Bodie 1

by Neil Hunter

  ‘Simple really, Bodie,’ Trask said. ‘You see, years ago, when I first started out, I needed money fast. I wasn’t fussy where it came from. So I organized thefts from government warehouses, businesses, freight lines, from anywhere I could locate guns. Those guns were supplied to a bunch who had contacts all along the border country. The main customers were Comanches. Then there were always the Mexicans. It was a good market. And a very lucrative one too.’

  ‘Son of a bitch!’ Bodie breathed softly. Suddenly he knew what Trask was leading up to. ‘Hoyt Reefer was your contact? You ran stolen guns to Reefer.’

  ‘For nearly three years,’ Trask admitted. ‘They were hectic years, Bodie, but I wouldn’t have missed a second. And they were money-making years too.’

  ‘And now you want to step up in the world,’ Bodie said wearily. ‘But it wouldn’t do your image any good if the voters found out you were no better than the bad boys you, wanted to rid the country of? Am I getting it right, Trask?’

  Lyle Trask shrugged his expensively-clad shoulders.

  ‘Once Hoyt Reefer got to hear what I was planning to do, you think he would of just sat back and let me do it? Bodie, I couldn’t take the chance. I needed Reefer’s mouth closing for good.’ Trask leaned back in his seat. ‘So I thought why not hire the best man for the job. Let him track Reefer down and wipe him out. It would get rid of my worry over Reefer and also provide me with my political platform.’

  ‘You were going to use Reefer and his bunch?’

  Trask nodded. ‘Of course. I was perfectly serious about presenting the dead men as proof of my genuine feelings about lawlessness.’ Trask managed a wry smile. ‘It almost worked, Bodie.’

  ‘So why the need to have me dead too?’ Bodie asked.

  ‘How would I know for certain that Reefer hadn’t spilled the beans to you before he died? It was simply a precaution, Bodie. A way of making things all neat and tidy. ‘

  ‘Like Jim Kelly?’

  ‘I almost overlooked him. It was Teal who pointed out that Kelly and Reefer had been in business for some time. Reefer might have talked about me. So Teal followed you to Anderson’s Halt and got rid of Kelly before you could talk to him.’

  ‘So Teal was the one. I suppose he killed the girl too. Sherry? You remember?’

  ‘I think Teal got a little over enthusiastic there, Bodie. He was worried she might have picked up some information. So he made sure she wouldn’t do any talking. It was perhaps a little hasty of him, but he had my best interests at heart.’

  ‘Yeah! Well his interest in everything has kind of died off by now!’ Bodie stood up and moved to stand over Trask’s desk. He stared at Lyle Trask, his eyes revealing the rage boiling up inside him. ‘Looks to me, Trask, like you’re in the shit all the way up to your neck. Ain’t goin’ to take very much effort to shove you right under.’

  Trask ran his tongue across his dry lips. ‘Listen, Bodie, it doesn’t have to be that way. Hell, man, neither of us are fools! We know the way the world runs. A man has to make his way the best he can. I have a good chance to go far in politics, Bodie, and any man who goes with me could stand to make himself very wealthy. This $10,000 would be chicken feed.’ Trask reached out and laid his hand over the wad of notes on the desk. He slid the money across the desk, closer to Bodie.

  Bodie’s left hand stretched out and his fingers closed over Trask’s wrist. He lifted Trask’s hand off the money, placing it on the desk top. Trask raised his eyes to Bodie’s and smiled confidently. Bodie smiled back. It was a fleeting expression and if Trask had looked deeper he would have realized that it was an emotionless gesture. Trask was still staring into Bodie’s eyes when the gun in Bodie’s hand came down across his outstretched hand. The fingers of Trask’s hand were pulped and crushed as Bodie struck again and again. His left hand, gripping Trask’s wrist, held the man’s hand in place despite Trask's agonized struggling. Blood squirted from Trask’s mangled fingers, spreading across the polished desk top in bright runnels. Trask suddenly opened his mouth to scream. Bodie simply lashed out with the Colt, laying Trask’s lips open to the gums, breaking Trask’s teeth with a brutal blow. Lyle Trask slumped back in his seat. He hugged his ruined right hand to his chest, moaning softly through his pulped mouth. Blood streamed from the crushed hand, staining Trask’s white shirt and suit. It oozed from the ugly gashes in his mouth. Trask stared at Bodie through terror glazed eyes.

