“You travel through time?” She wasn’t surprised, not really. Ming’s time seemed to be different from her own, so why would it be different for this man? But she’d never met a human from a different time before, and this man intrigued her.
The man just winked at her, a smile curling underneath his beard. “Now you know who I am, I would be curious to hear who you are.”
“I thought you knew. Everyone seems to know who I am lately,” Coyote chuckled. “You looked like you recognized me there, a moment ago.”
Jim shook his head. “I can see what you are, but not who you are.”
“What I am?” She scratched the back of her neck. “A bounty hunter?” The man didn’t respond, but his eyes narrowed.
The contraption around his wrist crackled, distracting him for a moment, and a distorted voice came through. “T minus two.”
Jim looked up at her. “So, what is your name?”
“My name’s Coyote.” She held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Do you work for the Pinkertons?” He grabbed her hand and squeezed so hard that her knuckles cracked.
“Indeed.”
“Well, Coyote. I wouldn’t be surprised if our paths crossed again. My company works with the Pinkertons from time to time.”
“Your company? Care to tell me more about it?”
“I wish I could, but now is not the time.” He put his Stetson back on his head and tapped his nose at her. “When next we meet, I might tell you more. For now, I shall wish you a good day. I’m late for a very important appointment because of this mess . . . ,” he pointed his thumb at the coach, “and there is still the matter of this carriage.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it—something Coyote usually detested, but Jim did it with such flair that it made her laugh. “Now, you best step aside, because we need to take care of that Outlander misery.”
Coyote moved, her eyes fixed on the still carriage. The same light she had seen on the wall now appeared around the vehicle, engulfing it until it was gone. Coyote found it difficult to concentrate on the light, the same way she had struggled before.
“Everyone must have seen this,” she gasped. “Why is no one responding?”
“What I find curious is that you can see it.” He frowned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That means the technology is off. You shouldn’t be able to look directly at this process.”
“So no one saw what just happened?” Coyote didn’t understand one bit. “How are you going to explain the carriage? People have noticed that. They must have seen it crash.”
“I don’t intend to explain anything.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’ll let the witnesses spin this into a tale for themselves. The worst it will do is create an urban legend.”
“You can’t just walk away from this.”
“How do you usually deal with witnesses to Outlanders? You’re a hunter, right?”
Coyote opened her mouth, but all that came out was “Eh.” She relied on people’s discretion; it wasn’t her job to explain the presence of Outlanders. It was her job to hunt and kill them. She did so as discretely as she could, but information leaked all the time.
“Exactly. Humans are a funny breed; we can always count on them to either be hysterical or downplay everything.” He patted her shoulder in a kindly gesture. “It was a real pleasure meeting you, lass, but I really have to go.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you too, Jim.”
He turned around and walked away, leaving her standing amidst the chaos from the ruined streets. Around her, the people moved with the slow careful steps of the traumatized, crawling from their hiding spaces or walking out of the buildings. Some helped others getting to their feet, and the local doctor was checking on cuts and bruises. The mother and her three children stood huddled in the door opening of the hardware store, still visibly shaken. The little girl who had shot the Outlander beast was staring at Coyote, who winked at the girl and gave her a small salute.
There, but for the grace of God, and thirteen or fourteen years, go I, she thought, amused. The girl gave her a very small wave, and Coyote wondered why the time traveler knew her. She hoped it would be because that little girl would one day do great things. She was a hell of a shot.
For a moment, she wondered if she should help the people clear the debris from the streets, maybe help out the wounded. But she had an Outlander to find, and there was still one place she planned to check out before she would find out what information Caesar had gathered.
A PLAN
“Corsets are the devils work,” Coyote announced. She sat down with no sign of any feminine grace next to Caesar in the small dining area of the hotel. Her dress ballooned awkwardly and Coyote beat irritably at the fabric to tame it into submission. Her dress was not in the same pristine state as it had been when she’d left. Her encounter with the Outlander carriage had disheveled her a little. The owner, whom they now knew as Miss Thompson, rushed over with a porcelain teapot.
