Brand 8

by Neil Hunter

  ‘Maybe when you have finished what you have to do you will come and visit Angel.’ She kissed him lightly on the lips.

  ‘Maybe I will.’

  Brand put his hands on her firm hips, pulling her body against him. He crushed his mouth over hers and felt her quick response. Angel’s body moulded itself to Brand’s, a soft sound coming from her throat. But the next second she drew herself back, shaking her head.

  ‘No. You must go. I will take your thoughts away from your important work. Only promise that you will not forget Angel.’

  ‘That’s one thing I won’t do.’ Brand turned towards the door. As he stepped outside he said, ‘I know where to find you.’

  He made his way back to the street and from there to the stable. Paying what he owed Brand mounted up and rode out. He knew now that he’d been wrong letting Hunt go off on his own. He just hoped that nothing happened to the man.

  A couple of miles out of Agua Verde he became aware of a rider approaching him. It only took a moment for him to realise it was Rumboy. The Jamaican reined his horse in alongside Brand’s, and Brand saw the troubled look in Rumboy’s eyes.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Rumboy pulled his straw hat off. His dark face gleamed with sweat. ‘Boss, we got trouble.’

  ‘Hunt?’

  Rumboy nodded. ‘Yes, boss. Some of Kwo Han’s bully boys were waiting for him.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘After you left this morning I come into town. Met the Captain and he told me he got the word somebody want to see him. Some feller with information about Kwo Han. Now the Captain didn’t want to walk into a trap so we fixed it that I go with him, only I stay way behind, out of sight. This meeting was at a place on the other side of Agua Verde. Old warehouse that nobody use any more. Captain goes in but he don’t come out for long time. By the time I manage to get close the Captain was gone. Taken out by a door at the other end of the place. I found the tracks they left and I went after them. This time I see ’em. Four Mexican fellers. They were putting the Captain into a wagon. Captain was all tied up but he was giving ’em a hell of a fight. Once they get him in the wagon they left. No way I could get to him without they see me. So I come lookin’ for you quick.’

  ‘Any ideas where they were taking him?’ Brand asked.

  ‘Chinaman has a big house on the plantation he owns,’ Rumboy said. ‘I reckon that’s where they took the Captain. We can find out easy, boss.’

  ‘How?’

  Rumboy said: ‘There was one feller in the bunch who didn’t go with the wagon. He stayed behind for a while and then rode back to town. We can ask him, boss.’

  ‘You know where to find him?’

  This time Rumboy’s smile was mirthless. ‘Find Cruz? Hell, boss, that’s no trouble at all.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘This is the one, boss,’ Rumboy said.

  Brand followed the Jamaican’s pointing finger. Through the gloom of the cloudy afternoon he could see the dull gleam of lamplight shining through a dirty window. The window was on the first floor of a rambling, deserted old house that stood at one end of a filthy backstreet. The street was in the worst part of Agua Verde. A tumbledown, forgotten section of the town where rats outnumbered people. Even the air held the mouldy stench of decay.

  ‘He live alone?’ Brand asked.

  Rumboy nodded in the gloom. ‘He’s a queer one, boss, Cruz. Likes to live by himself. Work by himself too most of the time. Bad feller. He likes to kill people I hear. Since Kwo Han came to Agua Verde, Cruz has worked for him.’

  They took the horses into an alley and tethered them. Rumboy led the way into the old house, Brand close behind. He had taken out his Colt, checking it briefly before he’d followed Rumboy inside.

  ‘Mind the stairs, boss,’ Rumboy warned softly.

  As they moved upwards Brand could feel the entire staircase moving gently beneath his feet. On the landing Rumboy touched Brand’s arm, indicating which way to go. Moving along the dark passage Brand spotted the pale finger of light showing beneath an ill-fitting door.

  ‘You ready, boss?’ Rumboy asked.

