by Hunter, Neil
A scuff of boot leather alerted him. Brand turned from the cell, the shotgun lifting. One of the pair who stepped into view recognized Brand and gave a yell, his hand snaking for the gun tucked behind his belt.
There was no time for hesitation. Brand centered the raised shotgun and fired off both barrels. In the narrow passage the effect was devastating. The double-charge caught both men chest high, shredding bodies and clothing, flinging them back in a welter of bloodied flesh and clothing. The twin shots echoed loudly within the confines of the stone walls. One of the girls began to scream.
Brand opened the shotgun and shucked out the smoking shells, replacing them with fresh loads. The act of firing off the shotgun sent pain through his shoulder and he leaned against the wall until the worst passed. He could feel the wet blood soaking through his shirt.
It would be nice, he thought, if he could come through an assignment without getting shot, or stabbed, or beaten. Somehow he couldn’t see that happening. He decided it had something to do with the kind of people he was always forced to deal with.
He turned back towards the cells, moving by the two girls and checked the other barred doors. He passed a couple before he located an occupied one. Two men. In a similar condition to the girls. Unshaven, clothing stained and bloody. It appeared he had found Coleman and Dalton. When he called their names they raised their heads and stared at him. It took a few seconds before one of them responded.
‘The shooting…was that you?’
Brand nodded.
‘Can you get us out … please.’
‘That’s the idea. I just need to find keys to open these cells.’
‘They have one of our friends as well. Cyrus Buckman.’
The man dragged himself off the cot and moved to the barred door, fingers gripping the metal.
‘You have to find him too …’
‘Buckman escaped. Reached home but he was followed and killed.’
‘Cyrus dead.’ The second man drew himself up off the cot. ‘You have to stop him. Lacroix. The man is a maniac. They both are. Him and that damned sister of his.’
‘We’ll talk about that later. First I need to get you people out of here.’
Brand saw the sudden stare of alarm in the face of the man at the door. He was staring over Brand’s shoulder, mouth forming words.
The faintest whisper of sound came to him then and Brand spun around. Found himself face to face with a grinning Mulatto. The man was as tall as Brand, with big shoulders under his sleeveless shirt. He possessed a powerful chest and muscled arms. Thick black hair hung in oily braids to his shoulders. His lips were peeled back from his teeth, eyes wide and glassy.
When he moved it was with effortless speed, his large hands grasping the shotgun. He wrenched it from Brand’s grip and threw it aside, then caught hold of Brand by his shirt front and shook him like a child with a doll. When he let go Brand was hurled across the passage, crashing against the opposite wall. The impact stunned him for a few seconds and he saw the big man coming at him, still with a pleased smile on his broad, dark face.
This feller likes to play with his food.
Big and heavy as he was the Mulatto moved fast and he was on Brand swiftly, those big hands ready to do damage. Brand reached behind him for Seraphina’s revolver. It was not there. It must have slipped from his belt during the struggle.
The Mulatto took hold of Brand’s shirt again, swinging him back and forth and the expression on his face said he was enjoying himself. One hand formed into a fist and he pounded at the bullet wound in Brand’s shoulder. A grunt of pain escaped Brand’s lips.
He drew back his right arm, fist bunched and he struck hard at the other man’s nose. He felt the nose crunch. Blood streamed from the nostrils, bright and heavy. The Mulatto grunted. Shook his head, spraying blood. Brand knew it had hurt. The nose was sensitive to pain and in truth was a weak part of the body. Brand struck again – a third time. The man’s nose collapsed. Blood was gushing heavily and tears formed in his eyes. As strong as he was the pain, extreme now, had an effect and the Mulatto let go of Brand, flinging him aside, and clamped his hands over his ruined nose, blood pulsing between his fingers. Brand slumped against the stone wall. He grabbed at the wall lamp hanging close and swung it hard. The metal frame slammed against the Mulatto’s skull, tearing a gash that began to bleed. Brand struck out again but the man swung up a powerful arm and knocked the lamp out of Brand’s grip. Blood streamed down the side of the Mulatto’s face. None of his injuries seemed to be slowing the man down. He lunged forward, hands extended, fingers sliding around Brand’s neck. Brand knew if the man gained his hold he would have a lesser chance of breaking free. He dropped his chin to his chest and rammed his right shoulder into the Mulatto’s chest, encircled the solid body and lifted his adversary off his feet. It took a lot of effort. The Mulatto was a heavy man. It was what Brand was hoping would give him the advantage. The moment the man’s feet left the ground Brand swiveled, let himself fall and took them both down, maneuvering himself so he was on top as they crashed to the stone floor of the passage. The moment they landed Brand freed his arms from around the man’s body, snatched handfuls of hair and smashed the Mulatto’s head down hard against the passage floor. The thud of the contact was audible. The Mulatto’s eyes opened wide with shock. Brand gave him no chance to recover. He repeatedly raised and slammed the man’s head onto the stone. It was only when worms of blood, seeping out from under the broken skull, showed did he stop. Brand slipped sideway, sweat beading his face. He let his breathing calm before he moved.
