trouble for you, Brad.’

‘It’s a chance we’ll have to take,’ Brad replied. ‘Most peace officers would be pleased to know that sniper and chopper are dead. They were good, real good. Come on, let’s get going. You’d best do the driving, boss-lady.’

‘Sandy,’ Alice said as the British girl turned to open the Bronco’s door. ‘Why did you kill Félix Moreno?’

Spinning around, Sandy stared at Alice and gasped, ‘I didn’t kill him. I came from Ocampo, not San Fran—’

Although the girl chopped off her incautious words, the cessation came just too late. Brad swiveled his eyes to his partner, then back in Sandy’s direction. Guilt showed briefly on the hitch-hiker’s features, then she composed them into an expressionless mask.

‘We didn’t mention where he’d been killed,’ Alice pointed out.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Sandy declared in a brittle voice.

‘There’s a knife’s sheath built into the side of her right boot, Brad,’ Alice explained. ‘Like the kind that were the “in” thing with the motor-bike gangs I met when I was with Juvenile.’

‘That’s not much to go on,’ Sandy said.

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