Elmore Leonard: Escape from Five Shadows

“Maybe it was Willis,” Bowen said. “Maybe he’s getting tired.”

“Willis knows better.”

“Maybe he’s so tired he’s going to stand up to you.”

“Where would he get the nerve?”

“He’s got it, Frank. He’s had enough all along to think of his wife first…to stay out of jail for her sake.”

“You think so, huh?”

“He made a mistake getting tied to you, but once he was in, it took nerve to keep going. The wrong kind of nerve, but at least you know he’s got it.” Bowen paused, thinking: You hear that, Willis? “Sometimes a man will put up with anything for his wife. That’s where you misjudged him.”

Renda said, “You don’t know as much about him as I thought.”

“But now,” Bowen went on, “he’s tired of it. He’s starting to think it would be worth going to jail for a year or two just to get it off his mind. He realizes now his wife would respect him more if he did. After that he’d be a free agent and all the Frank Rendas in the world could go to hell.”

“He knows he’d get more than a jail sentence,” Renda said. “I’d bust his head for him.”

“Would you?” Bowen paused. He said then, slowly, clearly, “Is that what you did to Lizann?”

Renda stared at him. “Karla didn’t forget anything, did she?”

“She’ll probably never forget it,” Bowen said, “seeing a woman beat up. Did you have a hard time?”

“She got what she asked for.”

“Frank, you’re a real fighter, aren’t you?” A sound came from the kitchen. Bowen heard it close behind him, but he was not sure what it was. “You fight women…and men with their hands tied behind them.”

Renda’s intent expression did not change. “You’re getting off the subject, aren’t you?”

“We’ve got time,” Bowen said easily. He was thinking, hurriedly: Keep him on it! “Frank, what’s it like to hit a woman?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions,” Renda said.

“Do you let her fight back?”

This time Renda did not answer.

“Or do you get her against the wall and just keep swinging at her?”

“You’re leading up to something,” Renda said cautiously.

“Frank, what’s Willis going to do when he finds out?”

“He’ll figure he’s lucky it didn’t happen to him.”

“You know what I’d do if I were Willis?” Bowen paused. “I’d take a pick handle to you.”

“You would, huh?”

Bowen nodded. “I’d crack you ten for every one time you hit her.”

Then, close behind him, not expecting it, the screen door swung open. As he heard it, Bowen moved aside, almost glancing back, but at the same moment, seeing the look of shocked surprise come over Renda’s face, he knew it was Willis Falvey, just as he knew, suddenly feeling more sure of himself, that Falvey had been listening all the time. Still watching Renda, he thought: If he moves hit him in the leg. He glanced quickly to the side then. Falvey was staring up at Renda, Lizann’s.25-caliber Colt in his hand.

“Frank…you put your filthy hands on my wife?”

Renda shifted his weight in the saddle. “Willis, I didn’t know you were here.”

“Answer me!”

“Listen, Willis. I’m sorry that had to happen. It was Lizann’s own fault. She didn’t have to get hit but she wouldn’t tell me-” He stopped. “Willis, she was planning to leave you. You realize that?”

“Frank,” Falvey said tonelessly. “When you’re through talking I’m going to kill you.”

“Use your head! She’s going to leave you anyway. She don’t care a damn about you.”

Bowen glanced at Falvey. “Killing him isn’t the way. Testify against him in court. He didn’t just beat up your wife-men died in that place because of him, men like Chick Miller. You’ll see him dead-but let a jury take care of it!”

“I’ll testify,” Falvey said. “But Frank won’t be there to hear it.”

“So you shoot him and they hang you. You think it’s worth it?”

“I’d as soon that happen as go to prison,” Falvey answered. “You’re wasting your breath.”

Renda moved uneasily in the saddle, his hands gripping the shotgun. “Willis-listen to him-he’s talking sense!”

Falvey stared. “Are you through?”

“Man, stop and think for a minute!”

“You’re through,” Falvey murmured.

He brought up the revolver, leveling it at Renda’s chest, thumbing back the hammer. It was in his mind to kill Renda and there was no persuading him otherwise-but as he pulled the trigger, Bowen slammed against him. The revolver fired wide as both of them went down, and with the report Renda was reining hard to the right, kicking the chestnut; he fired from his lap as the big mare wheeled, but the shot was hurried and ripped high through the screen door.

Falvey was up as the mare broke into a gallop angling to the left of the corral. He fired once, then again. Bowen was on one knee as he saw Renda twist in the saddle and point the shotgun back with one hand.

“Go down!”

But he called too late. Renda’s second barrel exploded. He saw Falvey spin sideways as the buckshot hailed against the adobe, chipping a powdery cloud, and Falvey went down, dropping the revolver and suddenly clutching his left hip.

Then Demery was outside, lifting Falvey, holding open the shot-out screen door with his foot and dragging Falvey into the kitchen. He snapped at Bowen, glancing off at Renda, “Get him-what’s the matter with you!”

“Watch,” Bowen said, coming to his feet. His eyes were narrowed, his gaze following Renda as he reached the far side of the corral and rode on toward the pine-covered slope beyond.

Demery came out again. “You let him get away!”

“Watch,” Bowen said again. And as their eyes followed the chestnut moving across the meadow, streaking for the dark expanse of trees, they saw it veer sharply to the right. A single file of riders had suddenly appeared, coming down out of the trees.

Renda circled, waving his shotgun in the air and the riders, the Mimbres, came after him. As he continued the wide circle, gradually coming back to the yard, another file of Mimbres rode out of the trees approximately two hundred yards farther to the right, joining the first group now and spreading out behind Renda who glanced back at them, waving them on with the shotgun, then began to rein in as he neared the corral again.

“They’re backing him!” Demery hissed.

“Wait and see,” Bowen said, not taking his eyes from Renda. Then asked, “Where’s Karla?”

“Inside,” Demery murmured. “Looking after Willis. She circled around and came in the front. Stood there biting her nails through the whole thing…like to got hit when Frank ripped up the door.”

“What about Willis?”

“His side’s scraped is all.”

“Was he listening…before?”

“Hanging on every word you said…like courage being poured into him.” Demery watched Renda wave the Mimbres past him. “Listen, you can’t just stand there!”

Bowen said nothing, watching four of the Mimbres circle the corral to come in on the left side. The others-he counted six-Salvaje one of them, rode past Renda. They entered the yard, moving past the corral and spread out in an uneven line as they came to a halt.

Now, Bowen thought; and walked out toward them. He was halfway across the yard when Renda came through the line of Mimbres and reined in a few yards in front of them. Bowen continued toward him until less than fifteen feet separated them.

“That’s far enough,” Renda called. “Now drop the shooter.”

Bowen held the Colt at his side, pointed at the ground. “It won’t do you any good.”

“Drop it!”

Bowen let it fall from his fingers.