Bounty Hunter

by Michelle E Lowe

  “You look stunning, señorita,” he complimented her as his customer admired herself.

  “Si,” she agreed completely. “Your tailor has done a splendid job.”

  “Then you will take the dress?” he asked hopefully.

  “Si. And I shall want it properly wrapped. I don’t wish for my new dress to get dirty.”

  “Very well, señorita.” The clerk bowed. “I shall return shortly with one of my girls to assist you out of the dress so as not to wrinkle it.”

  “Not the one who helped me before,” she called to him. “I did not care for her cold hands.”

  Emma kept herself hidden by the rack, with Jaxton standing behind her. “I think that’s her,” she whispered to him.

  He carefully looked around the rack to see for himself.

  “Well,” he said, ducking behind the rack again, “what do you want to do?”

  Emma thought a moment. “If we leave to fetch Pierce and Itza-chu on the other side of the city, the outlaw could be long gone. Even if one of us follows her while the other leaves, the chances of being spotted are too risky. Engaging now is our best option.”

  Jaxton shrugged. “Then let’s go find out if it’s her or not.”

  They quickly discussed a plan and then acted on it. Emma approached from one direction while Jaxton moved in from another, blocking the woman in. Emma was extremely nervous, causing the blood to pound in her ears.

  The Indian woman hadn’t noticed them. She was too engrossed in admiring her gown and the way the fabric swayed gracefully as she moved precisely from side to side.

  Once Emma and Jaxton were in place, Emma said, “Nata?”

  She kept her voice calm. If she wasn’t Nata, chances were the engaged woman would give no response.

  But, she did.

  Nata spotted Emma and Jaxton in the reflection of the mirrors. Emma realized immediately that they had her and touched the handle of her flintlock pistol.

  “Nata,” Emma repeated with more authority, “you’re hereby under arrest for bank theft and attempted murder.”

  There was a flash of disbelief in Nata’s eyes before a look of nervousness came over her. She spotted the badges pinned to Jaxton and Emma. She seemed poised to surrender.

  Then she grabbed a vase stuffed with flowers off a nearby table and threw it at Jaxton. The power behind her throw surprised Emma. The vase was of thick glass, but it shattered over Jaxton’s face as easily as a thin sheet of ice. Glass, water, flowers, and blood flew everywhere.

  Before Emma could react, Nata lunged at her and wrapped her hands around her throat. The tightness nearly caused her to black out on the spot. Nata’s thumbs sank into her esophagus so hard, it proved difficult to make any sort of sound. Even the bitch’s nails had hooked into her. Instead of wasting time by trying to pry her off, Emma went for her gun, still in its holster.

  Nata noticed. She unhooked one hand and went for the same pistol. If she managed to get hold of her gun, Nata would shoot her dead. Emma realized how fortunate they were that Nata hadn’t been armed when they’d first approached her. As they struggled for the weapon, Emma clutched her attacker’s face and started pushing her off. She did her best to avoid Nata’s teeth, which were in fair shape and could bite into a finger down to the bone. Even if she did bite her damned finger off, Emma would be better off than if Nata claimed her gun.

  Finally, Emma managed to push Nata just far enough away to break her hold on her neck. Emma gasped, filling her lungs with oxygen as the pressure around her throat relaxed. Emma wedged her leg between herself and her attacker and once she managed a good hold, she kicked the woman off. Nata was flung back, and when her heel caught the hem of the long gown, it sent her falling backwards. Nata toppled over and crashed into the mirror behind her. She and the mirror hit the wall, and the glass shattered on impact.

  Emma staggered up, coughing and wheezing through her throbbing windpipe. She wondered where the hell Jaxton was. The hit he’d taken was hard, but she highly doubted it would render him unconscious.

  When she stood up, she saw just over the clothing rack that Jaxton was fighting with the clerk. The man was yelling at him to leave his store at once and attempting to get by Jaxton to defend his customer. Jaxton stepped into his path, trying to explain who they were and that Nata was a fugitive they were collecting. The man apparently distrusted him and tried getting by again.