  ‘For God’s sake, Bodie!’ Trask mumbled through his ruined lips. ‘What are you going..to...do...? ‘

  ‘Trask, I’ve got me one rule I never break,’ Bodie said. ‘It’s helped keep me alive for a long time, and I ain’t about to change things now. If a man figures to kill me then he’d better do it the first try because he ain’t going to be left in any condition to have a second go. Trask, you had more than your share of tries. Now it’s mine and it’s the only one I’ll need!’

  Lyle Trask realized he was looking death in the face. Despite his terror and the pain he was suffering, he refused to just sit back and die without a fight. With a wild yell he lurched up out of his seat lashing out at Bodie with his free, uninjured hand, then ran across the compartment to the door at the far end.

  Bodie had reached behind him, plucking from a sheath on his belt the knife he’d taken from and used on Silverbuck. He reversed the heavy knife, holding it by the tip of the blade. Raising his arm he drew it back, then jerked it forward, releasing the knife at the end of the swing. The glittering blade blurred as it made its short journey. It struck home just as Lyle Trask threw a despairing glance over his shoulder. The tip of the blade entered Trask’s neck on the left side just forward and below the ear, cutting its way through flesh and tendon alike. It penetrated Trask’s throat completely, the point emerging on the right side. Blood flowed as Lyle Trask let out a terrified scream. Pain began to burn through the initial shock. Trask stumbled and fell against the compartment wall. His legs began a frantic tattoo, his heels rapping against the floor. A gout of blood spewed from his trembling mouth.

  Bodie crossed to Trask’s desk and picked up the $10,000. He tucked it in his pants pocket. Turning he went over to where Trask had slumped against the base of the wall. Gripping the handle of the knife Bodie jerked it free. Trask’s body arched in silent agony. Bodie wiped the blade of the knife on the expensive carpet that was already stained with Trask’s blood.

  He reached up and pulled the emergency-cord. Seconds later the coach lurched as the locomotive began to brake, wheels squealing in protest. Bodie waited until the train had come to a halt. He dragged the armchair away from the shattered door and swung it open. He glanced at Trask’s motionless body: The blood had stopped flowing now and Trask was still.

  ‘End of the line, Mr. Trask,’ he said. ‘This train ain’t goin’ anywhere and neither are you!’

  Stepping down from the observation platform Bodie started walking. It was a fair way back to San Antonio. He figured it would give him time to get his story worked out. Bodie knew damn well that he was going to have some fast, hard explaining to do to the law. One way and another, by the time he’d done he would have earned his $10,000. He wasn’t too certain about the $10,000 in bounty money on the Reefer bunch. It might be in his interests to forget about that. The law was going to be hard enough on him over the whole damn mess. Bodie reckoned he could talk his way out of it, but if he started shouting the odds about $10,000 in bounty, somebody, somewhere, might just start getting awkward.

  Sometimes, Bodie decided, life had a habit of turning sour on a man. It took hold of him. Turned him upside down and inside out, kicked him from hell to breakfast, and then when he figured he’d had his share of problems it went and gave him a swift kick up the ass just for the hell of it. He shrugged. What the hell! Tomorrow was another day and it couldn’t turn out to be worse than this one.

  An exciting preview of the next book in the Bodie series, Bloody Bounty!

  Chapter One

  When they couldn’t find what they were looking for
inside the white-painted, adobe mission, they dragged the middle aged priest outside. They tore the brown robe from his body and tied him by his wrists to the high wheel of a Mexican cart standing in the dusty, sun-baked mission courtyard. Then they stood back, silent for a moment, grinning at each other, savouring the indignity forced upon the naked priest.

  ‘Get wise, feller,’ Linc Fargo said. ‘Ain’t worth gettin’ hurt for. You know what we want. Just tell us where it is and it’ll all be over.’

  Father Ignacio pressed his face against the rim of the wooden wheel. He tried not to listen to the words of the hard-faced American. It would have been so easy to give them the information they required. Just a few words and he would save himself a great deal of suffering. But it was not so simple. Nothing ever was. Life, even when it appeared to be slipping by comfortably, still managed to deliver sudden, stunning hocks. A prayer rose in his mind and he began to recite it silently, blotting out the demands coming from Linc Fargo. He would not tell them what they wanted to know, no matter what they did to him. It was more than his life was worth to betray the trust of his Holy Order. He might only be a lowly priest, carrying out his appointed tasks in this lonely corner of New Mexico, but he answered to the same high authority as any man of God. These savage men. These renegades. Killers. True, they frightened him — but his faith held true. It was far stronger than their threats of physical violence. He would not tell. He would not break. No matter what they did to him...’

