The Devil's Collector Read Online Free PDF Page A

time, Jack?”
    â€œLike what? Why?”
    â€œLike maybe we can find out if Damon really did know your brother.”
    Sonnet squinted.
    â€œWhat are you saying?” Sonnet demanded. “You think somebody’s feeding me the wrong names? Making me kill the wrong people?”
    â€œCould be.”
    â€œWhy would somebody want to do that?”
    Clint shrugged.
    â€œThen why are you thinking that?”
    â€œYou’re wondering why I would think somebody might steer you wrong,” Clint said. “Maybe I’m wondering why somebody would steer you right.”
    â€œTo be helpful.”
    â€œPeople aren’t helpful for no reason, Jack.”
    â€œThen why are you being helpful?”
    â€œBelieve me, I always have reasons for what I do,” Clint assured him.
    â€œBecause of my pa and grandpa?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou owe it to them?”
    â€œIn a way.”
    â€œWell, maybe whoever’s been sending me the telegrams owes it to them, too.”
    â€œWho do you think it is?” Clint asked. “Some old friend of your father or grandfather’s?”
    â€œYou’d know who their friends were more than I would,” Sonnet said.
    â€œWhen did you first start getting them?”
    â€œSoon after my brother was killed,” Sonnet said. “I was trying to find the men who killed him on my own, with no luck. Then the first telegram caught up with me.”
    â€œSo how do they know where you are, to send the telegrams?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    Clint looked around. The only way someone could know where the kid was at all times was if they had someone following him, watching him. He looked around the small café they were in. There were a few other tables taken, but nobody seemed to be paying them any special attention.
    â€œSo you get these telegrams with the information, and you never questioned how or why?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    Sonnet hesitated, then said, “I don’t know.”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œThen share it with me,” Sonnet said.
    â€œYou need the information,” Clint said. “You needed it so bad that when it came, you jumped at it.”
    â€œThe first two men I killed also killed my brother,” Sonnet said. “I’m satisfied of that.”
    â€œIt doesn’t worry you that somebody might be using you?”
    â€œNo,” Sonnet said. “Not as long as I get what I want.” He pushed his chair back.
    â€œHey,” Clint said, “we’ve still got to have pie, and then get a room.”
    â€œYou have some pie,” Sonnet said. “I’ll get my own room and see you later.”
    â€œYeah, but—” Clint started as Sonnet went out the door. “Which hotel?”
    Clint called the waiter over and ordered peach pie.

ELEVEN
    After his pie, Clint left the café and found the sheriff’s office. He was sure Jack Sonnet was walking the streets and checking saloons for Cole Damon. He figured maybe he could go about it a different way. He figured if he got to Damon first, maybe he could find the answers to some of his questions.
    The office was old and small. A lot like the town. Clint figured within ten years most of the people would have moved on. Certainly this sheriff would no longer be in office. It looked as if he was already on his last legs. He was seventy if he was a day, wearing overalls that were at least that old.
    â€œSheriff?”
    The man looked up from his desk, eyed Clint from beneath two bushy white eyebrows. His head had more liver spots than hairs.
    â€œI used to be, sonny,” he said. “What are you doin’ in this godforsaken town?”
    â€œI’m looking for a man named Cole Damon. Ever heard of him?”
    â€œI know everybody in this town,” the man said. “I know when they ride in, and when they leave.”
    â€œThat a fact?”
    â€œYou don’t believe