The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Six Read Free

rest.”
    “Sure!” Ed put a hand on his shoulder. “You call Alice. Take her for a drive. Wonderful girl, that. You’re lucky. Good connections, too,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
    The sun was bright in the street, and he stood there thinking. He would call Alice, make a date if possible. He had to do that much, for Ed would be sure to comment later. Then—then he must find this woman, this Gertrude Ellis.
    He got through the afternoon without a hitch. He and Alice drove out along the ocean drive, parked by the sea, and then stopped for dinner. It was shortly after ten when he finally dropped her at her home.
    He remembered what the police had said about Bill Chafey. They had known about him and they had mentioned that he had been one of several known criminals who frequented a place called Eddie’s Bar. If Chafey had gone there, it was possible his girl did, too.
             
    I T WAS A SHADOWY PLACE with one bartender and a row of leather-covered stools and a half-dozen booths. He picked out a stool and ordered a drink. He was halfway down his second bourbon and soda before the first lead came to him.
    A tall Latin-looking young man was talking to the bartender. “Gracie been around? I haven’t seen her since Chafey bought it.”
    “You figuring on moving in there?”
    “Are you crazy? That broad gives me the shivers. She’s a looker, all right, but she’d cut your heart out for a buck.”
    “Bill handled her.”
    “You mean she handled him. She was the brains of that setup.”
    “Leave it to Bill to try to pick up a fast buck.”
    “Yeah, but look at him now.”
    There was silence, and Fordyce sipped his drink unconcernedly, waiting. After a while it started again.
    “She’s probably working that bar on Sixth Street.”
    “Maybe. She said the other day she was going to quit. That she was expecting a legacy.”
    A few moments later, Fordyce finished his drink and left the place. He went to Sixth Street, studied the bars as he drove along. It might be any one of them. He tried a couple but without luck.
    The next morning he slept late. While he was shaving, he studied his face in the mirror. He told himself he did not look like a murderer. But then, what did murderers look like? They were just people.
    He dressed carefully, thinking as he dressed. To get the money, Gertrude Ellis would have to go to the box. She would not expect him to be watching, since she would probably believe he would be at work. Even so, he would have to be careful, for she would be careful herself. She might walk by and merely glance in at first. He would have to get her to open the box. He considered that, then had an idea.
    Shuffling through his own mail, he found what he wanted. It was an advertisement of the type mailed to Boxholder or Occupant. He withdrew the advertising matter to make sure his own name was not on it. Then he carefully removed the address with ink eradicator and substituted the number she had given him.
    Her true name would probably be not unlike Gertrude Ellis, which was obviously assumed. The first name was Gracie, and it was a fairly safe bet the last would begin with an E. Unless, as sometimes happened, she used the name of a husband or some friend.
    Considering the situation, he had another idea. Eddie’s Bar and Sixth Street were not far apart. Hence, she must live somewhere in that vicinity.
             
    H E RETURNED TO E DDIE’S that night, and the bartender greeted him briefly. They exchanged a few comments, and then Fordyce asked, “Many babes come in here?”
    “Yeah, now and again. Most of ’em are bags. Once in a while, something good shows up.”
    He went away to attend to the wants of another customer, and Arthur Fordyce waited, stalling over his drink, listening. He heard nothing.
    It was much later, when he had finished his third drink, and was turning to look around, that he bumped into someone. She was about to sit down, and he collided with her outstretched