How the West Was Weird, Vol. 2
Page 34
Corbeau listened without complaint. You took a man’s money, you were obligated to accept a certain amount of his bovine offal. “What you want me to do, boss?”
“What I should’a done in the first place. You go on ‘round to that whore’s cantina and you kill me that Sebastian Red. I’m gonna see what’s goin’ on with this bunch.”
Corbeau frowned. “I done told you Red ain’t got nothing to do with this.”
“You sidin’ against me, Corbeau?” Buckley’s flinty eyes narrowed dangerously. “You know full well I can do my own killin’ when I gots to.”
Corbeau had no doubt of that. Four months ago he’d seen Buckley take down Little Max McCoy, Nails Debee, and Harriet O’Hara with three headshots in three seconds.
Corbeau sighed and turned to the men who lounged around the huge common room. He gestured at three of them.
Buckley glared at him. “Just three? That’s all?”
“You’re gonna need the rest against Missus Pertwee. Especially if those hombres just rode in are for her.”
“I don’t follow you.”
Corbeau nodded at the three men he’d selected. “Red’s gonna kill them three, I throw them up against him.”
“Ain’t you gonna help?”
“Red gimme his word and I b’lieve him. Now you wanna throw away lives and guns you’re gonna need against a real enemy, that’s your prerogative. You’re the boss. But damn if’n I’m gonna throw away mine.”
Stomp Simpson stepped forward. “I know Red, Mr. Buckley. We rode together some. He says he ain’t for Missus Pertwee, he ain’t.”
Buckley looked from Stomp to Corbeau back and forth for maybe seven, eight ticks of time. “All right! But I want to know who those men are and what they’re doin’ here! And mind me well! It turns out Red is workin’ for that bitch I’m killin’ the both of you!”
Agnes Pertwee waved a hand at Doone. She stood on the second floor balcony of the house she’d commandeered as her base of operations. Doone joined her, wiping his mouth clean of chicken grease. “Yes’m?”
She pointed with an opera gloved arm at the six riders and their dark wagon. “What do you make of that?”
Doone examined the riders and the wagon closely. “Buckley hired more men?”
“No! You really think so?”
“Yes’m. I really do.”
Missus Pertwee sighed. She kept forgetting that sarcasm was lost on Doone. “See, this is what happens when you don’t do your job. If you had done what I told you with that Sebastian Red, that old bastard wouldn’t have felt bold enough to hire more men.”
“I done my best, ma’am. He don’t fight like a man. He pulled a goddamn sword on me! What kinda man fights with a goddamn sword ‘stead of a gun?”
“A man of skill and precision who does not kill indiscri-minately or wastefully. He kills when it is necessary and will serve a purpose or achieve a goal.”
“If’n you say so, missus.” Far as Doone was concerned, killing was killing. Didn’t much matter why it was done.
Missus Pertwee leaned on the railing. A solidly built woman six feet tall in stocking feet, her elegant handmade high-heeled shoes added another three inches to her already formidable height. She dressed like a grand lady from the Old Country in an elegant purple dress of rich fabrics. Her gloves went all the way up to her biceps. The graying mass of golden hair piled on top of her head hung all the way to her buttocks when she let it down at night. A formidable woman was Missus Agnes Pertwee, in body as well as spirit. It was well known she kept hidden on her person three derringers and three knives at all times. And she was strong enough to break a man’s neck with her bare hands. It was rumored that any man she took to her bed she killed the morning after so that he could not take tales of what he had done with and to her back to his fellows.
“I want to know who those men are and why they are here. Take some of the boys and go on over to the hotel. Looks like they’re going to secure lodging there.”
“Yes’m.”
“Doone.”
“Yes’m?”
“This time, do what I tell you to do or I’ll kill you. We clear on this?”
“Yes’m.”
“On your way, then.”