As he slowly climbed to his feet he saw the ring of keys hooked over the Mulatto’s belt. He freed the ring and crossed to the cells, picking up the dropped revolver and shotgun. He found he could barely use his left arm. Blood had spread across his shirt from the wound. He tucked the shotgun under his arm and fumbled with the keys until he was able to unlock the cell holding the two men. They stumbled out of the cell.
‘Take this,’ Brand said, holding out the shotgun. ‘It’s loaded so don’t point it my way.’
Jerome Coleman took the weapon.
‘Not as classy as my Fox Sterlingworth, but it will do.’
When Brand opened the girls’ cell they simply stood staring at him. Brand could understand their hesitation. In their position he would have been just as suspicious. It was Henry Dalton who stepped by and into the cell, speaking gently to the frightened young women.
‘They killed Netta Delacort didn’t they?’ Coleman said in a hushed voice.
Brand nodded.
‘They are both mad,’ Coleman said. ‘Sick in the head. They do things. Terrible things because they enjoy hurting people. I still find it hard to understand why they would …’
‘You just said it. They are sick.’
‘The woman is the worst … I … I can’t describe what she made us do. I only know I’m ashamed I allowed myself to be drawn into their games … all three of us. We were fools. We let ourselves be drawn in. Drink. The gambling. Then when we came here it was worse. At first it was like a stupid game. More drink. Then the opium. We were like kids in a candy store. Took what they offered and by the time we realized it was too late…by God I want a chance to make that woman pay …’
‘Too late for that. Seraphina is dead.’
‘That is the best news you could have given me. What about Lacroix?’
‘No sign of him.’
‘He’ll be in that damned place again. The Creole Queen. It’s his second home.’
‘I’ll find him.’
‘When we were here and under the influence of that damn drug, they did things in front of us. The pair of them. Brother and sister. Even though I was not in a sound state I knew it was wrong. The things they were doing. Naked…and then making those girls join in. That Mulatto you killed … he was one of them. Do you understand what I’m saying? Those terrible things … how can people do that …’
Henry Dalton was moving out of the cell, an arm aroun
d the shoulders of the trembling girls. Coleman fell silent, his face ashen as he recalled the things he had seen.
‘I’ve told them we’re going home,’ Dalton said. ‘Back to their families.’
Brand nodded. ‘Stay with them. Coleman, you bring up the rear. Everyone stay close.’
When they passed the bodies of the guards Brand had put down earlier he ushered them quickly by, then crouched and searched the bloodied bodies. Found loaded revolvers he took, tucking Seraphina’s small caliber pistol behind his belt. His newly acquired weapons were Colt Peacemakers. Forty-five caliber and both fully loaded. The heavy weapons felt good in his hands after Seraphina’s lightweight gun. He carried one Colt, thrust the second one behind his belt. His left arm was still hanging limp at his side so he decided not to risk handling a full sized pistol in his left hand.
He caught up with the others as they walked the cold, damp passageway. They eventually reached stone steps leading upwards.
‘They brought us this way,’ Dalton said. ‘Comes out in Lacroix’s study.’
Brand led the way to the heavy wooden door. It stood ajar. He eased it wide with the muzzle of his Colt.
