Vulture Wings

by Dirk Hawkman

  The financier had produced a newspaper, and shown a few articles to Eli.

  ‘Partner – if the stock’s about to go up, I buy. If it’s about to go down, I sell.’

  This much Eli understood, but he was still curious. He prodded the moneyman for more details.

  ‘But how do you know which way the stock is going to move?’

  The businessman paused and inhaled thoughtfully before responding.

  ‘I studied mathematics in college. They taught me various models for predicting which way the markets will move – and they tend to be accurate. Perhaps to an outsider, it’s just a haze of figures and facts. But me – I know what to look for. I can pick out key facts from all the data, and make a decision. After a time, I developed a feel for the patterns.’

  The financier had been in Cheyenne to broker a deal between two corporations. Eli was hunting the leader of a gang of cattle thieves. The next day, Eli had found the thief in a whiskey trough, and the robber had drunkenly drawn on his hunter. Eli was too fast, though, and had shot his quarry dead.

  Returning to the café that evening, Eli had again met the businessman.

  ‘How did your finance deal go, partner?’

  The financier was a little jolly, perhaps after a glass or two of champagne.

  ‘Tremendous. I made a killing.’

  ‘Me too,’ Eli added.

  Those days in Cheyenne were memorable to Eli because of the similarities he found between himself and the moneyman. Whereas their backgrounds had varied significantly, they were both talented and ambitious young men.

  Nor would Eli ever forget the businessman’s description of the patterns he could divine that were invisible to most. It reminded him of his own abilities as a tracker. Certain details were unmistakeable signs of a felon’s illicit passage: broken blades of grass, hoofprints, disturbed rocks. These clues, while valuable, were always sparse and difficult to locate. As a hunter of beastly creatures, both animal and human, Eli had learned how to connect the jigsaw pieces.

  On the plains, Eli found the remains of a makeshift camp. By the size of the ashes from the fires, and morsels of rotten, discarded, food, Eli deduced that there were four travellers. He did not doubt that this was the trail of his sons and their kidnappers.

  They were drifting Eastwards. The design with which they left the marks from their camps signalled that they were possibly cleverly resting in random sites to throw their pursuers. Alternatively, they did not really know how to navigate. Eli suspected the latter. Whichever, there was only one significant settlement in this region: Wells.

  Eli’s mind did not rest for long in its reminiscences. His worries for his sons were so potent they were physically painful. Alone on the plains, with nobody to conceal his inner torture from, Eli often found himself weeping openly. Eli could not fathom what character of relationship had flowered between the four.

  Eli’s body and mind were sapped as he arrived in Wells. Although inwardly, Eli’s love for his sons blazed on, he knew that the intelligent decision would be to rest – at least for one night. It would also be useful to glean some human intelligence.

  Eli went to question local men at the saloon. They were very wary of strangers, but a couple of whiskies loosened lips.

  Not a few hours ago, Eli learned, there had been a bank robbery. From the sound of it, the raid had been handled clumsily and a bank clerk had been senselessly slaughtered. This news gripped Eli.

  ‘Tell me more, partner,’ Eli urged his new drinking companion.

  ‘Four armed men. Two of them were older, two of them were real young, like. Teenaged. Sounded to me like this robbery was badly planned. The four of them stormed in, and told the teller to hand over the goods. Dang it! The teller reached under his desk and pulled out a gun of his own. He was always such a quiet fellow. Had more guts than we thought. But he wasn’t fast enough for these varmints. They opened fire and blew him away.’

  ‘What happened next?’ Eli impressed upon the drinker.

  ‘Their leader took charge. He may only be a young buck, but this boy’s already running an outlaw gang. This boy shooed everyone away, and led the gang out of there.’

  ‘This young boy – what did he look like?’

  ‘Dark-haired, they say. Stocky. Maybe nineteen years old.’ Eli was alarmed, but fought to prevent his shock showing in his face. The barfly’s description was an uncanny match for Bob.

  The drinker went on. ‘Might be just a kid, but he sounds like a nasty piece of work to me.’

  CHAPTER 13

  Stunned by the barfly’s opinion, Eli covered his gaping mouth with his hand. He had kept quiet about his relationship to Adam and Bob. Ordinarily a taciturn man, Eli was concerned that his flicker of emotion revealed too much.

