Kill Crazy by William W. Johnstone Page A

asked.
    â€œWhat about ’em?” Short asked.
    â€œWe was all wearin’ these same hats when we was in town last. Someone might recognize ’em.”
    â€œLeave the hats here,” Johnny said.
    â€œI ain’t goin’ to go around without no hat to wear,” Short said.
    â€œWhat the hell you worryin’ about, Al?” Johnny asked. “You got money. Buy yourself a new hat.”
    â€œYeah,” Short said, as if just realizing that. “Yeah, I’m goin’ to get me a new hat.”
    â€œWe’ll all get new hats,” Evans said.
    â€œAnd new shirts, seein’ as I just buried the only other shirt I got,” Calhoun said.

Chapter Eleven
    Down at the mortuary, Tom Nunnelee had just finished preparing Danny Welch’s body. Mrs. Welch was too distraught to come to the mortuary, so Mrs. Adams, a neighbor, had brought Welch’s finest suit. Welch was well known and much liked around town, so Nunnelee took his time with him. Not until he was finished with Welch, and the cleaned-up and embalmed body was lying in a red, felt-lined, black lacquer coffin, did Nunnelee turn his attention to the robber who had been killed.
    â€œWell now, Mr. Jackson,” Tom Nunnelee said. “What do you think about robbing our bank now? Still think it was a good idea, do you?”
    Nunnelee washed away the blood from the entry wound at the back of Jackson’s head, and from the exit wound just under his left eye. He did not embalm the body, because it would be buried by tomorrow.
    Once he had Jackson cleaned up, he strapped the body to a board and stood him up in front of his establishment. Jackson’s arms were crossed over his chest, and his pistol was placed in his right hand. That done, he printed a sign to post above the body.

    JULIUS JACKSON
    KILLED WHILE ROBBING
    THE BANK OF CHUGWATER

    Shortly after Nunnelee stood Jackson’s body up in front of his funeral parlor, citizens of the town began to gather around in morbid curiosity. Ken Dysart, who owned a photography studio, saw an economic opportunity, and he set up his tripod and camera, then posted a sign.

    Pictures Taken W ITH B ODY – 25 cents.
    H OLDING G UN in picture– 35 cents.
    G UN F URNISHED for–15 cents.

    Moe Kitteridge, a cowboy from a nearby ranch, stood there looking at the body for a moment, and Nunnelee called out to him, “Mister, would you like to have your picture taken standing beside this outlaw? It’s just a quarter.”
    Kitteridge smiled, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Why not?”
    â€œFor ten cents more, you can hold your gun while you are standing alongside him.”
    â€œWhy would I want to do that?” Kitteridge asked. “Hell, ever’body knows it was Duff MacCallister what shot him.”
    â€œYes, everyone in this town knows that now,” Dysart said. “But think about this. You can pass this photo down to your grandson, and he can pass it down to his grandson, and a hundred years or so from now, your great-great-grandchildren will be showing this picture to their friends, and telling the story of how you were the one that killed this notorious outlaw.”
    â€œYeah,” Kitteridge said, a broad smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, that’s true, ain’t it? A hunnert years from now, there ain’t nobody goin’ to know no better as to who kilt him, and all my kin will think it was me.”
    â€œDo you need a pistol?” Dysart asked, offering his.
    â€œNah, I got my own,” Kitteridge said, drawing his pistol from the holster. The pistol was of dull gray steel, with wooden pistol grips. One of the pistol grips was only half there, the other half broken off.
    â€œThat gun?” Dysart asked. “You really want your great-great-grandchildren to think that was the best you could do? I mean, if you are posing for a picture, you need something like this.”
    Dysart picked up a