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cause he killed our amigo, because we knew gringos didn't care." |
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The fat one wasn't through. "We saw you here earlier. You was talking to him and you left. You knew he killed Acota, and you didn't do nothing about it. That just proves you gringos don't give a damn. Just another Mex, right?" |
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"I was coming back to get him," Miller tried to explain. |
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He felt the blunted piece of steel press a little further into his hairline. The little one was getting nervous. "I warn you, man, don't look up." |
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"You going to kill him now?" the fat one asked. |
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Bartholomew heard the man holding the gun to his head shuffle his feet nervously. "No, man, we don't have to kill him. He don't know what we look like." |
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"But he saw us when he came in." |
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Bartholomew already had them pegged. |
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The little one was the kind who was always sure of himself. "I don't think so," he said cockily. "I think all the gringo saw was the guns. Didn't you see his eyes, man? Big fuckin' eyes. Scared eyes!" |
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"But he'll come after us . . . " |
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There was a quality in the mean one's voice that betrayed his contempt for his fat friend's muddled thinking. "Use your head, man. If we |
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