  ‘Partner – you OK?’

  Eli typically avoided strong drink, but had bought himself – and his new drinking partner – a couple of beers. While the bar was bustling, there was a murmuring, subdued atmosphere.

  Like Morriston, Wells was a rural community whose townsfolk were dominated by farmers and ranchers. Eli’s new acquaintance was a farmhand named Jake. He was as burly as a bear, with a stomach which also suggested animal appetites. Despite his powerful frame, Jake seemed a little reluctant to chat. Eli persuaded Jake that he was no gunny, only a shopkeeper in town for supplies. This half-truth and a glass of beer put Jake at ease.

  ‘Jake – I can hardly believe what I’m hearin’. This outlaw gang is led by some young boy?’

  Warming to his new friend, Jake slurped his beer noisily. He had been labouring in the fields all morning, when his boss had sent him into town to run a few errands. Jake thought he had time for a glass of ale. The heat had been fearsome, and his flesh was reddened and sweaty. A single beer would have refreshed him, but Jake could hardly refuse the traveller’s generosity when he bought a couple more.

  ‘Yes, partner. That’s the way it was. He was just a kid – but all the witnesses say that he was running the show, all right. He sounds deadly.’

  Jake needed to return to the fields. He had enjoyed the visitor’s company and kindness. Jake shook Eli’s hand, swallowing it up in his ursine fingers and palm, before heading off.

  Eli abandoned his half-drunk beer and sat on the boardwalk outside. The weight of his mission was testing him, and he could feel its gravity almost like a physical yoke on his shoulders. Slumped at the side of the road, he stared into empty space with maddened intensity. He sat indifferent to the curious glances of passers-by, who may have regarded him as some kind of drunk. The sting of the sun was nearly sizzling, yet Eli was unmoved by the heat.

  The abductors had bolted from Wells very suddenly. Eli was confident that he could find their tracks. Low beasts such as these kidnappers left trails as surely as slugs left streaks of ooze in their passage. He knew he could find them, but he did not understand the bond between his sons and their captors.

  Whether Adam and Bob had been willing abettors, or had been forced, Eli believed that the abductors had been the criminal masters in the affair. The rumours from Wells were shocking.

  Perhaps, though, he had been wrong. Eli wondered if his sons had been planning something from the outset. Moreover, the descriptions of Bob were extraordinary. Compared with Adam, Bob was very much the dutiful son. Bob was polite, gentle and well-meaning. He had always been very mature for his age. Yet the rumours likened him to a ringleader, a ruthless taskmaster.

  They had been missing for days. What had his boys become in that short time?

  So absorbed was Eli in his internal torture that he did not react to the grey shadow cast over him.

  ‘You know what the punishment for public drunkenness is, sir?’

  Though the figure was blackened against the relentless sun, Eli knew he was being addressed by a lawman. Mindful of the legal implications of his rogue pursuit, Eli cooperated. He was about to rise, when the sheriff put out a hand to help him to his feet.

  ‘Eli Connor. I thought it was you
. It’s been years.’

  Aided by the lawman’s pincer grip, Eli stood and could see the sheriff clearly. It had been nearly twenty years, yet Eli remembered Sheriff Ryan Walters.

  Eli nodded courteously in acknowledgement. He could tell by Walters’s stern demeanour that it was no time for nostalgia.

  ‘Follow me to my office, Eli.’

  In his middle years, Walters’s waistline had inflated. Indeed, he seemed to be struggling to contain his belly within his sheriff’s uniform. He still retained his sandy, blond moustache and piercing, blue eyes. From his bounty hunter days, Eli recalled Walters being a stickler for the rules. They had not seen eye to eye, and Walters had regarded Eli’s hunts as rivalry to his authority. Despite their past, in other circumstances, it might have been joyful to share a beer with Walters. Not today, though.

  In the sheriff’s office, Walters ordered Eli to sit. He complied, as the lawman sat at his desk.

  ‘I know why you’re here, Eli. Adam and Bob Connor? I heard about the kidnap in Morriston. And you know what happened here.’ Walters was a softly-spoken man, which only seemed to emphasise the anger behind his words. ‘I guessed they were your boys. Then, when you showed up, it confirmed my suspicions. What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know, Sheriff. But I’m on their trail. I want my sons safe and well and far away from these animals.’

