Coyote

by Rhonda Roberts

  His eyes were like Siberia … that gaze could’ve stunted tree-growth.

  I frowned. This guy was a pretty good actor; his expression actually reminded me of Hector. But how could he know how cold the real Hector’s gaze had been?

  I glanced down at the flyer — this actor had to be Gideon Webb, the man I’d come to find. He didn’t look a lot like his publicity picture, though you could still tell it was him. Webb didn’t look much like Hector either; he was older, and too heavily built for any real similarity. But, by God, Webb did a good job of capturing the ruthless side of Hector.

  The gangs of sailors parted before him as though he was a warship about to do battle.

  Webb came within eyeballing range of the Corsairs’ balcony and stopped. His taut, muscular hands flexed over his twin pistols. It wasn’t melodramatic; he looked like he actually knew how to use them.

  ‘Get down here, Shaker! And face me like a man!’ bellowed Webb.

  The pirate captain glowered down at the intruder into his territory and cursed.

  Prairie Rose peered down with keen interest, poised to take advantage of the situation.

  ‘Get him,’ ordered Captain Shaker to his henchmen.

  The Corsairs swarmed back inside and down and out the front door of The Hue & Cry.

  Hector climbed the drainpipe up to the balcony, wedged the door shut with a bench and confronted the captain.

  They struggled. But before Webb could triumph, the captain’s men broke down the barricaded door.

  Prairie Rose bashed Captain Shaker over the head with the telescope. He dropped.

  Together with Webb, Prairie Rose swarmed up the drainpipe and onto the roof of The Hue & Cry. From there Hector bellowed to the captain, ‘I’ll be back for you later!’

  As the Corsairs took aim to shoot, to the tourists’ joy the faux Hector and Prairie Rose ran across the roofline and, hands clasped, jumped to freedom on the next building.

  That gap had to be at least six feet.

  The crowd cheered …

  The pair hiked over the next two buildings and shimmied down to the street. The scene ended with Hector pulling Prairie Rose up onto the back of his horse and with one rousing ‘yippee-kai-yay’, Hector galloped off to freedom.

  The mayor and the crowd burst into loud cheers and applause.

  So this must’ve been what the librarian was talking about … the way that Hector showed the Corsairs could be beaten. That was a pretty definite humiliation, taking Prairie Rose out from under their noses.

  The cast assembled to take a bow, then moved aside to allow the hero of the piece, Gideon Webb, to take his solitary bow. As the applause died away, with a wave of his hand Webb commanded his troops to disperse. He climbed the podium to be personally congratulated by the mayor and the cast ducked under the barricade to greet the enthused crowd and hand out more flyers.

  ‘Good job, Gideon. It’s good to see San Francisco so proud of its history,’ gushed the mayor, slapping Gideon Webb on the back.

  I slipped under the barricade and made for the podium.

  Out of nowhere, a figure streaked into my path, jolting me to a stop. Prairie Rose now blocked my way. She was solid enough to do it too.

  ‘No one is allowed past the barricade!’ she barked.

  The body language said I’d better retrace my steps before I really pissed her off. In this version of reality it seemed Prairie Rose protected Hector rather than the other way around.

  The actress was tall, as tall as me, and built like a stripper who liked working out. Close up you could see she wasn’t Native American. She was wearing tan make-up and I was betting her hair was brown under that black dye. From her erect and aggressive stance it looked like she was more used to a military parade ground rather than a stage. And from the way she’d climbed that building I’d have put real money on it. She was no simple actress hired for a part.

  Her menacing attitude raised my hackles. ‘I want to talk to Gideon Webb,’ I said with icy precision.

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘You and every slut in this crowd.’

  This woman was driving a truckload of resentment and just looking for somewhere to unload. I could smell the fear underneath her anger. She was mated with Webb but didn’t trust him …

  This damned smellovision was going into overdrive.

  I started past her.

  She grabbed my arm. ‘Don’t you dare try —’

  ‘It’s all right, Gilda.’ Webb stood at her shoulder; the mayor was getting into his car. ‘You can go and get ready for the next show.’ It was more of an order than a suggestion.