“You look lovely, Miss Webb,” she beamed, obviously pleased to see Coyote dressed in something more ladylike than her usual travelling attire.
Coyote felt flustered and more than a little annoyed. The corset was digging into her flesh, and it limited her movements. The skirts were too long, and she found it difficult not to trip as she walked. Even the hairpins were sticking in her scalp. Her long, blond locks labored to escape their captivity, and wisps were sticking out everywhere. Everything about the outfit was a bloody nuisance, and Coyote felt as if she were being punished for something.
Even her father had let her wear the comfortable clothing reserved for men, and she only wore skirts if they attended church. Those skirts were shorter and more comfortable, the garments girls wore, not women.
It was difficult to keep the darned thing clean, she noticed. Even after just wearing it for an hour, the hem had become filthy. Now—after the coach incident—the whole thing looked like a complete mess. Coyote longed to put on a pair of trousers, or at least a more comfortable skirt. No itchy petticoats, no long ungainly fabric, just a plain skirt that reached an inch or two below the tops of her boots. The worst were the shoes. Coyote was sure her feet were bleeding. The black leather was tough and unrelenting, and it was as constricting as the corset. She decided they were little corsets for her feet, and just as evil. Every step was a nightmare, and she had blisters forming on her blisters. No wonder there were rarely any female sharpshooters. Her outfit really made shooting a lot more difficult.
“Why do women choose to wear this?” Coyote asked Miss Thompson. “These clothes are actually painful, and I think they’re secretly trying to kill me.” She tugged at her neckline in an attempt to prevent more chafing.
Miss Thompson pulled back a little, spilling a drop of tea on her tidy, white tablecloth.
“Because, a dress befits a lady,” she muttered. “We show who we are on the inside by dressing appropriately on the outside.”
Coyote stared at her, nonplussed. The woman obviously felt as if she had said too much, and with an embarrassed look, she made her way back to the kitchen.
“One more reason for me not to want to be a lady,” Coyote huffed. She gave Caesar a dark grimace as she sipped her tea, warm and sweet on her tongue. “So, I had an interesting day.” She peered over her cup at Caesar.
“Were you involved in that upset in town earlier?” Caesar nipped at his own tea.
“Yeah.”
“I hear a rampant carriage ran through the streets, causing some injuries to folk.” His dark eyes, so full of wisdom, held hers.
“That’s all you heard? Rampant carriage?” Coyote put her cup down and added a bit more sugar to the hot liquid. “Nothing else?”
“No, but there was more I can assume?”
“It wasn’t just any carriage.” She stirred her tea. “It was an Outlander carriage.”
Caesar nodded. If the news surprised him, his expression didn’t betray it. He had his mysterious ways of knowing more than he
should.
“Where do you think it came from?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
Coyote scratched her nose and pursed her lips. “I don’t know, but I doubt it was random. I’ve hunted a lot of Outlanders, but this carriage . . . I don’t even know what was inside.”
“Did it get away from you?”
“No, we shot it down . . . but here’s the thing, there was a man . . . ” Her eyes darted around, seeing if anyone was listening to their conversation, but the other patrons were enjoying their tea and minding their own business. “He wasn’t an Outlander, but a human, and I think he was some sort of hunter too. Only I’m not sure because he wasn’t carrying any weapons.” She hid her mouth behind the side of her hand. “He said he was a time traveler, and he came through something that looked suspiciously like a rip. Only I don’t think it was.”
Caesar ran his dark finger across the delicate porcelain rim of his cup. “That is very interesting. I always suspected the rips would lead to more than other worlds alone. It would make sense if they can lead to other times.”
“I wonder if this guy can manipulate rips . . . or maybe create other ones.”
“This could be linked to that rip we saw at Sunshine Mary’s.” Caesar frowned, as if there was something he couldn’t quite see. “We should inform the Pinkertons of your discovery.”
“Apparently the Pinkertons already know.” She sat back and patted her hand on the table. “They work with his agency sometimes.”
“What agency?”
