Bad Day at Black Rock Page #2

- All right. Sign my name.

Who's Gandi?

Private detective.

I drive to LA now and then.

This guy Gandi can get us the dope?

He can get us anything we want

for $20 a day and expenses.

Don't get too nervous too fast, Hector.

- It's just I don't like it.

- Maybe he's just passing through.

Don't bet on it. He can mean only trouble.

Hector, you're jumpy as a stall horse.

We ought to see him. Talk to him.

About what?

What will I talk to him about?

The birds, the bees,

the crops, the weather?

You tried it. What'd it get you?

- It's just I thought that...

- You just thought.

Well, what'll we do?

What'll you do?

You'll wait, just like Pete here.

That right, Pete? And that's all you'll do.

- And while you wait, I'll talk to him.

- Hey, what do you know?

Mr. Macreedy seems to be heading

for the jail.

Now, what do you suppose

he'd wanna talk to the sheriff about?

Hold it, friend.

I ain't hankering to get locked

in my own jail.

I'm sorry, I thought you were a guest.

As it happens, I'm the host.

- Snort?

- No, thank you.

I don't blame you. It's awful.

What are you looking at?

- You tell me.

- I ain't always this bad.

It's just that last night me and my pal,

Doc Velie, did a little celebrating.

What were you celebrating?

Well, you name it.

What do you want?

My name is Macreedy.

I came in on the streamliner.

You what?

- I say, I came in on the...

- You ain't from around here.

Are you up Phoenix way?

Tucson? Mesa?

You ain't selling cattle nor seed corn,

nothing like that?

No, all I want from you

is a little information.

I have to go to a place called Adobe Flat.

This ain't no information bureau.

That's one thing about Black Rock:

Everybody is polite.

That makes for very gracious living.

- Nobody asked you here.

- How do you know?

- What about Adobe Flat?

- I'm looking for a man named Komako.

- Almost a disaster.

- Yeah, a fate worse than death.

You move fast for a crip...

For a big man.

How about Komako?

If there are no further questions...

Greetings.

That's the first pleasant word I've heard

since I got here.

My name is Smith.

I own the Three-Bar Ranch.

I want to apologize

for some of the people in town.

They act like they are sitting on a keg.

A keg? Of what?

I don't know:

Diamonds, gunpowder.

It's nothing like that.

We're suspicious of strangers is all.

Hangover from the old days. The Old West.

I thought the tradition of the Old West

was hospitality.

I'm trying to be hospitable, Mr. Macreedy.

- You going to be around long?

- Could be.

How'd you like to go hunting tomorrow?

I'd be proud to have you as my guest.

Thanks. I'm afraid I can't.

Because of your arm, I suppose.

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