“You did once.”
“He was just earning his wages.”
“How much did you pay him?”
“Enough.”
“Was he worth it?”
“Maybe.”
“They say he was pretty good with a gun.”
Sundeen grinned. “That’s what they say.”
Frye’s hand dipped into his coat pocket. He brought out Jordan’s billfold and threw it down the bar to Sundeen.
“But not good enough,” Frye said mildly.
Sundeen glanced at it. “What’s that?”
“Jordan’s.”
“You got him?”
“We buried him.”
Sundeen hesitated. “Who?”
“Me.”
“What, from behind?”
“Five feet smack in front of him.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You mean you don’t want to believe it.”
For the first time, Sundeen had nothing to say. He lifted the whisky glass, drank it and moved his hand slowly putting the glass down.
Frye glanced at De Spain. The bartender filled Sundeen’s glass again and Sundeen lifted it and drank it down as soon as the neck of the bottle tilted away from it. Frye held his glass in his hand, but did not drink. “You might as well fill it again,” Frye said. “Mr. Sundeen’s got some thinking to do.”
Sundeen glared at him. “You think you’re scaring me?”
“I think you’ve slowed down some.”
“You don’t scare nobody.”
“Take that whisky, Phil. You’ll sound more convincing.” He raised his own glass to his lips, seeing Phil tighten, then drank it down, taking his time, and placed the glass on the bar. Sundeen was still tensed.
“Phil, you almost did it that time.”
Sundeen gulped his drink. Bringing his glass down he lurched from the bar a half step and had to reach with his right hand to catch the edge of it.
“You almost went for your gun, Phil.”
“Listen, you son of a bitch—”
“What stopped you?”
Sundeen hesitated. “I’m waiting to see that warrant.”
“You’re waiting, but not to see the warrant.”
“You do a lot of talking—”
“You’re waiting because you don’t know what to do.”
“Try serving it and I’ll show you what I’ll do!”
“Jordan had his gun out.”
Sundeen flared, “You’re a goddamn liar!”
Frye waited momentarily. “Why’d he leave you?”
“That’s my business!” Sundeen stared at him with hate in his eyes, then picked up the whisky, spilling some of it, and drank it down. “Your turn!”
Frye kept his eyes on Sundeen as he raised his glass, then took it quickly. Setting it down he saw Sundeen raise another.
Phil drank it, exhaling loudly as he brought the glass down. “Your turn!” he said thickly.
“Phil,” Fry said quietly, “I think you’re drunk.”
“What!”
“You look drunk, that’s all.”
“I’ll drink you into next week!”
Frye shrugged. “You look to me about ready to fall over.”
Sundeen’s face tightened as he stared at Frye, then seemed to relax though his hand still gripped the edge of the bar. “Now you’re calling,” Sundeen said, “but you’re going to show what you’ve got, too.” Still watching Frye, his hand reached across the bar knocking down some of the shot glasses lined there, but clutching two and bringing these back to the middle of the bar. He reached across and took one more. “I look drunk, huh?” He glanced at De Spain then. “Fill up!”
De Spain said, “Yes, sir,” though his expression said nothing and he placed the six shot glasses in a line. He poured whisky into two of them, finishing what was left in the bottle. Then took a fresh bottle from the counter behind him and filled the other four, glancing at Frye as he put the bottle down.
“Well, I’ve got to see it to believe it,” Frye said.
“You’ll see it,” Sundeen grinned. “Then I’ll watch you do it.”
He took the first two standing straight with his feet spread and planted firmly, then backed up a step from the bar, holding the edge with his left hand, as he drank the third one. Frye moved toward him, watching him spill part of the fourth shot, the whisky running over his chin as he gulped it. His hand slipped from the bar and he started to go back, but he lurched forward and caught it again. His mouth was open gulping in air as he raised the fifth whisky and as his head jerked back to take it he spilled most of it. He dropped the glass to the floor and reached for the sixth one, now holding his body tight against the bar. He drank it and brought his hand down, but the glass hit the inside edge of the bar and shattered on the floor. He held on to the bar now with both hands, swallowing, taking in breaths of air with his mouth open. He swayed and began to fall back, but he reached for the bar and fell against it heavily, his arms on the smooth wet surface, his head down breathing heavily and now saliva was coming from his mouth.
Frye stood two steps away from him.
“Phil, you want the warrant now?”
Sundeen lifted his head, squinting at him, blinking his eyes, “Wha—”
“Here’s your warrant, Phil.”