Coyote leaned forward again, shooting Caesar a conspiratorial grimace. “That’s the problem; I don’t know. The guy wouldn’t tell me. All I know is that his name is Jim McLeod.”
“Have the Pinkertons given you any information about working with another agency?”
Coyote harrumphed. “They never tell me anything, I’m just a lowly bounty hunter.”
Caesar sipped his tea again, staying quiet for almost a minute before he said, “What makes you think they will tell you about it now?”
“If I ask them straight out, they might.” Coyote shrugged, but she was unconvinced. Her strongest contact with the Pinkertons was Allan himself, and he didn’t exactly tell her a lot. He rarely even gave her information about the Outlanders he hired her to hunt, leaving Coyote to find out everything she needed to know by herself. That had always been their relationship.
“Perhaps.” Caesar mirrored her shrug.
“Do you think they won’t?” She poured another scoop of sugar in her tea, pushing the spoon against the undissolved mound in the bottom.
“I do not think anything. I am just cautioning you to consider what questions you ask. There are many things we do not know about the rips and the Outlanders. The Pinkertons only share with us that which they want to tell. Sometimes it is better to feign ignorance if one wishes to find out more unhindered.”
“Maybe we’ll just have to look into it ourselves.” Coyote brought the spoon to her mouth and licked it.
“Yes, or perhaps we should deal with the task at hand first?”
“Fair enough.” She placed the spoon back in the cup and leaned back. “So what did you find out?”
“I must admit my information sources are a bit disappointing.”
Coyote knew of whom he spoke, the handymen, the stable boys and the other poor folk, who would tell him everything he needed to know. It was easy to spy on a man when your skin was black; most people treated anyone with a dark complexion as invisible. Caesar was good at being unseen, and that made him a very valuable ally. People tended to leave him alone. Coyote was anything but invisible, but she knew her partner still enjoyed working with her. She needed him, and he liked being needed.
“Westwood has a lot of power in this town. He buys people off and is clever about hiding his actions.” Caesar pushed his teacup away from him, which triggered Miss Thompson to swoop in and fill it again. He gave her a grateful smile, and when the older woman walked away, he leaned in toward Coyote. “They say Alfonso Martine stays very close to James Westwood,” Caesar said. “We expected as much. The Outlander never strays far from Westwood’s side.”
“That will make things more complicated.” Coyote pinched the bridge of her nose. “Westwood’s technomancer skills will prevent us from using the particle beam gun.”
“It is worse than that. Westwood is rarely alone. The man seems to be quite paranoid. He is always surrounded by a group of his men, Alfonso being one of them. They do everything together.”
“Everything?” Coyote raised her eyebrows and wiggled them suggestively at Caesar, “Surely not everything.”
“You have a dirty mind,” Caesar scolded, but his cracked lips smirked with equal mischief. “What did you hear? Surely you have some useful information?”
Coyote took another sip of her tea. There was a knowing sparkle in her eyes, and she prolonged the silence to stimulate Caesar’s curiosity. Her lips smacked together in a satisfied and, according to Mrs. Thompson’s standards, highly unladylike manner. Then she bent over and gave Caesar a conspiratorial wink.
“I hear that Mr. Westwood is quite fanatical about the opposite sex.” She hid her mouth behind her hand, barely able to contain her laughter. “In fact, the ladies of this town, who love to gossip, might I add, tell me that he visits the brothel every night.”
Caesar whistled softly and took a little nibble off one of the homemade cookies. “Busy man,” he muttered, spraying some crumbs.
Coyote laughed boisterously, clutching her stomach. “Busy man indeed, but it works to our advantage.” She tipped an invisible hat by habit and looked a little sheepish when she realized her hat was not on her head. “We now know where to find Mr. Westwood every night,” she said, her voice squeaky with excitement. “And where he is, our target will follow. Only not quite into the bedroom. So, while our man Westwood is busy, we strike.” She grinned a wicked grin, her button nose all wrinkled, and her eyebrows pulled together. “And I have just the plan.”
Caesar shoved the rest of the cookie in his mouth and shook his head, smiling and rolling his eyes. Coyote had a plan, and when she did, Caesar listened.
