Then, two houses down, he stopped outright and would not budge. I finally noticed a pinto horse tied up in our neighbor's back yard. “Let's get out of here,” I whispered. We headed out the short distance to the beach that ran north and south for quite some distance. I felt better out away from the buildings where we had some open space. That was a huge mistake.
There was a sudden noise right behind us. I turned to see Lame Elk, or whatever else her name was, climbing out of the sand. She had her rifle—a Winchester repeater—trained on me. She was only fifteen feet away and there was absolutely nowhere to go for cover.
My brain figured out what was happening. “Damn! You knew I'd see your horse and head out here."
"Yes."
"Damn."
"I do not know how you had me kidnapped and taken to Hawaii, Miles O'Malley. You are a worthy opponent, but tonight Ah Puch will rule over you."
"You have a lot of faith in a god who does not exist,” I said.
"Die now!” And she started pulling the trigger. Her rifle just clicked and clicked and clicked. Then, she angrily threw it to the ground.
I jumped off my horse and pointed my revolver at her. “Your gun does not seem to be working. Mine, I assure you, works perfectly."
She sat down on the ground and starting pounding her fists into the sand.
"Lame Elk, or Green Flower, you really aren't very good at this sort of thing,” I said. “Why not find some other line of work?"
"How do you know my name?” she demanded. “I never have spoken it to you."
"I just know."
Some riders came up on the scene. One of them was the major. I didn't know who the other ones were.
"We'll take her from here, Mr. O'Malley."
"Fine,” I said. I was relieved she might not be popping up trying to kill me for a while.
"We were watching your rooming house. Then you rode out here,” the major explained.
They took her and rode off. Being nearly killed gets the blood pumping. I needed time to wind down before going home. I had some matches and twine kindling in Paul's saddlebag. In no time at all, I had a nice driftwood fire going. I stretched out by the fire. Paul sort of wandered around. There wasn't anything for him to graze on out on the beach.
After about five minutes, he started jumping up and down. Then I noticed someone was approaching. Mabel was wearing a simple white robe, like the kind they wear in heaven. She looked radiant. She handed Paul something, which he ate. I was not sure what it was, but he seemed to like it. Then she came over and stood right in front of me.
She dropped a cartridge on my lap, then another and another until she'd dropped eight of them. Then, she sat next to me and put her head on my shoulder. “Funny thing about rifles. They don't shoot very well without ammunition in them."
I held up one of the bullets and looked at it near the fire. “You took her bullets?"
"I told you I wouldn't let her hurt you,” Mabel said. Then she kissed me and started unbuttoning my shirt. “Remember what I said about not wanting to do it in the dirt?"
"Yes."
"I changed my mind."
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Chapter 12
BARBERING
Mabel said she was going to seduce some young boys, then go back to hell. I think she was joking about the boys, but I was not really certain. She kissed me goodbye, then snapped her fingers and vanished in a shower of sparks.
I returned home just after dawn. She really made my head swim, plus there was the other excitement. I was able to sleep for a half hour before Mrs. Wilson, the proprietor of Mrs. Wilson's Rooming House, woke me for breakfast. Even though I was tired, she made about the best buttermilk flapjacks I'd ever had. I lost track of how many I devoured, but she kept them coming and did not seem to mind how many I ate.
The barbershop was only a few blocks away, so I walked to work. The Captain was already there. We had no customers yet. “Was none-too-sure if you were going to make it or not."
"Why's that?” I asked.
"Well, they took you away yesterday. Figured they had you locked up in the hoosegow."
"Was that yesterday? Seems longer, somehow. It's all settled. It was just a misunderstanding,” I said.
"Glad to hear it, lad.” He looked out in front of the shop. “Got one coming in, lad. You take him."
"All righty."
The fellow removed his hat and climbed up in the chair. He explained how much he wanted cut and I proceeded to chop away. As I cut some, I found things were not going well. I gradually became aware that the gentleman's head was misshapen. Being a barber of modest skill, this became quite a challenge for me. I snipped and tucked and finally came up with a presentation that was not too ridiculous. I brushed off his shirt and handed him a mirror. I figured, at least he wasn't bleeding.
My customer looked at himself from a number of angles. Then he handed me back the mirror. “My good man,” he said. “I do believe that is positively the best haircut I have ever received.” He climbed out of the chair and looked at himself in another mirror. “Splendid, simply splendid.” He paid the Captain and left.
I swept up, then started to read the Examiner. The fellow soon returned.
"Miles,” he fished around in his pocket, then handed me a certificate.
"I would like you to have this.” He looked at himself in the mirror, then he left again.
I unfolded the certificate. It was for a free two-night's stay at the Hotel Venus, in a deluxe room. I showed it to the Captain. “Where is Venus?"
"I think it's up near Napa,” he said. He opened a drawer and fished around for a map. “Yep, there it is.” He pointed at a small dot “Things are slow. Take an extra day off and ride up there. It's pretty country."
I didn't see any reason to argue. That evening, I told Mrs. Wilson I'd be gone a few days. She had to confirm that Venus was, indeed, where I said it was. It was not on her map. However, she decided it must exist after I showed her the map the Captain had leant me. “You must be a right fine barber, Mr. O'Malley."
