Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

Nevertheless, he attempted to look bemused. “Why?”

“Bad business practices.”

“Whose?”

“Yours.”

It was an effort for Bernie to conceal his outrage. “I don’t ask for or require the approval of a slick dandy like you, but I am curious. Can you give me an example of the business practices you oppose?”

“Gladly. For example, with a little courting, a little finessing, Laurel Plummer might have been won over. Instead, you bullied her. That tactic didn’t flatter you. It didn’t cast a favorable light on me, either, which I resent. It also failed. Colossally.”

“She’ll come around.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that. Not after you had her errand boys ambushed and shot all to hell.”

Bernie snickered. “How did the duo fare? Did they survive?”

“I don’t know. I was spotted near the scene. Although I’m not proud to admit it, I ran.” He swirled the whiskey in his glass, the only sign of his simmering anger. “You took that action upon yourself, Bernie. You executed that ambush without consulting me.”

“Because you would have wavered when action was called for.”

“I would have acted with more discretion, as I did with Randy. The problem was solved, but it was neat. Nobody’s curiosity was aroused.”

“We needed to make a splash,” Bernie said. “We needed to do something that would get the lovely widow’s attention.”

“Well, you succeeded at that. But this bloody display will also draw the attention of people who aren’t so lovely. Bad for business, Bernie. Bad for business. Because now, you’re going to be in the bull’s-eye of a crackdown, beginning with a thorough investigation by local law.”

“I’ve made Bill Amos a eunuch, and his department is a joke.”

“His newly appointed deputy isn’t what I’d call a jolly sort.”

“Hutton? I’m not scared of him.”

“Another example of your foolishness.”

“How dare—”

“If Hutton doesn’t give you pause, the Texas Rangers are even less jocular than he is. The governor is a colorful character, granted. But he’s been known to send in troops to help curtail a lucrative bootleg trade. When they all come gunning for the ringleader in this area of the state, I want to be far removed from you.”

He set his glass on a small table at his elbow, then stood. “I let myself in through the back door. I’ll go out the same way.”

Bernie came to his feet. “You smug prick. Do you expect me to believe that you’re just walking away, leaving money on the table, retiring?”

Landry stopped and turned back. “Did I say that?” He flashed the sly grin that Bernie had come to detest. “I’ve never met a woman who didn’t love shoes. And there are women everywhere, who have men in their lives who enjoy a drink.” The grin widened to reveal his gold tooth. “I won’t have any trouble drumming up business.” Then he whispered, “Watch your back, Bernie.”

* * *



Thatcher didn’t see Chester Landry’s car among those parked at the boardinghouse, but he didn’t let that stop him from taking the front steps two at a time. The house was dark except for a few dim lights providing barely enough illumination for him to see his way up the staircase. He knew Landry occupied room number four on the second floor.

He knocked. Silence. He knocked again and put his ear to the door. He heard nothing.

Across the hall a door opened and a head popped out. He recognized the boarder, but didn’t recall his name. He said, “He’s not there. He left this afternoon.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Nope. Just cleared out his stuff—”

“Cleared out? You mean he moved out?”

“Lock, stock, and barrel. Took all his shoe samples. Seemed to be on short notice.”

Thatcher twisted the doorknob, but it was locked. He jerked on it harder. When it didn’t give, he backed up a few steps.

“I don’t believe Mrs. May would approve—”

Thatcher kicked in the door. The room was empty. The bed had already been stripped of sheets. Replacement bedding and a bath towel were folded and stacked, awaiting the next boarder.

Thatcher searched every drawer in the bureau, opened the closet, checked under the bed. He flipped back the mattress, but there was nothing beneath it except rusty bed springs.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The landlady was standing in the open doorway, hands on her hips. She looked like a hag during daytime. The nighttime variant was worse.

Nevertheless, Thatcher moved in on her. “Did Landry say where he was going?”

“No, and I didn’t ask,” she said. “Ain’t my business, is it?”

“He’s moved out for good? He’s not coming back?”

“Not your business, neither.”

Thatcher tapped the badge on his lapel. “Sheriff Amos will disagree. Should I send him over to talk to you?”

She folded her housecoat closer around her and jutted out her pointy chin. “He said he was taking over a new sales territory and wouldn’t be back. Paid me for a few extra days because he’d failed to give me notice. Packed up his automobile and headed out. That’s all I know.”