Ashes to Dust (Las Vegas Mystery)

you shoot me. Something for everyone.” His eyes darted to Snow and back to Miller. “Where’s your gun, Jim?”
    “We’re in a recession,” Snow said. “We’ve had to cut back on expenses. What difference does it make? Three bullets will kill you just as quickly as four.”
    “I just thought you’d like to join in, Jim. I know you don’t like me much. I’m sure it would give you pleasure to blow a hole in me.”
    “That’s thoughtful of you,” Snow said. “Why don’t you give me your gun, and all four of us will shoot you?”
    Roberts chuckled. “That’s much better than your last joke. You got any more?”
    “If I think of any, I’ll let you know,” Snow said.
    He began to inch slowly toward Miller. Other than him, Snow realized he was the only one in the room with nothing to do. The thought struck him that he needed to feel useful.
    Gaining speed with longer strides, in a moment he found himself standing directly in front of Kevin Miller, staring at the black hole in the barrel of Jack Roberts’s .38. He couldn’t be sure what had propelled him to this position. He hadn’t given it sufficient thought to make an intelligent decision. But now he was here, and there was no stepping back.
    “What the fuck are you doing?” Roberts said. “Get the hell out of the way, or I’ll blow a hole in both of you.”
    “No you won’t,” Snow said. “I’m a weightlifter. My muscles are denser than normal. No doubt it might kill me, but the bullet won’t pass though.”
    “How do you know that?” Roberts said.
    “They did a study at Stanford,” Snow lied. “They made a bunch of dummies out of soft plastic and shot holes in them.”
    Snow couldn’t believe this last statement that came out of his mouth. It sounded stupid even to him. He also was amazed at the tranquility that passed over him as he stood waiting for the possibility of death. But suddenly he understood the reason for the serenity. He was in no danger. Neither was Jack Roberts. Snow knew this as if he’d lived this moment before.
    “You’re not going to shoot anybody,” Snow told Roberts.
    “How did you come to that conclusion?” Roberts asked.
    “How long have you been sitting there with that gun aimed at Miller? Almost an hour? If you really wanted to shoot him, you would have already done it. If you really wanted to die, you would have pulled the trigger as soon as Duke and Sally walked in here and put their guns on you. I think you’ve been trying to work up the nerve and can’t do it. And here’s why: It’s a bad idea. It’s senseless. And you know it.”
    Snow hooked a thumb over his shoulder aimed at Miller. “This guy didn’t kill your daughter. But you don’t like him, so you’d like to believe that he did. But he didn’t.”
    “Then who did?” Roberts said.
    “Somebody else,” Snow said.
    “Who?”
    “We’re not going to tell you that because then you’d drive over to their residence and pull your gun on them.”
    “You don’t have a clue,” Roberts said.
    “That may be true,” Snow said. “But we’re convinced Miller didn’t do it.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “We can have him volunteer to take a lie detector test. If he passes, you’ll know for sure he’s innocent. If he fails—shoot him then.”
    Roberts said nothing. Snow knew he had momentum in his favor.
    “Now this much I’m pretty sure of,” Snow said. “No doubt you’ve done a lot of things in your life that have been eating at you. None of us in this room is perfect. We all screw up now and then as we try to get through this somewhat miserable existence.
    “You think your life sucks, Jack? Look at me. Do I look like I’m having fun? Hell no. But I can’t just give up and end it all. Look at all the great buffets I’d be missing out on. Someday I might fall in love again—or at least discover a new beer that’s better than anything I’ve ever tasted. At that point I’ll be glad I’m still alive to enjoy it.”
    “You’ve got to find yourself a good woman!” Sally suddenly blurted out. “That’s all you need, Jack Roberts!”
    Snow raised an eyebrow. “Right,” he agreed.
    “Just say the word, Jimbo,” Duke added, “and we’ll take him down. It’s your call, buddy.”
    “For chrissake, don’t shoot,” Snow said. “He’s got that thing cocked. It’s a hair trigger. Somebody sneezes and that gun will discharge.”
    “Good thinking, Jimbo,” Duke agreed.
    “Now, here’s what I’m