Emma had lost focus.
In order to continue moving up in a world that generally pushed women down, Gabriela needed Emma.
Gabriela placed her folded clothing in the dresser behind her, thinking.
Pierce Landcross. That name sounds somehow familiar.
* * *
Pierce and Itza-chu hoisted the unconscious man over the saddle of a horse that they presumed belonged to him. Everyone then mounted up and headed out of town.
“Shouldn’t we get hotel rooms someplace?” Emma suggested.
“We’ll make camp,” Pierce said. “The more ground we cover tonight, the sooner we can get this tosser to the sheriff.”
As tired as they were, they agreed and rode off down the coast.
It occurred to Pierce that they considered him the leader of this outfit. That made him nervous, for he’d never thought of himself as the leading sort. He only hoped he wouldn’t blunder it up.
After riding for a while, the exhausted group set up camp on the sand near the ocean. By then, their prisoner had begun stirring.
“Where the fuck am I?” he groaned.
“On a beach,” Pierce answered, tossing what little wood he had found, into their starving fire.
The prisoner took some time to absorb what was happening. Apparently, the bloke had gotten drunk, after all, which might’ve been the reason they’d caught him so easily. It wasn’t until he discovered the shackles around his wrists that the gravity of his situation was realized.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, touching his forehead where Itza-chu had struck him.
“You’re under arrest,” Pierce informed him.
To say it to someone and not have it said to him felt damned good.
“Arrested?” the man repeated stupidly. “For what?”
Predicting that he’d make this sort of moronic attempt to convince them that they had the wrong man, Pierce asked, “What’s your name?”
“Abraham Blake,” he offered up quickly, clearly throwing out a fake name.
Pierce shook his head. “The same Abraham Blake who checked into the very room at the Saddleback Inn where a whore was found murdered?”
The man only glared at him.
“You ought to at least use another alias.” Pierce crouched beside the man’s bag and reached in.
“Hey, you asshole,” the prisoner barked. “Those are my belongings!”
He was trying to stand when Itza-chu grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed his arse back into the sand.
“Stay,” he ordered the prisoner.
“Get your hands off me, Injun!”
Pierce had never heard that word before. He reckoned it was some derogatory term.
“See this, wanker?” Pierce said, letting the bank pesos fall between his fingers. “This is a lot for a poorly dressed tosspot like you to have, eh?”
“That’s mine, you tea-wop!”
His accent sounded strange to Pierce’s ears. He spoke like a hick, but without any connecting drawl from Europe. When he was a young hustler, Pierce had met a couple of Americans, but they hadn’t sounded like this man.
Pierce rose to his full height. “And even with all this loot, you were still aiming to rob my mate, here.”
The robber appeared lost until he noticed Jaxton, sitting just out of reach of the growing fire who was dumping dirt and small rocks out of his ankle boots.
The man squinted his beady eyes, and then his jaw went slack. “You bastard, you set me up!”
Jaxton snorted. “Aye. By the by, the ring is a fake, mate.”
“I ain’t your mate,” the prisoner sneered.
Emma appeared with more sticks and twigs she had managed to scrounge up.
“Ooh, hello there, beautiful,” the prisoner cooed. “What do they call you?”
“They call me Miss Bounty Hunter.” She spoke in a forthright way as she tossed the bundle into the struggling fire. “And if you speak to me in any vulgar way, I’ll cut out your tongue and throw it in to burn.”
The severe way she’d threatened him had everyone convinced she’d do it.
“Bounty hunters?” the mark repeated, ignoring the threat. “You bunch?”
“Aye,” Pierce admitted. “Every one of us. Except for Itza-chu, that is. He’s our guide.” To put a little more fear and a lot more cooperation into the simpleton, he added, “Unlike us, he isn’t bound by any rule to bring your sorry carcass in breathing, so if you try anything, guess who we’ll sic on you? And trust me, you don’t want that if you give a toss about staying in one piece.”