I had never before heard ‘right fine barber’ in the same sentence with my name.
We headed out early. Our first stop was to Pier 21, on the Bay. We had to take the ferry over to Richmond. It was not all that expensive, though I did have to pay extra for Paul. The steam-powered boat chugged and sputtered its way across the bay and deposited us at a pier in Richmond. We headed northeast.
We went through a few towns. In each case, I asked a few folks if they knew anything about Venus? “Never heard of it,” was all I got back.
But, I had the map and just followed it.
Then, we came upon a badly overgrown road with a small handwritten sign that said Venus. It didn't seem very promising, but I knew of no other way to get to my deluxe room. There was not a soul on the road. Grass was growing on it. One would have thought nobody ever came this way.
"I'll bet there's another, newer road somewhere.” Paul snorted a few times. We rounded a bend in the road and came upon the town. After the gold rush, many towns sprang up overnight. Many of them were abandoned just as quickly. A rapidly decaying town of falling down buildings lay before us.
"Paul, looks like Miles has been flimflammed."
My horse just snorted a few times.
The Venus Saloon was still basically intact. One of its two large front windows was unbroken. I poked my head inside. A slightly warped bar took up most of the room. A faded painting of a naked lady hung crooked on the wall. Next door, stood the Hotel Venus. A dusty front desk sat off near the front door. Next to that, a rickety staircase went up to the rooms. A parlor was off to the side. One lone rocking chair was by the window.
I chanced the stairs and ventured to the second floor. The hotel was rather sparse in furniture. None of the seven rooms had any. I selected room three, then got my gear and took it upstairs. I parked my rifle and saddlebags near the door and unrolled my bedroll beneath the window. It was late. I was getting tired. T
he next town was some ways off.
My horse was snacking on some vegetation that was growing next to the buildings. A small creek ran behind the hotel. So, I figured Paul could keep himself occupied, and I decided to get some rest.
I slept for a while, then something woke me. I figured it was around midnight. I fumbled my way down the fragile stairs, but I couldn't find anything amiss. So, I made my way back to room three and went back to sleep.
The next morning, Paul greeted me at the base of the stairway. He seemed ready to go. I drug my gear down and was loading up Paul when I realized I was missing something. My prized rifle was nowhere to be found. I raced back upstairs, and the room was still quite empty. I searched everywhere I could think of to no avail.
"Paul. We're not going home. The coupon was for two nights and we're staying.” My horse did not seem pleased. “I've got to find that rifle."
An entire day of searching the town yielded nothing. I found no evidence at all of what had happened to my rifle. The little rundown town would not give up its secret. As the day came to an end, I found myself in the old saloon. There was a candle behind the bar. I lit it up and placed it on the counter. The room filled with a faint yellow glow. I was wishing I'd found something beside a candle.
After a few minutes had gone by, I found myself gazing out the window. The town was bathed in the harsh bluish light of the full moon. My horse was down the street, eating something that grew alongside a wall.
That whoosh sound people make when they blow out a candle is something I should not have heard in a deserted town, but that was the last thing I heard before the lights went out in the saloon.
Then I heard another noise; the hammer of a rifle was being cocked by somebody right behind me. Rather than waste time looking over my shoulder to see who it was, I simply jumped right through the window of the Venus saloon. Fortunately, I landed in the dirt without falling on any shards of glass. I rolled over, then jumped to my feet. The nearest source of cover was a wall that was all that remained of some café. I dove over it just as a bullet tore a chunk out of the fading blue stucco. I crashed to the ground, then tried to figure out who my enemy was. All I could see was the muzzle flash as somebody fired another round into the wall in front of me. I was pretty sure I now knew where my rifle was. What I didn't know was who was shooting at me—or why.
My first thought was of another Ah Puch assassin. But the previous ones I'd tangled with all came complete with their own weapons. This character had stolen mine. I still had my revolver, which I held ready to fire. Both the revolver and the rifle used the same ammunition. The problem was, I had no target to shoot at. Then, I almost wished I could remain ignorant.
My rifle moved out into the street—just my rifle. There was nobody attached to it. The rifle aimed at me, then fired. Another chunk of wall exploded. I returned fire. I guess that was part of the plan.
Nothing happened.
The rifle still sort of hovered there in front of the saloon. After I'd shot off two rounds, there was the faint glow of someone holding my rifle. It was like there was suddenly a man there, yet I could see right through him.
He was of average height and features, with a pencil-thin moustache and cold, dark eyes—the sort of eyes that look right through you.
I fired again. Bullets were not having any effect on this fellow, understandably since this ghost was already dead. I hated the notion of being killed with my own rifle. But that seemed rather likely as my rifle drifted farther into the street, floating in my direction. Behind the wall was nothing but open space, and my horse was on the other side of the town, behind my assailant.
