Deadlands: For a Few Dead Guys More

by Shane Lacy Hensley

  On the "altar" in front of them was a bound and gagged old man-one of the poor unfortunates from the Skids, no doubt. Nobody was missed if he disappeared from there. Fortunately for him, he looked unconscious.

  We didn't notice the final figure in the tableau until he stood up. He was a powerfully built Chinese, a bruiser by anyone's standards, but he moved with the control and grace of a cat. His hair was dead white and long and hung around his face and down his back. He wore only a pair of loose cloth pants, tied at the waist with a rough cord. I would have guessed who he was even without the intricate dragon tattooed in black ink across his chest and back-Han Lo.

  He brandished a wicked looking knife in one hand and a piece of familiar-looking hide in the other. I thought I could see a place on it where a small strip had been sewn back on, but that's probably just a flight of fancy.

  The dark forms of a few of Tony's men moving up beside us in the darkness caught the corner of my eye. Sure enough, we had them cut off. I inched my way over next to Tony as fast as I could without being heard.

  "You recognize any of them?" I hissed into his ear.

  "A few," he whispered back. "Scum. Dogs. The dregs of the Hsieh Chia Jgn. Many have been cast out, some by Tam himself."

  "Looks like Han Lo has been recruiting."

  The Chinese men continued their low chanting as Han Lo circled the altar, waving his knife in patterns in the air. Suddenly he began to speak in Chinese, but he wasn't chanting. The man's voice rang out with a totally different tone. He was imploring. Begging. Worshipping.

  "What the Hell is he saying?"

  "He's invoking the spirit of the Black Dragon. Asking it to bless his followers as it has blessed him. Imploring it to grant them the same power to strike at their enemies."

  "I don't like the sound of that."

  "Neither do I."

  Han Lo's voice seemed to be reaching some sort of crescendo, building to something momentous. The patterns he carved in the air with his knife grew more and more complex and his speech grew more and more urgent. That's when I felt it.

  I never have been able to actually describe the feeling to anyone very well. It was like hearing a picture or tasting a song. A totally improbable sensation. It was the feeling of a presence, like something was watching and waiting just outside my ability to perceive. I had only felt it once before in my entire life. Cold Harbor. Right before horrible things started happening.

  Something was about to happen. Something big. Something bad. I would swear that Han Lo's knife was beginning to leave an ever-so-faint trail behind it in the darkness as it wove its arcane pattern. The chanting of the gathered men-cultists, I corrected myself-was becoming a hypnotic drone, and there was electricity in the air. I looked at Tony and found him staring directly back at me. We both knew without speaking; if we were going to make our move it had to be now. I drew my pistols and moved into a crouch, looking toward at the fire-lit assemblage. Tony, took a deep breath and let loose with a shout that broke through the chanting below like a knife through skin.

  And all Hell broke loose.

  ***

  Tony's men were faster than I was, but I was right behind them, a .44 blazing away in each hand. I took down two of Han Lo's flunkies before they even knew we were there. We closed the gap between us and the bonfire in a few seconds, and then we were upon them. We were outnumbered two to one, and in an instant we were surrounded, enveloped by a whirling mass of weapons, fists, and feet.

  Surprise stood us in good stead, we took down a good third of them before we even knew we were on them. But the white-haired villain quickly rallied his troops, screaming orders at them even as he hunkered down behind the altar, knife still cutting the air. His minions quickly spread out and laid into us with their bare hands, screaming like crazy men.

  From the way the dime novels talk about Shan Fan, you'd think there were martial arts brawls going on in the streets every day. Nothing could be further from the truth. The closest I had even gotten to a real martial arts fight like this was watching drunken miners duke it out in Red Lantern Town. There was no comparison.

  The two groups of men clashed together in a whirling mass of legs and arms, their shouts and grunts filling the night air. It was like watching some sort of deadly ballet, but I had a hard time appreciating the beauty and grace of it all at the time. I was right in the middle of it trying not to get my fool head kicked in. Tony's men and the cultists fought like demons, but our guys were clearly the superior combatants. Tony wasn't kidding when he said these guys were the scum of the triads. I managed to hold my own, but only because of the twin Frontiers that blazed in my hands-along with every low-down, dirty, cheap-shot brawling trick I knew. I don't know how long the fight actually lasted, but it ended as suddenly as it started. Most of us were standing, and most of them weren't. My guns were hot and smoking, empty.

  Then the Black Dragon struck.

