Ten minutes, two minutes... I believe we got down to around twenty seconds...''
"You're looking at your watch?"
"Estimating the time."
"How much you think you got left now?"
"I thought till noon tomorrow."
"I'm saying it's right now, less you want to eat first."
"You can call it off," Raylan said. "I don't mind.''
Boyd shook his head. "If you're gonna keep after me, we may as well get 'er done."
"Your forty-five's on the table but I have to pull," Raylan said. "Is that how we do it?"
"Well, shit yeah, it's my call. What're you packing?"
"You'll pay to find that out," Raylan said.
"Ice water in your veins, huh? You want a shot of Jim Beam to go with it?" Boyd looked away from the table saying, "Ava, get Raylan—" and stopped.
Ava had the shotgun pointed at him, stock under her arm, finger on the trigger.
She said to Boyd, "You want to hear my story, how I shot Bowman? He never sat on the end, he liked the long side of the table so he could spread out, rest his elbows when he was eating fried chicken or corn'n the cob. You want to know what Bowman said when he looked up like you did and saw me with his deer rifle?"
Boyd said, "Honey, you only shoot people when they're having their supper?" He looked at Raylan for appreciation and got a deadpan stare.
"Bowman's mouth was full of sweet potato," Ava said. "I watched him shovel it in as I come out from the kitchen with the rifle. He said, 'The hell you doing with that?' "
Boyd said, "Honey, put it down, would you, please?" He picked up a paper napkin and began wiping his hands.
Raylan took one and stuck it in his shirt collar. He kept his hand there, the right one, smoothing the napkin, the hand that would slide down the lapel of his suitcoat, sweep it open and in the same motion cover the walnut grip of his gun and pull it high to clear the six-and-a-half-inch barrel. He saw himself doing it.
And saw himself in the Cadillac with the shotgun blowing a hole in the windshield and tried to remember if he'd racked the pump after, because he sure didn't hear Ava rack it.
She was telling Boyd, "And you know what I said to Bowman? I said, 'I'm gonna shoot you, you dummy.' "
Raylan saw her jerk the shotgun to her cheek.
Saw Boyd bringing up the Colt, putting it on her.
And had no choice. Raylan pulled and shot Boyd dead center, the force of it punching him out of his chair as Ava in her party dress fired the shotgun and a 12-gauge pattern ripped into the bare wall.
It told Raylan he must've racked it.
Ava said, "I missed, huh?"
She watched Raylan get up, the gun still in his hand, walk around to Boyd and stoop down over him. "Is he dead?"
Raylan didn't answer. She saw him go to his knees then to bend close to Boyd's face. She believed Raylan said something, a word or two, but wasn't sure.
"Isn't he dead?"
Raylan got to his feet saying, "He is now."
Art Mullen arrived wanting to know how the rear end of the Town Car got fragged, but saved asking when he saw Boyd on the floor. Raylan stood by, relating the scene step by step as Art rolled Boyd over to look at the exit wound. He said there wasn't any doubt in his mind, a single shot from a high-caliber weapon had done the job. Art looked up at Raylan.
"He have any last words?"
"He said I'd killed him." Raylan paused. "I told him I was sorry, but he had called it."
Art was frowning now. "You're sorry you killed him?"
"I thought I explained it to you," Raylan said in his quiet voice. "Boyd and I dug coal together."
"You're looking at your watch?"
"Estimating the time."
"How much you think you got left now?"
"I thought till noon tomorrow."
"I'm saying it's right now, less you want to eat first."
"You can call it off," Raylan said. "I don't mind.''
Boyd shook his head. "If you're gonna keep after me, we may as well get 'er done."
"Your forty-five's on the table but I have to pull," Raylan said. "Is that how we do it?"
"Well, shit yeah, it's my call. What're you packing?"
"You'll pay to find that out," Raylan said.
"Ice water in your veins, huh? You want a shot of Jim Beam to go with it?" Boyd looked away from the table saying, "Ava, get Raylan—" and stopped.
Ava had the shotgun pointed at him, stock under her arm, finger on the trigger.
She said to Boyd, "You want to hear my story, how I shot Bowman? He never sat on the end, he liked the long side of the table so he could spread out, rest his elbows when he was eating fried chicken or corn'n the cob. You want to know what Bowman said when he looked up like you did and saw me with his deer rifle?"
Boyd said, "Honey, you only shoot people when they're having their supper?" He looked at Raylan for appreciation and got a deadpan stare.
"Bowman's mouth was full of sweet potato," Ava said. "I watched him shovel it in as I come out from the kitchen with the rifle. He said, 'The hell you doing with that?' "
Boyd said, "Honey, put it down, would you, please?" He picked up a paper napkin and began wiping his hands.
Raylan took one and stuck it in his shirt collar. He kept his hand there, the right one, smoothing the napkin, the hand that would slide down the lapel of his suitcoat, sweep it open and in the same motion cover the walnut grip of his gun and pull it high to clear the six-and-a-half-inch barrel. He saw himself doing it.
And saw himself in the Cadillac with the shotgun blowing a hole in the windshield and tried to remember if he'd racked the pump after, because he sure didn't hear Ava rack it.
She was telling Boyd, "And you know what I said to Bowman? I said, 'I'm gonna shoot you, you dummy.' "
Raylan saw her jerk the shotgun to her cheek.
Saw Boyd bringing up the Colt, putting it on her.
And had no choice. Raylan pulled and shot Boyd dead center, the force of it punching him out of his chair as Ava in her party dress fired the shotgun and a 12-gauge pattern ripped into the bare wall.
It told Raylan he must've racked it.
Ava said, "I missed, huh?"
She watched Raylan get up, the gun still in his hand, walk around to Boyd and stoop down over him. "Is he dead?"
Raylan didn't answer. She saw him go to his knees then to bend close to Boyd's face. She believed Raylan said something, a word or two, but wasn't sure.
"Isn't he dead?"
Raylan got to his feet saying, "He is now."
Art Mullen arrived wanting to know how the rear end of the Town Car got fragged, but saved asking when he saw Boyd on the floor. Raylan stood by, relating the scene step by step as Art rolled Boyd over to look at the exit wound. He said there wasn't any doubt in his mind, a single shot from a high-caliber weapon had done the job. Art looked up at Raylan.
"He have any last words?"
"He said I'd killed him." Raylan paused. "I told him I was sorry, but he had called it."
Art was frowning now. "You're sorry you killed him?"
"I thought I explained it to you," Raylan said in his quiet voice. "Boyd and I dug coal together."
Similar Books
