Won't Back Down: Won't Back Down

by Unknown

  The smile was gone, Whelk's dark, moon-like face turned to pure granite. He wasn't going to ask again. Jove, for once, did as he was told and got in the hansom. But not before Whelk lifted Jove's pistol and tossed it to the curb. Sonofabitch.

  "You won't be needing that."

  The clouds opened up as they pulled away from the saloon and Jove idly wondered if Molly would even miss him.

  *~*~*

  The reception area was done floor-to-ceiling in the best woodwork money could buy and gussied up even more with majestic gilded accents that were too artful to be garish. The walls were lined with shelves full of expensive books and even more expensive pieces of art. The rug covering the mahogany inlaid floor was the size of a small lake and so exquisitely fine, Jove almost felt bad walking on it.

  It was only the best for Merle Napier. Including the view. His offices took up the top floor of the tallest building in Canton while the mayor's office was the floor below.

  Jove figured that said everything there was to say about Canton. Little had changed except the decor and the secretary since the last time he'd been there. The secretary, a plump woman with dark hair and glasses, didn't bother to look up from her stack of papers as Jove was escorted inside.

  Well, not so much escorted as propelled like an unruly child being wrangled by a no-nonsense schoolmarm. Whelk's hold on Jove's arm was unbreakable, and he almost cracked wise about how Whelk came about such a powerful grip. But then Jove remembered he actually liked his bones in one piece. The bruises would be enough of a keepsake. Truth be told, the bruises were the least of his problems at present.

  Mustering up the dregs of his dignity, Jove gave a futile tug. "Mind gettin' your muck forks off me? I got two feet and I know how to use 'em."

  In response, Whelk flung Jove onto a waiting couch near the secretary's desk so hard it knocked his hat askew and nearly tipped the couch backward. "Sit. Stay."

  "Woof," Jove replied as he straightened his hat. Bravado was a familiar, warm mantle against the icy fear creeping out from the core of Jove's gut.

  "It's a bit late for business, Mr. Whelk." The secretary finally glanced up, her eyes skating over Jove entirely before looking at Whelk.

  Jove watched in consternation as Whelk actually ducked his head. "No rest for the wicked, Miss Penelope."

  "Indeed. He's in with someone right now, but I can let him know you're here." She started to rise, but Whelk waved at her to stay.

  "No, no. I'll do it." That crooked smile was back. "It'll be my pleasure."

  Jove sunk low on the couch as he watched Whelk approach the massive wooden door that took up a good chunk of the wall behind Miss Penelope's desk. He knocked twice and Jove imagined coffin nails being struck home by a particularly malicious hammer. "Sir, it's Whelk."

  There was a muffled response and Whelk opened the door, his huge frame taking up most of the space and making it impossible to get a glimpse inside. Not that Jove needed to see inside. He knew exactly who was behind that door.

  "As you can see, I am in the middle of something. And preparations still need to be made for the gala." Jove had gone almost five years without hearing that voice. He could have gone a lifetime more without hearing it again.

  "I know, sir, but it's important. I found him."

  "... Did you now? Come in and shut the door, Whelk. You weren't raised in a barn."

  Whelk did as he was told, but before the door closed, Jove thought he caught a flash of silver and black. He didn't linger on it, though. Napier's business was none of his, and Jove had more than his fair share of trouble to be concerned with.

  He glanced at the door then back at Napier's office. He could shin out of there before anyone was the wiser. Miss Penelope probably wouldn't give chase, and even if she did, Jove was fair certain he could outstrip her in a few paces.

  Jove eased up slowly and got his feet planted. Just as he tensed to spring, Miss Penelope reached into a drawer and pulled out a .45. She laid it neatly next to her stack of papers before going back to her figures. "If you want to see which of us is faster, by all means."

  He swallowed hard and sat back. Jove didn't have long to cool his heels with Miss Penelope and her lead pusher, a fact he would've been grateful for if what waited for him behind that door wasn't more hazardous to his health.

  As if summoning his bad luck, Whelk opened the door and stuck his head out. "Mr. Napier will see you now." His grin didn't inspire much in the way of warm feelings, and Jove felt like a man facing down the gallows.

