Vulture Wings

by Dirk Hawkman

  Treading the soft ground, Eli was glad that the grass masked his footsteps. There were lights on in the ranch, and occasionally a shadow rushed past an illuminated window. Eli guessed that there were perhaps ten men in the farmhouse. Never had the bounty hunter fought against such overwhelming numbers. He would need subterfuge to outwit them, or else Eli’s attack would be suicidal. Dangerous as his intrusion would be, his love for his sons compelled him to steel himself.

  Eli took a deliberately meandering path up the gentle hill to the ranch. The windows brightened patches of the grassland, leaving other areas concealed by the gloom. It was within these shadowy pools that Eli secreted himself.

  At the front gate to the ranch, Enrique was sentry for the night. He had sent his men to their beds. For some murky reason, Morris wanted as few as possible involved in his secret scheme. Enrique was happy to indulge his master. He was confident that he could manage Eli.

  Guard duty was part of a mercenary’s training. In his younger days, Enrique had spent so long as a sentry that he had cultivated an owl’s night vision. He admired the skilful way that Eli was keeping to the shadows, and moving in such a silent manner. A lesser man than Enrique would have been deceived.

  Nice try, Enrique thought. But you’ll have to do better than that, Eli.

  Feeling an arrogant compulsion to tempt Eli closer, Enrique leaned on the gate. He lit a thick cigar, doing nothing to conceal the flame from his match. Enrique drew deeply, making a show of exhaling as much smoke as possible. His demeanour was one of studied, pretended nonchalance.

  The red wink of the match and the aroma of the expensive cigar were not lost on Eli.

  I can handle this guy, he thought. The guard looks half asleep.

  Eli arced in the darkness to a point further along the perimeter wall. He planned to inch across and overpower the sentry. The ranch was bounded by a waist-high stone wall. Reaching the barrier, Eli descended to his hands and knees. He would crawl along the wall unseen and unheard, and then pounce.

  Enrique continued to pretend to stare into space, absorbed by nothing but his smoke. He had watched Eli sneak over to the wall, and continued to observe him in the periphery of his vision. Enrique respected Eli’s guile – but he was not fooled. Indeed, as Eli neared, Enrique had to suppress an amused smirk.

  Eli rose, cocking and pointing his Colt in a single, seamless motion.

  ‘Freeze,’ he spat through gritted teeth. ‘Give me your weapon, and put your hands up, or there’s going to be trouble. Real bad trouble.’

  Enrique’s laughter unnerved Eli, and he tightened his grip on his revolver.

  ‘What’s so funny, partner?’

  Eli resented the guard’s smug manner of removing his gun-belt, and handing it over arrogantly. He could tell that this guard was more than some lazy retainer who drew sentry duty tonight. Enrique was not fazed in the slightest by the Colt in his face. Though he was now unarmed and outgunned, Eli could tell that this man had deadly potential.

  ‘Mr Connor – there’s really no need for all this cloak and dagger. I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, Mr Morris has been expecting you.’

  Eli half-expected as much. The kidnapping of his sons had led to one question after another. The sentry’s unanticipated reaction was merely another piece of the jigsaw.

  ‘Where are my sons?’

  ‘Follow me up, Mr Connor. My boss will explain everything.’

  CHAPTER 28

  Suzanne’s concentration was absent. Her saloon was not as raucous tonight. Perhaps the entertainment supplied by the Connors had been ample excitement for a few evenings. More likely, though, was that the kind of hoodlums who were drawn to Desolation – as flies are magnetised by dung – had already squandered their plundered pittances.

  Perhaps a dozen men sat around the bar-room. The lack of cigar smoke this evening meant that the faint, sickly blend of stale beer and decay could not be masked. Suzanne was fastidious when it came to cleaning her saloon. Nevertheless, there was always an undercurrent of corruption in the rotten air which she could never, ever purge.

  From behind the bar, Suzanne leaned forward on the counter. She rested her chin on her palms. Candy and Jezebel, when they thought Suzanne was not looking, pointed and giggled at their mistress. The scarlet ladies were enjoying a rare night of repose. While they had dressed and applied their makeup as usual, there was no trade tonight. They sat at the table and chattered. The harlots seemed to be the only ones who were not bored.