Pierce had a straightforward attitude of his own. He wanted to get the manhunt over with, clear his debt, and ensure the Apache tribe were safe from any attacks he might be responsible for.
The straggly prisoner considered Pierce and the others for a long moment before saying, “I need to piss.”
Bet you do, you wazzock.
“C’mon,” Pierce said, hoisting him to his feet by the crook of his arm.
Pierce brought him to the ocean, his Oak Leaf in one hand, a lantern in the other.
“I suppose the jig is up for me, eh?” the prisoner asked in a steady and accepting tone.
“Aye, s’pose it is.”
“Not that it matters, but I didn’t mean to kill the whore.” The robber stopped where the water was gliding back and forth over the sands and unfastened his trousers. “I completely blacked out when I strangled the slut to death.”
“You’re right,” Pierce agreed, keeping a sharp eye on him. “It doesn’t matter.” He decided to pull some information from him while he was in a mood to confess. “What’s your real name, lad?”
“Harvey Nickel,” he answered while he relieved himself.
Whether he was giving out another alias or not was irrelevant. The fact that he seemed willing to talk was.
“We were told there were three others with you. Why aren’t you with them?”
“We never stick together once the job is done,” Harvey said.
“I see. Who are they?”
“I’m the first one caught?” he asked from over his shoulder. “That’s disheartening. Would I get some kind of leniency for spilling my guts?”
Pierce had no idea how to answer that without risking the man clamming up. He could lie and say yes, but would he believe him? But, he didn’t need to say anything, for Harvey cracked a smile.
“No, I reckon not. I’ll be swingin’ no matter what. All right, you want names?”
Pierce patiently waited.
“You’ll be looking for a tall, spooky Spaniard by the name of Javier Saints.”
“Spooky?”
“Yup. If you catch up to ’im, you’ll see what I’m talkin’ ’bout. There’s a Cocopah Indian bitch, Nata. Pretty—not as lovely as the woman you have with ya, but attractive enough. Until she opens her mouth, that is.”
Those last words came out bitterly.
“Who else?” Pierce pressed.
“Chibi.”
“Chibi? As in the Japanese word for ‘little?’”
“Is that what that means?” He shrugged. “Yup, sounds ’bout right. He’s a stub of a man. That’s the best way to describe ’im. Always wears a gasmask.”
“Do you know where they are?”
“Nope.” Remarkably, Harvey was still urinating. “I told ya. We go our separate ways. All I can tell ya is that Nata wants to buy herself a dress.”
Pierce remembered Grandmother Fey telling him he’d find the woman in a dress shop.
“The bitch loves clothes,” Harvey stated. “And with the amount she got from the bank heist, she’ll most likely be gettin’ herself a fancy gown at some high-class specialty store. Don’t know anything about Javier’s whereabouts. He only said he was gonna buy himself a capacitor.”
“What the bloody hell is that?”
The shackled man laughed again. “Dunno.”
“What about Chibi?”
Harvey jiggled his body, and at long last, fastened u
p his trousers.
“That stub could be anywhere. He barely says a word. You’d never think it was his idea to rob the bank.”
“He’s the ringleader?”
“Wouldn’t call ’im a ringleader,” Harvey corrected him, turning around. “He only pulls us all in once a year to rob with him.”
“Got it,” Pierce said, satisfied with what information he’d gotten. “Let’s head back, eh?”
As they approached the campsite, Harvey added, “Did Sheriff Flores employ you bunch to find us?”
“Aye.”
“Thought so. He’s a real bastard, that one.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say. That lawman strikes me as being very unlawful, if you ask me.”
It was the last thing Pierce wanted to hear.
* * *
After the natural fluids were drained and changed out with oil and grease, the brain cut to pieces and threaded with wires, and the heart completely replaced with a complicated mechanism of clockwork-like innards encased in a hard metal exterior shell to protect the tiny pumps sending the replacement fluids coursing through the body, Javier was ready for the final phase.
He checked twice to make certain each surge wire and plugs was perfectly in place. The cadaver lay flat upon the slab, connected by the many wires clamped to the extension cord wrapped around the orbs above. Once the power switched on, everything would change.
Satisfied that everything was as it should be, Javier went over to the throw switch and took hold of the lever.
For a brief moment, he glanced over at his other specimens. Each had witnessed the process their noisy leader had undergone throughout the transformation. The shadows cast over their cages made it difficult to discern their expressions. What he did see and hear was crying, gasps of terror, and uncontrollable vomiting. After he hacked up and pieced together their leader, none of them dared speak. It suited Javier just fine. Not that their pleas meant anything to him, but their silence helped with his concentration. People were much simpler to control than coyotes. The beasts never shut-up.
Javier pushed the lever up.
Sparks flew from the throw switch, bouncing off the walls and off him. The lights flickered and grew in brightness, then flickered again until they went out altogether. All the energy collected into a single spot—the cadaver.
The body jolted and thrashed as bolts of electricity surged into it. Javier only hoped his timing was correct, as it had been with the coyotes. He checked his pocket watch. The only light source came from the powerful sparks snapping in midair. The specimen continued to thrash, sparks flew from his mouth and from the plugs embedded in the brain and new heart. The lights reflected in his metal torso.
Seconds later, Javier pulled the lever down. The flashing stopped, and in their absence, the room turned pitch-black. Soon, the bulbs flickered back on as the energy began to gather again. From inside the cages came the typical weeping and prayers being said.
Javier continued waiting. His nerves slowly began to unravel. So much work had been put into this very moment. He’d sacrificed plenty, even giving up his so-called normal life in Spain when the secular authorities began investigating his activities. He’d nearly died, and had even resorted to thievery so he could reach this critical point.
He waited, his eyes fastened on the cadaver.
He waited. No movement.
His heartbeat began to slow with his crushing disappointment—and then . . .
The fingers on the right hand twitched. Air was suddenly gasped through the mouth and sucked down into the opened metal chest, where it rose greatly before it fell as the air was blown out. The first breaths wheezed painfully, as if the specimen was struggling with them. His lungs were still his until Javier could construct new ones. It wasn’t until a few jagged gasps had passed that the breathing settled into a normal pattern.
A rush of utter glee washed over Javier. He had done it! He had created life. Mechanical life.
A living automaton!
Chapter Fifteen
Emma’s Confession
The ocean water was refreshing, to say the least. It didn’t take long after the sun rose for the heat to increase. Itza-chu was already awake, so Pierce took advantage of the time to walk down the beach and away from camp. He stripped down to his undergarments and went in. It had been ages since he’d swum in the sea. The coolness was exactly what he needed. Pierce wished he could stay in longer, but they had to get their prisoner to Guaymas and start out on the next hunt.
He got dressed and returned to camp. The sun’s rays penetrated his clothing, which inflamed his flesh, still sore from sun damage.
“What’s wrong with you?” Itza-chu inquired while Pierce, groaning painfully, rubbed his shoulder.
“My bloody back is burnt,” he complained.
“Oi,” Jaxton said, reaching into his rucksack, “sorry, mate. I nearly forgot.” He shuffled through his bag until he pulled out a small jar. “Here we are.”
“What’s that?” Pierce asked.
“It’s the remedy I told you about.”
Pierce remembered. “Oh, aye, right. Cheers, mate.”
He accepted the jar and pulled the cork. The strong scent of lavender reached his nose. He rubbed the oily substance on his shoulders. It seeped into his troubled flesh, cooling it as though with a brisk winter breeze. He moaned at the feel of it.
“Bloody hell, that’s fantastic! Wish I could reach the rest.”
“Need some help?” Jaxton offered.
Pierce grimaced, not knowing what to make of that.
“I’ll do it!” Emma offered.