  ‘Shit, Linc, you talked ‘Jubal Keller snapped.

  ‘Beat it out of the son of a bitch!’

  Linc Fargo glanced over his shoulder at his waiting men.

  He singled out a stocky, thick-chested figure and made a quick gesture. The man moved to join him. Despite his heavy build he moved lightly, hardly seeming to use any effort. He wore faded Levis and a sleeveless cotton shirt. His dark hair fell to his shoulders in greasy strands. A livid scar marked the left side of his face and his eye was covered by a milky white film.

  ‘You want him, Snake?’ Fargo asked.

  Snake grinned, showing his uneven yellow teeth. He stroked his unshaven face with a grubby hand. ‘Yeah, I could do with a little exercise!’

  Linc Fargo pulled a half-smoked cigar from his pocket and lit it. ‘Well, don’t take too long,’ he said. ‘Sooner we can move on the better.’

  The man called Snake nodded. He eased away from Fargo, uncoiling the long whip that hung from his gunbelt.

  With practised ease he laid the oiled lash on the ground. Snake eyed the naked back of Father Ignacio and positioned himself correctly. Then he made a swift flick with his powerful arm. The black lash of the whip swept back then forward. There was a vicious crack as the tip of the lash made contact with soft flesh. An audible gasp burst from the priest at the sudden, shocking pain. A raw welt appeared against the white flesh. Blood seeped from the edges, trickling down the trembling body. Snake chuckled softly. He laid the whip across the priest’s back a half-dozen more times before Fargo stopped him.

  ‘Hey, priest, your memory getting any dearer now?’ he asked. He walked round to where he could see Father Ignacio’s face. The priest stared up at him through pain dulled eyes. The brown face had turned gray. Oily sweat shone on the lined flesh. ‘Hurts, don’t it?’ Fargo prodded.

  ‘The pain will pass,’ Father Ignacio murmured. ‘With time you will be forgiven.’

  Linc Fargo blew smoke into the priest’s face. ‘Quit the bible crap, priest,’ he snarled. ‘I give the word an’ Snake there is going to shred you dear down to the bone. He can do it. Now just tell me where that damned statue is!’

  ‘I can tell you nothing,’ Father Ignacio whispered.

  Fargo jerked away from him angrily. He glared at Snake. ‘Well? What the hell are you waiting for?’

  As Fargo walked across the courtyard, Jubal Keller joined him. Keller, tall and sandy-haired, made him an patient oath.

  ‘He won’t talk, Linc. Trouble with his kind is they like bein’ made to suffer. It’s part of bein’ a priest. Makes certain they get their seat up in Heaven if they bleed a bit down here.’

  Fargo narrowed his eyes against the bright glare of the sun. ‘How the hell do you get off knowin’ so much about religion?’

  Keller scratched his chest through his dirty shirt. Well, I did once know a whore who did six months as a nun ‘fore she found out it wasn’t too much fun!’

  They turned and stood watching while Snake methodically stripped the flesh from Father Ignacio’s back. The priest’s body ran red with blood. It streamed down his trembling legs, dripping to the hard earth, darkening the space between his feet. Slippery flesh hung in tatters. The whip cracked without pause, each contact raising a fresh welt and a spray of blood. Snake altered his aim and the lash began to lacerate the priest’s naked buttocks.

  ‘Linc, you could have that bastard standing there in his bare bones an’ he still wouldn’t talk,’ Keller insisted.

  Fargo sighed. ‘You might be right,’ he said. ‘So what’s your bright idea?’

  ‘I reckon it’ll he quicker, get us the answers we need, and be a lot more fun,’ Keller said. He grinned at Fargo’s frown. Turning he waved to one of the waiting men.

  ‘Hey, then, go get it!’

  The man nodded and vanished inside the mission. A minute later he reappeared, dragging with him a wide-eyed Mexican girl. The girl, though silent, put up a constant struggle. The man named Clem threw her to her knees in front of Fargo and Keller. The rest of the men began to gather round, forming a circle with the girl in the center. After a while even Snake became interested and joined them.

  ‘Ain’t bad looking for a greaser,’ one of the men said.

  ‘Hell, I been locked up so long wouldn’t matter if she had a face like a horse’s ass!’