The big room was expensively furnished, the walls lined with books and hung paintings. A log fire burned in the big hearth. At the far end of the room, directly under the main window, was a huge oak desk. Lacroix’s presumably. On the top lay Brand’s holstered Colt and beside it the rifle he’d had when he entered the house. He took the opportunity to dispose of Seraphina’s pistol, strapped on his belt and checked his Colt. He handed one of his acquired revolvers to Dalton. The man took it with a reluctant acknowledgment.
‘In case,’ Brand said.
He kept the other revolver in his belt, recalling the guard he had seem outside.
‘There any others in the house?’ he asked.
‘To be truthful we don’t know,' Coleman said. 'By the time Lacroix brought us here we had already had too much to drink to notice things like that.’
‘I’m ashamed to say I had other things on my mind,’ Dalton said. ‘Look, can we get these girls out of here quickly. Whatever happens to me is of less importance than getting these poor children home.’
Brand had spotted a drinks cabinet and crossed to it. He pushed glasses aside to get to a full bottle of Lacroix’s best whiskey. He pulled the cork with his teeth and took a hefty swallow, eyes watering as the liquor coursed down his throat.
‘Is that important right now?’ Dalton said.
Brand indicated his blood soaked shoulder. ‘Medicinal,’ he said, his voice husky from the whiskey. ‘That is important.’
He dropped the bottle, made a final check on the rifle, then led the way to the door. The hallway was silent. Empty. Brand had a fleeting vision of the scene when he had entered earlier. The strange smoky atmosphere. The weird figure that had appeared, taunting him. That eerie, skeletal image that had morphed into Seraphina just before he blacked out …
The main door opened easily. It was still raining. Brand eased through and took a long look around. The area seemed deserted. He didn’t believe it for a minute. Some inner sense told him they were not alone. He had no idea how much time had elapsed since he had entered the house. He had to assume long enough for Lacroix to have added to the armed guard around the place.
‘We need some kind of carriage,’ Coleman said quietly. ‘I recall the stables are over to the left.’
‘You lead the girls there,’ Brand said. ‘Get inside and see what you can find.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Maybe I can create a diversion. Just get to the stable. I’ll join you.’
~*~
Brand slipped back inside and returned to the study. He crossed to the window behind the desk and freed the latch so he could slide the windows open. He crossed to the drinks cabinet and uncorked a number of bottles of spirit. He laid a wet trail of liquor across the room, tipping more across the desk and down the side. He led the trail of liquor up to the hearth then used a fire-iron to rake out burning embers. Standing back he watched the pale flames start, following the trail of liquor across the floor as the vapor ignited. Brand retreated to the door and watched the flames expand as they took hold. They tendrils crawled up the side of the desk and spread over the top. Smoke began to show, drifting. The slight breeze coming in through the open window fanned the flames.
Brand slipped out through the front door and cut along the front of the house in the direction of the stables, where the doors were being eased open. He met Dalton.
‘We found a handy carriage. Enough room for us all. Jerome is handling the horses. He’s better at it than me.’
Brand followed him inside the shadowed building where Coleman had a two-horse team already in harness. He was coupling them, glancing up when Brand joined him.
‘Haven’t done this for a long time.’
The two girls were in the rear seat of the carriage, muffled up in thick blankets. Dalton joined them, sitting between them and speaking in a quiet voice that appeared to be keeping them settled.
Coleman drew the reins across the backs of the team and climbed up onto the front seat.
‘I’ll clear the doors,’ Brand said. ‘When you get outside drive down to the road and head for the city. Do not stop for anything. Get them to Doctor Regis Marcellus. Understand?’
Coleman nodded. ‘What about you?’
‘There are things to do here. Hopefully my little diversion will keep Lacroix’s men busy.’
‘Oh? What did you do, set his house on fire …’ Brand’s silent expression dawned and Coleman managed a faint smile. ‘I must remember not to get on your bad side, Mister…?’
‘Brand. Now get the hell out of here and keep those horses moving. Don’t wait for me. I have my own horse nearby.’
Brand pushed the stable doors wide.
Coleman flicked the team into motion and as the carriage rolled clear, out of the corner of his eye he saw wreaths of smoke issuing from one of the ground floor windows of the house. The image slid behind him as he cracked the whip over the team, urging them into a fast trot in the direction of the road. He barely held the team back as it took the turn off the drive and onto the road that would lead back to New Orleans.
