Moonshine & Magic: A Beauregard the Monster Hunter Collection

by John G. Hartness

  “Don’t you think you should ask that bone’s owner if he wants it to be made into a sword?” A new voice came from behind them, and they turned to see a man in leathers standing in the doorway. He was dark-skinned, with long dark hair braided over his shoulders. He wore a six-gun on one hip and a long knife on the other. He was a young man, barely thirty, but his eyes hinted at long years and wisdom in the ways of fighting.

  “You snuck up on us, partner.” Bubba said, his voice low and serious. He stepped in front of Tavvy and put a hand on his own six-gun.

  “The door was open. I apologize if I startled you.” The man replied.

  “You speak pretty good for an Indian.” Bubba said.

  “Thank you. I studied in your schools after white men moved into our land and ran most of my family off. But that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here for that.” He pointed to the thighbone in Tavvy’s hand. “I heard there were relics of my people being used as weapons in Atlanta, and I am here to put a stop to it.”

  “That’s what we’re doing, friend. We’re gonna make a sword to kick that dude Kitner’s ass.” Bubba said with a grin.

  “You are making a weapon to destroy a weapon. That always works.” Bubba’s grin fell with the Indian’s words. “Stupid white men. Give me my people’s totem and let me leave you. I believe there were three here.” He held out his hand.

  “I’m sorry, Mr.—“ Preacher Mason said.

  “Smith. Jacob Smith.” The man stepped in and held out his hand.

  The preacher shook his hand. “I’m Reverend Charles Mason, and I was given the task of keeping these relics safe.”

  “They will be no safer than with their rightful owners. I am the last medicine man of the Creek in this area, so they should be in my care. There were four items holy to our people — the foreleg of a black bear, which allows us union with the earth and brings us prosperous crops. There was the skull of an otter, which brings us closer to the water and helps us to fish. I hold the jawbone of a mountain lion, which howls with the spirit of the air and calls down lightning, and that is the thighbone of a wolf, which channels the spirit of fire and purifies the bearer against harm.”

  “I’m sure that what you say is true, Mr. Smith —“

  “How come you’re called Jacob Smith and not Running Bear or something?” Bubba asked. Tavvy took a moment to kick him, but Jacob smiled indulgently, as one would with a small child.

  “When I was taken from my people, I was but an infant. I had not yet been given a name, so the white family that adopted me gave me their name. They named me Jacob, after the man who became my father.”

  “They adopted you?” Preacher Mason said. His eyebrows were high on his forehead in surprise.

  “Yes.” The Indian said. “When my people were forced to leave their land, the medicine man of my tribe told my parents that I had greater work to do here, so they wrapped me in blankets with the bones of the spirits and left me on the Smith’s doorstep. They did not know what to do with the bones, so they gave them to the church, afraid they were some kind of evil magic. They only kept the jawbone because I was teething, and it soothed me to gnaw on it.”

  “That’s a little nasty, Mr. Smith. Letting a baby chew on a mountain lion’s jawbone. No offense meant, of course.” Bubba blurted. Tavvy took the opportunity to kick him again.

  Jacob laughed. “Yes, large white man, it is not the cleanest thing in the world, but if it is a choice between a screaming baby and a baby with a nasty bone in its mouth . . .”

  Bubba laughed and reached over to clap the man on the shoulder. “Yep, I’m gonna let that little anklebiter chew on anything it wants to!”

  Jacob’s face turned somber. “But now this man Kitner has stolen the relics of my people. It was bad enough that the white church had them, but at least they had sense to keep them locked away where they could not be used for evil purposes. Kitner has no such restraint. I am afraid that if we do not stop him soon, he will do something very bad.”

  “Yeah, like murder the owners of the Southern Atlantic Railroad.” Tavvy said. “I remember him saying something about that before he . . . “

  “Beat our asses, little sister?” Bubba asked.

  “I would never have used such coarse language, but yes, my imbecile brother is correct.” Tavvy replied.

  “Well, what’s the plan, Tavvy?” Bubba asked. “We don’t know where he went, we got nothing but half a sword to fight him with, and a grumpy Indian that wants his bone back.”