  Gilda gave me a threatening look that could’ve halted a runaway train.

  I smiled back, showing all my teeth.

  Gilda lunged at me.

  Webb caught her and shoved her away. ‘Get control of yourself!’

  Gilda gave me a final menacing grimace and stalked off.

  ‘Seems like Gilda has more in common with Prairie Rose than you’d expect from an actress,’ I muttered. I was guessing they both settled grievances the old-fashioned way.

  Webb didn’t comment, just swung a look at the Amazon’s retreating back then returned to give me an overly thorough perusal. The interest wasn’t professional. ‘She’s a Navy SEAL, or used to be … How can I help you?’ His tone indicated he already had a specific kind of aid scheme in mind … one that involved me being on my back.

  I curbed my natural impulse to snap. Webb must get all kinds of interest after his bravo performance.

  I flashed my Time Investigator’s licence. ‘I’m looking into matters to do with Hector Q. Kershaw and …’ I ran my eyes over his costume. ‘I believe you might be able to shed some light on it.’

  ‘A Time Investigator?’ Webb’s eyes gleamed with interest. ‘Just what are you investigating?’

  I studied him. ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss the case in too much detail but I’m looking into matters that may not have reached the standard history books … aspects of Hector Kershaw’s personal life.’ I paused. ‘His very personal life.’

  Now Webb was intrigued. ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’m looking for a personal object that Hector would’ve kept hidden …’ River had already announced its existence to the press. ‘His diary.’

  ‘Hector Kershaw’s diary?’ Webb raised an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t that what that guy from Berkeley was talking about last week?’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t believe it myself … I’ve never come across any reference to a diary.’ Webb shot me a sharp glance. ‘Have you got proof one actually exists?’ I could see dollar signs flickering across his carefully made-up features. ‘Do you know where it is?’ He was way too interested.

  If I wasn’t careful Webb could be on the trail of the diary too. The same publicity that would help me would help him.

  I avoided the question. ‘Do you have any idea where Hector would hide something like that … something he didn’t want found?’

  Webb perused me again as though weighing up whether giving me information would get him where he wanted to go …

  He decided it wouldn’t. ‘San Francisco is a big town — has been since the Gold Rush. You’re asking me for the address of a needle in a haystack from centuries ago.’ He tipped the brim of his cowboy hat and waded into the adoring crowd.

  Gideon Webb wasn’t going to give out any information that could help his competition.

  I scanned the costumed cast. Most of them were still handing out those flyers. I grabbed one. They advertised authentic re-enactments of old Barbary Coast entertainments at The Hue & Cry, the original house of ill repute that was the Corsairs’ headquarters. Every Thursday to Saturday night you could get dinner and a show.

  Next to me, the pirate captain of the Corsairs and his bosun were having their photographs taken hugging gushing tourists.

  ‘So come along to The Hue & Cry,’ persuaded the captain. ‘Princess Prairie Rose will perform her act, the Circle of Death … That’s the act she was famous for before Hect
or saved her.’

  A man in the crowd chortled. ‘And what happened after Hector took her home?’

  The captain replied, with mock outrage, ‘I’ll have you know, sir, that Hector Kershaw was a married man.’ He leant in. ‘But I will say that Hector continued to look after his Indian princess … and that Prairie Rose remained his ever-grateful … er … friend.’ He waggled his bushy false eyebrows.

  The implication was clear.

  The image of Hector drooling over Prairie Rose’s porno picture came back to me with a jolt. It’d been more than simple lust, it’d been … like a predator scenting its favourite kind of prey.

  I shook that detail away and focused. So Hector had a mistress …

  ‘Where did Prairie Rose live after she was saved?’ I asked.

  ‘We’re talking about the nineteenth century, ma’am,’ replied the captain. ‘Prairie Rose was an Indian girl saved from slavery in a brothel and Hector was married to the daughter of one of the most prominent men in San Francisco.’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry, ma’am, I don’t think her address ever became public knowledge.’

  An illicit mistress hidden away in a secret location.

  Had Hector hidden all his secrets in the one spot?