Then I remembered something. God and Nick had both wanted me not to keep the titanium bullets. God Himself had taken back six of them and sent the Angel of Death to fetch the rest of the box. Death, being more interested in my liquor, had taken the box, but not noticed some remaining bullets that were loose in the drawer. I now had them tucked into the slots of my gun belt. Though I kept worrying about them, I had never been able to dispose of them. I slid one of them into the chamber, then made sure I'd aligned the cylinder correctly.
My ghostly assailant was now only about twenty feet away from the wall. He stopped and pointed the rifle at my head. I think I saw him grin at me. I pointed my revolver at where his midsection should be. He gave me a look, a strange look like he wanted me to fire so he could taunt me just a moment longer. I obliged him.
There was the muzzle flash and the roar of the shot. Then, it was like nothing happened for just a second or two. Finally, the ghost's features started to change. He looked like the surface of a pond that had been disrupted by a wave. He shriveled up and vanished. My rifle fell to the earth and landed with a dull thud. The ghost was gone.
The town was silent again, absolutely silent. I climbed back over the wall and picked up my rifle. I was surprised he had not killed me with it. I certainly would not have missed—not that rifle at such a modest distance.
For a moment, I even wondered if there was nothing special about the rifle and that I was simply a naturally good shot. I suppose ghosts don't get in much target practice.
Paul marched up the main street. He looked at me and at the rifle.
"Yes, Paul, we can go now.” And we rode straight through to San Francisco. We had to wait a few minutes for the first ferry in Richmond, then we rode back to the rooming house. I put Paul up, then headed for my place of employment.
The Captain was already there, even though it was early. So was the fellow with the misshapen head. I had been tricked with a free trip to some deserted crap hole. Both men were snickering as I entered the shop.
"Good morning,” I greeted them as cheerfully as possible.
The man with the odd head said, “Mornin’ Miles."
"Mornin’ Miles,” the Captain repeated.
I got my scissors ready and prepared for another day of barbering.
Both of these men kept watching my every move.
The Captain couldn't stand it. After two minutes, he asked me, “Well, Miles, how was the Hotel Venus? Did you enjoy yourself?"
I doubted they knew anything about rifle-stealing ghosts. And, sending me off to some deserted hotel for two days must certainly have given them plenty of amusement. “Splendid, simply splendid,” I declared.
They both looked at me skeptically. The man with the odd-shaped head headed off, and the Captain started sweeping the shop, which was normally my job. Nothing else was ever said about the Town of Venus again.
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Chapter 13
SCIENCE
Ever since I'd moved in, there had been a ‘For Sale’ sign in the front yard of the house next door to my rooming house. One day, though, the ‘For Sale’ sign was gone and two burly movers brought box after box into the house.
I watched them as I ate my flapjacks. The window from our dining room gave an unobstructed view of the side of the other house, which was where the wagon was parked.
"Don't you think that's a bit odd,” Mrs. Wilson asked.
"What?” I replied.
"All those boxes for just one man."
I had not even thought of that. “No kids or anything?"
"Not even a wife,” she said. “That's the second wagon."
I asked, “Where's he from?"
She picked up my plate. “I don't know.” She started for the kitchen.
"Most odd.” She may have been right on that, but I had to get to work. As I walked by the house, I noticed our new neighbor.
He wore black clothing from head-to-toe. He had dark, almost black eyes and matching hair and beard. He sort of looked right through me, then ventured inside the house.
My morning was uneventful. The Captain rattled on about the editorial in the Examiner that argued one of our county supervisors was a crook while I cut hair on the few unsuspecting men who ventured through our door.
Around noon, to my surprise, a woman entered our establishment and placed herself i
n my chair. She had rather short blonde hair, around ear length and at the collar in back.
I had not before seen a woman with hair like this. “To what do I owe this visit?” I asked.
"I'm Molly Madison.” She looked at the copy of the Examiner. I write for that very paper.
"I don't read the women's page,” the Captain said, “on account I'm not a woman."
That brought a look of pure ice from her pretty green eyes. “I do not write for that section. I cover crime."
"Preposterous,” the Captain replied. “Women don't write about crime."
She opened the paper and pointed at a byline of M. J. Madison. “That, my good fellow, is one of mine."
"Are you going to cut my hair or stare at me?” she asked, changing her attention to me.
"Perhaps, a little of both,” I said. I picked up my scissors. “Why here? They have beauty salons just down the street."
"Barbershops are cheaper. I live on a reporter's salary. I have parted company with my previous barber. You will have to do. Though, I was told there's one place down here in the Pacific District that used to have some guy who's so bad he'll cut a person's ear off. I hope that isn't you."
"Probably not,” I replied as I combed her shining hair.
"How reassuring."
"What brings you around here?” the Captain asked her.
"Well,” she replied, “There was a murder last night. Quite strange. The blood was completely drained from the victim."
"Heck, Miles does that at least once a week when he's giving his shaves,” the Captain responded, at my expense.
She seemed to shrug off his wit. “You don't understand, she did not lie in a pool of blood. The blood is gone, as in vanished."
"Maybe it evaporated,” the Captain said.
"I think that unlikely."
I don't know how, but I managed to give her a rather good haircut. Even the Captain seemed impressed.
At around four, the Captain said, “Well, another day and no one killed.
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