  Emma had no chance to assist him. Despite the crash into the mirror, her gown torn, Nata had plenty of fight left in her. She regained her footing and charged. Emma again went for her gun, this time drawing it out of the holster. Nata plowed into her, her fancy dress ripping farther. The single shot pistol went off, sending the lead ball toward an unknown location. Nata hollered madly as she shoved Emma backward. Both fell into a clothing rack of dresses. They collapsed to the floor atop the silk, cotton, and velvet fabrics. Nata didn’t have a weapon other than her fists, and yet it proved enough. Emma found herself battling a true fighter. The hits to her head and face rattled her brain. Never before had she been in a physical fight.

  Emma didn’t know how to defend herself. She got lucky the first time when she was able to get the woman off her, but now she needed another strategy. Desperate, Emma slammed her gun into the side of Nata’s head. The impact knocked her sideways just enough for Emma to roll away. Distantly, she heard shouts from Jaxton and the clerk, as well as screams coming from the other customers. There was the sound of toppling racks and fragile décor crashing as the men pushed and shoved each other sounded throughout the entire store.

  Standing wasn’t an option for Emma. Her head was pounding, and she feared if she did stand, the dizziness would send her back down, leaving her defenseless. But, she had her gun, empty as it was.

  Before Nata had the chance to recover fully, Emma whacked her hard with the handle of the pistol. The woman fell sideways in a heap among the dresses and did not move. As Emma caught her breath, a beautiful dress caught her eye.

  With the threat down, Emma tried standing, her head spinning just as she had predicted, though not as bad as she thought it would be. She staggered, nonetheless. Jaxton was still wrestling with the clerk. Emma had had it with this nonsense. She marched over and kicked the man in the side, rolling him off Jaxton.

  “Stop it!” she bellowed in Spanish. “Stop this at once!”

  Jaxton scrambled to his feet. The disheveled clerk looked up at her and at the gun in her hand.

  “I’m not going to shoot you,” she told him, noticing his terrified look. “But we’re taking our fugitive in.” She took in a needy breath. “Also, I would like to buy that dress over there.” She reached inside her trouser pocket and pulled out a handful of money. “It got slightly damaged in the fight. How does fifteen pesos sound?”

  Her request threw both men.

  The posh clerk recovered and asked in a lofty tone that amused her, “Which gown, señorita?”

  “The garment over there.” She pointed with her gun. “The crimson Tabasco dress with the black trim.”

  He stood and took a better look at it while straightening out his wrinkled clothing.

  “Si, señorita, it is enough for the dress, but not for the damage done to my shop.”

  “Most of this mess is due to your interference,” Jaxton retorted, brushing the dirt off his shirtsleeve.

  He left to handcuff their unconscious prisoner. When he snatched his hat from off the floor near the mirrors, he caught his reflection.

  “Bugger,” he complained, touching one of the many cuts on his face.

  * * *

  They brought Nata to the jailhouse, where they delivered her to Deputy Ortega.

  “I’m innocent!” Nata cried as she was led off by another lawman.

  When the fugitive had regained consciousness, she wouldn’t shut up about how she had nothing to do with the bank heist or shooting the bank teller in the stomach. Emma was glad to be rid of her.

  “Sheriff Flores will be pleased to see anothe
r caught,” Deputy Ortega said. “Do you know where she hid the rest of the bank money?”

  Emma shrugged. “The clerk told us she had only enough to pay for the dress. I’m sure she hasn’t spent it all, though.”

  The deputy sniffed and adjusted his gun belt. He had a kinder appearance than the sheriff, with puppy dog eyes, a thick black mustache, and bushy muttonchops. That didn’t mean she enjoyed his company any more than his bully of a boss.

  “We’ll question her about it,” stated the deputy. “Hopefully, she won’t give us as much trouble as she gave you two.”

  “Where’s the sheriff?” Jaxton spoke up.

  “He’s gone home for the day. He’ll be on duty in the morning. Maybe you’ll be bringing in another by then, si?”

  “Emma,” came a voice from the open doorway.

  She turned and smiled widely when seeing Pierce walking toward her.

  “Pierce,” she said gleefully.