  While the courtesans had the greatest admiration for Suzanne, it amused them to see her looking so far-away. Suzanne was their paymaster, bodyguard and surrogate elder sister. She demanded a hard night’s work from them. Suzanne would not tolerate her courtesans resting on their butts when they could be on their backs. Yet she paid well and led by example. It was odd to see her so distant, like a child daydreaming through a tedious Latin lesson.

  Suzanne would have enjoyed being bored. However, her mind was not seeking an escape from tedium. Rather, it repeated the same thoughts of Morris and Eli over and over. Suzanne could not comprehend Morris’ plan. During their long association, she had never confronted nor questioned him. Suzanne had never been one to kowtow to men, yet Morris’ mere presence made her bow her head fearfully. Her benefactor had honoured Suzanne’s secret, and demanded little in return. Of course, she had looked the other way when Enrique and his heavies had shamelessly and overtly dragged men out of her saloon. This had not tested her conscience. Fights and killings were hardly rare in her bar. The louts that perished would not be missed – not even by their families.

  This time, Morris was orchestrating a darker, deadlier ploy. Suzanne was doing something worse than pretending to forget one of Morris’ tactical assassinations. What, though? Adam and Bob were barely on the cusp of manhood. Before their sickening corruption at the claws of the Strongs, they had had time and opportunity to walk an honourable path. Perhaps they still could. What could Morris want with these two young men?

  Suzanne was also troubled by her treatment of Eli. While she had been raised in a house of harlots and now presided over a den for the dishonest, Suzanne was no deceptress. As a girl, a preacher had told her that she could not hide her light under a bushel. Suzanne had not exactly become very saintly, but the clergyman’s words had stuck with her. In Suzanne’s case, she could never conceal her inner fire.

  Yet her deceit had snared Eli. Complicit in Morris’ deception, she had guided him towards . . . towards what? That mountain trail was deadly enough in its own right. It pained Suzanne to imagine what awaited in Morris’ prairie lair.

  ‘Gimme a whiskey, Suzanne.’

  The whole bar turned their heads when Suzanne yelped in surprise. So rapt had she been in broodiness that the customer’s approach had startled her.

  ‘Coming up, honey.’ The boozer before her was an attractive, stocky man boasting a rich, black beard, inky curls and copper eyes. Suzanne could not recall the customer’s name, but she had heard the whispers. Some said that brown-eyes forced himself on women. There was definitely something dubious about him. He was good-looking and charming – but he made Suzanne uneasy.

  ‘Something on your mind, Suzanne? You’re a little jumpy this eve.’

  ‘Here’s your drink, sweetie.’ Suzanne slid the glass over, and the vessel scraped awkwardly on the wooden counter. She found it difficult to restrain her distaste.

  Suzanne watched the dark drinker as he walked over to Candy and Jezebel. He was not quite drunk, but Suzanne could tell that he had already knocked back a couple of whiskies. The painted ladies chirped joyfully when brown-eyes sat on their table. Candy and Jezebel concealed their disgust well.

  Suzanne tried to eavesdrop. She did not know if the rumours were true, but brown-eyes had an aura of evil. He was softly-spoken, yet boastful. Suzanne picked up snippets of his claims. The harlots skilfully faked rapture as he described beauties he had seduced, lawmen he had slain, and riches he had hidden away.

  A
patron could pay a fair price for some private time with Candy and Jezebel. Brown-eyes vainly felt that he was above that, as his paws grasped at the courtesans’ comely curves. The harlots expertly fended him off with playful, yet firm, smacks. Suzanne watched with protective eyes, waiting to see if she should intervene. Her arbitration was unnecessary, though, for she had trained Candy and Jezebel well.

  Brown-eyes lay his hand on Candy’s knee. She brushed it away. When the customer tried putting his hand up her skirt, Candy sprang.

  She scratched at his cheeks with her long nails. They broke his skin, drawing blood.

  Jezebel, meanwhile, grabbed fistfuls of the assailant’s long hair. She wrestled his head back as Candy continued to claw at his face.

  Brown-eyes cried out in pain. He looked truly pathetic as he blindly tore at the air. There was laughter from the other customers, and a whimper from brown-eyes, as the painted ladies ejected him from the saloon. He would never return.

  ‘You all right, ladies?’ Suzanne approached them, not doubting that her courtesans were intact.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. We’re one hundred per cent OK. You taught us good, Suzanne.’ Candy was unshaken, even a little proud.