  ‘Who cares about her goddam face? It’s the other end I want to see!’

  Fargo glanced at Keller. ‘You figure she might know?’

  ‘Damn right she does,’ Keller said. ‘That right, honey?’

  The girl stared at him, her brown eyes round and stark with terror. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen, dark haired, with a ripe, firmly developed young body under the thin blouse and skirt.

  ‘You understand what I’m saying, honey, so don’t just sit there like you was dumb!’ Keller scowled. ‘Now get on your feet!’

  The girl rose and faced him, sweat shining on her frightened young face.

  ‘See!’ Keller said, then without warning he reached out and took hold of the girl’s blouse, jerking savagely. The thin blouse ripped away from her body, baring her to the waist, exposing her full, soft swaying breasts. The girl threw her arms up to cover herself, but Keller slapped her hard across the face. ‘Put them arms down, honey, else

  I’m liable to slap every tooth out of your head!’

  The girl lowered her arms. She stood motionless, staring up at the blue expanse of sky. She showed no reaction when Keller reached out and squeezed one of her naked breasts, his fingers plucking at the prominent brown nipple.

  ‘Hey, let’s have a look at the rest,’ one of the men said.

  It was Snake who tugged at the waistband of the girl’s skirt, loosening the cord. The skirt slithered down the girl’s legs, leaving her naked, exposed.

  ‘Mama, now I know why I ran away from home,’ Snake murmured. He patted the girl’s firm brown buttocks, let ting his fingers stray between her trembling thighs.

  ‘Honey, you got seven hombres with a powerful need standing right here,’ Keller said. ‘Now you know what we come here for. You tell us where it is an’ things might go a lot easier. Act stupid like the old, priest an’ you’re going to get more than you ever dreamed of!’

  ‘I ... I ... will not tell …’ The girl’s voice was faint but steady.

  ‘Aw, shit, fellers,’ Snake grumbled, ‘she’s got religion too! Ain’t but one way to deal with that!’

  Keller, loosening his pants, shoved Snake’ aside ‘You had your fun with the o
ld man. This was my idea so I get first stab at it!’ He grinned at his unconscious humour.

  ‘First stab!’ Snake chuckled. ‘Keller, you make lousy jokes. I hope you do better on the job.’

  Keller pulled the girl to the ground, pinning her arms and legs down. He knelt between her spread thighs. ‘Snake, you just watch and see how it’s done,’ he said, and thrust himself onto the moaning girl There was a sudden, shrill scream as Keller penetrated the girl’s tender flesh. Her body arched upwards in agony as Keller drove at her with brutal force.

  Snake, his scarred face gleaming with sweat, gave a nervous giggle. ‘Ride her, boy! Hell, I hope she don’t decide to talk too damn soon, Linc!’

  Linc Fargo, watching the girl’s squirming brown body, had the same thought. It had been a long time since he’d been near a woman, never mind taken one, and he was already getting an unbearable ache in his groin. Those grim months locked up in that filthy cell had almost driven him crazy. He didn’t intend going back. When he and his bunch had broken out, killing four guards in the process, Linc Fargo had made himself that promise. He was out and this time it was for good. And he was going to make a lot of people sorry for what they’d done to him. He didn’t care who they were. He just warned to hit back. On a more practical level he also needed money. That was why he and his men were here at the mission.

  Linc Fargo had heard about the statue of The Mission of San Felipe from a fellow prisoner. The old Mexican, serving a long sentence for the savage rape and murder of a seventeen-year-old girl, had talked unceasingly about the statue. He had seen it once, during a religious festival. The statue dated back to the eighteenth century, the time of the mission’s construction by Spanish Jesuit priests, far sighted men who were at the fore of Spanish expansion in the southwest. The conquering Spanish were long gone now, but their missions remained and many of them were still strong religious powers in the vast, thinly populated southwest country. The statue itself had been sent from Spain as a gift, from the town of San Felipe in Toledo, taken by the priests from the great church dedicated to the town’s patron saint, shipped across the countless miles of ocean to the newly-conquered Spanish empire. It came to rest in the new mission, named after the ancient town many thousands of miles away. Two feet high, cast in solid, pure gold, and encrusted with dozens of priceless stones, the statue, in the form of a robed figure offering up a prayer, had become the mission’s most valuable possession. To the people who came to the mission to seek guidance or comfort, it was their anchor stone, their personal contact with God, and they would have died to protect it.