by RW Krpoun
“It is a strange-looking building.”
“Its supposed to evoke the image of the place we were fighting in. They had a fairly unusual building style.”
“Did it hurt, the tattoo?”
“Not as much as some things.”
It was the evening of the day after the Black Talons had arrived in Bloodseep. Shad had already taken two baths, had two hot meals, slept nearly twelve hours in a real bed, and paid for the company of a pert young red-haired whore whose figure compared favorably to the actress who played Max on Two Broke Girls.
The doorknob rattled and a split-second later the Colt that had been under his pillow was cocked and aimed at the door as the sticky lock (accomplished by breaking off a toothpick in the throw-bolt) finally unlatched. A disheveled Derek slid to a halt a half-step into the room, raising his hands. “Check fire, dude.”
“You better have a damn good reason,” Shad uncocked the revolver and set it on the bed. “Like the building being on fire.”
“Ummmm…Jeff is drunk and fell and hit his head-we need your medical training,” Derek stammered, staring at the naked whore’s breasts.
Shad opened his mouth to point out that Jeff was the medic, and then carefully closed it-Derek was speaking for the whore’s benefit. “Well, darn. I’m afraid we’re going to have to call it an early evening, m’love.” He dug a fistful of duro from where he had stashed them in a water pitcher and handed them to the girl. “Duty calls. But you’ll see me again.”
“That would be lovely,” she purred, expertly calculating the size of the tip.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to rush you off. Its certainly no way to treat a lady, but needs must.”
“No fears, luv, I’ll be dressed in a jiff.”
The girl threw on her clothes with practiced speed, kissed Shad, winked at Derek, and vanished out the door.
“If this isn’t life or death you’re a dead man,” Shad warned the Alienist as he strapped on his shoulder rig. “I was paid up for another hour.”
“I dozed off after, you know,” Derek kept his voice low. “When I woke up Darcy, my girl, was dead. I think her body hitting the floor is what woke me up.”
Shad stared at him. “You mean you have a dead hooker in your room?”
“Yeah. But I didn’t kill her,” Derek rubbed his face. “She was stabbed, I think while opening the door, which was locked.”
“Anything missing? Any signs of a search?”
“No, none.”
“So it’s a set-up. How long has she been dead?”
“A minute before I knocked on your door. Maybe two.”
“You’re sure she’s dead?”
“Definitely.”
Shad paced back and forth, scowling. Finally he halted. “Go get Fred and Jeff, but quietly, nothing noticeable. First straighten your clothes. Your room locked?”
“Yeah,” Derek passed him the key.
“OK, and pick up two bottles of booze, choose something with a strong odor, clear if you can manage it.”
The girl was indeed dead, Shad found when he entered Derek’s room, which was next to his. She was lying on her back, a pretty young brunette with a girl-next-door face and a slender, tidy figure wearing only a gauzy slip. She had been killed by a single stab to the heart, angling up under the sternum by a knife whose blade wasn’t much more than an edged ice pick.
Swiftly searching her clothing, hat, and handbag, Shad checked the seams and soles of her boots before grabbing a gunny sack from the pack saddle stored in the room. Lighting a candle he carefully combed the floor of the room in a grid pattern. He was scrabbling under the bed when the rest of the Black Talons arrived.
“If you told me one of us would end up with a dead hooker in his room I would have guessed Shad,” Fred observed, locking the door behind him. “Derek, not so much.”
“Its always the perverted little guys who surprise you,” Jeff agreed.
“You guys done laughing?” Shad asked as he crawled back out from under the bed and stood up.
“What’s the big deal?” Jeff asked. “Its embarrassing, but Derek didn’t kill her.”
“It’s a big deal. She was killed with a single thrust; the killer put a very narrow blade up under her sternum and stopped her heart before she could make a sound or bleed more’n a few drops. Probably worked the blade around to tear up the heart without fully withdrawing the blade.”
“Damn,” Jeff sobered up fast. “A real professional.”