Sebastian Red rolled out of the bed, his right hand going out to draw his huge black gun from the holster. He ended up in a crouch, the gun pointed at the door of Elora’s bed-room, cocked and ready. It was the sound of gunfire that his subconscious had heard and caused him to react even though he had been sound asleep.
He stood up and walked over to the window. The gunfire was coming from the hotel. Shotguns, handguns and Winchesters being fired. He heard men cursing, yelling, calling on their various gods for help.
Elora, naked as he was, came from the bed to stand next to him. “What is going on over there?”
“I dunno. You’d best get dressed.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Me? Get dressed and go sit out in front with my gun and my sword.”
“Aren’t you going to go see what happened?”
Sebastian shook his head, the coins softly clinking. “Ain’t none’a my business. Yourn neither.” He kissed her gently. “But whatever it is, they ain’t bringin’ it here. Now get yourself dressed. And you can fix me that supper now.”
Elora grinned. “More like dinnertime, I’d say.” She tweaked his nipple.
Sebastian Red slapped her ample behind. “Go do your duty, woman.”
Elora grinned even wider and went to recover her clothing. Sebastian turned to look back at what had to be one hell of a gunfight in that hotel. He had kept his tone light and bantering with Elora, but that was to cover up the concern he felt. Night was coming on and he preferred not to have to traverse the mountains at night. He’d tell Elora they were leaving in the morning. This town was about to turn into a slaughterhouse and if he stayed here much longer he’d have to do his share of the slaughtering.
Sebastian Red scooped up the last of the beans and fried pork in the wooden spoon and shoveled them into his mouth. He watched as Old Joe Buckley and Missus Pertwee came across the street to where he sat. He didn’t take his eyes off of them as they drew closer. He said nothing until Buckley put a muddy boot on the porch.
“That’s far enough, Mr. Buckley.”
The old man frowned. “You wanna watch your mouth around me, boy.”
“’Cause I was taught to respect my elders I’m gonna overlook that this one time. But next time you call me anythin’ else ‘cept ‘Sebastian’ or ‘Mr. Red’, I’ll kill you dead as yesterday’s fried chicken.” Sebastian used a thick slice of bread to sop up pork grease and popped it into his mouth, chewing vigorously while Buckley stood there, trembling with volcanic rage. It had been a long time since any man, white or black had spoken to him in such a manner. And if it hadn’t been for Missus Pertwee’s calming hand on his shoulder, he very well would have drawn his piece.
“Mr. Red, Joe and I aren’t here for anything else but to ask you for your help.”
Sebastian Red put the metal plate down on the porch, wiped his hands on his thighs to clean them. “My help for what? You got good guns workin’ for you.” Here Sebastian Red looked at the still boiling mad Buckley. “I know Stomp Simpson is good an’ he speaks well a’your man Corbeau.” Now he looked at Missus Pertwee. “But if Doone is th’ best you got or can afford, you need to make your peace with this here man.”
“They’re dead,” Missus Pertwee said.
“Dead? Them hombres with the wagon done for them?”
Buckley spoke, his voice raw with suspicion. “How you know that?”
“I heard the shootin’ earlier. I heard the shotguns. I never seen the type of shotgun them riders toted but shotguns is shotguns. Stomp is dead?”
“Stomp. Corbeau. Blindeye Burns. Sam Marr. Saul the Rope. Nate Crenshaw. Funny Ned Breena. And three more besides,” Missus Pertwee replied. “Ten of the best guns money can buy cut down in as many minutes.”
Buckley snarled; “I thought they were hired by this here bitch!”
“It’s not my fault! I thought they were your bunch!”
“Don’t much matter now, does it? You done got them pissed off at you and got the best guns you both got kilt in the bargain.” Sebastian’s disgust grew. He hated to see good men wasted. “So what you want with me?”
“We want to hire you to go talk to those gentlemen,” Missus Pertwee said. “Make it known to them the error on our part and assure them we plan no retaliation.”