  ‘Powerful words, Eli. But you’re talking like your boys are somehow victims in all this. That is not what I’ve heard.’

  Eli was about to argue, but Walters raised a palm to silence him.

  ‘I’ve never cared for bounty hunters, gunslingers, mercenaries – whatever you call yourselves. I do remember your tenacity and grit. Something tells me you’ve still got it. Now, we don’t have a lot of crime in Wells. A murder? A kidnap – if that’s what it was? I would never have foreseen that. I don’t have a lot of manpower in Wells, and I sure as heck don’t want a posse of untrained men being slaughtered. So I’m not going to interfere, Eli, much as I don’t like it.’

  At least, thought Walters, that’s what John Morris told me to tell you.

  Walters leaned back, and asked Eli a question he already knew the answer to.

  ‘Where do you reckon they’re headed?’

  Eli, too, had already guessed. ‘Desolation.’

  CHAPTER 14

  ‘We’re headed to Desolation, boys.’ Charlie’s announcement had made Dwight’s demonic eyes glimmer with excitement. ‘We had a close shave back in Wells. I think we could do with some partying.’

  Desolation, Bob gathered from the snippets which Charlie shared, was a tiny settlement in the hills. It was not so much a township as a loose association of saloons, gambling dens, and no sheriff. Desolation was hidden away in the mountains, and was conceived as a resting place for criminals on the run.

  Charlie had shared a few stories of Desolation’s whiskey houses and wicked women.

  Drawing closer, the rocky hills loomed in the distance. Bob could not see them at first, but as they rode closer and closer he began to discern the mountain’s cruel edges and ugly cracks. In contrast to the almost endless green sea of the grasslands, the hills were a black and repellent island. The mountains horrified the Connors: as they drew nearer still, the brothers could not fathom how they would navigate this grey, angular maze.

  They had been riding north to reach Desolation, and the temperature had dropped as sharply as the Connors’ spirits. As the riders took their first steps into the rocky labyrinth, Bob wondered whether it was the air that chilled him, or his fear. The Connors followed the Strongs with apprehension. Charlie and Dwight seemed energised and excited. Unlike their aimless wandering on the prairie, the Strongs seemed to know the path to Desolation by memory.

  ‘There it is, Dwight! There’s Desolation!’ Charlie exclaimed with great delight. ‘Thar she blows!’

  As the skies darkened and the cold worsened, Bob felt as if he were being bricked into a cave. The party was following a loose, pebble trail, though only the Strongs could make it out. Further down the path, the trail meandered around the curves of the hills, Charlie pointed out a pinprick of light. As they rode closer, Bob noticed other specks of illumination winking through the darkness like the devil. The Strongs were plainly very excited about their arrival in Desolation. Bob, though, took their high passions to be an omen of peril.

  Desolation was eerily silent when they rode in. The quiet was torn by Charlie’s eager whoops and Dwight’s piercing shrieks.

  They hitched their mounts on the rail outside what Bob guessed was a saloon. Charlie led them inside. The bar’s interior was far more inviting than the bleak streets outside suggested. Warmed by a log fire, a number of customers chatted, drank, or played cards. As comfortable as the saloon was in the physical sense, the Connors were not at ease. They noticed the guests sneaking analytical glances at the new arrivals, trying to divine whether they were a threat, or marks to be exploited.

  The atmosphere in the saloon was throbbing, if threatening. Bob sensed probing eyes flickering as the latest customers arrived. While the stares made Bob shiver, the Strongs were unperturbed. The cigar smoke mixed with the aroma of spilled whiskey could not mask a sickly, corrupt scent beneath. Bob saw that the clientele was exclusively male. There were a couple of women sitting on the laps of customers, and a female bartender.

  These women were working, though. Bob could see why they were called painted ladies. The otherwise attractive young women had cheapened themselves with garish lipstick and cicada skins of mascara.

  The Strongs led them up to the bar.