“Yeah. Then he tossed the knife under Derek’s bed,” Shad held up the bloody weapon. “This isn’t a pimp dispute; either we have a very ballsy serial killer or someone wants the Black Talons to have serious legal issues in Bloodseep. Such as having to shoot our way out of town rather than let Derek face a murder rap.”
“If you’re right, we’ve got a corpse and an impending ‘accidental’ discovery in a few minutes,” Derek sighed. “Maybe we should run for it.”
“If we do we’re finished in the Protectorate. No, we’re going to pull a modified Weekend at Bernie’s.”
“Hey…,” Fred nodded as the realization dawned.
“Yeah. Get her dressed like a man with a floppy hat pulled low. Fred and Jeff leave with her dressed as a him, just three drunks, one worse for the wear, all three stinking of strong drink. Get to the horses and head out of town. Derek will leave separately, dump her clothes in the trash a long ways from here, then sneak out of town. Set a meeting point, bury her, and then come back at dawn looking hung over. Three drunk men go out on the main road, and three hungover men come back the same way. Meanwhile I’ll hang around and see what happens. Its not my room so I’m in the clear.”
“He should have cut her up some-more blood would make this tough,” Fred observed as Jeff and Derek started pulling clothes out of Derek’s duffle. “I’ll go check mine and Jeff’s rooms just in case.”
“Yeah.” Shad critically examined the knife before soaking a kerchief in rum and using it to wipe down the floor where the girl had laid. He wrapped the knife in the same kerchief and sprinkled some rum around. “Bury this with…no. Derek, dump it after you’re clear of town. Bury it, in fact. Can you cast a hex on it first, muddy up the occult waters?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Don’t bury the kerchief with it, either. Dump it a long ways away.”
“OK.”
Fred figured out how to run a string tied to her hair, under her shirt and through a slit in the shirt and tied to her belt to keep her head from bobbing the wrong way. Derek sprinkled the trio with cheap rum while Jeff and Fred took long pulls from the other bottle, finishing by slapping the rum on their faces and the girl’s in the manner of aftershave.
“All right, get going,” Shad said after checking the hallway. “Don’t sneak-you’re three drunks out on the town.”
“Been there, done that,” Jeff grinned tightly. “If you hear shooting, escaping is your own problem.”
“Here,” Derek passed Fred his money belt. “Our cash reserve. Use it for bribery if you must, or at least get it clear. Take the rum, too.”
“Here we go,” the big man got the girl settled between them while Derek adjusted the lay of her hat. “She should have a male name.”
“Micah,” Derek said. “Appropriate, given that he is a soulless ginger.” Micah was one of their fellow gamers and paintball players.
“That works. Say a prayer for us.” The trio lurched out the door. “By the way, once we’re on the horses our story is that we’re going to race to determine which is fastest,” Jeff added over his shoulder.
“OK,” Shad checked his watch. “Derek, in three minutes you go. We’ll wait in my room. First make your bed.”
After Derek had slipped out Shad strapped his cartridge belt in place and checked his shotgun for something do. Hearing a knock in the hallway he stepped out to see the proprietor, key ring in hand, knocking on Derek’s door. Accompanying him was a grim-faced man dressed as was usual for a citizen of the Protector
ate, with the addition of a badge pinned to the left breast of his coat and a holstered revolver on his left hip. He gave Shad the practiced look of a veteran lawman as the Shootist stepped out into the hallway.
“Can I help you?” the Shootist said calmly. “That’s my friend’s room.”
“Where is your friend?” the lawman asked.
“He and the two others that make up our crew left to settle a bet about whose horse was surest-footed. They’ve been drinking.”
“They bought two bottles of rum in addition to drinking in the bar,” the proprietor nodded; he was a heavy set man with a florid complexation, usually smiling and easy-going. “They’re a rough lot, but they don’t cause problems and they’re paid up. They stayed here a while back, I recall.”
“We’ve had a report of a woman being accosted in this room,” the lawman didn’t unbend an inch.
“I had a lady in my room,” Shad gestured towards his door. “There may have been a bit of noise…but she left happy enough.”