  45

  EL CHACAL

  ‘But if anyone would know where Prairie Rose lived,’ said the actor dressed as Captain Shaker, the leader of the Corsairs, ‘that would be Mr Webb … or maybe Gilda; she knows Prairie Rose’s past pretty well too.’

  I scanned the block; Gilda was nowhere to be seen and Gideon Webb, still wallowing in the adoration of the crowd, was happily allowing two Californian blondes to paw his leather vest with open intent. I gave him a stony stare. An obnoxious playboy or an agro Amazon …

  Well, I was going to have to find a way to squeeze details out of one of them …

  My phactor rang. It was Des.

  I weighed not answering. Webb was just over there … ‘Look, Des, I’ll have to get back to you —’

  ‘No, Kannon, you have to get over here right away!’ It was his No Bullshit tone — the one Des used when he’d hit pay dirt. That or the alarm button.

  ‘What is it?’ I watched Webb swagger back towards The Hue & Cry, a blonde on each arm. No wonder Gilda was so cranky.

  ‘No! I’m not going to try and explain, Kannon — you have to see it. This changes the whole investigation — so get over here fast!’

  I trusted Des so I left.

  I met him in the de Vivar Library foyer. ‘What is it, Des?’

  ‘Read this.’ He handed me a computer printout. ‘It’s a translation of the front page of The Mexican Star from the same year as Dry Gulch.’

  It said El Chacal had started his rampage through Mexico the year before, when he killed a family in Durango. A well-to-do landowner and his family were found dead beside their carriage at a remote promontory and …

  I stopped reading. ‘But, Des, this is about the Mexican bandito that all the bounty hunters were after? This is the guy that my cover, John Eriksen, went south to hunt —’

  He jerked his head at the page. ‘Just keep reading, Kannon.’

  I eyed him sceptically but complied.

  The wealthy family had gone out to visit neighbouring relatives and their bodies were found later that night by their anxious vaqueros. El Chacal had been hired by a rival landowner to eliminate his enemy, and as proof the bandito had left what was to become known as his personal signature carved into the soles of their bare feet — a C …

  Oh no …

  Governor Gortner’d said all six bodies at Dry Gulch had a C cut into the soles of their feet. But he’d claimed the C stood for Coyote Jack.

  I shot Des a confused look; his face was stiff, neutral … waiting for me to react to something.

  I read on.

  The article said El Chacal had been operating along the El Camino Real de Tierra Adentro for the past year.

  ‘What’s the El Camino Real de Tierra Adentro?’ I asked without lifting my head.

  I knew about the El Camino Real in California. I used a remnant of that ancient road every time I drove from San Francisco to the NTA training facility at Menlo Park. My road had been built by the Spanish in the eighteenth century. It connected the twenty or so Catholic missions that they established along the Californian coastline to secure their territory. San Francisco and Los Angeles were both missions along that Imperial highway.

  ‘The El Camino Real de Tierra Adentro was built when the Spanish owned New Mexico,’ answered Des brusquely, more than ready for a demand for details. ‘The road connected Santa Fe to Mexico City.’

  I nodded, then read on.

  El Chacal and his cut-throats started out as a highly mobile band of contract killers who’d eliminate anyone who stood in the way of their employers. Then they went freelance and looted towns and villages along the El Camino Real de Tierra Adentro at will. And, each time, their leader left his calling card — a C — on the feet of the dead.

  ‘So … what are you saying, Des?’ I frowned, searching for a way to connect these startling new dots. ‘You think that El Chacal could’ve taken a contract from one of the people who wanted Governor Magurty dead and crossed the border for the job?’

  Des didn’t answer.

  I shook my head. ‘Des, trust me — this has to be a weird coincidence. I’m certain Hector did it …’ I scanned for the date of the newspaper edition. ‘What if Hector was El Chacal?’ It sounded crazy even to my ears, but I was reaching for any possible explanation that could fit with what I knew to be true. ‘You’d better check if that’s at all possible —’

  ‘I already have, Kannon,’ cut in Des bluntly. ‘Hector Q. Kershaw was highly visible in Boston at the same time El Chacal was operating in Mexico.’

