by Nico Rosso
“First man I couldn’t find a way to kill.” A higher charge in the shotgun shells? A smith might be able to make him exploding slugs. “I do like a challenge.”
Like Anna. But she was more than that now. Complicated. Uncharted. It didn’t seem like there was one answer to find. It was the processes of puzzling her out that Jack looked forward to. If she let him.
Rolling hills built up for a while, crested, and gave way to the bay. San Francisco lay ahead. The hard angles of the buildings broke the flow of nature. Cities put him on edge. Too many people. Every corner hid a man with a grudge and a gun. But the job brought him here and he wouldn’t quit. A thousand dollars would get him out of the cities for a while. Might even buy him some time with his boots off. Maybe time with Anna.
The notion hit him like a stick of TNT. He never considered spending time with a woman as anything more than brief relief between jobs. After this taste of Anna, though, he was changing his mind.
The buildings went from the size of teeth in the distance to tombstones. A main road opened up in the midst of the sprawl. Anna gestured in the direction of the boulevard and Jack nodded. They slowed their engines and dove town toward the city.
Jack ran his mind over all his weapons. Bullets ready in cylinders and on his belt. Quad shotgun was fully loaded. Cut-down sabre hung on his belt. And Anna was with him. Fighting shoulder to shoulder, they’d turned away the Man O’ War’s crew, even if they couldn’t dent the captain. He’d known her legend for years and now knew firsthand. Hell, he knew more than any newspaper could spin. One kiss. She was a force he’d never forget. What that meant would have to be answered another day. San Francisco approached. He stole a look at her. Jaw set, posture relaxed but ready.
They weren’t partners. But whatever they were, they’d have to be fast, sharp, and dead-on with their aim to handle whatever was coming next.
Chapter Six
* * *
THE MORNING HAD glowed with quiet. Anna had woken before the dawn and watched the fog brighten all around her. The surf pounded steadily. Birds chirped. Dew fell from branches, ticking against the ground. Every small move Jack made had been amplified in her head. His slicker rustled. His boot slid in the dirt, hitting a small rock. He breathed, slow and even. She’d known he was awake. Thoughts had chattered through her mind, louder than the wakening world.
The kiss couldn’t be forgotten. If it had been just a lark, she might be able to put Jack behind her. But it was more than a kiss. It was a beginning. Where it led, she had no idea. No matter how much noise her mind made, no answer could be found.
The din of San Francisco left no room for thoughts. She and Jack rode down Market Street, the churning city’s main artery. As if a history book had fallen and its pages had scattered, the avenues were filled with vehicles spanning the recent eras. From a horse pulling a cart filled with produce to the sky-rail trollies motoring on cables strung between the buildings, there was constant motion all around. Other engine-cycles rumbled along the road, as well as Iron Coaches and a couple of steam tugs.
She and Jack built up speed to pass those lumbering tractors that pulled huge flatbeds filled with construction equipment for the expanding city. It had been more than a year since she’d been to San Francisco and the latest innovations were everywhere. The taller buildings had dedicated shuttles. The shuttles rolled on rubber wheels, picking up the clerks and business people with jobs she’d never understand. Once the shuttle reached the building, large hooks latched into rings on the top and lifted it up. An array of cables carried the shuttle up the side of the building, making it an external elevator.
She was so busy marveling at the shuttle she almost ran into the back of a two-person steam buggy that puttered at the side of the road. The driver shouted curses and squeezed the bulb of his horn—until she glared at him. He paled and seemed to shrink into his skin. Jack rode alongside her, also firing a look at the man as they passed.
Compared to turning back the Man O’ War and his crew, this was nothing. Maybe that was why Jack’s gesture stood out like a glittering ruby in the ashes of a long-dead fire. There was no choice but to battle against the rogue and the armed men. This buggy driver was nothing, and Jack still had her back. To take her on meant fighting him, too.