He picked up a sound of raised voices … and then the crackle of gunfire …
~*~
…smoke was thickening as it left the window. It seemed Brand’s diversionary tactic was working better than he had anticipated. It also brought a number of armed figures into view as they emerged from behind the house and the thick foliage. He counted four of them. One was the guard he had spotted earlier. They gathered in a tight group, staring at the smoke billowing from the window, indecision stopping them until one caught sight of Brand framed in the stable doors.
He yelled a warning to his partners and they followed his lead, bringing their guns to bear on Brand. The crackle of rapid fire sent slugs in Brand’s direction. The distance made it difficult for accurate shooting without a steady aim. Brand heard the thud of slugs hitting the stable doors as he dropped to a crouch, sending wood splinters flying. He shouldered the rifle, aware his weak left arm was not going to support the heavy weapon for long, and sucked in a steadying breath as he aimed, held his targets and loosed off a number of shots. He saw one man fall back. A second stumbled, clutching at his shooting arm. With the weight of his rifle aggravating his own arm Brand let the rifle drop to the ground and cleared his Colt from the holster, the hammer going back as he extended his shooting arm, ignoring the gunfire directed at him. He briefly recalled the advice from Whitehead, the armorer at McCord’s headquarters.
‘Fast draw doesn’t mean a thing if you can’t hit your target. Take that extra second to center your shot before you fire.’
He fired, altered his aim and held again. Felt something tug at his shirt and forced himself to cock and fire again. He placed a slug in one man chest high. Saw him fall back a step before he dropped. The remaining shooter made to t
urn aside to narrow his bulk, then gave a sudden jerk as a .45 slug slammed into the side of his skull and shut him down before he fell to the ground. Movement drew Brand’s attention. It was the man with the bullet wound in his arm, changing his revolver to his left hand. Brand didn’t hesitate. He turned his Colt in the man’s direction. Saw the alarm on the man’s face in the scant second before Brand hit him with a pair of close-fired shots that drove him groundwards in an instant.
He crossed to the men he had put down. One was still alive. Spilling blood but conscious. He glared at Brand.
‘You get it done?’ he said.
Brand nodded. ‘You took your last payday for this outfit.’
The man grimaced. ‘Just tell me one thing. Is that bitch dead?’
‘Seraphina? She cast her last spell.’
‘Almost worth getting shot to hear that.’
‘Not your favorite lady?’
‘Evil through and through that one. Hadn’t been for the good money. Hell, you know.’
‘I don’t see Lacroix around.’
The man spat blood from his mouth.
‘He left a while before you showed up. If he ain’t here he’s back in town at that fancy palace.’
‘That’s what I was guessing,’ Brand said.
He heard the man groan. His body stretched out as he let go his last breath.
Brand could hear the subdued crackle of the fire as it gained a hold inside the house. Glass cracked from the heat in another window. He turned and went back inside the stables. Minutes later he was herding the rest of the horses into the open where they scattered. With that done he retrieved his rifle and walked away, heading to where he had left his own horse tied up. He took his time. His shoulder was still giving him pain and it had bled some more. Doc Marcellus was going to have one more patient to deal with when Brand got back to New Orleans.
~*~
It was close on dark when Brand reached The Creole Queen. With the Mardi Gras virtually over the streets were quieter. The crowds had diminished, leaving behind the litter than was associated with the mass celebrations. Before he reached The Creole Queen Brand saw the place was in semi-shadow. The main doors were closed. Which in itself was unusual. He dismounted and tied his horse to one of the single metal hitching posts edging the boardwalk. His disheveled appearance and the blood staining his left shoulder drew a number of curious stares from the few people braving the still falling rain as he made his way to the ally running alongside the building. Brand ignored the interest. When he reached the gates that blocked off the delivery yard behind the saloon Brand pulled both of his Colts, gave them a cursory check before he paused. The last time he had entered the area he had been confronted by Julienne Dubois and his henchmen. Since that episode Brand had learned a great deal more about Lacroix’s hired help. Their determined stance to back any play by their employer had provided him with the knowledge he was dealing with a relentless bunch who had little respect for anyone who happened to stand against them or their paymaster.