  Gerry chimed in from the forge, where he had been hammering the metal as they talked. “Well, if he’s after the railroad men, then he’ll be at the Fox Theatre tonight. They’re showing one of them newfangled moving pictures about the railroad pushing west across to the other side of the country, and all the Southern Atlantic bigwigs are supposed to be there.”

  “Well, that solves that bit. Now we just need to convince Jacob here to let us make his magic thighbone into a sword, and go whoop Kitner’s ass. Y’all handle the talking. Come get me when we get to the ass-whoopin’. It’s hotter than a two-bit whore in here.” Bubba made for the door, wringing sweat droplets from his beard as he went.

  “Wait, Bubba. I would like to speak with you.” Jacob said, holding up a hand.

  “How.” Bubba said, holding up his hand in response. Jacob didn’t smile. “Nobody ever laughs at my jokes. Can we speak outside? I mighta mentioned it’s hot in here.”

  The two men stepped out onto the sidewalk. Night had fallen since they entered the smithy, and the gaffer was walking down Peachtree Alley lighting the gas lights. “This bothers me, Bubba.” Jacob said, his eyes tracking the man as he went from lamp to lamp with his long pole, igniting the gas within and carefully replacing the glass globes.

  “It ain’t no big deal, Jacob. People been using gaffers for a long time now, and I bet the ones in a big city like Atlanta are pretty good. I bet he don’t even burn his hat at all most nights.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I have had visions of this. Visions of you, and of this sword. I believe I must let you take my people’s totem, but I also believe this gift will be no blessing to you.”

  “I don’t understand. I think you said you’re gonna let us make the sword, but I didn’t really catch that last part. Tavvy’s the smart one, Jacob. I usually just beat folks up when they do wrong by other people.”

  “I think this sword will bring pain to you and to your family for many years. But I feel that you must have it.”

  Bubba looked down at the man and studied him for a moment. His dark brow was knit, and his deep brown eyes looked up at Bubba with concern. Bubba took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Let me tell you something, Jacob. We all gotta do some things in this life that we don’t much like, on account of it’s the right thing to do. Last time me and Tavvy got messed up in something with this much magic in it, I ended up burning a man alive so his dead daughter could find some peace. I didn’t want to hurt nobody, but he was doing wrong by the souls of them dead children, and I couldn’t let that stand. Now I don’t know if this Kitner feller’s really evil, or if he just got smacked in the head by one of them star rocks. I don’t know. But he’s gonna go hurt a bunch of people in that movie house, and I bet some of ‘em ain’t never done nothing to nobody. And I think I can stop him. At least, with your magic bone, and this sword made out of star rocks, and Preacher Mason and Tavvy, I think we can. So that’s what we’ve got to do. We got to help them that can’t help themselves. And if that means I take up this sword that might hurt me later, well, I reckon that’s worth it.”

  “You don’t sound like such a dumb hick all the time, do you?”

  “Don’t tell Tavvy. I like to let her feel good about herself. So do I get to make a sword out of your lion bone?” Bubba held out a hand.

  Jacob looked up at the big man. “I think you may regret this in time, but yes, Bubba. You may have the relic of my tribe to bring your Kitner to justice.” Jacob handed Bubba the bone and the two men
went back inside.

  Jacob walked across the room and handed the wolf’s thighbone to Gerry. “This is a holy relic of my people. Please treat it with respect.”

  “That I’ll do, friend.” The small man said. He looked up at the rest of them. “Get out. Go out front and arm yourselves. I’ll have this ready in about an hour, then we’ll need to hotfoot it over to the Fox before your friend kills all the people that he’s decided need killin’.”

  Bubba, Tavvy and Preacher Mason did as they were told, gathering weapons from the front room of the smithy. Mason picked up a matched pair of .45 revolvers, while Tavvy’s attention went straight to a short-barreled .30-.30 repeater. Bubba just picked a chair and sat down. He pulled out his pocketknife and began to clean the dirt out from under his fingernails.

  “Bubba?” Tavvy asked. “Aren’t you going to pick out a gun?”

  “No, sis. I reckon if I’m supposed to take a knife to this fight, there ain’t no point in gun shopping.” He went back to his grooming while the Preacher and Tavvy finished arming themselves. Gerry was generous in his estimate, as it was barely more than half an hour later that he walked out behind Jacob holding a cloth-wrapped bundle.