  “Bloody hell,” he gasped with concern. “Are you all right? Itza-chu and I were just at the Bucólico clothing store, and the bloke there told us what had happened.”

  “I’m bloody well fine, too, mate,” Jaxton joined in. “Cheers for asking.”

  Pierce looked to the Australian and his jaw dropped with shock.

  God, Pierce was so handsome, she thought. A few strands of his long, multi-colored hair stuck to his neck, which wasn’t concealed under his ratty old plaid scarf for a change. His face and the exposed area of his chest were starting to darken nicely to a fine bronze shade. He smelled of the sea and of the lavender oil Jaxton had given him. His looked so youthful, and yet he was so full of maturity.

  Pierce studied the cuts on Jaxton’s face. “Blimey. What happened to you, eh?”

  “A vase is what happened to me,” Jaxton answered with malice. “We both took a walloping, but we got the job done.”

  “What are you doing running into vases, chum?” Pierce quipped.

  Jaxton scowled, clearly in no mood for jokes.

  “She put up a good fight,” Emma said, drawing that beautiful face of his back around to her. “But we’re fine.”

  Pierce looked somewhere between impressed and guilty.

  “You ought to be off if you’re to find the next fugitive, no?” remarked the deputy with a twitch of his glossy moustache.

  Pierce turned his attention toward him and then glanced around as if searching for someone else. Perhaps the sheriff.

  “He says we should leave,” Emma translated for him.

  “Aye,” Pierce agreed. “But, first, ask ’im if there’s some kind of gadget shop around.”

  That took her aback. “A gadget shop?”

  “Aye. A place where they sell items such as capacitors.”

  Now, she was completely lost.

  “What do you need that for?”

  “I don’t, but it might be where our next mark went after the robbery.”

  “Ah, I see,” Emma said to his clarification. “I know where such a place is. There is only one in the whole city. The Artilugio store.”

  Pierce arched an eyebrow. “Eh? Artilugio?”

  “It means ‘doohickey.’ It’s meant to be comical, seeing how many don’t understand a lot of what’s sold there.”

  “Ah. You know where it is?”

  “Si. Gabriela and I have gone there many times to buy parts for the Wheel.”

  “Makes sense. Lead the way.”

  They went outside where Itza-chu was waiting by the horses. A crack of thunder got everyone turning toward the ocean. Dark storm clouds were hovering far in the distance, miles from shore, but already sending winds over the land, cooling the sun’s heat.

  Pierce mounted. “It actually rains here?”

  “It does, Landcross,” Itza-chu answered from atop his own mount. “And trust me when I say that you have not seen a storm quite like a desert thunderstorm.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rain. Oh, Glory Be! Rain!

  “Si, un hombre vino achi, y compro un capacitadora,” said the shopkeeper.

  She was a short Mexican woman with a bowl-like haircut and thick spectacles.

  Pierce hardly paid any attention. He was too distracted by his surroundings. The doohickey shop was small, but it was chock-full of so many wondrous things. There were a couple of motorized wheelchairs, home décor that lit up by battery-operated bulbs, clocks with multiple faces telling the time in different countries around the world, and a multi-purpose gauntlet-equipped with a compass, watch, and secret storage compartments. Pierce really wanted that one. There were even playing cards depicting painted pictures of flying contraptions, an Astrology Skull, submarines built of iron, and industrial cities that belonged nowhere on earth. These devices weren’t like the prototypes he’d seen in the Inventions of the Future tree house at the Great Cosmas Circus. These were actual functioning machines the proprietor was selling to the public.

  Gadgets amazed Pierce. The mechanical achievements, the rumored Age of the Machine Era that had been foreseen and which seemed to be coming about . . . Pierce couldn’t help but be curious.

  “She says there was someone who came for a capacitor,” Jaxton reported to Pierce, who was busy studying goggles and masks encased in a glass display counter. When he gave no answer, Jaxton shouted, “Oi! Deadhead, wake up!”

  Pierce snapped his attention around to him. “Eh?”

  Emma laughed. Itza-chu only grunted.