She leaned over a little closer to him, her eyes filled with triumph.
“So here’s what we’ll do . . . ”
DEMURE
It only took a day for Coyote to find some women willing to help her. The prostitutes who worked at Sally’s were fun-loving creatures who enjoyed talking with her. Coyote knew how to flatter the girls. To her dismay, she found that all of them were a little enamored with Mr. Westwood, so she had to be careful how she approached them about this rather delicate subject. She couldn’t afford to turn the girls against her.
“So what exactly do you plan to do with our favored patron?” Sally had asked, the heavily made-up eyes squinting suspiciously at her.
“I’m not going to harm him, Sally.” She placed one hand on her heart and the other in the air, as if she were solemnly swearing. “I couldn’t if I wanted to, I promise. And I’m not asking you to harm him either. All I need is a little distraction.”
“Care to tell me why?” Sally rested her hands on her ample hips, her head cocked with expectation.
“One of his entourage is a very bad man.” Coyote decided to go with the truth; she had a sneaky suspicion she couldn’t fool the old madam. Women like Sally had seen too many liars in their lives, and she wouldn’t take kindly to Coyote pulling her chain.
“He’s not human, is he?” Sally’s smile deepened.
“No . . . ,” Coyote said slowly, her eyebrows raised in astonishment. “He’s an Outlander.”
“What?” Sally asked innocently. “Are you surprised I know of their existence? We get plenty of those between our sheets.”
“I never considered that.”
“This is Angel Camp. There are all sorts of strange goings on around here, bounty hunter.” Sally slapped her hip to make a point. “We don’t judge, but we girls see the craziest things. If you want to know sec
rets, you talk to those who work in a brothel, my girl. We know every dark and dirty thing.”
“I bet you do.” It was a relief that she didn’t have to fabricate the truth, and that Sally understood.
“So, what did this bad man do?”
“He likes to kill the young.” Coyote bit her lip.
“Like children?” Sally’s eyes narrowed and she grimaced.
“Yeah.”
“Which one is . . . no, never mind, let me guess . . . ” Sally tapped a red lacquered nail against her equally bright lips. “Alfonso Martine?”
“The very one.”
“I don’t like that man one bit,” Sally said. “Neither do my girls. He gives them the creeps.” She pursed her lips at Coyote and stuck out one hip. “Very well, we’ll help you.” She batted her eyelashes. “What do you want us to do?”
“I need you to help me become one of you. My best bet is to blend in with the girls so I can get close to my target without being spotted.”
Around them, the girls nodded in agreement. They were excited, Coyote could tell; it was something to stir up their everyday lives a little. The ladies discussed this grand plan, and they did so in a way that only girls of a certain lifestyle could do. Loudly.
“In order to blend in, you’re going to need the right costume.” Sally’s lips cracked into a devious smile, and Coyote felt a tinge of worry. The girls laughed and clapped, their excitement building.
“She’s very tall,” a little Asian girl with hair like black silk said. “She’ll need to wear one of May’s dresses.”
“Her bosom’s too big for May’s corsets,” a blond girl said. “I think she might need Luanne’s corset instead.”
The prostitutes started talking all at once, and Coyote watched as they ran off in all directions. Minutes later, the girls came back holding different parts of different dresses. Many soft hands helped her undress and aided her with the new, unfamiliar garments. If Coyote thought a normal dress was uncomfortable, she now knew there was something far worse and more constricting. She was pushed into a chair, and she had to close her eyes as one of the prostitutes, a lovely lady called Maria, assaulted her with a soft powder brush. It tickled her skin and Coyote couldn’t hold back a laugh. Something that smelled like lampblack was rubbed on her eyelids, and she tried to sit very still, not to ruin the effect, but she was getting antsy. When they were done with her face, they pulled her to her feet and guided her to the back of the dressing room. The girls stepped aside and turned her with a dramatic gesture towards a mirror. Coyote didn’t even recognize herself for a second. Her objective had been met; she looked like a whore.
Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) Page 15