  ‘That fellow was rotten,’ Jezebel added. ‘No woman can bend to a creep like that.’

  On hearing Jezebel’s words, Suzanne instantly knew what she had to do.

  CHAPTER 29

  When Bob had thrashed the prisoner so violently that he was too exhausted to swing the whip one more time, he rested. Flailing the weapon had been intoxicating, but bent over panting, the first fingers of guilt pressed on his shoulders. Bob could not bear to look at the captive, whose breathing was now so shallow that it was inaudible. Nor could he face Adam, who scarcely recognised his older brother.

  Morris was pleased, though. ‘My informants were correct, Bob. You do have the touch of the outlaw about you.’

  Bob resented this insinuation with venom, but only because he feared that it was right.

  Morris unholstered his Colt, and cocked it. ‘Now, let’s go back upstairs. My next guest should be here by now.’

  He directed them back through his macabre museum to his upstairs study. There, Eli had his gun trained on Enrique. The mercenary’s flippant, elusive answers to Eli’s interrogation were frustrating him. Eli forgot this impotent rage the second his sons entered the chamber.

  Neither Enrique nor Morris prevented Eli from rushing over to Adam and Bob and pressing them tight to his breast. For a few moments, Eli did not care for the danger they were in, nor whatever wrongdoings his sons may have been involved in. Holding his sons close was all that mattered.

  Enrique had never indulged in compassion. Of course, he had not been stupid enough to hand his last weapon over to Eli. Enrique removed the Derringer he’d secreted in his leather boot.

  ‘That’s enough happy families,’ Enrique barked. ‘Split up! I said split up, darn it!’

  Still holding his weapon, Eli broke the embrace. Enrique looked to Morris.

  ‘Boss?’

  He had followed his master’s instructions without quibble. Now, though, it was over to Morris. Enrique, too, was curious to learn his boss’ rationale.

  Morris grinned broadly. It was unlike him to display any human emotion. The rancher walked over to his desk and poured himself a brandy.

  ‘So, what’s going on?’ Eli insisted, raising his gun arm to emphasise his demand.

  Morris sat back in his chair. Enrique had never seen him so relaxed, and he took this to be a bad omen.

  ‘I am the last of the Morris family. We have always been particular about who we marry, or lay with. We had to preserve our blue blood. The Morrises hated to dilute it with the slime that runs through your veins.’

  He took a sip of brandy, savouring it. It would be his last ever drink.

  ‘After my father died, I didn’t much care for starting a family. I have enjoyed plenty of wicked women, but all I cared for was myself. I did not want a screaming infant ruining my fun.’

  Morris began playfully cocking and uncocking his Colt. ‘Well, I was wrong. When the letter came I could hardly believe it. I had fathered a son through some trollop. My way of looking at the world changed in a second. I’m a cruel man, no doubt. And selfish. For the first and only time, I felt love for another.’

  A bullet of salty perspiration swam down Enrique’s face to his lips. It was so unlike Morris to be so intimate, and it made him nervous.

  ‘His mother was no good. She just wanted money out of me – which I gave her. Then, she wanted more and more. She was a poor mother to Scott. In the end, I got rid of her.’

  ‘Scott Glenn,’ Eli added. The circumstances now made a little more sense.

  ‘Right. He never took my name, much as I insisted. Scott was unruly, troubled. The likes of you, Eli, would have called him a no-good bum. I raised him alone for a time, but Scott was . . . a naughty boy. Fighting, drinking. I sent him to boarding-school for a while, but he ran away.

  ‘Then, as a man, he came to your attention, Eli. Scott killed several men over lord-knows-what. He rode back here. I urged him to stay, to hide. I could pay off the lawmen and judges. But Scott only stole some money and rode in to Morriston to get drunk.’

  For a second, Morris seemed despondent. ‘Scott was not . . . very smart.’

  ‘You’re right, Morris. Scott Glenn was a worthless, drunken crook. And I shot him. Why not kill me? Why not,’ Eli gulped, ‘kill my sons?’

  Morris laughed callously.

  ‘I’ll kill you in a minute, Eli. But I wanted to do something much worse to your sons. The Strongs took them on some real adventures. Whiskey, women, theft, and – oh yes – killing. Your boys are killers now, Eli. They’ve tasted blood. In fact, Bob just gave an associate of mine a real nice whipping.