  The two men stopped in front of Bubba. “Here you go, son. Use it well.” Gerry said, holding out the bundle. Bubba unwrapped the sword, and drew in a hiss of breath at the sight before him. The thighbone was carved almost completely straight, with just one notch for the thumb. It was polished to a high sheen until it looked like ivory, with a gleaming silver-blue blade stretching three feet out of the hilt. Bubba stood and tested the balance of the blade. It felt perfect in his hand, like an extension of his arm. He flexed a wrist, and the blade whooshed through the air. As it stopped, an almost musical ringing tone came from the blade, like a finger on the rim of a crystal glass.

  “It’s right pretty, Ger. I reckon you outdone yourself. Jacob, I’ll take care of it best I can, but right now we got a bad guy to stop. Let’s move.” Bubba motioned for the door, and Gerry led them out into the street.

  “We’ll do just as fast to hoof it, since most of the bigwigs will be in them newfangled limousines, and the street ain’t yet built for them kinda contrivances. It ain’t but a couple blocks thataway.” As Gerry pointed, a huge explosion rocked the night, coming from the direction he indicated.

  “I reckon we might better run, Ger.” Bubba said, breaking into a sprint. Three blocks later, they came upon a scene of chaos. People from all walks of life ran terrified in the street, while mangled pieces of metal that used to be cars and limousines littered the area in front of the Fox Theatre. Men and women in their finest clothes milled around in confusion, some with blood pouring down their faces and others covered in soot and dirt.

  “I’ll stay here. I can help these people.” Tavvy said.

  “Preacher, you and Gerry stay, too. I’ll take care of Kitner.” Bubba said.

  “I’m going with you.” Jacob said. “He’s using the magic of my people. I cannot allow that to continue.”

  “All right then, Jacob. Come on.” Bubba turned and dashed up the steps of the theatre, moving fast for a huge man. He got to the entrance and lowered a shoulder. The wooden door splintered inward, knocking aside a dozen people scrambling to get out. They ran through the ornate lobby, ignoring the screaming men and women tripping over each other and their own fancy clothes trying to make their way to the exits. They fought their way upstream against and unyielding tide of humanity and finally shoved their way into the theatre, where they saw Kitner on the stage.

  Kitner had dressed for the occasion in a tailcoat and tophat, with one sleeve shredded to reveal his mechanical arm. The piston-driven fist at the end of his arm was wrapped around the throat of a fat man in an overburdened tuxedo, while his normal fist pounded again and again into the man’s face. Kitner laughed louder and louder with every blow until his mad cackling drowned out even the screams of the panicked theatregoers struggling at the exits.

  “Kitner!” Bubba yelled from the aisle in front of the stage. “Quit punching that old walrus-looking fat man and come down here. I got a score to settle with you.”

  “And I got a score to settle with Mr. Lewis here. He’s the man that fired me from my railroad job. Fired a bunch of us top men, just so he could hire cheaper young’uns to work our jobs!”

  “I heard you got fired ‘cause you was batshit crazy and put a bear’s arm in your shoulder socket. Way I heard it, didn’t have nothin’ to do with your pay, had everything to do with you being nuts!” Kitner snarled and dropped the fat man. He collapsed to the stage with a wet thwap, like a three hundred pound ham, only with a handlebar mustache. Kitner leapt from the stage to the aisle in front of Bubba, mechanical arm raised to smash.

  Only there was nobody there to smash. Bubba ducked as Kitner jumped, and by the time the other man landed, Bubba was six feet away. Kitner lowered his head and bull-rushed, but Bubba stepped aside and swatted the enraged railroad man on the seat of this pants with the flat of his sword. Kitner stood up straight, whirled around and lashed out with his magical arm. Bubba batted the punch aside with his sword and twisted his wrist to leave a faint red line of blood dripping from a cut on Kitner’s cheek.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Kitner. I think you might be touched in the head, and my mama always told me to be nice to them that’s soft in the noggin like that.” Bubba said.

  “Well I want to hurt you very much, you fat hillbilly! This is twice you have interrupted me, and it shall not happen again! Look around, you fool! Look at them! They sit here in their frippery and finery, laughing at their moving picture, never thinking for a moment about the blood and sweat of the men that broke themselves to build their stupid iron horses! They know nothing of the sacrifices we made, nothing of the years of work we poured into their company! They just know that a train ran off the tracks, and Kitner was at the lever, so Kitner must be to blame!” Kitner reached down with his arm and ripped out three seats, still bolted together, and hurled them at Bubba.