“Meaning that you’re scared shitless they’re still mad and may decide to finish things up. Maybe they should. You got Stomp killed and he and I rode some together. Me an’ Corbeau weren’t friends but we coulda been. I don’t see no reason why I should put my ass out there for you two.”
Missus Pertwee held up a gloved hand. “Let me show you something. I’m not going for a gun, I swear.” She reached down into her considerable cleavage and withdrew a leather sack the size of a man’s fist. She threw it on the porch at Sebastian Red’s feet. From the sound it made, he knew it was full of gold.
“This old bastard will match it with one of his if you’ll make our peace with those men. That’s all.”
Sebastian looked at the sack of gold. He could hear Elora’s breathing behind him. That much gold would go a long way toward ensuring she’d have a comfortable time of it when he abandoned her in Hayes City. Sebastian Red didn’t keep most of the money he made from his work. Most of it he buried in secret caches. Then, twice a year he would dig it all up and take it to his wife and two daughters in Carrincha. He kept enough for his care and that of Ra’s.
Right now he only had some silver on him. He had planned on giving that to Elora. But gold… a woman with gold in Hayes City had more options open to her.
And he owed it to her. Yes. Yes.
“Okay. I’ll take the job.” He pointed at Buckley. “But I want his money up front, right here at my feet just like yourn. And when it’s done I don’t wanna see or hear from the two of you for the rest of my stay in this town.”
Sebastian Red cautiously pushed open the batwing doors of the hotel. The lobby was empty of any signs of life. But the bodies of the dead were still there.
The lobby looked as if lunatics had gone berserk in there. The walls and even the ceiling were splashed with blood. The curtains, once white, were now crimson. The hardwood floor was nothing but a sea of blood, chunks of flesh, and internal organs.
Sebastian stepped over bodies. He couldn’t tell which one was Stomp or Corbeau because most of the bodies had no faces. He reached the staircase and yelled upstairs: “My name’s Sebastian Red! I ain’t here for no hostilities! I’m armed but you got my word I ain’t gonna draw my weapon unless I’m fired on! I’m askin’ to come up to extend apologies on behalf of the folks what sent these men you kilt!”
A full minute passed. Sebastian heard a door upstairs open and close. The he heard the quiet jangle of spurs, the creak of wood from the weight of booted feet.
And then a man stood there at the top of the stairs, looking at Sebastian Red with fanatical eyes that burned under the wide-brimmed hat. His dark almond and gray robes lent him a puritanical air. And that big, long barreled shotgun held in one deceptively slim hand. The double barrels pointed toward the floor. The man spoke in a remarkably gentle, even musical, cultured voice.
“Your name is not unknown to me, Sebastian Red. My brothers and I have been to your land of Carrincha. A warm and golden land of prosperity and honorable people.”
Sebastian Red made the Sign of Respectful Greeting that had been used by the Lords of Burning Iron. “You have my thanks and respect, sir. May I know your name and that of your brothers?”
“I am Amerue Williams of the Clan Nischeli.”
“I’ve heard of your order. You hire out to transport Obayifu to the Cloister of Bronze.”
“That is so.”
“You have one in the wagon?”
“The oldest one my brothers and I have ever transported. He is Phoratho. Nine days and nine nights we hunted him. And once we caught him it took us another three days to bind him in a box of brass and blackness, with wards and sigils to keep him in there.”
Sebastian Red nodded. “These men you killed. They were the hired guns of a stupid woman and even stupider man who each thought that the other one had hired you. They have a blood feud between them.”
“These men did not explain. If they had, my brothers and I would not have killed them. We regret our actions. We but defended ourselves.”
Shoot, if this is what you call ‘defendin’’ yourself then I don’t wanna see what happens when you put your minds to some serious killin’.
“The man an’ woman don’t want no further trouble with you and yours.”
“And we want no trouble with them. We wish to sup and rest in peace. We will be gone in the morning.”
“Peace be unto you and your brothers, then. I will take your words back to the man and woman and bother you no more.”
“Peace be unto you as well, Sebastian Red.”