  ‘In my own way, I have killed your sons. That is my revenge. Their hearts may beat, and their lungs may breathe. But inside, their souls are dead.’

  Morris’ eyes flashed with menace as he soared to his feet. ‘Your sons are just like me.’

  The finger on Eli’s trigger had oozed a film of hot sweat. So angry was Eli that he trembled, and was dearly tempted to pull the trigger.

  ‘So, you’ve been playing a stupid game with me right from the start!’

  Morris knocked back the rest of his brandy. ‘Cheers.’

  Enrique was intrigued by the story. He admired Morris’ touch of evil, but was anxious to conclude this silly outing. Perhaps next week he could return to beating up witnesses. Morris sensed his lieutenant’s impatience, and nodded to Enrique.

  The Derringer was a small handgun, and Enrique cared to avoid any mess. There was a gentle click as his thumb pulled back the little hammer.

  Ever on high alert, Enrique paused as the music of gunfire played in the floor below. Quick-thinking as he was, Enrique was startled as Suzanne burst into the study. She stank of gunpowder, and her eyes were burning ferociously. And why was she holding a revolver?

  CHAPTER 30

  Suzanne had blustered blindly through the darkness. She had never ridden the deadly mountain path, but had no time to ask directions nor check the map. Suzanne had rocketed through the gloom almost suicidally. By the time she found her way to the grassland, and the Morris ranch, the hoofs of her steed were ruined. Her horse was beat, but Suzanne had not even started.

  She had never visited her poison patron’s farm, but tonight she had no taste for a guided tour. Suzanne knew that Morris’ men could be watching her approach.

  Let them watch, she thought. Stop me if you can.

  Suzanne had two Colts in the holster around her waist. Both were fully loaded. She was handy with a gun, but no markswoman. However, Suzanne was not ruled by logic. Rather, her blood burned in her veins while an inferno blazed in her gut. She had never hurt a man that did not deserve it, nor wronged another. Her acquiescence to Morris had been shameful. Suzanne prayed that she had time to right the situation, and purge her dirtied conscience.

/>   She found the main door unlocked. Sure enough, as Suzanne slammed the portal open, one of Morris’ men was ready for her. She vaguely recognised him, until one of her bullets distorted his face horrifically. He plunged to the ground, dead. Though his lifeless finger rested on the trigger of his gun, Suzanne had been too rapid. She was hardly eliminating her opponents methodically. Suzanne was nothing but animal instinct, striking with dumb – yet deadly – luck.

  She heard voices upstairs, and headed towards them. As she ascended the stairs, another unfortunate ran towards her. Suzanne made a bloodied hole in his chest before he even raised his gun arm. She sidestepped the gunman’s toppling cadaver as he fell forwards down the stairs.

  So resolved to rescue the Connors was Suzanne that she was feverish. Her crazed determination bordered on bloodlust. Suzanne was not thinking – only acting. When she entered the study, Suzanne noted that Eli, Morris and Enrique were armed. Without pausing to debate the tactics of such a confrontation, Suzanne aimed and fired at Enrique. The mercenary’s last expression was one of puzzlement as he slumped to his knees, a bullet in his brain.

  Morris wanted Adam and Bob to live out their days as monsters. He was certain that they would forever recall their experiences with shame, or else advance to worse cruelties and lawlessness. Whichever, now that his sons were eternally tainted, Eli could be dispensed with. Before Eli could react, Morris aimed at Eli’s torso and pulled the trigger.

  Eli collapsed, but his tortured cries signalled that he was alive. Morris had missed his target. The bullet had torn its way through his shoulder. Adam and Bob hurried to his side.

  The incapacitation of Eli did nothing to quell Suzanne’s frenzy. Regarding Morris with spiteful contempt, she turned her Colt on him. Despite his great age, Suzanne had once found Morris to be an intimidating figure. Presently, though, he was pathetically trying to pull back the hammer on his handgun for another shot. Perhaps unsettled, or distracted by Eli’s agonised groans, he struggled with shaking hands to cock the weapon once more. Morris was nothing but a weak, elderly man, but his condition did not arouse Suzanne’s pity. Her disdain only swelled.