The Gunsmith 385 Read Online Free Page A

fact, I think they’re so good that you probably have a nice amount of cash lying around somewhere.”
    â€œYou’re right, I do,” Rick said. “it’s called . . . a bank.”
    â€œNah, nah,” Barry said, waving the comment off with the barrel of his gun. “What I heard when I was here is that you don’t like banks. Don’t trust ’em. I don’t blame you. I don’t trust ’em either. I like ’em, but I don’t trust ’em.”
    â€œWell,” Rick said, “I guess you heard wrong.”
    â€œWe’ll see,” Barry said. “Hey, bartender, I see you tryin’ to sneak behind that bar. You make it and you’re dead.”
    Henry, the bartender, stopped.
    Barry turned and looked at his men.
    â€œOne of you go back there and see what our friend is so anxious to get his hands on.”
    Cam Davis went behind the bar and reached underneath.
    â€œWell, lookee here,” he said, holding a shotgun up. “A Greener. Mean-lookin’ thing. This woulda cut you in half, Tom.”
    Barry gave the man a dirty look. They all had instructions not to mention any names while inside.
    â€œKeep your eye on the bartender,” Barry said. He looked at Hastings. “Watch the door.” The other man, Zeke Kane, just leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
    â€œOkay,” Barry said, looking at Rick, “let’s go.”
    â€œWhere?”
    Barry shrugged.
    â€œWherever the money is.”
    â€œI told you,” Rick said. “It’s in the bank.”
    Barry turned to Cam Davis and nodded. Davis moved over and rammed the butt of the shogun into Henry’s gut. The bartender doubled over, coughing and clutching his stomach.
    â€œThat’s not gonna get my money out of the bank for you,” Rick said.
    Barry looked up at the ceiling.
    â€œAnybody else in the building?” he asked.
    â€œNope,” Rick said, “just me and Henry.”
    â€œWhat about your girls?”
    â€œThey don’t have rooms upstairs,” Rick said. “It’s not that kind of place.”
    â€œYour dealers?”
    â€œSame thing,” Rick said. “They live elsewhere.”
    â€œOkay, then,” Barry said, “let’s go to your office and have a look.”
    â€œYou’re wastin’ your time,” Rick said.
    â€œWe’ll see about that,” Barry said. To his men he said, “Stay here, watch the bartender and the bar.”
    â€œRight . . . boss.”
    He waved with his gun barrel again and said, “Let’s go, Hartman.”

EIGHT
    Rick led the way to his office door, opened it, and went in.
    â€œSlow,” Barry said.
    Rick slowed down, stopped.
    â€œWhere’s the money?” Barry knew Hartman would stick to his story, but he was hoping a glance would give the location away. No luck. Rick Hartman just stared straight ahead.
    â€œJust stand still.”
    Barry walked to Rick’s desk, opened the drawers, found the gun in the top-right-hand one. He took it out and tucked it into his belt, then opened the others. No money.
    â€œCome over here and sit behind your desk.”
    Rick obeyed, and Barry moved away so the man wouldn’t make a grab for his gun.
    â€œJust sit still while I have a look around.”
    â€œLook all you want,” Rick said.
    Barry proceeded to search, knocking books off shelves in search of a safe. When he got to the file cabinet, he found the drawers locked.
    â€œKey.”
    This was the first time Rick showed any emotion. He pressed his lips together as he reached into his vest pocket and came out with a key.
    â€œJust put it there on the edge of the desk.”
    Rick reached out, put the key down.
    â€œNow sit back.”
    He obeyed.
    Barry came forward, grabbed the key, and walked to the file cabinet. Holding his gun in his left hand, he put the key in the lock with his right and turned it. Once