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out of my way!” Bolton tried to walk around the brothers, but they shifted sideways to pen their prey. Whipping around, Bolton sputtered, “When Sean hears of this, I wouldn’t want to be in your boots.”

    “Most likely, he’ll wish he’d been in our boots.”

    “That’s enough! Goddamn it, move out of our way.”

    Brian Cutler jerked his gun and jabbed it into Bolton’s groin. “How much good will ya do the little lady with no balls?”

    Bolton turned ashen. “No—”

    “Let’s take a walk down to Ruby’s. She’s got a room free.”

    The young girl now grabbed her husband’s arm with both hands. Bolton’s crushed look struck her with terror.

    Could this actually be happening, right in front of me? I suddenly realized the Cutlers weren’t playing with Bolton. They were serious. Should I do something? Hell, I didn’t even know these people. I saw her anguish and started to stand but then remembered I was unarmed. I knew the Cutlers would shoot at any sudden noise.

    The smaller Cutler kept his gun on Bolton as he shoved them in the direction of Ruby’s. “Don’t fret, old man. We’ll let you watch.”

    “Please,” Bolton pleaded. “I’ll buy you each a girl at Ruby’s. Leave my wife alone.”

    “Had all Ruby’s got to offer. We want to taste your piece.”

    “Listen, we can work—”

    Brian rammed the gun harder into Bolton’s groin and cocked the hammer. “We don’t need your permission.”

    “Yes, yes. All right. Let’s go.”

    “Now you’re bein’ smart. The four of us’ll have some fun.”

    I watched them walk away: Bolton with a gun in his side, and his wife escorted by a Cutler on each arm. She didn’t fight at first, but after a few steps, she tried to break free. One of the Cutlers tripped her and then slung her around by one arm as he slapped her so hard he broke his grip. I thought she might escape, but the other Cutler grabbed her throat and squeezed any resistance out of her.

    As soon as they had walked a few paces, I ducked through the window and quick-stepped across to a beat-up bureau. I hesitated. I kept a gun in the top drawer, but I hadn’t worn it since I left New York. I opened the drawer to expose a single item: a ’73 model Colt .45 single-action army revolver. What to do? One of the Cutlers might stand guard outside the room at Ruby’s. Could I take care of him without alerting the other brother inside? Probably not. Was this any of my business? A more difficult question.

    I paused a long moment … and then I slowly slid the drawer closed.

Chapter 8

     

    The sun had started to slip behind the hills, but the scorched air still felt like someone had left a huge oven door open. I spent the afternoon trying to shake off my melancholy and sense of guilt. No luck. I had not ventured out, nor gone to Mary’s for dinner. With a shrug of resignation, I decided I could not stay holed up in my room any longer. Besides, it was time for whist.

    I stepped off the hotel porch, moving toward Richard’s print shop. I felt an uncomfortable sense of malaise when I spotted Bolton and his wife walking down the boardwalk across the street. She looked put together, but the bounce had disappeared, and her inert eyes ripped my heart out. Bolton looked so emotionally beaten that I almost felt sympathy for him. I averted my eyes and gratefully stepped into the print shop to find my three card-mates drinking whiskey around the typesetting table.

    Richard kept his newspaper office obsessively neat, with a everything always in its place. A press sat in the precise middle of the fair-sized room. Type cases, orderly racks, and a stove lined the walls. The shop possessed another attribute that made it ideal for our after-dark card games: abundant lantern light. I assumed the numerous kerosene lamps allowed Richard to set type into the night, but I had never seen him work after his evening meal.

    The men threw me a sad look, and it was obvious I had interrupted a