  ‘What’ll it be, boys?’ The bartender was flirtatious, but did not seem to be performing the same role as the other women. She was a flame-haired, older woman. The barkeeper boasted an hour-glass figure which was uncomfortably contorted by the strains of her corset. Her air of confidence showed that she was the mistress of this establishment. She was polite and affable, but was plainly not a woman to be trifled with.

  ‘Four whiskies, Suzanne.’ Obviously, Charlie and the barmaid were acquainted. ‘And send over a couple of girls to our table.’

  ‘You got it,’ Suzanne chirped with a wink. Her enthusiasm was contrived, though. She had poured drinks and arranged dirty dalliances for Charlie and Dwight many times. However, they had never brought guests before. These two handsome young men were different, though. Suzanne could sense it. There was something innocent about them.

  The Strongs guided the Connors to a table, carrying their whiskies. They slugged theirs, and ordered two more. The Connors’ liquor sat before them untouched.

  ‘Drink up, boys,’ Charlie implored, licking his lips. Bob dutifully swallowed his as if it were bitter medicine. Adam raised his whiskey to his lips in a slower, defiant motion, tipping his glass with deliberate hesitation. As the liquor burned his maw, he eyeballed the Strongs. Adam’s distaste for them was worse than his aversion to the cheap whiskey in his throat.

  Charlie met Adam’s insolent stare. ‘I don’t like that look, Adam. Don’t worry – I know something that’ll cheer you up.’ As he spoke, they were joined at the table by Candy and Jezebel. The ladies did not hide their disgust very well when Charlie put his arm around each of them.

  ‘Girls, I’d like to give my new recruits a little reward. How’s about you take my young pals upstairs for a time?’

  ‘Sure thing, honey,’ squeaked Candy, relieved to be getting away from Charlie’s unwelcome paws. The scarlet ladies took Adam and Bob by their hands.

  ‘Don’t be shy, boys,’ Candy added kindly. Adam and Bob did not budge. It was not bashfulness: rather, a defiant resentment.

  ‘Go on now, boys,’ Charlie insisted. He flipped his jacket back to flash his Colt. The signal was not lost on the Connors, who rose to follow the women upstairs.

  When Candy and Jezebel had finished, and the Connors returned downstairs, Suzanne sensed their air of dirty shame. They were not quite so innocent any more.

  CHAPTER 15

 
; The Connors sat back down in resignation. They felt soiled and ashamed. Worse than their regret, they wanted to take cold baths and scrub themselves pure again. Remorseful as he was, Adam was also perplexed. He did not understand why the Strongs had abducted them, and could not fathom the reasoning behind their illicit gifts of Candy and Jezebel. Adam could only surmise that the Strongs were cruelly playing mind games.

  Bob was more pensive about the upstairs encounter. He did not know any better than Adam his captors’ rationale. Bob suspected, though, that there was a callous logic to the Strongs’ schemes.

  ‘Enjoy yourselves, boys?’ sneered Dwight. His skeletal grin was a smile of pure contempt. Disdainful though Dwight was, Bob could see that he was but an obliging pawn. Dwight deferred only to Charlie, and he probably did not know any better than Bob what was really going on.

  The Strongs had ordered a fresh round of drinks during the Connors’ shameful happenstances upstairs. Bob sipped at his whiskey. He was not accustomed to alcohol, and its intoxicating effects – plus his growing sense of dreadful resignation – emboldened him.

  Bob addressed Charlie. ‘So, what’s this all about? Shooting lessons. Bank robbery. Those . . . women. Where are you taking us?’

  Charlie knew that Bob was intelligent. He could see why he was curious. Nevertheless, Charlie had received quite precise instructions. Part of his orders required keeping the Connors in ignorant darkness.

  ‘Never you mind, Bob. I’ll look after you.’ Charlie was keen to change the subject. ‘Heck, I’ve shown you a real nice time tonight, ain’t I?’

  Bob was not reassured, and petulantly slugged the rest of his whiskey. He could sense that Charlie was resisting his probing. Bob already felt wretched. His experiences under the Strongs, and particularly his bedroom session, had clawed his soul downwards. Bob did not believe he retained much more spirit. He almost wanted the Strongs to finally crush him underfoot.

  Bob rose and moved around the table to Charlie. The insolent regard with which he fixed Charlie unnerved Adam. Adam had an inkling that there would be an imminent, and ugly, confrontation.