  Brand nodded. He eased back the Colt’s hammer, his eyes on Rumboy’s figure. The Jamaican took a couple of steps back, then launched himself at the door. His left shoulder smashed into the door and it crashed open with a brittle sound. Rumboy’s momentum took him into the room where he let himself drop to the floor. Before the door had swung fully open Brand followed Rumboy into the room, his eyes searching for the occupant. He caught sight of a moving figure. A broad-shouldered Mexican, naked to the waist, lunged at him. Brand caught sight of a raised hand holding a long bladed knife. He ducked in beneath the blade, slamming his right elbow into the man’s stomach. The man grunted, twisting to one side, still slashing down with the knife. The tip of the blade caught the sleeve of Brand’s coat but didn’t touch flesh, and Brand pivoted on his heel, not wanting to give the man time to recover his balance. Brand wasn’t quick enough. With catlike agility the man turned, his arm driving the knife straight towards Brand’s chest. Pulling his own body round Brand felt the knife slide across his chest, the edge of the blade slitting his shirt and nicking his flesh. He clamped his left arm down across the man’s wrist, pinning the knife hand to his body, and in the same movement he smashed the barrel of his Colt across the side of the man’s neck. The man groaned once. His knees gave and he stumbled to the floor. Brand snatched the knife from his limp fingers and stepped back.

  ‘You all right, Rumboy?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure, boss.’

  Brand closed the door of the room. He indicated the man on the floor. ‘Is that Cruz? If it isn’t he’s going to be a little upset with us.’

  ‘Don’t worry, boss. That’s Cruz.’

  ‘Get him on his feet then, Rumboy, I’ve got a couple of questions to ask him.’

  Rumboy bent over Cruz. He grabbed the man’s arms and hauled him upright, spinning him against the wall. Cruz put out a hand to keep from falling over again.

  ‘Hey, what is this?’

  ‘You mean you’ve forgotten already?’ Brand asked.

  Cruz stared at him, his eyes wild with anger. ‘Forgotten? What the hell am I supposed to have forgotten?’

  Brand brought his left hand up in a smashing blow that pushed Cruz along the wall. Blood burst from split lips as Cruz stumbled, trying to stay on his feet. He stared at Brand with wide-open eyes, dazed by the unexpected blow, and the violence that had driven it.

  ‘You beginning to remember?’ Brand asked.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Cruz said. He touched his fingers to his bloody lips. He stared at the bright colour on his fingers. ‘Damn you. Diego Cruz doesn’t let anybody do that to him.’

  For a moment Brand smiled, a distant expression which faded quickly. And then he hit Cruz again. A hard blow to the Mexican’s stomach that doubled Cruz over, and as the man’s unprotected neck was exposed Brand clubbed downwards with the butt of his Colt. This time Cruz was slammed face down on the floor. Brand handed his Colt to Rumboy, then knelt beside the groaning man on the dirty floor. Brand reached out and picked up the knife Cruz had dropped. He rolled Cruz over on to his back and before the man could move Brand had placed the tip of the knife against Cruz’s throat. He put just enough weight on the blade to penetrate the flesh. A bead of blood appeared at the point. Cruz’s eyes bulged with unconcealed fear. A sheen of sweat glistened on his dark face.

  ‘Jesus.’ Cruz’s word came out in a soft hiss. ‘Are you loco?’

  ‘Now you’re getting the idea,’ Brand said. ‘Stay clever, friend, and tell me where Richard Hunt is. Don’t tell me any kind of lie. You do and I’ll kill you.’

  Cruz’s eyes rolled to one side. He stared up at Rumboy. ‘He is crazy.’

  In answer Rumboy crouched beside Cruz. He lifted his big Dragoon Colt and placed the muzzle against the side of Cruz’s head, easing back the hammer.

  ‘Then I’m crazy too, Cruz, ‘cause i
f he don’t cut your throat I’m going to blow out your brains.’

  ‘Bastards.’ Cruz spat. But he knew his bluff had been called. ‘I hope that Chinaman cuts you in little pieces. He’s got Hunt at his house on the plantation.’

  Brand stood up. He took his Colt from Rumboy. ‘You were right, Rumboy. You know how to get us there?’

  Rumboy nodded. ‘Sure, boss, that’s no trouble.’ He indicated Cruz. ‘What we going to do with him?’

  ‘We’ll hogtie him good and tight. Then you get the word to Major Ruiz that we need this one locking up in a nice cell until it’s safe,’ Brand said.

  Rumboy shortly produced a length of coiled rope. He dragged Cruz into a corner and expertly bound his hands and feet.