“And that’s it?” Old Joe Buckley raged. “They said ‘okay’ and that’s it? I’m supposed to believe they won’t come lookin’ to kill me?” Buckley stepped away from the huge picture window. He had been glaring at the hotel where the massacre had taken place. The common room of the City Hall, filled with who was left of both Missus Pertwee’s men as well as Buckley’s had been silent while Sebastian Red gave the details of his talk with Williams.
Sebastian ignored him and spoke directly to Missus Pertwee. “You want to take them at their word, ma’am. Leave them be.”
“Why are they here?” Missus Pertwee asked.
“You didn’t hire me to find that out, ma’am. An’ it ain’t none a’your business noway.”
“So you know why they’re here. Why won’t you tell us?”
Sebastian Red shook his head. “Y’know, I’ve about had more than enough a’the both of you. You get everybody else around you kilt up and then you look for more. Why don’t the both of you settle it between the two of you right here, right now?”
Missus Pertwee smiled as sweetly as a baby on Sunday morning as she replied. “Why don’t you get the hell out and mind your business. You’ve done your job like a good dog so you have my permission to go on back to your bitch now.”
Sebastian Red’s hand dropped to the butt of his Leone Nightmaster with terrible swift speed. The cocking of a dozen guns held him from drawing that fearsome weapon and killing both Missus Pertwee and Old Joe Buckley.
He slowly backed toward the door. Saying nothing but keeping his eyes right on Buckley as he’d get the first bullet. He knew for a fact that he could get Missus Pertwee with the second even as he was going down under a hail of gunfire. And then he was out the door and gone.
Missus Pertwee turned to Buckley. “We should have killed him!”
“A man like Sebastian Red don’t die easy, woman. Didn’t you look in his eyes? He’d have gotten the two of us with no problem. We have time to take care of Sebastian Red. Right now we got bigger fish to fry.”
“Agreed. He’s done his job and put those men at ease. We shouldn’t have any problem ambushing them and killing them. And I think there’s something they have in that wagon Sebastian Red doesn’t want us to know about. Could be he’s made a deal with them. In any case, we should know what that thing is.”
“Damn straight. And when we’ve finished with them, Red is mine. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a nigger who thinks he’s as good as a white man.”
“So we’re together on this? A truce until we kill those men, kill Sebastian Red and get what’s in that wagon?” Missus Pertwee held out a purple gloved hand. “Fifty-fifty split.”
; Old Joe Buckley took her hand and shook up. “Equal shares and then the feud’s back on. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
When Sebastian Red stepped into the cantina, Elora barely looked up to acknowledge his entrance. She smoked her pipe, the pungent smoke filling the common room.
“You’re back,” she said. “I woulda thought for sure they would have killed you as soon as you ran their errand.”
“The thought crossed their mind.” Sebastian walked over to the table and dropped a bag of gold on the table.
“What’s that?”
“That’s your share.”
“I didn’t ask for it. You took the risk, not me.”
“Don’t act proud, woman. Take the money.”
“You think I don’t know why you took the job? Why you’re giving me the gold? I’m not a little girl, Sebastian. I didn’t think we were going to be hooked up for life. Don’t feel you have to ease your conscience.”
“All I’m doin’ is what I think I should be doin’. Nothin’ less, nothin’ more. Hayes City is expensive. You’re gonna need somethin’ to live on. That’s it right there. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You see things very simply, don’t you? This is this. That is that. Water is wet.”
“Most things in life are simple, Elora. Folks like to make ‘em complicated. I’m done with complications in my life. That’s why I live the way I do now.”
Elora took the pipe from her mouth and placed it on the table. “Those men—”
“The one I spoke to wasn’t such a bad fella. Wish he didn’t have to kill Stomp or Corbeau, but it weren’t his fault.”
“We leaving tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’ve had my fill of this town. You get whatever goods you want to take and all the food. I’ll build a sled Ra can pull. We’ll load everything on that.”