A shadow passed over the sun and she put her hand on the heel of her pistol. Jack also readied himself, staring into the sky. Instead of a rogue Man O’ War ship, they saw a large dirigible passing over the city. The main body looked almost like two dolphins swimming side by side. Ether and nitrogen kept the long steel gondola below aloft.
Jack released his grip on the pistol to steer around another rolling building shuttle. He nodded toward the dirigible. “Long haul runner. Maybe to Asia. Sky Trains won’t cover that distance.”
“Neither will I,” she replied. “Trapped in a box over the ocean holds no appeal.”
“It all depends on the company, sweetheart.” Now that they’d kissed, his wolfish smile sent even more heat through her limbs. A lot of potential in that man.
“A thousand dollars will buy me a fine traveling companion.”
He tipped his head back with a laugh. “It just might.”
They progressed into the heart of the city. A high sun in a clear sky drew hard shadows across the bright road and buildings. Finding and tracking a man in the wilderness was as simple as spotting an overturned rock, or smelling a broken tree branch to find out how fresh it was. There seemed a million places to hide in the city, with no logic to how to track someone.
She tried to keep the city’s chaos from compounding her frustration. “I’m not seeing any tracks in the city; you got a plan as to how to find him?”
“They don’t do footprints out here. We need a building.”
Jack pulled his cycle up to ride parallel with one of the steam tugs on the road. A weathered man with a dirty bandanna tied around his head steered and constantly adjusted the levers and knobs in the cab.
Pushing his hat back with his thumb, Jack called genially up to the driver. “Say, buddy, you help a guy out?”
The driver stole quick glances down at Jack, too intent on keeping his tug operating to stare too long. “What’s it you need?”
“Looking for a man: Franklin Song. His residence would be mighty helpful.”
“Song?” The driver considered for a second. “Northern tip of the city. On the outskirts, near City Cemetery. Can’t miss it. Big brick building with a loading dock and all kinds of contraptions on the roof.”
“Obliged, friend.” Jack held up a shining silver coin.
The driver waved it away. “Keep it, pal. They pay me fine for driving this slow beast. Just show me what that cycle can do.”
Jack smiled and tugged his hat back down. After a brief wave, he gripped his handlebars and let the engine loose. Squealing, the rear tire smoked until it dug into the road. He blasted forward.
Anna cranked her own throttle, chasing after him. Behind, the tug driver blew his steam whistle in appreciation. Nimble on his lean cycle, Jack wove through the bustle and traffic. Her trike was fleet, but didn’t cut as hard, so she kept her speed down to prevent wrecks.
Before the distance between them grew too great, he glanced back and slowed so she could catch up. He pointed north and they cut off Market Street and around Telegraph Hill. The city might be a mystery to her, but as long as the sun was shining, the directions of the compass were as natural as breathing.
Up and down paved hills, they rolled further north. The buildings finally thinned, giving way to patches of green, as if nature wasn’t willing to completely give up the land. Industrial buildings dotted the area. Here they found an Iron Coach builder, and a foundry to supply huge iron parts for the latest innovations. Finally, not far from a sprawling cemetery, Song’s brick building emerged.
It had to be his; on top was a ten-foot brass and glass sphere that glowed prismatically in the sunlight. What it did, she had no idea. The long iron pole with copper fittings and
the canvas and vulcanized rubber bladder that filled and sighed like a giant lung similarly baffled her.
Jack stood up in his seat to inspect the approaching building. “Anyone knows addresses, it’s a man who drives for a living.”
Besides the rumbling of their engines, this street was thankfully quiet. Probably why Song had his lab here. Either that, or no one wanted to build too close, for fear of one of his inventions going out of control.
She slowed her trike and killed the motor, about twenty yards away. Jack did the same and they came to a stop on the gravel road. The birdsongs were welcome after the din of the city. There were a few trees and patches of grass, but still not enough nature for her.
They dismounted and approached the building cautiously. The sun was bright enough to work with her prismatic sight, so she pulled her tinted spectacles on. The red of the brick building was more vivid. Green weeds were like emeralds. No sense of panicking anyone with her pistol out, but it could be ready in a flash.