  “I said: It sounds like our man, Javier, has been here,” Jaxton repeated, disgruntled.

  Pierce approached the counter. “Did he now? Does he fit our description? Tall. Spooky. Spanish?”

  Jaxton returned his attention to the shopkeeper and asked while raising his hand up over his head, indicating the height.

  She nodded. “Sí, ese es él. Él ha estado aquí muchas veces antes.”

  “Yes. And he’s been here more than once.”

  Pierce couldn’t help but grin. Was it possible they might actually catch two on the same day?

  “Does she happen to know where he went, or if he’ll be back here soon?”

  Jaxton relayed the questions. Again, she nodded and spoke.

  “She says she might know the whereabouts of where he lives.”

  His spirits soared high. Did he dare hope? Could they be through with this whole mess within days? They just might bloody well sort everything out, pay off the debt, and then Pierce and his family could sail off toward their new home, knowing that the Apache people were safe. It made his scalp prickle with glee.

  “Where?” he asked anxiously.

  While Jaxton asked, Pierce spied a wind-up snow globe on the counter. He wound it up, triggering another of his shredded memories—if he could call them that.

  A miniature tree made of tin, painted bright green and dotted with colors, slowly spun around on a dark wooden bar countertop, surrounded by peanut shells and cigarette ashes.

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he heard himself say. “Lookee who it is, eh?”

  A man whose eyes were on the little rotating tree raised his chin to him. His delicate facial features were something Pierce recognized instantly.

  “Pierce Landcross,” he said. “Small world.”

  The Trickster!

  “I bloody know you,” Pierce said out loud.

  “Of course, you know me,” Jaxton retorted.

  Pierce snapped his head up from the snow globe. “Pardon?”

  Jaxton’s stared back at him, bewildered. “Are you right in the head, mate?”

  “Yeah, fine. I’m fine,” Pierce assured him, shaking the images away. “What did she say?”

  “During last year’s races, Javier came in needing a part that she had to wire an order for in Baja. When the part arrived, she wired him to let him know.”

  “She sent ’im a telegraph? That means the bloke goes to a place where there’s a telegraph machine.”

  “It doesn’t mean he lives near where he sent the messages, though,” Emma pointed out. “Ther
e are hundreds of rural areas in Mexico. He could be traveling miles to get to it.”

  “It’s a start, darling,” Pierce said optimistically. “Ask her for the number and location, eh?”

  The shopkeeper jotted down the number and disclosed which post office she had gone to in order to send Javier the telegraph. Once the group arrived there, they requested a trace from the operator. When the operator told Jaxton, the Australian’s expression turned grim.

  “What?” Pierce demanded. Damn, he hated not being able to understand what was being discussed around him.

  “Er, I’ve heard some dreadful stories about this area.”

  “What area?”

  “The Fire Field,” Itza-chu answered gravely. “It’s the deadliest stretch of land in all of Mexico. Worse than the Timbisha tribe territory up north near Nevada.”

  He explained this as if Pierce had any clue what and where he was talking about.

  “Erm,” Pierce began, dreading the answer to his own question. “What’s so bad about the Fire Field?”

  “Angry spirits of the west reside there. The land is cursed. There are constant sandstorms that arise without warning,” Itza-chu explained. “The coarse sand can cause people to go blind.”

  “Aye,” Jaxton interjected. “I’ve heard of folks who’ve gotten so disorientated that they lose their way and sometimes die.”

  “Along with the sandstorms, the land sits on what scientists call a giant bubble of methane gas,” Emma joined in. “The largest widespread finding. Bigger than those in Asia. The soil in the Fire Field is constantly being disturbed by the brutal sandstorms, giving the methane gas easy access to the surface. There’s an electrical charge in the air whenever the sandstorms erupted causing lightning storms that usually ignite the gas lying just below ground. It is rumored that the Fire Field is littered with charred corpses, along with those who died from choking on sand.”

  “Wonderful,” Pierce grunted. “And this is where this bloke, Javier, lives?”

  “Some miles beyond it,” Jaxton answered. “At least, that’s where the post office he sent his telegraph messages from is located.”