Pulp Fiction | The Ghost Riders Affair (July 1966) Read Online Free Page A

Cripple Bend. The town was the last lingering trace of the old west, but battered cars baked at the curbs instead of workhorses.
    He walked into the bar, found it almost deserted in the middle of the morning.
    "What can I do for you?" The voice was musical and warm.
    Solo was mildly astonished but pleased to find that the cowtown bartender was a woman. She looked to be in her middle twenties, and enough to drive strong men to drink. Her blond hair was brushed upward on her head, piled there in rich waves. Her eyes were like a sparkling wine, glittering with promises. She wore a pastel dress and a fresh apron.
    Solo ordered a beer and sat at the bar, turning it in his fingers.
    "You're staying at the Maynard Dude Ranch," the bartender said. "Came from New York. Two suitcases—"
    "You don't miss much, do you?"
    "April. Name's April Caution." She smiled across the bar. "Small town like this, nobody misses much."
    "Guess you'll know Marty Nichelson pretty well, then?
    "Marty? Sure. Everybody knows him. Good kid. Been with Carlos Maynard a couple years. Used to take prize money in rodeos until he cracked his hip."
    "Hear he was in here and tied on a real binge—"
    "Who? Marty?" April straightened, frowning.
    Solo nodded, watching her. "That's the talk," he said. "But it's no secret. Marty was talking about it himself. He was telling me about the tree days he spent here in Cripple Bend—most of it here in your place—on a bender. Now I've seen you, I can understand why he stayed for three days."
    "There's something wrong here, mister," April Caution said, her face puzzled. She straightened when the door swung open at the street entrance.
    Solo glance across his shoulder, but he was not even astonished to see that Mabel Finnish had entered the tavern.
    Mabel didn't speak to him. She went to a table near the bar and sat down.
    April said, "Just a minute. We'll kick this around, as soon as I wait on the lady."
    "Why don't you come up to the bar, Miss Finnish?" Solo asked. "You won't be as comfortable, but you can hear better."
    Mabel Finnish's lovely face flushed, but she did not answer. She ordered a daiquiri. April mixed the rum drink, delivered it and then came back to the bar, sat on a stool facing Solo.
    "I been thinking this thing over, about Marty," she said. "When was he supposed to have tied one on in here?"
    "About a week and a half ago," Solo said.
    April shook her head. "Oh, no. Not in here. Marty hasn't been in here in over a month."
    Solo sat a moment, staring at a wet place on the bar. "But there's been a lot of talk about Marty's being in here. Hasn't anybody from the ranch been in to check on it?"
    April shrugged. "What's to check? I tell you Marty hasn't been in here in weeks."
    Solo sighed. "Any other tavern in Cripple Bend where he could have been on a prolonged drunk?"
    April smiled. "No other place in town to buy liquor. Nearest bar is in the next settlement, and that's over seventy miles away. No. If Marty was on a drunk, he'd have been in here—only I can tell you, he hasn't been in."
    A few minutes later, Solo walked out of the City Bar. He paused on the board walk, stared both ways along the sleepy street. Then he glance over his shoulder at Mabel, drinking alone at the table inside the tavern.
    He strode along the walk, going past the ranch station wagon. He walked beyond the feed store, then stepped around the corner, pressed himself against the adobe wall, waiting.
    It was a short wait. He heard Mabel's bootheels clattering on the boards as she half ran in pursuit. She slowed, then stopped, looking around puzzled, a few feet from where Solo stood.
    Solo stepped out upon the walk immediately behind Mabel. He caught her arm.
    Mabel heeled around. Solo fixed her with an unyielding smile. "Looking for anyone we know, Mabel?"
    "Let me go."
    "I let you go, but you don't go. Why? Do you find me that fascinating, Miss Finnish?"
    Mabel shivered slightly. "I don't find you fascinating at all."
    "You disappoint