Chapter 21
A while later, straightening from gathering several cans of bolts, nuts and washers, he felt something jab into his ribs on the lower right side. “What the—”
“Don’t move too fast and don’t try any funny business. Turn around real slow. Leave the junk on the floor.”
The flat, cold voice wasn’t Darrel’s, for sure. There might have been the slightest hint of a Latino accent, although it was subtle. The tone was calm and also deadly. Mal decided in a flash he’d better do exactly what he was told. He straightened, empty-handed, and turned slowly to face the stranger.
The poke was the barrel of a semi-auto pistol. The man pulled it back, still holding the weapon steady, pointed at the center of Mal’s body. Behind him Darrel stood, smirking.
This time it was Darrel who spoke. “Where’s Dan?”
“He’s on the ranch somewhere, working. There’s no end of stuff to do, you know.”