  ‘You want me to bring a couple of the Major’s men here?’

  Brand nodded. ‘I’ll stay close. Keep my eye on things until you get back. Then we can leave.’

  Rumboy had glanced out through the window at the darkening sky.

  ‘Looks like we going to have a storm, boss,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s hope it’s a heavy one.’

  ‘Why, boss?’

  ‘Only way we’re going to get Hunt is to go in after him, and Han’s sure to have his property well-guarded. Especially if he’s got that gold around. Big storm would give us some cover.’

  In reality Brand knew they were likely to need a damn sight more than just a shower of rain. What they did require was a lot of luck, a quick hand, and a quicker gun.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Agua Verde lay a couple of hours behind them. Once Cruz had been taken into custody Brand and Rumboy had ridden out. Leaving the town Rumboy had taken them north, through wild, heavily forested country. There was no trail to follow. The Jamaican didn’t seem to need one. He knew the terrain well. He also knew the unpredictability of the Mexican climate. The breeze that had sprung up earlier increased in intensity, and shortly into their ride, Brand and the Jamaican found themselves in the thick of a strong gale. Soon after the first drops of rain struck. Within a couple of minutes the rain became a downpour. The high wind drove it down through the branches of the trees and the sound of it drumming on the thick foliage became almost deafening.

  ‘Hey, boss, you all right?’ Rumboy yelled over his shoulder.

  Brand could barely see the Jamaican in the gloom. He eased his horse up alongside Rumboy’s. ‘Yeah,’ he shouted. ‘Half drowned but I’ll survive.’

  A little time later Rumboy reined in his horse. He beckoned Brand closer. ‘We about there now, boss. Better leave the horses and I’ll take you in close as I can.’

  They hid the horses in thick bushes, then pushed their way through the rain-soaked foliage. Rumboy strode ahead as if he was walking in broad daylight. Brand found his progress less casual. More than once he found himself stumbling over some object hidden in the darkness at his feet. He muttered a low thanks when Rumboy finally indicated it was time to stop.

  ‘There she is, boss,’ Rumboy said.

  Ahead of them stood the sprawling stone edifice belonging to Kwo Han. A two storey hacienda with most of its many windows gleaming with lamplight. Studying it closely Brand found he was able to make out figures moving behind some of the windows.

  ‘You ever been inside?’

  Rumboy shook his head. ‘No, boss.’

  ‘They could have Hunt anywhere in that place,’ Brand grumbled. He sighed to himself. Better get on with it. Sitting on his heels in the rain wasn’t helping anybody. Whichever way he tackled the job he couldn’t see an easy way through it.

  ‘Rumboy, I want you out here. No point both of us going in there. If something goes wrong I need a helping hand on the outside.’

  ‘Whatever you say, boss.’

  Brand pulled out his Colt and checked it. He made sure he had extra loads in his pocket. ‘Give me thirty minutes from the time I leave you, Rumboy,’ he said. ‘If I haven’t brought Hunt out by then you get your butt in the saddle and get the hell back to Agua Verde. Get in touch with Major Ruiz. Tell him what’s happened, and get help out here fast. I’ve got a feeling Kwo Han might start to figure he’ll be better off somewhere else.’

  Rumboy pulled a thick pocket watch from his pants’ pocket. ‘I’ll do that, boss. You don’t think I should start for town now.’

  Brand shook his head. ‘Give me a chance to try and get Hunt clear. If I can pull him out without starting too much of a war I’d rather. Never was one for getting mixed up with too many people if there’s shooting going on. Man’s liable to get shot by the wrong feller.’

  ‘I know what you mean, boss.’

  Brand gave a quick nod. Without warning he rose and slipped out of sight. The move caught even Rumboy by surprise. After staring about for a time the Jamaican settled himself with his back to a tree. Jerking his flask of rum from a back pocket he uncorked it, took a quick mouthful and settled back to wait.

  When he was no more than a hundred yards from the house Brand spotted a guard. A slim, dark shape moving along the front of the house. As the figure passed a lighted window Brand saw the rifle he was carrying. He watched the figure move away from him. He wondered how many more there might be. There was no way of telling. It all depended on how secure Kwo Han was feeling. The man might have just two or three patrolling the house. But if he’d been worrying about the gold he might have a dozen on the go.