“Red hair? Sheila, a regular girl, reliable,” the proprietor confirmed. “Stopped for a gin in the bar. Heard her tell one of my girls that her fellow was a real gent. You know this is a reputable premises, Constable Brewer.”
“All the same, I’ll have a look in this room.”
Shad shrugged. “I don’t have a problem with that. Might be a bit of a mess, though.”
The proprietor, whose name was Theroux, Shad suddenly recalled, unlocked the door and stood aside. Constable Brewer pushed the door and took a hard look before entering the room.
“Smells of rum,” Theroux commented. “Not too untidy.”
The Constable turned up the kerosene lamp and carried it as he walked through the room, examining the floor and furniture. After glancing inside the wardrobe and under the bed, he turned the lamps wick back down and came back into the hallway. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’ll see the other rooms your party has,” he said in a manner that clearly indicated that he would see them in any case.
“Sure. You can start with mine.”
The searches took little time and by the last Constable Brewer had unbent a bit. “Looks like we received a false report,” he conceded.
“Can I inquire as to who made the report?” Shad asked politely.
The lawman looked at the Colts hanging in the Shootist’s custom rig. “I think we’ll keep that private. We dislike feuds, and I expect you and your friends are no strangers to violence.”
“We don’t make trouble in towns or for law-abiding folk,” Shad shrugged. “But we’ll gather loot from the Tek or the Horde without a qualm.”
“So I noticed from your pack saddle. We see a fair number of your sort, former soldiers hunting duro with a gun. There’s nothing wrong with it so long as you toe the line while you’re in the Protectorate.”
“We’ve just spent fifty-odd days riding and fighting on the prairie. All we want to do in Bloodseep is eat good food, sleep on real beds, enjoy the company of a liberal-minded woman, and perhaps drink a bit. Speaking of which, can I buy you a drink, Constable?”
“No, thank you. Its not permitted on duty.”
“I understand. I believe I will have one myself. Its not drinking alone when you are in a bar, after all.” Shad smiled, and Theroux grinned reflexively.
In the bar Shad ordered a brandy and watched the lawman leave. The Constable knew that the Shootist was keeping an eye on him, but he over-corrected: he glanced at every patron as he crossed the room (in the manner of police everywhere) save one.
Shad took special note of that one, a neatly dressed man in his forties, slender with a lined face, hard, dark eyes, and long elegant fingers. A killer if Shad had ever seen one, and the Shootist was confident the man was also the source of the report that the Constable had received.
The man finished his drink and departed with a steady, sure tread. Shad hooked the elbow of a serving girl and dropped a five-duro piece into her cleavage. “Who is that gentleman who is leaving?”
“Hmm?” She glanced at the departing patron. “Calls himself Mister Samuel,” she said as she felt the outline of the coin through her shirt; she visibly brightened at the size of the coin. “Although I expect that’s not the name his mother gave him. A real cold fish, stops by here two-three times a week to look at the guests, has a glass of wine and leaves.”
“How long has he been coming around?”
“Six, seven weeks; he’s not from Bloodseep. A bad sort for all his manners, is my guess.”
Shad gave her another five duro piece. “A smart girl would forget this entire conversation.”
She winked and moved off.
Shad was dozing fully dressed on his bed, which he had dragged around to face the door, when the others returned.
“That was a sad business,” Derek sighed, throwing himself into the room’s only chair. “That poor girl.”
“It was not a worthy end, even for a prostitute,” Jeff agreed. “And an unpleasant night.”
“You get rid of the stuff, Derek?” Shad asked.
“Yeah. Dumped the clothes, carried the gunny sack outside of town and got rid of it. Arcane-wise, they would play hell trying to tie us to this.”
“How did your end play out?” Fred asked.
“It was a little more than ten minutes before the police showed up, but otherwise it went pretty much as we expected. I let ‘em search the rooms and the local law was satisfied. I got lucky: the killer goes by Mister Samuels, and has been watching for us for a couple months. Must have started not long after we left.”
“Shit,” Jeff shook his head. “What do you suppose his angle is?”