  Stepping inside, Jove had a brief moment of confusion. He could have sworn there'd been someone else in here just a minute ago. But as the door clicked shut behind him, Jove was left alone with just Whelk and Napier and an itch under his skin strong enough to make him antsy. He took a seat before Whelk made him and forced himself to meet the gaze of the man behind the desk.

  Canton's wealthiest businessman and most ruthless crime boss wasn't a particularly imposing man. He was of middling height and middling weight, with unremarkable sandy hair and bland features. He had the milky, smooth skin of a man well fed and rich enough that he didn't have to see the sun if he didn't want to. In fact, the only remarkable thing about Merle Napier were his eyes.

  They were a color somewhere between yellow mud and rainwater. And dead as stone. They gave away nothing but saw everything, and Jove had to look away sooner than he liked to admit.

  The silence stretched out, a play Jove knew was meant to make him squirm. He tried to distract himself by looking around. Maybe there was some secret exit he could use to escape. Napier's previous guest had to have left without being seen somehow.

  But all he saw was much the same as it was five years ago: large, tasteful, and decorated with pieces that should have been in a museum. Except...

  There were talismans everywhere. Talismans of every shape and size imaginable and more than had ever been housed in a museum at one time, let alone a private collection. Some Jove recognized from the news rags and the occasional book when he cared to crack a spine. Others left him puzzling. One particularly interesting talisman sat in a place of honor on the corner of Napier's desk. It was an ornate box carved out of some smooth blue stone Jove didn't know. It didn't appear to have any seams, but there had to be something inside. Jove didn't have a magical bone in his body, but even he could feel the hum coming off it. He had no idea what it did, but it was obviously important.

  Jove lost the game by blurting out, "Your collection's gotten mighty impressive, Merle."

  Napier's thin lips curled. "I didn't take you for a connoisseur, Mr. Whittaker."

  "I'm a man of many talents." He nodded to an item on one of the shelves just over Napier's left shoulder. "That key must have been a real find. Jade, right? Heard tell that the Chancellor out of Shin-ahn has one just like it." Jove took small satisfaction in watching Napier's smile fade.

  "We're not here to talk about my collection, Mr. Whittaker."

  "Just makin' conversation, Merle. And please, call me Jove."

  Napier steepled his fingers and sat forward slowly. His fancy leather chair didn't dare let out so much as a squeak as he shifted. "What gives you the impression that we are friends, Mr. Whittaker? Is it that rather sizable amount of money I lent you five years ago? Because while I might be inclined to loan my friends money from time to time, we don't remain friends for very long when they fail to pay it back."

  Icy sweat rolled down Jove's spine, but he managed to keep his hands and voice steady, if only just. "I admit, I've made a few mistakes—"

  "The latest of which was coming back here." Napier's voice was so sharp, Jove wasn't sure how he wasn't bleeding out on the floor. There was time yet. "You didn't think I'd know the second you stepped inside my city, Mr. Whittaker? You were never that bright to begin with, but your phenomenal stupidity leaves me breathless. What earthly reason could you have for coming back to Canton?"

  "Work." Jove hated how small his voice sounded.

  "Work? And what is
it you do, Mr. Whittaker? You're not a prostitute, obviously, or you'd have had the funds to pay me back years ago."

  He had a fair point, but Jove wasn't about to admit it. "I'm a bounty hunter."

  Napier actually looked surprised for a moment before he sat back on a short bark of laughter. "A bounty hunter! And you came back to Canton when there's a price on your own head? That's rich! Isn't that just too funny, Whelk?"

  "Hilarious, sir." Jove could all but hear Whelk's smirk from where he was lurking by the door.

  Napier's amusement was gone in a blink, like it never was. "I'm afraid you've made a grave tactical error, Mr. Whittaker. You won't be collecting that bounty. Whelk."

  Whelk left his post to loom over Jove, his mouth spread wide in almost childlike glee. Jove couldn't recall a time being so close to pissing himself that didn't involve his still being young enough for the school room or fall-down drunk.

  "Wait! Mr. Napier, I can't pay you if I'm dead."