Jack, too, was poised. She sensed it more than saw it. To anyone else, he’d look like not a care in the world weighed down his broad shoulders. But she understood the crook of his elbow, the flex of his hand ready to draw his weapon.
The area wasn’t completely built up, but it was still the city, and she was out of her element. That didn’t mean she was helpless to stalk her prey, however.
She spoke, low. “He’s not here.”
“I’m getting the same feeling.”
A house, even a brick one as big as this, had a way of settling down when a person hadn’t been there in a while. Doors sagged heavier on their hinges. Windows took on a film of dust as the still air laid against them.
Two heavy steel doors secured the front entrance. No slot for mail, nor any door handle. She looked up and down the ten-foot-high doors. Anything—a fleck of paint, a speck of mud—could tell her when Song had last been there.
She reached to put her fingers on the door. Jack immediately took up a position at her side, covering the area behind her.
The metal was cool. Knocking her knuckles against it barely rang.
“Must be three inches thick,” she said.
He whistled. “If I had a thousand dollar bounty on my head …”
She finished for him. “I wouldn’t be at home.”
“And we ain’t getting in.” He pointed to several devices above the tall doors. Glass vials were suspended in metal cages, with spring-loaded spikes cocked at the ready. Greenish yellow liquid glowed inside the vials. “Acid. Bet we try anything funny, that glass breaks and sprays it right on the center door seam, welding it shut.”
“Or the shotguns will get us.” Looking like wasp nests in the corners of the entryway, four shotgun barrels pointed directly at anyone standing in front of the doors.
Jack slid a finger into the back of her pistol belt. The touch inspired a spark of electricity from the base of her spine all the way up her back. But he wasn’t being forward. Tugging lightly, he got her to step away from the doors.
He removed his finger, but kept his hand on the small of her back. “Bet that grate is electrified.”
A metal grid was set into the ground in front of the door. Soldered to the very edges were copper wires that disappeared into underground runs.
“So if Song doesn’t like his caller, they get a jolt?” She didn’t move from Jack’s touch. “I’ve seen plenty of snares. Sig Anderson had sharpened sticks that whipped out of the bushes and falling rocks ready for me at his homestead.”
Jack looked suitably impressed. “That was you who finally locked down Anderson?”
“His traps might’ve snared a squirrel.”
“But not a mountain cat like you.”
His touch started to inspire a little too much need for more and she stepped away. As she turned, his hand slid along her hip and waist. A small sigh caught in her throat.
She coughed and moved further from him. Boots crunching in the gravel, she surveyed the building. He stayed close to her, sharp eyes taking everything in. A large loading ramp and tall steel doors took up one half of the backside of the building.
“Same security.” Using his mechanical finger, he pointed at larger glass vials over the metal doors. Shotgun barrels were seated in the corners of the entryway. And another metal grate waited to send lightning into anyone Song chose. “I don’t even want to know what’s waiting for us in those.” Higher above the doors, just at the edge of the roof, were two brass canisters. Several wires and hoses linked into their tops. Hinged stoppers were ready to deploy whatever was inside onto anyone standing at the doors.
“I didn’t catch Anderson at home either,” she noted. “A man’s got to eat, and when he was stalking a buck, I was stalking him.”
Turning from Song’s building, Jack moved his searching eyes over the rest of the area. “Heard Anderson was brought in with a bullet hole in his leg.”
“Mine.” The other buildings were a few hundred yards away, separated by weedy lots. “He sassed some comments about where my place was as a woman. Would’ve shot him in the mouth, but I didn’t want to cut my profits.”
Chuckling, Jack headed off toward a cluster of low buildings and barns.
“Where’re you going?”
“You said it yourself, man’s got to eat.”
He continued to walk and she caught up quickly. “Go find yourself a banquet,” she snapped. “I’m finding Song and that thousand dollars.”