  Bubba dove for the floor just in time and felt his hair blow as the chairs whizzed overhead. He scrambled to his feet just in time to catch a mechanized fist to the jaw and go flying across six rows of seats. Bubba landed in a crash of seats, splinters, mangled frames and two audience members who couldn’t get out of his way in time.

  He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and stood up. Bubba looked down at the man he landed on and said “Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t see you there,” then turned his attention back to Kitner. The dark-haired man strode up the aisle, swearing with every step. Bubba made his way out from between the seats and stood in front of him, sword held at the ready.

  “Fine. No more Mister Nice Guy. We’re gonna finish this, Kitner. You and me.”

  “Fine.” Kitner grinned. “Then I’ll finish it.” He flicked a punch toward Bubba’s nose with his normal hand, and when Bubba ducked, he caught an uppercut to the gut for his troubles. Bubba’s breath rushed out, along with a piece or two of the sausage he had for dinner, and he went down to one knee. Kitner raised his brass-and-bone arm to the heavens, intending to bring it crashing down on Bubba’s back for a killing blow, but Bubba was playing possum. Beauregard Ulysses Brabham was a lot of things, and one of them was a sneaky fighter. He spun around onto his back and stabbed up with his sword, piercing Kitner’s gut and heart and stopping the fatal blow cold.

  At that exact moment, Jacob pointed his jawbone to the heavens and called down the lightning onto Kitner. A bolt of blue-white fire split the azure ceiling of the Fox and flashed down to the upraised fist of Kitner. Lightning ran down the mechanical arm, into Kitner, down the deranged man’s body into his chest, then followed the blade of the sword down Bubba’s arm, setting him to twitching on the floor of the theatre like a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest. His last thought before he blacked out was “I hate magic.”

  *****

  Bubba came to his senses some time later and found himself lying on the carpet in the theatr
e lobby. Jacob, Preacher Mason and Tavvy were all clustered around, and Tavvy let out a huge sigh as his eyes flickered open and threw herself down on the floor, wrapping her arms around him.

  “Get off me, Tavvy, somebody’s gonna get the wrong idea in a minute.” He struggled to a sitting position and Tavvy backed off a little bit. He was surprised to see her reach up and brush at her eye. He thought for a second that he saw a hint of moisture there, but upon reflection wasn’t sure.

  “How are you feeling, Bubba?” Preacher Mason asked.

  Bubba took a minute to make sure everything still worked before he replied. “I reckon I’m all right. I can move everywhere that moves, and I don’t feel nothing moving that shouldn’t, so I reckon I’m fine. A little crispy, but pretty much fine. Where did that lightning come from? Does it usually storm indoors in the city?”

  “I’m afraid that was my fault, Bubba. I called the lightning because I thought Kitner was about to kill you. I didn’t realize you were just play-acting. I am truly sorry.” Jacob said.

  “Don’t worry about it, Jacob. I’m about as good an actor as some of them folks up on the screen, though, ain’t I?” Bubba reached up and shook the Indian’s offered hand.

  “Yes you are, Bubba. Yes you are.” Jacob replied.

  Bubba’s face turned sober as he looked around. “Kitner sure made a mess of this place, didn’t he? How many people you reckon got hurt?”

  “We don’t really know, but it was dozens.” Tavvy said.

  “And it would have been more if you hadn’t stopped him.” Jacob added.

  Bubba struggled to his feet, but with Jacob and Preacher Mason helping, he managed to stand. As the group started walking toward the street, Bubba turned to Jacob. “You get your bone out of Kitner’s arm?”

  “Yes, I did. All the relics of my people are now back where they belong — in the hands of the Creek.”

  “Well, then I reckon you’ll be wanting this.” Bubba held out the sword.

  Jacob took it, stared at it for a moment, then handed it back to Bubba. “I think it would be better for you if I did take this. I still think it bodes ill for you and yours, Bubba, and I don’t wish pain and suffering on anyone. But something else tells me that you need it to complete your work. So take the sword, and remember you have friends with the Creek as long as you shall bear it.”