  "You're not paying me now, Mr. Whittaker. I'm afraid I must consider writing you off as a loss." He nodded and a hand came down on Jove's shoulder, heavy as the Grim Reaper's.

  "Two days! Give me two days, and I'll have your money. With interest." Jove knew he sounded desperate. He didn't care.

  Napier held up a hand and Whelk let up. Slightly. "And just how are you going to manage that? How many criminals would you have to bring in to cover what you owe?"

  "Just one. Coyote."

  Napier stared at him. "The most elusive thief in the Nine Territories? You have better odds of me writing off your debt and sending you on your way with a smile. Whelk—"

  "Wait! All I'm asking for is forty-eight hours. Either I catch Coyote and you get your money, or Coyote kills me and saves you the trouble. You come up flush either way."

  Napier held up his hand again and went so quiet for so long, Jove could hear his own heart racing. He'd never been much for praying, but at that moment, he found enough religion to ask Providence to cut him a break.

  "You have your forty-eight hours, Mr. Whittaker." Jove could have wept, the relief was so sweet. "And don't count on running again. I think you'll find it far more difficult to leave the city this time."

  He stood on unsteady legs, Whelk's glare burning into his skull. "No, sir. You won't regret this."

  "I'm sure I won't." It was a dismissal and Jove didn't waste time hightailing it out of there. He didn't even register Napier's quiet words—"I have another job for you"—follow him out. Whatever poor bastard Whelk was going to snatch up next, Jove didn't want to know, but he wished him luck.

  *~*~*

  It was full dark by the time Jove made it back to the stable where he'd left Molly. The steady rain had long since turned into a deluge so strong it nearly blotted out the weak yellow light of the street lamps. The streets had been turned into rivers, logging down Jove's boots. Turning up the collar on his duster didn't do any good. Especially against not one, but two, carriages that came by fast enough to send a tidal wave splashing into him. Jove was soaked to the bone and his fingers and toes numb from cold. The only thing keeping him trudging along was Molly and the hope of a warm meal in the near future.

  The stable was dark save for the occasional streak of lightning provided by the storm. The stable boy sat slumped on a stool by the entrance, fast asleep if the racket coming from him was anything to go by, and Jove couldn't even muster up a kindling of ire. It was warm and dry among the horses, stench of manure and pissed on hay notwithstanding, and it was all he could ask for at the moment.

  He found Molly in a stall near the back and patted the mare on her skinny rear. "Never thought I'd be glad to see you again, you ol' bag of bones."

  Molly didn't even flick an ear in his direction as she lazily chewed a mouthful of feed. Jove chose to believe she'd missed him too. She'd miss him a lot longer if he didn't track down Coyote in the next two days.

  Jove let his head fall against Molly's side, letting her warmth wash over him. How had he even gotten himself into this mess? Actually he knew exactly how. He'd been young and stupid five years ago, and he'd sworn to himself that he'd never set foot in Canton again. There was nothing for him here except a quick death if he was lucky and a slow one if he wasn't. He'd known that and still—here he was. Looking for a man he'd never find in time to save both their necks.

  And for what? Not Ada. As much as he loved her, she wasn't worth his life. He hadn't actually promised Frye anything. As for the reward... The reward was just an excuse. Had been for a long time, Jove realized.

  He huffed out a half-desperate laugh. "Well, shit." Maybe he really was as thickheaded as everyone seemed to think. At least the day was over; it couldn't get any worse.

  Of course, Providence took that has a personal challenge, and Jove realized his skin itched just before he felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of his neck. Sighing, he put his hands up. "I don't have a damn thing worth stealin', friend, so why don't you move along and we can both forget this ever happened."

  "Afraid I can't do that."

  Coyote. Jove would know that voice anywhere. The richness of it had sunk into his bones months ago. It made him thrillingly, foolishly giddy.

  Grinning into the dark, Jove quipped, "We gotta stop meeting like this." He'd hoped to get a laugh, but all he got was silence punctuated by muffled thunder. Something wasn't right. His grin faded. "How'd you find me?"

  "I can always find you."

  "What—?" Jove started to turn, but the firm press of iron stopped him. "Is that Ada? I hope you've been treatin' her kindly."