  Uttering a guttural shout, Han Lo leaped to the top of the stone "altar," kicking the unfortunate victim upon it ignominiously to the ground. He reached down and grasped one of Tony's men by the shirt before anyone could even think and lifted him effortlessly over his head. The man screamed incoherently, struggling to no avail. Han Lo grinned a toothy grin, then casually tossed the man backwards, over the cliff and out of site. We heard the screams fade in to the night and then suddenly stop.

  "Come, little insects!" he shouted, in English for the first time. "Feel the wrath of the Black Dragon!"

  "The avenging might of the Hsieh Chia Jgn is upon you, Han Lo!" Tony screamed. As one, he and his ten or so remaining men moved forward, even as Han Lo leapt back down behind the huge rock, putting it between him and them.

  "Bring your worst, Wong Chau Sang. I do not fear the lapdogs of T'sang Po Tarn!" He laughed uproariously, and struck a fighting stance. Almost as one, Tony and his men were on him, landing a flurry of devastating punches. It was hard to tell what happened next, because the press of humanity around the cackling martial artist hid him from sight-and I was busy reloading. All I could really see was that Tony's men were going down—hard. Han Lo blocked all their attacks with a casual ease, then responded with bone-breaking punches and kicks that were painful to watch. They were driving him back toward the cliff edge a bit, but that was really their only effect.

  One by one the rascals dropped to the ground, and in less than a minute, Han Lo and I were the only two people still standing. The white-haired cult leader held Long Haired Tony's struggling form by the throat with one claw-like hand. He fixed me with a wide eyed stare as I continued to jam rounds into my Frontier with shaking hands.

  "So, you have disregarded my warnings, foolish one!" he screamed at me. "Very well! First you can watch your friend die-then I will deal with you!" Han Lo pulled the dazed sheriff up by the scruff of his shirt, his eyes glowing again. "Now, Wong Chau Sang," he screamed maniacally, "you shall feel the wrath of the Black Dragon!" A flickering blue fire danced around his open hand as he prepared to strike.

  It was like being in the eye of a storm. I was calm. Totally calm. I took careful aim with one of the Frontiers, and fired. With a cry, Han Lo released his victim, clutched his hand to his chest, and toppled off the edge of the cliff, down into the darkness.

  ***

  The rest of the fight was just mopping up. When Han Lo dropped, so did the resolve of his flunkies. The few still mobile lit out into the darkness of the Isle of Ghost's Tears, but most of them were quickly chased down and subdued. When we counted it all up, 20 of the 27 of them were dead. Tony had lost five men. The others were bruised and battered at the very least.

  Tony smiled with satisfaction as his men hustled their prisoners back down to the boats that waited for us below. I went over and untied the would-be sacrifice. He didn't move, but was still breathing. Drugged most likely. Another of Tony's rascals picked the man up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of grain, carrying him off down towards the boats.

  Tony went around and carefully closed t
he eyes of all of his fallen men. I walked over to the cliff edge and looked down below.

  "So much for the 'cult of the Black Dragon,'" Tony said , grimly. "Tarn will be pleased."

  "Let's hope so."

  "We'll clean up the bodies in the morning." Tony looked over my shoulder down into the darkness. "Let's get back to shore. There's a lady I've been keeping waiting all night. I think she might have a friend, if you're interested." That old savage grin was back.

  I cast one last look down over the cliff edge. "Another time."

  He had smiled. As that bastard Han Lo had gone over the edge of the cliff with my bullet in his heart, I could have sworn that he had smiled.

  I needed a drink.

  ***

  Saturday night in Red Lantern Town. Sometime after one in the morning I worked my way through the throngs of drunken revelers that clogged the streets and heaved my bruised body up the stairs to my digs. Collapsing into the chair behind my desk, I pulled out the flask I kept in my bottom drawer and took a big swallow.

  It was over—or so I thought.

  There was a slow, deliberate rapping knock at my office door. "Come in," I grunted, tipping back the flask and taking another big gulp of bourbon.

  In walked a dead man.

  Han Lo stood framed in the doorway. He didn't look much like a man who had just been shot in the heart and fallen off a cliff. His white hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and he was dressed in an immaculate brown suit. "You look surprised to see me, Mr. Kellerman." It was the second time I had heard him speak English. He spoke it well.

  "I...I am. You should be dead. If my bullet didn't kill you, the fall should have."

  He just smiled a tight little smile and walked forward, leaving the door open behind him. He looked around at my sparsely furnished office with an air of undisguised contempt. 1 gauged my chances of getting a hold of one of the guns on the desk in front of me before he could do anything about it. Not good.

