He
arrived in town well after sundown. The air was rife with the scent of
bloodlust and greed. Packs of hunters patrolled the roads, individuals loitered
along the wooden walkways. A platoon of gunslingers guarded the hotel, a restless
crowd milled outside the jail. Abner Doyle's cottage was under surveillance, as
was every South Street saloon.
Del
prowled the back lanes, found a certain building. An unlocked window slid open
without a creak. The dim chamber he entered reeked of death, embalming fluid,
and something unpleasantly familiar.
He
lit one of the candles the undertaker provided for his customers. A closed
casket sat on a raised platform. When he pushed up the lid, Del knew at once
why the aroma in the room was so familiar. It was her perfume, the scent of
wilting flowers that suited her so well.
Yeah.
Cinnamon curls arranged on a satin cushion, claw-tipped fingers folded upon her
white-sheathed breast.
"Come
to pay your final respects, Injun Boy?"
Before
Del could turn, something hard slammed against the side of his head, propelling
him toward the casket. The last thing he saw before he slid to the floor was
Lonnie's plum-colored mouth, as lush in death as it had been in life.
When
he came to, he felt something wet trickle down the side of his face. Propped in
a chair, his wrists handcuffed in front of him, a rough sisal rope cinched
around his neck, he couldn't see Stevy. But as the roaring in his ears abated
he heard the man's breathing like he heard his own thundering heart. He reached
for his boot.
“Looking
for this?" Stevy stepped forward, Del's knife in one hand, the end of the
rope in the other, a rifle balanced in the crook of his arm. "I figured
you'd come here, and now I'm gonna get five thousand dollars for you." His
grin convoluted the scars on his cheeks. "You don't need to worry none
'bout your Missus, not with Mr. Lord taking care of things. He was a mite upset
when she was brung in and didn't want to see him, but he'll wear her down. He
always gets what he wants. Now what he wants most is you dead."
As
he spoke, Stevy wrapped the rope around his hand, tightening the noose until it
bit into Del's neck. The gunslinger touched the tip of the knife to a spot
beneath Del's ear. "I got an urge to test this knife. What part of you
should I cut off and send to Mr. Lord?" The knife tip grazed skin.
"Your ear? A finger? How about the part Miss Loretta liked best?"
He
shook with silent laughter, seized Del’s braid, and with a sawing movement
severed it. "You sure are quiet, Injun Boy. Well, get up now. We're going
for a ride." He poked the rifle barrel between Del's shoulder blades.
"Slow and easy. Horses is outside." He stopped beside the casket,
dropped the black braid atop Lonnie's breast and lowered the lid. "Hell of
a shame."
--Cat
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