“I think he’s a pro, a high-dollar, I mean high-duro fixer on a blind contract,” the Shootist sat up and rubbed his face.
“You think Cecil put him here as a fail-safe?” Derek asked.
“If he got the impression we’re some sort of badass heroes from our time in the Prison, then yeah, I would say that’s the best bet,” Jeff slid down the wall to the floor.
“I was a badass in the Prison,” Fred noted. “Have been here, too.”
“It makes sense,” Shad agreed. “If we decided not to take the Death Lord option he wanted his bases covered. All he has to do is to delay us, after all.”
“So now what?” Fred asked.
“That’s subject to group approval, but my thinking is this: Mister Samuel’s contract would expire once Cecil’s window of vulnerability is closed or we’re run out of town. Or dead. So we still have the opportunity to jam the bastard up, and frankly, any thought of leaving him alone is long gone for me. I don’t like Cecil having that girl killed, I don’t like her getting an unmarked grave, and I really object to him trying to shaft us.”
“I say do Cecil,” Fred grunted. “Always have.”
“I’m game,” Derek nodded. “Tonight was wayyyy over the line.”
“Yeah, I’m cool with it,” Jeff gave a thumbs up.
“OK, this is my plan: Theroux has a good sized room over his coach house he normally uses for overflow; we rent it and all of us stay there. We never leave except in pairs, and we never leave the room unattended. We do our research and go after Cecil.”
“I would like to do something about Mister Samuels,” Derek said, anger in his voice. “She was a nice girl, hooker or not. I bet she’s not the first collateral damage he’s caused.”
Shad spread his hands. “I have no objections, but we will need more proof than just my opinion. I’ll bet a month’s pay he’s a stone cold killer, but I’m not killing someone in town based on just my opinion.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jeff levered himself to his feet. “Let’s get some breakfast.”
“Remember to act hungover,” Shad reminded him.
“No acting required.”
“This isn’t too bad,” Jeff mused after the staff had finished tidying up the loft and the Black Talons moved their gear over. “Four beds, a table and four chairs, two easy chairs…all the comforts of home.”<
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“Yeah, its nice,” Derek observed as he examined a window. “Anyone sets foot on the stairs is coming to see us. The floor is three layers of tongue-and-groove hardwood so trying to shoot at us from below will take a heavy caliber and a lot of luck. If Mister Samuels starts a fire below we can get out these windows. Eavesdropping will be really hard.”
“I wouldn’t mind meeting Mister Samuels in an alley,” Shad said absently, digging through his gear. “I think I’m out of socks.”
“Speaking of gear, we need to cash out and issue shares,” Jeff tested the feel of one of the easy chairs. “I’m nearly broke. And there’s placets that need distributing.”
“I’ve been working on them, but twenty-five miles a day, horse care, and guard duty didn’t leave me with a lot of spare time,” Derek sighed. “We’ve got a busy week ahead of us.”
“Hey, I heard that the Expedition made it back,” Jeff snapped his fingers as the thought hit him. “Had some skirmishing with the Tek on the way out, but only lost a few more men. Apparently they spoke highly of us because a couple locals recognized our group name.”
“We’re going at this all wrong,” Fred said abruptly from where he was lying on top of the coverlet of his bed, his booted feet resting on the brass footboard to keep the covering clean.
“What?” Jeff asked. “The loft?”
“No, Cecil.”
“How do you figure?”
“We think Mister Samuel has been watching for us in order to keep us from screwing up Cecil’s real plan, right?”
“The facts support the theory,” Shad sat in the other easy chair.
“The reason we know we can interfere with Cecil’s plan is because we put a lot of skill points in three different areas; in fact it took us two levels to do it.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Oh, crap,” Derek said softly, slumping into a chair at the table.
“Mister Samuels started watching for us not long after we left with the Expedition. Cecil’s smart: one look at a map and he knows we’re heading for Wellring using the Expedition as a convenience. There’s no way we could get to Wellring, expose the portfolio as a bust, and get back to Bloodseep fast. The Death Lords hunting us didn’t make a move until we were deep into the trip.”
