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Back Dishonorable Intentions Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. Cover
  2. Books by Stuart Woods
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. Author’s Note
  65. About the Author

“No, but you can help. Come on.” The detective stalked off in the direction of a cluster of trailers. He reckoned Brad Goshen would be in the biggest one.

—

Boris Tirov locked his trailer and yelled for his driver. “Bernie!”

Bernie popped out from behind the trailer. “Yessir?”

“Get the goddamned car. I want to go to the hotel.”

“Yessir!” Bernie ran to get the car.

51

Billy Barnett drove back to the movie ranch in the late afternoon and parked in the public lot. The animal wrangler’s truck was in its usual spot at the edge of the lot closest to the sets, and the engine was running, Billy assumed for the purpose of air-conditioning the cages in the back. He checked the driver’s seat and found no one there; it took him less than a minute to pick the lock on the rear doors.

It was fairly quiet in the back of the truck; there was a kind of zoo odor, but it was not unpleasant. It took Billy hardly any time to find the perfect rattlesnake, about a four-footer, he estimated. He took a burlap bag from a stack, picked up a handling pole with a hook at the end, opened the cage and, after a little fumbling, got the snake into the burlap bag and tied a knot in it.

He got into his car, put the bag on the floor of the backseat, drove into Santa Fe, and parked his car on Water Street, behind La Fonda Hotel, where the movie crew was staying. He checked the call sheet and found the room number he wanted, then he took a cardboard box from a nearby trash bin and put the burlap bag inside it.

The hotel was a hive of tourists; the restaurants were full, the gift shop was crowded, and every time an elevator arrived in the lobby, half a dozen people got off, and another half dozen got on. He didn’t want to be seen on an elevator, so he walked up the stairs five stories and found the room number. The hallway was deserted; he put an ear to the door and listened for half a minute, checked the hall for traffic again, then picked the lock.

Once inside he listened again for signs of occupancy and heard none. There was a large living room and a terrace overlooking the plaza. He saw a pair of feet on a chaise longue on the terrace, but they weren’t moving. He thought the owner must be asleep.