Six-guns and Slay Bells, Story 4

Christmas for Evangeline

Christmas and eggnog and bourbon all seem to go together. At least it seemed that way to Jim Murray. A year ago, he had his own bank held up. Robbed. And he got a third of the take.

Problem was, one of the tellers was a hard ass and always carried a hideout derringer. He shot Mort, one of Murray’s hired robbers, right in the eye. Killed him dead. The bloodstain never completely washed out. And it bothered Murray. The more he drank, the more it bothered him. But what really bothered him was Evangeline, Mort’s wife. She was dead, too. Hanged herself.

Pooch was in on the robbery, but his wife was Murray’s sister.

Murray drinks, drinks a lot. He thinks of Mort. And Evangeline. He plans the perfect crime, but will it work. Can he pull it off while the carolers sing “Oh little town of Bethlehem . . . . . . . .”? Can he?