  Flattened on the sodden ground Brand waited for a while. He heard nothing, and he saw very little. The rain, still slashing across the ground, had set up a fine mist which cut Brand’s vision considerably. Cursing the weather Brand moved again. The final fifty yards to the house had to be across open lawn. There was no cover. Brand ran towards the house, hoping that the guard he’d spotted wasn’t around. This was not the time to get caught. He felt the wind grab at the wide brim of his hat. Brand snatched it off before it sailed out of sight. The action was to save the hat from being deposited in the centre of a flat, green lawn, right where keen eyes could spot it.

  He reached the front of the house and flopped against the stone wall. Even though his clothing was soaked by the rain he could still feel sweat running down his body. Moving along the frontage, ducking under windows he passed, Brand reached the corner. He moved along this part of the house until he was at the rear. Now he could look for a way in. He wasn’t particular whether it was a window or a door, just as long as it led him inside the house.

  The first open window he found was barely large enough to let him get his head through. Brand moved on, groping his way along the dark rear of the house. His progress was slow, hampered by the need to keep a constant watch for any more guards. The noise of the wind and rain ruled out any chance of his hearing them. His only safety lay in seeing them before he was spotted. Dividing his attention almost caused him to miss a window with a two-inch gap at the bottom. Peering in through the misted glass Brand could make out the low-ceilinged, cluttered kitchen. Across the room he saw the long iron cooking-range, hot coals glowing against the partially darkened remainder. Brand waited a couple of minutes, searching the shadowed kitchen for any signs of movement. He saw nothing but wasn’t satisfied. Even so he gripped the window and eased it open. The moment he had enough gap he swung his legs over the sill and climbed inside, closing the window again.

  After the biting cold of the storm the kitchen’s warmth was almost sensual as it seeped through his wet clothing, touching his chilled flesh. Brand stepped back against the wall, keeping in the deepest shadow, and let his eyes become accustomed to the subdued light. Gradually he was able to pick out more details. The shelves and racks lining the walls. Long table in the centre of the room holding various pieces of kitchen equipment. He stayed where he was until he’d covered every corner of the room. Finally he was satisfied. Brand moved across to the range. He held out his hands to the warmth of the fire, working his fingers, and planning his next move.

  Somewhere in this house was Richard Hunt.

  The problem was where.

  Ever
y room in the house presented itself as a possibility. Hunt might be in the cellar. He could just as easily be on the top floor. Brand took his Colt from behind his belt, and eased back the hammer. He knew he didn’t have the time or the opportunity to go wandering from room to room looking for Hunt. His presence in the house could be discovered at any moment. That left him with a need for direct, fast action. He needed the answer to a question. The only way to get that answer was one Jason Brand knew very well. The kitchen door opened onto a narrow passage. Halfway along the passage Brand found a door. He tried it and found it locked. He carried on to the end of the passage and found that the passage split. One direction led to another door after a few yards, the other carried on into eventual darkness. Brand chose the door. This one was not locked. He moved the handle gently, holding the door as it was freed from the latch. Brand let it open a fraction. Soft lamplight filled the narrow gap. No sound reached him, and after a moment Brand pushed the door open slowly, letting his body slip through the gap. He was in a richly decorated room, the floor laid with highly-polished wood, the walls panelled and hung with a number of oil paintings. The centre of the room was taken up by a long table surrounded by a couple of dozen leather-backed chairs. Ornate silver candelabra stood on the table. It was, Brand realized, the dining room. He was halfway across the room when he spotted the dull embers of a fire in the deep hearth. An idea rapidly formed itself in his mind. Something which might help to give him the time he needed.

  Brand returned to the kitchen and began a search of the shelves. After a couple of minutes he found what he was looking for. He put away his gun and picked up two of the squat, gallon cans of lamp oil. Back in the dining room Brand removed the tops from the cans and began to splash the oil around the room and over the furniture. With the remainder he laid a trail to the hearth. Picking up a heavy poker Brand raked the glowing embers out of the grate. Nothing happened at first so he pulled out more embers. The oil smoked and then ignited with a soft pop, blue flame rising quickly, spreading across the floor in fiery fingers.