Send Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #2) Read Free Page A

of the guard!’ he yelled, ‘Corp—’ With a lithe
bound amazing for one of his bulk, Miller was across the room and
beside the striding soldier, his gun moving in a blur from holster
to hand and up and down, falling with vicious certainty. The
soldier fell as if hit with an ax, his leg twitching momentarily. A
trickle of blood oozed from his right ear.
    Blackstone gazed at the fallen
man in horror. The drunkenness had fallen from him like a cloak,
and he realized in his cold sobriety that the two men before him
were in a killing mood, a flat and unemotional mental state which
would be all the more ferocious for its cold-bloodedness. His eyes moved
wildly to right and left, his thoughts as plain as if they had been
printed on his forehead. High noon, officers asleep, enlisted men
dozing, the nominal guard playing cards in the orderly room, no one
likely to stir for another hour or even two. He had to face it
alone. His chin came up.
    ‘ It’ll
take the two of you,’ he said calmly.
    ‘ Lovely,’ said Mill. The two men advanced on the boy, who
retreated backwards until he was brought up short by the bar behind
him. At that moment, Boot slapped the boy across the face. The
sound had the shocking suddenness of a pistol shot in the silent
room and for a moment, Blackstone stood frozen with disbelief, the
red welts of the older man’s fingers imprinted clearly on his
beardless face. Then a strangled scream of fury burst from his lips
and he threw himself forward, clawed hands reaching for Boot’s
neck. Boot grinned like a cat and dropped his shoulder slightly,
moving it upwards to meet the oncoming face. The soldier ran into
the shoulder, rock hard, braced expertly to meet his charge. It
stopped him dead in his tracks and he reeled off to the side, blood
bursting from his lips and nose, down on his knees and mewling
through the smashed mouth. As he scrabbled to regain his feet,
Mill, lips wet with anticipation, drew back his spurred and booted
foot, ready to deliver a rib-breaking kick to the unprotected body
of the boy. There was an angelic smile on his face. He and Johnny
had done this many times. He always enjoyed it.
    ‘ Ah,
no,’ said Angel, who was moving even as the boy sprawled to the
scarred board floor. With a smooth and powerful movement he caught
Mill’s foot from behind, fingers curling around the instep. He
jerked upwards and back, stepping away easily as Mill went face
forward into the floor, smashing himself hard, blood and dust and
dirt smearing together on his broken face, half unconscious from
the impact, his head almost touching the feet of Johnny Boot, who
whirled around, his hand flashing for the six-gun holstered at his
right thigh.
    ‘ Now
that’d sure be stupid,’ Angel said mildly, freezing Boot to the
spot.
    The muzzle of
Angel ’s gun
was steady, and pointed directly at his middle. From a range of
three feet, no man could miss, and Johnny Boot knew better than
most what a .45 bullet in the stomach could do. His lips went back
from his teeth and he let his weight settle on his heels. Mill got
up from the floor, spitting, furiously pawing sawdust and blood
from his face.
    ‘ By
God,’ he hissed. ‘You’ll pay for this.’
    ‘ Don’t
ruin your day waiting for it,’ Angel said coldly. ‘Put your hands
on the bar where I can see them. Move.’
    He lifted
Mill ’s gun
out of the holster, followed suit with Boot’s, and handed them to
the gaping bartender.
    ‘ Stay
neutral, friend,’ he said to the man. ‘Put these somewhere out of
reach — theirs and yours.’
    The bartender nodded hastily,
almost eagerly. He hurried to do Angel ’s bidding, then stood away from the
trio and watched them, hypnotized by the events.
    Boot had now regained control of himself. He
turned warily from the bar, hands well in view, and hooked a heel
on the rail.
    ‘ Mister,’ he said conversationally, ‘I wonder if you know
what you’ve got yourself into?’
    ‘ Looked like as nasty a whipsawing as