Norman Partridge - Saguaro Riptide

Jack shrugged. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Then we don’t have time for it.” She stepped toward him, the pistol steady in her hand. “Where’s Komoko’s money?”

Jack had no place to hide and he knew it. The room didn’t have a back door, and Wyetta had a gun. But instinct told him he had to move, so he backed up.

“Stand still.” Wyetta cocked her pistol. “You give me an answer, or you’re dead.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “You think I’d be here if I did?”

Wyetta smiled. “C’mon now, cowboy. Don’t treat me like an idiot. You and your girlfriend came here tonight for a reason. And I’ve got the feeling it wasn’t just because you wanted to get into a gunfight with me and my deputy. I know what you came for, same way as you know what I came for. Just hand it over, and I promise that the end will come quick.”

“Okay,” Jack said, “you’ve got me.”

“That’s smart, cowboy. Let’s get this thing done.”

“The money’s in Benteen’s room.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No,” Jack said. “Really. It’s under her bed. .”

Kate’s foot found the brake pedal just in time to prevent the bullet-riddled truck from crashing into the side of the Saguaro Riptide Motel.

She dropped the stick into neutral and set the emergency brake. So far, so good. She still felt kind of woozy, but she was going to be okay.

Because she was thinking straight. She’d known, standing in the junkyard, that it was a long walk to the motel. So she’d climbed behind the wheel and driven there instead.

And here she was, ready to come to Jack Baddalach’s rescue.

She stepped out of the truck, the Benelli shotgun in her hands, her eyes scanning the darkness for a sign of Wyetta Earp or her deputy.

She saw the deputy soon enough.

The deputy was dead.

Kate had parked the truck on top of the woman.

Oh, man. She’d never run over a cop before.

Nothing she could do about it now, though.

She stepped over the deputy and started around the side of the motel.

Her foot struck something hard.

She looked down and spotted the Heckler lying there on the ground.

That meant that Baddalach didn’t have a gun.

That meant that he was in real trouble.

“The money’s in room 23,” Jack said.

“This is unreal.” Wyetta shook her head. “Money hidden under a bed … I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. Sheriff. Because it’s the truth.”

The space was tight on the landing. Wyetta was behind Jack, her pistol at his back. He knew he’d only have one chance, and if he blew it-

“Here we are,” he said.

“Open the door.”

“I don’t have the key.”

“Oh, man,” Wyetta said.

“Maybe you should shoot the lock,” Jack suggested.

She smiled, “I’ll kick it in, cowboy.”

“You sure? I mean, you had to shoot off the lock to get in the other room.”

“Step aside. . but don’t try anything funny.”

Jack pressed his back against the railing.

Wyetta holstered her pistol.

She sprang forward, her heel smacking the door.

It shuddered but didn’t give.

She kicked it again. . and again.

The fourth kick did the trick.

And that was when Jack moved. He slammed against Wyetta’s shoulder while her leg was still in the air, and his shove coupled with her forward momentum tumbled her into the room.

Jack landed on top of Wyetta, his right hand scrambling for her bolstered gun. His fingers found the grip, and he started to pull it, and he noticed that the perfume she was wearing was really kind of nice-

And her elbow cracked against his cheek.

Jack toppled to the side, feeling like he’d been whacked with a sledgehammer.

But that was okay. Because he had the sheriff’s pistol in his hand.

But Jesus, he couldn’t make his hand work.

And Wyetta was up. Her boot slammed his wrist and the pistol flew across the room. Jack watched it go and then saw her boot coming back from the other direction.

Instinct made him move. He leaned back, and her left foot sailed past his nose, missing him by less than an inch, and his hand lashed out and grabbed her right leg and he jerked her off balance.

She crashed ass-first to the floor.

And now Jack was up.

But he had to get past Wyetta to get to the gun.

He made a jump for it.

Her foot lashed out.

Caught him in the crotch as he sailed over her head.

He slammed the floor hard. Tried to get up.

The ref was counting. Five. . Six. . Seven. .

He had to get up soon.

Eight. . Nine. .

Because Wyetta was up.

And she had the gun.

She smiled at him. “Cowboy,” she said, “you can kiss your ass good-”

Gunfire erupted from the doorway.

Blood spattered Jack, and he blinked.

When he opened his eyes, Wyetta was flat on her back.

It seemed that most of her head was splattered across the wall.

Including her long blond braid, which clung to the plaster like some gory trophy.

“You all right, champ?”

Jack turned. Kate Benteen stood in the doorway, a smoking pistol in her hand.

Her face was covered with blood.

Jack smiled.

Somehow, she’d never looked better.

Benteen didn’t let up for a second. First she bandaged Jack’s arm. Then she checked Sandy, even though Sandy insisted she’d been fine since Jack pulled that damn towel out of her mouth. After that, Kate attended to her own wounds.

Finally, she asked Sandy about some of the equipment in the junkyard. Jack wondered why she cared about that stuff, until she climbed into her truck and drove through the gap in the chain-link fence.

A few minutes later, the night was filled with the roar of heavy equipment. A few minutes after that, Kate returned.

On foot.

Sandy emerged from the motel office with a six-pack.

“Any problems?” Sandy asked, handing Kate a beer.

“No,” Kate said. “That truck is part of your scrap heap now.”

“I can’t believe you junked your truck,” Jack said, reaching for a beer.

“Had to get rid of the evidence,” Benteen said. “And it wasn’t my truck. I bought it at a bar near the Tucson airport. And I paid cash.”

“You were thinking ahead,” Jack said, rolling the cold beer bottle across his sore knuckles.

“And so was I.” Sandy handed Jack a credit card receipt form. “I knew that Komoko was with the mob, and I figured that he had something to do with laundered money or drugs, the way he came through town once a month. So when Wyetta came sniffing around with questions about Komoko, I got suspicious. And when Ms. Benteen showed up with questions of her own, I started to see visions of missing dollars or missing dope. So when you showed up asking the same questions-”

“You figured you’d take out a little insurance policy.” Jack smiled. “You took my credit card imprint, but you didn’t run it, figuring that if I ended up with the money I might be willing to part with a chunk of it to buy back that receipt.”

“Yeah,” Sandy said. “If I didn’t run your card, it’d be like you never checked in.”

“Pretty smart,” Jack said. “But this wasn’t my only stop in Pipeline Beach. I was arrested in this town. Someone’s going to remember that I had a run-in with the sheriff, and if they put that together with Wyetta’s death-”

“Get real, champ.” Kate laughed. “You were arrested over a stack of magazines. Doesn’t exactly seem like that’s sufficient motive for murder.”

“Anyway, as far as I’m concerned you were never here.” Sandy tore the credit card receipt in half and handed it to Jack. “You saved my life. I would have suffocated if you hadn’t taken that towel out of my mouth. A surfboard broke my nose off Maui back in ’66, and I haven’t taken a decent breath through it ever since.”