  ‘But have you checked specific dates and places?’ I demanded. I wasn’t backing down.

  ‘Yes, I have!’ bit out Des. ‘When El Chacal was laying waste to the Mexican city of Zacatecas, Hector Kershaw was busy escorting his mother to the opening of Boston’s new opera house.’ Des shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Kannon, but Hector didn’t commit Dry Gulch …’

  I studied Des’ face; he was keeping it carefully neutral. That meant he was hiding something, keeping it back because he knew it would make me so angry I’d …

  I stared down at the newspaper translation. It was from a different part of the de Vivar Library — the Mexican section. ‘And just why were you checking material south of the border, Des?’ I said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Look, Kannon, I’ve been through everything I can find on the Kershaw family that links them to New Mexico … and there’s absolutely no reason why any of them would want Governor Magurty — or any of the other five victims — dead. The Kershaws were a stuffy East Coast dynasty who did nothing illegal, or exciting, in all their narrow little lives.’ Then he shrugged. ‘Except, of course, for Hector’s elder brother, Lysander … but that’s a whole other story I haven’t had time to follow up … In fact, the Kershaws’ financial interests in New Mexico were not served by the new governor and they ended up selling off their properties at a loss.’

  ‘But you have to dig deeper, Des, because there’s something weird going on with that family —’

  ‘No, Kannon, you have to face it!’ Des paused to eye me warily. ‘Hector Quale Kershaw was a spoilt banker’s kid who was tied to his mother’s apron strings. He never stepped a foot away from the East Coast until his father finally kicked him out of the nest, hoping a dose of the Wild West would make a man out of him … which to all reports it did!’

  ‘No!’ I shook my head. Now I knew where Des was heading.

  ‘Kannon, I looked south of the border because you told me Coyote Jack would disappear there at regular intervals —’

  ‘It wasn’t Coyote Jack, Des!’

  ‘Stop thinking with your soft heart, Kannon. It makes sense! El Chacal used the same signature as Coyote Jack because —’

  ‘No!’

  ‘…
because Coyote Jack WAS El Chacal, south of the border. That’s why they have the same signature — a C.’

  I stared at him coldly. ‘But you have no proof … do you?’

  If he did, Des would’ve shoved it in front of me before he made this accusation.

  ‘Kannon,’ he sighed. ‘Coyote Jack and El Chacal both disappear from the history books at exactly the same time in 1867 … two weeks after Dry Gulch.’

  46

  THE PET PROJECT

  Des and I parted on bad terms. I’d demanded he dig deeper for Hector’s motive for Dry Gulch, but Des was convinced the culprit was this Mexican bandito, El Chacal. When Des set his jaw and went mute, I dropped the fight. He’d just do what he wanted anyway. I left saying it’d take a whole lot more than what he’d just dug up to make me abandon what I knew to be the truth.

  I had to find that bloody diary — and fast!

  Where had Hector hidden his illicit mistress, Prairie Rose? Chances were he wouldn’t have more than one hiding place for the secrets he wanted to keep close.

  One way or another, once I found the diary the case would be closed on who committed Dry Gulch.

  Furious with Des, I marched outside the library, my phactor in hand, and rang the number on the Wild West Club flyer. Despite my best efforts, the receptionist kept firm — both Gideon Webb and Gilda were busy getting ready for tonight’s show and couldn’t be disturbed. I could try again after the show.

  What was I going to do until then?

  Dredge my memory for a start … I already knew stuff about Hector and Prairie Rose.

  I remembered back to the Hen’s Coop Saloon in old Santa Fe … Sigvard Blix proudly showing Hector his pile of pornographic postcards from the Corsairs’ brothel. Hector’d zoomed straight in on Princess Prairie Rose, the wild teenager clutching a lethal green bow in one fist and with a red quiver full of deadly sharp arrows slung across her naked back.

  Hmm … Hector had dismissed a whole deck full of lingerie-clad, lounging beauties to pick her. Now exactly why had prissy Hector gone for such a direct sexual challenge? What’d he seen in that ferocious girl that’d lit his campfire?