  "You have no earthly idea how much you've screwed me over, do you?"

  Huh. As familiar as Jove was with those words and that tone being directed at him, he hadn't been expecting either from Coyote. "I'm afraid you've got me at a loss. What, pray tell, did I do?" This time.

  "You're too early. It shouldn't have been so easy for you to find my trail..." His voice petered off, like he was trying to work something out for himself.

  Jove debated holding his tongue, but it wouldn't do either of them any good in this situation. "Your sister-in-law set me on you."

  Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Jove suddenly found his arm wrenched behind his back at a painful angle, and the pistol had moved from his neck to his temple. "If you hurt her," Coyote hissed in Jove's ear, "I promise I will do things to you that'll make you beg the gods for death."

  Threats of prolonged bodily harm weren't the sort of thing that usually got Jove's cock to sit up and pay attention, but then, it had always had a mind of its own. "She was fine when I left her, I swear," he gasped out. "She sent me after you so you don't get your fool self killed!"

  "Zoe would never—"

  "I swear on Ada, she did. Said she'd rather see you caught than killed."

  Coyote went quiet. Long enough for Jove to lose feeling in his hand. Long enough for Jove to get a whiff of sandalwood, old leather, and sweat. Long enough for Jove to have to tamp down a stab of disappointment when Coyote finally loosened his grip and backed away.

  "Seems Zoe wasn't the only one who should've kept her mouth shut," Coyote muttered to himself. Before Jove could question what he meant, Coyote asked, "How'd you run into her anyway? She's not exactly the social sort."

  Rubbing at his poor abused arm, Jove turned slowly. "Horse threw a shoe and Bowden only has one blacksmith." He could barely make out Coyote in the dark until a flicker of lightning threw his features in stark relief. He still had Ada pointed at Jove's chest.

  Coyote huffed out a breath that could almost be a laugh. "Providence sure does like doing things her own way, doesn't she?" Jove shrugged and that seemed about the response Coyote was expecting because he continued, saying, "The way I see it, we've got two problems."

  Jove thought he was being optimistic, but he nodded for Coyote to go on.

  "First, I got no intention of lettin' you haul me in before I do what needs to get done."

  Jove figured as much. "And seco
nd?"

  "Second, Merle Napier is expecting me to kill you."

  And just like that, pieces to a puzzle Jove hadn't even known he'd been looking at fell into place. "Seems to me," he said slowly, "that's more of a problem for me than you."

  "And here I thought we had an understandin'." Coyote's smile was a flash in the dark as he deliberately slid Ada back into his holster, and Jove felt that giddiness come galloping back. "Come on. We've got a lot to talk about."

  *~*~*

  Turned out being in Napier's pocket paid pretty well. Even so, an infamous thief still couldn't go waltzing into the best hotel in Canton and expect no one to notice. And especially not when he had a man trailing after him who looked more like a drowned rat than a bounty hunter. Neither of them would be allowed past the lobby.

  That, Coyote explained, was where the coin came in. "Stick close and keep your mouth shut," he said before pulling Jove against his side and pushing through the doors of the Westcourt Hotel like he owned the place.

  This time of night the lobby was empty save for the night clerk, something Coyote had been counting on. Before the old man could notice the riff raff that had just strolled in off the street, Coyote flicked the coin into the air. Jove couldn't help but follow its tight upward arc, the talisman a whistling blur of silver that seemed to hover a moment too long before plummeting down into the waiting cup of Coyote's palm.

  The prickle of magic that washed over Jove was strong enough to make him gasp. The night clerk's head came up at the sound, and he stared right at them. His face was blank for a breathless moment before breaking into an unctuous smile. "Ah, Mr. Ainsley! Glad to see you made it back all right. Terrible weather out. Oh, and I see you've brought a... guest."

  Coyote's smile was rakish and so much like the one on his wanted poster that Jove boggled that the clerk didn't recognize him. "Kind of you to worry about me, Burr." And just where in the seven hells did that dandified accent come from? "If it's not too much to ask, could you have the kitchen send up dinner and a bottle of your best whiskey?" He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "My lady friend and I will need fuel for the fire, if you catch my meaning."