I made a face I hoped conveyed humility and regret. “Sorry to make a fuss about it, but here’s my view. I’ll bet Sutton was the one and only guy you ever killed in cold blood. I, on the other hand, have killed more than once. I can’t give you the count. I try not to keep track because it makes me look like a vigilante, which I’m not.”

“Up yours.”

“I don’t want to sound racist about this, but what we have here is what’s called a Mexican standoff.”

He smiled. “Right, the question being which of us will fire first.”

“Exactly.” I fired a shot, hitting his right hand. The gun popped up and landed in the grass. Walker jumped while Jon yelped in pain and dropped where he stood. I must have looked like a sharpshooter, but in truth he was fewer than fifteen feet away so it didn’t require any tricks. Point and pull the trigger, easy does it.

“Jesus Christ,” Walker said. “You fuckin’ shot the guy!”

“He’s the one who talked about firing first,” I said.

I removed a hankie from my shoulder bag and bent down to retrieve Jon’s gun, wrapping it daintily to preserve his fingerprints. Jon had rolled over and risen to his knees. He leaned forward, head almost touching the ground as he gripped his shattered right hand in his left. He watched himself bleed, his face ashen, his breathing ragged.

“You’re fine,” I said to him, and then turned to Walker. “Give me your tie and I’ll make a tourniquet.”

Walker was so rattled his hands shook as he pulled the knot on his tie and passed it to me. Except for the whimpering, Jon offered no resistance as I made a slipknot and secured the tie around his forearm. It’s only in the movies the bad guys keep firing. In real life, they sit down and behave.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Walker said, distressed.

“Neither can he.”

“We can’t just leave him here without help.”

“Of course not.” I handed him my car keys. “My Mustang’s parked down below. Take it to the nearest service station, call the cops, and tell ’em where we are. You better ask for an ambulance while you’re at it. I’ll wait here with your pal until you get back.”

He took the keys, pausing to stare at me. “Did you just save my life?”

“More or less,” I said. “So how’s it going down with the clean-and-sober shit? That’s a tough one. You gonna make it?”

Disconcerted, he said, “Good. It’s great. I got a lock on it. Ten days.”

I reached over and gave his arm a squeeze. “Good for you!”

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE