One of the whores looked him up and down and offered what Lucas supposed passed for a come-hither smile. He managed a small bemused smirk and looked away to where four Raiders were playing cards at the far end of the room. Lucas watched them for a hand and then felt a presence at his elbow. He turned slowly to find the prostitute at his side.
“Well, hello there, cowboy. Buy a lady a drink?” she asked. Lucas tried not to gape at her meth-rotted teeth and the grime crusted in her hairline, and forced a smile to his lips.
“Maybe in a few. Thinking about sitting in for a few hands.”
“You can do that after. They’ll be there all night.”
“Sorry. Not in the mood right now.”
She slid a chipped glass toward him. “Make a little deposit for later?” she asked, indicating the rum.
“Sure. Why not?” Lucas said, and splashed several inches into the cup.
“I’m Lacey.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Save enough chips to go for a ride, okay?” she said. Her eyes were hungry, the whites yellowed from jaundice that matched her sickly pallor, and her skin was pocked with sores and blackheads.
“Good advice,” Lucas allowed, and went back to watching the players. Lacey tossed back the rum like it was water, brayed an abrasive laugh, and sashayed over to her companions, all of whom were equally attractive, from what Lucas could make out.
After ten minutes of sizing up the game, Lucas asked the bartender how to get chips. The man indicated a heavyset Raider at a small table in the corner with a bottle in front of him, and explained that “the mayor” was in charge of that, and to talk to him.
Lucas walked over to the man and introduced himself. “Want to get in the game.”
“Sure. What you got?”
“Fifty rounds of .45, couple magazines of 5.56mm ball.”
“Won’t stay in long with that.”
“Not planning on losing.”
The mayor nodded. “Bring it in. But no guns.”
“I heard.”
When Lucas returned with the ammunition, the mayor examined the bullets and then counted out twenty chips. “There you go.”
Lucas eyed the tokens. “That’s it?”
The mayor pointed at a sign by the back door that listed the value of chips in both guns and ammunition. “Everyone’s a winner here. You can trade ’em in on your way out, get your rounds back and then some if you know how to play.”
“You own the place?”
The mayor answered with a complacent smile. “That’s right.”
“Only place to trade in town?”
The Raider nodded. “One-stop shop.”
“You got anything besides guns and ammo?”
“Got everything you can imagine, and then some.”
Lucas nodded. “Good to know.”
“Whatever you want. Long as you got barter, sky’s the limit.”
Lucas took his chips and sat down at the table. Three of the men were obviously Raiders, and the fourth was a trader whose leathery skin and blackened nail beds spoke to weeks on the road.
“Gents. What’s the ante and the game?” Lucas asked.
The men glared at him, and the one who was dealing eyed Lucas’s paltry stash. “Couple chips to start. Five-card draw.”
Lucas parted with half his chips to get a feel for the players’ styles, those small tics or lack of them that indicated whether they were bluffing or not. Once he was confident he’d sized them up, he won small hands, keeping his bets modest, avoiding winning too much or losing to the extent that he ran dry of chips. As the evening progressed it became easier to win, the others getting drunk as time wore on, but nobody was talkative, and after an hour of play Lucas pushed back from the table, having learned nothing but that Raiders weren’t conversationalists, and if anyone knew anything, they were keeping it to themselves.
He cashed in his chips and retrieved his ammunition and magazines, and with a few extra chips in hand, went in search of Lacey, who hadn’t been particularly lucky that night, either. After several generous dollops of rum, she grew increasingly talkative, and he invited her to one of the small two-top tables so he could pick her brain.
“Heard about a big to-do up north about a week ago,” he tried, once half the bottle had disappeared down her throat.
“Yeah?”
Lucas nodded. “Big haul, but lot of Raiders killed.”
She shrugged. “Occupational hazard.”
“You hear anything about that?”
“About a week ago, you say?”
“That’s right.”
She drained her glass. “Might have.”
He refilled her drink and took a pull on the rum straight from the bottle. “What did you hear?”
“Depends.”
He placed three chips on the table. “Be mighty appreciative for any information.”
Her eyes darted to the side for a beat. “Why?”
“Just because.” He reached for the chips, but she shook her head.
“Couple of guys were in around that time. Talked about a big gun battle. Big score, too.”
“You know them?”
She shrugged again. “I might.”
“They here?”
Another head shake. “No. Cleared out a few days ago. Meaner than snakes, even by Raider standards.”
“What did they look like?”
“One’s short, black Mohawk. The other’s skinny and tall, hair cut close to his head. Dark brown.”
Lucas glanced around the room. “That could be half the guys in here.”
“The short one had a tin star on his vest. Can’t miss it.”
Lucas’s eyes gave nothing away. He pushed one of the chips across the table to her. “Know where they went?”
“They camp a couple of miles out of town when they’re here.”
“Which way?”
She regarded the chips. “Southwest. Probably the only ones there, if they’re still around.”
He slid the chips to her and stood. “You have a good night, Lacey.”
“They’ll gut you,” she said softly.
He nodded. “Be a shame.”
“You going to drink that?” she asked.
Lucas set the bottle down in front of her and looked away. “Not thirsty anymore.”
She reached for it. “I’ll watch it for you.”
“Do that.”
Chapter 6
The road west was paved, although like all the others, long since covered in a thick coating of dust. Tumbleweeds clogged the two-lane road in sections that had washed out, and abandoned vehicles rose from the earth like giant boulders in the starlit landscape, blocking the route. Lucas avoided the highway, preferring to stick to a trail that ran parallel. Hoofprints in the reddish dirt signaled that he was likely on the right track – other riders had passed that way recently, although he couldn’t know whether hours or days before.
It wasn’t lost on him that he was headed toward the highway that ran from Loving to Pecos, although he was a good five miles away. Still, the thought made him uncomfortable, given that it was a certainty the Loco cartel was on the warpath, turning over every stone to find them. While he hoped they would have given up after several days of failing to pick up their scent, he couldn’t assume they’d thrown in the towel – especially in light of Sierra’s revelations about the reason Magnus’s group had enlisted their help. She was correct that the Crew would never give up in their hunt for Eve, which heightened his sense of futility at burning time looking for a vest that could well be in Mexico by now. But they were low on options, and given his slim odds of success, the vest was the best they had.
The husk of a ruined farmhouse materialized on the horizon, and Lucas thought he could make out the flicker of a campfire near it. He swung his M4 up and gazed through the night vision scope.
There. He was right. It was a fire.
When he was closer, he dismounted and walked Tango toward the ruins. At the ed
ge of the property, he tied the horse to an old wooden fencepost and whispered in his ear, “Wait for me. I’ll be back soon.”
The fire was small and well-concealed, if he hadn’t been looking for it. The structure shielded it from the east, which was where all but Raiders would be coming from, that being the artery to New Mexico. A lone horse, its ribs pronounced ridges along its thin flank, stood near what had once been the building’s garage. As he approached the fire’s glow, he could only see one figure, and after confirming his impression with the scope, he stepped into the open, rifle at the ready.
The figure looked up and reached for a shotgun leaning against the wall of the farmhouse. Lucas shook his head and called out, “Wouldn’t do that if I was you.” His tone softened. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”
He moved closer and saw that it was a woman, whippet thin, her arms covered with full-sleeve tattoos, her face emaciated, her greasy black hair cropped short. She regarded him with ill-concealed fear, her eyes darting to his gun and then back to the shotgun just out of reach. He easily read her intention and kept his M4 pointed at her. “Don’t try anything stupid. I said I’m not going to hurt you.”
“What do you want, mister?” she asked, her drawl pronounced.
“Just came from the mayor’s. He said someone I’m looking for might be here.”
“Yeah? Who’s that?”
“Short guy wearing a badge.”
“He ain’t around.”
He took cautious steps until he was within a few yards of her and could see that she was younger than he’d thought, maybe Sierra’s age, but already worn down by a hardscrabble life.
“Where’s he at?”
“How would I know? Ain’t none of my business.”
“What are you doing out here on your own?” Lucas asked.
“Just tryin’ to get by, same as everyone. Don’t like stayin’ near town. Some of the guys get their booze on and go off, you know?” She eyed him and tried a smile. “But you’re not like that, are you?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not.”
“I can tell.” She paused. “Name’s Connie. I’m cooking rabbit. You ate yet?”
“Doesn’t smell too bad,” Lucas allowed.
“Guess if you was gonna shoot me, you woulda by now, huh?”
“Probably true.” He glanced at the shotgun. “Stay clear of the scatter gun, and we’ll get along fine.”
“You can sit down, ’less you’re afraid I’ll bite or somethin’,” she said.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Lucas decided to try the soft route with her, given there was no obvious threat.
“Why you lookin’ for that guy?” she asked, reaching out and turning a rabbit that was crackling over the fire, skewered on a piece of rusted rebar.
“They said he might be able to help me find something.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“A vest. Some friends of mine lost one.”
She made a face. “You’re riding around in the dark lookin’ for a vest? You crazy or something?”
“Or something.” He looked around. “You’re out here alone?”
“See anyone else?”
Lucas pointed to a pair of bedrolls. “More than one of those.”
“I like to be comfortable.” She smiled again. “Don’t you?”
“I suppose.”
“You scared the crap outta me, sneakin’ up like that.”
“Wasn’t my intention.”
She studied him. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”
“Down El Paso way.”
“Thought so. I’d a remembered if I’d seen you before.” She edged a little closer. “You by yourself?”
“Just me.”
She appraised him frankly and unfastened the top buttons of her shirt. “You lookin’ for more than a vest?”
“It’s not like that,” he said, looking away.
“Just you and me here.”
“I–”
The snick of a blade opening stopped him. He caught the gleam of steel in his peripheral vision and grabbed her wrist, stopping the hand that was snaking at him with a wicked-looking stiletto. Her smile instantly turned into a grimace of pained rage, and she swung the skewered rabbit at his head, hissing a curse as she fought to break free. Lucas avoided the blow and squeezed her wrist harder. She dropped the knife and squirmed, and he whipped the Kimber from his hip holster and pointed it at her head. He leaned toward the knife, .45 leveled on her, scooped it up, and tossed it into the darkness.
“This thing’ll blow a hole in you the size of a grapefruit,” he warned.
The struggle went out of her and she went limp. He slid away, gun steady in his hand, and pointed to the sleeping rolls. “Get up and bring me that rope.”
She looked where he indicated and the smile returned. “Don’t need to tie me up. ’Less you want to.”
“Get the rope. Not going to ask again.”
“Or what? You gonna shoot me?”
His tone was glacial. “Last time; then you learn the hard way.”
“All right. Cool your jets.”
He’d misjudged her, lulled by fatigue. She was high, probably on the home-made meth everyone was taking, dangerous as a pit viper and probably full-boat crazy. Had to be in order to keep the company she did, he figured. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“I see you grab anything but the rope and you’re buzzard food,” he warned.
“Just tryin’ to defend myself.”
It was as close to an apology as he was likely to get, even if an obvious lie. He nodded as though buying it. “No harm in that, but I’ll still blow your head off if you make one false move.”
“Forget what I said ’bout rememberin’ you. You’re just like all the rest.”
“No, I’m not, or you’d already be dead.”
He wasted no time and had her wrists and ankles bound within moments, tying her expertly, her struggling inadequate to do anything but delay the inevitable. When he was finished, he stood and considered her. “Waste of good rabbit.”
“You can have it all, if that’s what you’re after. That and anything else you want.”
He hastily searched her things and found nothing of value, other than a snub-nosed five-shot revolver with a taped handle and two disposable lighters. He did a quick inspection of the interior of the farmhouse and quickly returned.
“All right. Where’s the guy I was asking about?” he demanded.
“Told you. Don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Whatever.”
He sat back down and retrieved the rabbit from the dust and set the rebar back across the rocks so it could continue cooking. “Know why you should care? Because when that iron gets hot enough, I’m going to go to work on you with it. Worst part about bad burns is they hurt for days. Blister, peel, get infected. Hell, I expect a lot of people die from them these days, with no medicine and all.”
She shook her head. “I told you the truth.”
Lucas smiled, and the effect was chilling. “Connie, assuming that’s your real name, you have no idea what you’re playing with here. But I’ll offer fair warning. I intend to burn the skin off your face, then your nose and ears. Only way that’s not going to happen is if you tell me where he is, no more stalling or lies. I have nothing against you, so no reason to hurt you unless I have to. But I will. You read me?”
Her eyes widened, and the look of panic told him that she understood.
“He…he may be over by the highway, near the spring. He’s getting water.”
“Is he alone?”
She shook her head. “No. A friend.”
“This spring. You mean the one by Highway 285? The well?”
“That’s it.”
He eyed her skeptically. “Getting water? At night, with a buddy?”
She looked away. “That’s what he said.”
“They armed?”
“Course.”
&nbs
p; He debated what to do with her and decided to leave her tied up. “You lied to me, I’ll be back.”
“How am I supposed to get untied?”
Lucas studied her without expression. “You’ll think of something.” He removed the rabbit from the fire and tore a steaming chunk off the carcass before blowing on it to cool it. “No point in ruining the meal, is there?” he said, and then popped it in his mouth. “Mighty tasty. Enjoy it.”
She watched him walk away, her shotgun only a few short yards from her, but about as much use as a life raft in her predicament. She waited until he was out of sight and then began rubbing the rope that bound her wrists against the hot rocks of the fire pit, determined to get loose before the madman came back for her, which she was sure he would, if he survived.
A big if, but she wasn’t feeling lucky.
And there were other predators in the darkness for her to fear.
She swallowed the dry lump in her throat and sawed harder, praying to a God she didn’t believe in that she was successful before he returned.
Chapter 7
Lucas watched through the NV scope from five hundred yards away in the darkness as the woman freed herself, gathered her things, and saddled up the emaciated horse. He didn’t believe for a second she had told him the truth, but figured it was a near certainty that she would go in search of his quarry to warn him.
She set off to the south, confirming his suspicion, and continued at a gallop until she was barely a speck. He took off after her, Tango easily keeping up even after the long day’s ride, covering the ground with fluid grace as Lucas hunched low over the saddle, rifle gripped tightly in his right hand.
Twenty minutes later, he slowed as he approached the highway in the distance. He could just make out her horse silhouetted in the moonlight, and pulled Tango up short. “Time for a rest. I’ll handle it from here,” he said as he dropped from the saddle and tied the horse to a tree.
He ran in a crouch toward Connie’s horse, and as he neared, he could hear her screech of a voice from behind the carcass of a bus stalled by the side of the road – and the lower resonance of a man speaking in more hushed tones. Lucas didn’t bother trying to hear their conversation, instead concentrating on narrowing the distance without being spotted and flanking them so he could see what he was dealing with.
The Day After Never Bundle (First 4 novels) Page 26