  You should have heeded my warnings, you know," he said, beginning to cross the room casually. "The Black Dragon does not forgive those who meddle in his plans."

  "And did Ethan meddle in your plans? Or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "Ethan? Ah, you must mean the poor unfortunate who stumbled upon our ritual a few nights ago." Han Lo waved a long nailed hand dismissively. "He was dealt with." He was now standing in front of my desk.

  "I have something for you," he said quietly. He reached into his suit-coat pocket and pulled something out. He held his fist out over my desk. He opened his hand, wild-eyes still transfixing me. Something small and metallic dropped onto the blotter on my desk. I tore my eyes from his and looked down at the object. It was a bullet.

  My bullet.

  "I believe you lent this to me, Mr. Kellerman," he said, gesturing at the projectile lying on my desk. "Han Lo always repays his debts—with interest."

  What happened next was a blur or motion and pain. Even now I have a hard time putting it all together properly. Han Lo's first blow splintered my desk in half like it was made of paper, then he shoved apart the two halves of it as I dropped the flask and grabbed for one of my pistols.

  My hand closed on the weapon just as his first blow landed on my chin like an avalanche. The .44 sailed from my hand across the room, landing in the far corner of my office. Han Lo's fist crunched into my torso like a freight train. I felt a few ribs snap. I stumbled back, gasping for breath. He hit me again...and again...and again....the taste of blood in my mouth...my blood.

  "You're not screaming, Mr. Kellerman. I am disappointed," he said between blows. "Go ahead, scream for help. It will not matter. You will be dead, and I will be long gone before anyone can help you."

  Have you even been nearly beaten to death by someone? Felt them driving the life out of you, bit by little bit with their bare knuckles, knowing that they're loving every second of it? That's what I faced then. Han Lo was going to beat me to death, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. It was a terrible moment.

  "If only you had listened to me, Mr. Kellerman," he hissed through clenched teeth, "This would not have been necessary. But things are how they are, and the time has come to end this." A calm look came over his face and his eyes began to glow again, just like I had seen on the Isle of Ghost's Tears a few hours before. The strange blue fire began to play around his left hand as he held it up. He began chanting. I felt a roiling begin in the pit of my stomach, and wondered with a kind of cold detachment if this is how Monaghan and Kan' Li had felt.

  This was it. The end. Good night Kellerman.

  "Hey, Han Lo," a familiar voice said suddenly. "Big Ears Tam says hello." There was the roar of a scattergun and my tormentor dropped like a sack of ghost-rock tailings, the light dying in his eyes even before he hit. From my floor-level vantage point, I had an excellent view of the gaping hole in his chest.

  I was still coughing and spitting blood when Tony's hand reached down and pulled me to my feet. His free arm cradled his double-barreled scattergun. His ugly face grinned at me.

  "I thought you had a date with a lady," I grunted, shaking off his hand and leaning back on my desk.

  "I decided to break the date," he said. "Lucky for you."

  I limped over to where Han Lo had knocked my gun, picked it up and leaned against the wall. I felt like-well, like a man who had just almost been beaten to death. "Did you see the whole thing Tony? The fist? The eyes? The glow?"

  "I saw. Best to forget it, Kellerman. It's over."

  "Excuse me if I want to be absolutely sure," I said. I walked over to Han Lo's body, held the muzzle of my hogleg right against his skull—just between his glazing eyes and pulled the trigger twice. Tony looked at the red ruin that had been the man's head, looked at me questioningly.

  "Old habit I picked up at Cold Harbor," I said quietly.

  "But why two bullets?"

  "One's from me," I muttered, sliding two fresh cartridges into the revolver. "The other's from Ethan."

  ***

  The Lucky Lady was crowded for a Sunday night. I had decided to stick to my familiar haunts, but I was starting to regret it a bit as my bandaged ribs and I were repeatedly pushed against the bar by a group of rowdy miners. Tossing the bartender a look, I indicated the far corner of the room with an empty table and relocated myself there, taking my bottle with me.

  Han Lo's body had been discreetly removed from my office by a few of Tony's deputies, but it was going to take some serious scrubbing to get the bloodstains off of my wall and floor. I made a mental note to send Big Ears Tam a bill.

  All things considered, I was lucky to be alive. I was going to have to be satisfied with that. As usual, Ethan left me holding the bag.

  "Here's to you, Ethan," I said to the room, raising my glass, then tossing the contents back. The Lucky Lady's best whiskey was still just a step above rotgut. I poured myself another one.

  "Consider my debt paid," I whispered, partially to my drink but mostly to myself. "Paid in full."