As she stepped around him, Pierce let out a breath of relief. Emma took the bottle, reached under his untucked shirt, and began smearing the oil all over his raw skin. Those beautiful hands of hers rubbed deep, and he melted like ice under her touch, almost forgetting where he was.
“Enjoying that are ya, boy?” Harvey mocked with a ragged chuckle.
His gruff voice brought the world back into focus, and a swell of guilt filled Pierce’s stomach.
He stepped away from Emma. “Erm, thanks, lass.”
Itza-chu and Jaxton snickered. Pierce glared at them as he buttoned up his shirt. He spied the skeletal leftovers of some sort of large lizard skewered over the smoldering remains of the fire.
“Got a Gila on the skewer. Want some?” Jaxton offered. “There’s a bit of meat left on the leg.”
The overcooked hind leg did anything but appeal to him.
“Blimey,” Pierce snarled as he walked to Harvey’s rucksack full of bank money. He reached inside and brought out a bayonet pistol they had confiscated from their prisoner. “Here, lad, take this. It might be wise for you to have two weapons, eh?”
He handed the pistol over to Jaxton, who studied it and then nodded with approval. “Cheers.”
“Let’s move out,” Pierce ordered, taking their prisoner by the arm and hoisting him to his feet.
* * *
Delivering Harvey to the jailhouse shocked the hell out of that bloated trout, Sheriff Flores. The bastard’s expression made getting into the whole bloody mess nearly worth it.
“Surprised?” Pierce asked the sheriff, feeling the vibration of the building’s generator beneath his feet.
Sheriff Flores chewed at his cigar, which was clenched between his brown teeth.
He waved some officers over. “Take him to the cells.”
The lawmen took Harvey to an iron door beside the sheriff’s desk. They unlocked it and vanished inside.
The jailhouse wasn’t large, only a white-painted room where the sheriff’s desk sat directly in front of the entrance, and with the deputy’s desk off to the side between two windows. There was a light fixture hanging above them, powered by electricity.
“And the bank money?” the sheriff demanded.
“Right here,” Jaxton announced, holding up the rucksack full of loot.
Pierce took it from him and dropped it with a thud
on the sheriff’s desk. “One down, eh?”
“And three to go,” Sheriff Flores reminded him. “Best get to it.”
“C’mon, lad,” Jaxton urged, sounding edgy while he grabbed Pierce’s shoulder. Clearly, he didn’t enjoy being in the same place he’d been imprisoned in. “We still have work to do.”
Work, indeed. Pierce hoped it would pay off.
“Where are the dress shops in Guaymas, Sheriff?” Pierce asked unexpectedly.
Sheriff Flores slowly took out his unlit cigar and looked at him, utterly gobsmacked. “Qué?”
“We have reason to believe our next mark might be in the market for clothing and may visit a specialty shop,” Pierce clarified. He spied the sheriff’s wedding band. “You’re a married man. I’m sure you’ve bought gifts for the little woman—or, at least a mistress, yeah?”
Pierce was doing anything but making friends, at this point.
The sheriff’s face reddened. “What did you say to me?”
Emma stepped in. “Can you tell us where the specialty clothing shops are, Sheriff Flores?”
When his raging eyes landed on her, his tight expression softened. Her beauty held remarkable power. In that instant, Pierce noticed it fully, especially since she had bewitched him, as well.
“Sí, señorita,” he answered. “There are a couple, and I will write down where to find them.”
The sheriff jotted down the addresses and the group was off again.
* * *
Jasper went down to the secluded area of the river that Pierce and Taisia had shown him and Nona. It was a nice little oasis to escape from the desert heat. After a brief hunt with a few native lads and checking in on Taisia, who was napping in her hut, he had decided to wash up. When he arrived, he found his wife, Nona. She sat alone on a rock with one foot in the water. The shade from a twisted tree stretched over her. Her expression was deeply somber.
Bounty Hunter Page 17