Sundeen pushed himself from the bar, holding it with one hand, turning, then stumbling again, falling against it with his back. He hesitated, studying Frye as if he could not focus his eyes. Suddenly then, his hand slapped against his holster, fumbling momentarily, his body swaying away from the bar as his hand came up with the Colt and waved it toward Frye.
Frye took one step. His left hand covered the cylinder of the Colt and he twisted, holding Phil’s shirt front with his right hand. The Colt came free and he pushed Sundeen at the same time.
Sundeen fell heavily against the bar. He held on momentarily, but it seemed too great an effort and he let himself slide down to the floor. He rose to his hands and knees, shaking his head, then sank down again and did not move.
Frye exhaled slowly and looked at De Spain. “Send him the whisky bill. I’ll see that he pays it.”
He took the warrant from his pocket and tucked it inside Sundeen’s shirt. Then he stooped, pulling Sundeen up over his shoulders and this way he carried him out the front door and across the street. He saw faces, wide open eyes, move from in front of him, but there was not a sound until he reached the steps of the jail. He heard it behind him then, sharp in the stillness, and he knew it was De Spain—
“Didn’t even draw his gun!”
Danaher helped him upstairs with Sundeen. They put him in a cell and the last thing Frye remembered was Danaher saying, “Why don’t you go in here…lie down for a while—”
Danaher went downstairs shaking his head. It was a strange world. He saw Tindal and Stedman turn around as he reached the last step. They must have just come and were talking to Harold Mendez, who was sitting at the desk.
Harold looked up. “They want to talk to Kirby.”
“Kirby’s taking a rest,” Danaher said. “He’s had a busy day.”
About the Author
ELMORE LEONARD has written more than three dozen books during his highly successful writing career, including the bestsellers Mr. Paradise, Tishomingo Blues, Be Cool, Get Shorty, and Rum Punch. Many of his books have been made into movies, including Get Shorty and Out of Sight. He is the recipient of the Grand Master Award of the Mystery Writers of America. He lives with his wife, Christine, in Bloomfield Village, Michigan.
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Praise for the Western Fiction of
Elmore Leonard
“CLASSIC WESTERN FARE.”
San Francisco Chronicle
“BEFORE LEONARD’S CONTEMPORARY CADRE OF URBAN COWBOYS, THERE WAS AN IMPRESSIVE LINEUP OF THE REAL THING. BOUNTY HUNTERS, INDIANS, STAGECOACH DRIVERS, BANK ROB
BERS, SHERIFFS, AND COWPUNCHERS PEOPLED THE PAGES OF HIS NOVELS IN A GRITTY MIX RICH IN THE FLAVOR AND INDIVIDUALISM OF THE OLD WEST.”
Florida Times-Union
“LEONARD BEGAN HIS CAREER TELLING WESTERN STORIES…. HE KNOWS HIS WAY ONTO A HORSE AND OUT OF A GUNFIGHT AS WELL AS HE KNOWS THE SPECIAL KING’S ENGLISH SPOKEN BY HIS PATENTED, NOT-SO-LOVABLE URBAN LOWLIFES.”
Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel
“LEONARD’S SPECIAL KIND OF TOUGH GUYS WERE BORN IN THE OLD WEST, WHERE HE POLISHED HIS WISECRACKING VIEW OF VIOLENCE AND MORALITY ON THE WORKINGS OF FRONTIER JUSTICE.”
Chicago Sun-Times
“LEONARD WROTE WESTERNS, VERY GOOD WESTERNS…THE WAY HE IMAGINED HEMINGWAY, HIS MENTOR, MIGHT WRITE WESTERNS.”
Baton Rouge Sunday Advocate
Books by Elmore Leonard
Tishomingo Blues
Pagan Babies
Be Cool
The Tonto Woman & Other Western Stories
Cuba Libre
Out of Sight
Riding the Rap
Pronto
Rum Punch
Maximum Bob
Get Shorty
Killshot
Freaky Deaky
Touch
Bandits
Glitz
LaBrava
Stick
Cat Chaser
Split Images
City Primeval
Gold Coast
Gunsights
The Switch
The Hunted
Unknown Man No. 89
Swag
Fifty-two Pickup
Mr. Majestyk
Forty Lashes Less One
Valdez Is Coming
The Moonshine War
The Big Bounce
Hombre
Last Stand at Saber River
Escape from Five Shadows
The Law at Randado
The Bounty Hunters
A Coyote’s in the House
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE LAW AT RANDADO. Copyright © 1954 by Elmore Leonard, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © SEPTEMBER 2004 ISBN: 9780061842504
First HarperTorch paperback printing: July 2002
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Elmore Leonard, The Law at Randado
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