Without losing stride, he spun and walked backward, a sly smirk on his face. “Oh, but I’m not thinking about my belly. I’m thinking about Song’s.” Turning his back to her, he kept walking. She couldn’t help but be swept along. “He’s a bachelor. Everyone knows that about him. Fella like that ain’t cooking his own dinner.”
“Got enough money for a full staff.”
“But not enough trust. You think a man with shotgun barrels poking out of his door frames would have a cook working while he was asleep?”
Damn good point. “You ever cook your own dinner?”
“Over a campfire.” He flicked a look back to her. A smile was on his mouth, but his eyes shadowed. “Never around long enough in a proper home for the stove to heat up.”
She understood. “Learning to shoot pushed whatever the orphanage taught me about kitchen arts out of my memory. Couldn’t roll out a pie dough to save my life.”
“But you can drop a man at four hundred yards.” He slowed, nearing the buildings.
Window glass had been cleaned since the last rain. A horse had kicked stones out of the path. This area didn’t seem as lifeless. Someone had been through recently. “These could be his buildings. Same bricks.”
“Underground tunnels?”
“They’d have to be deep. Didn’t feel anything underfoot.”
“The front doors are locked.”
Even the barns were bolted and padlocked. “No tracks in or out.”
He answered curtly. “I already looked for that.”
But she knew plenty about bounty hunting, too. “You check the side door on that spread?”
His annoyance seemed to escalate. “Those stacked tree trimmings block it. They’ve been rained on, haven’t moved for months.”
No sense in grinding stone against stone. They’d both be worn to dust. “Left’s your strong hand?”
There was that sly smile again. “I’m mighty good with both hands.”
But there wasn’t time to test exactly what he meant. “Then you cover the left side of the street. I’ll take the right. Let me know what you find.”
“Likewise.” He nodded.
They moved down the center of the dirt and gravel street. A moving wall, they walked abreast, matching each other’s steps. It felt unnatural to only check the buildings on the right. She stole a glance to the left and caught Jack glaring at her.
He growled through the small smile. “This was your idea.”
“Ain’t easy, though.”
“Hell, no, it ain’t.�
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Both turned back to their sides of the street and continued walking. The barns and buildings were mostly storage. No one had been there in some time. Rust covered a hinge. Vines crept, unharmed, up the side of a window. The left side of the street was a mystery. But she trusted that if anyone could spot anything out of the ordinary, it was Jack Hawkins.
The first time she lifted off the ground on her engine-trike, it seemed that sensation could never be topped. Nothing new left in the world. That was before she’d spoken a word to Jack, shared whiskey with him. Kissed him.
And now it seemed she trusted him, too.
“Nothing worth a penny on this side.” Now that she’d heard it, his voice seemed to find its way into her veins to push her blood faster.
“Not here, either.” Patience when stalking was necessary, but this wasn’t as simple as tracking a fugitive through rough territory. “I don’t even know what to look for anymore.”
“Stop using your eyes.” He paused in the street, tilting his head up. “Use your nose.”
Her stomach rumbled before she’d even identified the scent. Someone was cooking. Meat. Onions. Rich and thick aromas of spices and oil.
Jack moved with purpose, tracking the aroma. “That ain’t no chophouse.”
“I’ve never smelled anything like it.”
They hurried down the street and cut through the tall weeds between two barns. On the other side was a short alley, then another network of roads. A small neighborhood of wooden apartment houses and shops spread out. The sounds of life came from a tinkerer’s shop, a bakery, a market with baskets of produce lining the sidewalk. Mostly Chinese, the people moved about their lives, unaware that two bounty hunters stalked in their midst.
As Anna and Jack walked further into the neighborhood, the people quickly became very aware of them. Cautious, the residents kept wary eyes on them. A mother prevented her little boy from running down the street toward them. A shopkeeper held his broom as if he could use it to disarm a foe. From the look on his face and his balanced stance, Anna believed he could do just that.
