The Two Devils

by David B. Riley

  "Female agent? Preposterous. Mr. O'Malley, I think you're seriously misinformed. Maybe you had better be leaving now?” The employee looked down at his desk.

  I started for the door.

  "If there was such a person, what sort of message did you wish to convey?” he asked me without looking at me.

  "Ah Puch stole my horse.” I opened the door.

  "Good day, Mr. O'Malley."

  "I live on..."

  "We know where you live, Mr. O'Malley, or at least we probably do, if we had reason to be in touch with you."

  Oddly, as I strutted down the shiny marble steps of the mint, I felt rather satisfied with that encounter. I went home.

  The next day, I went to work. The day after that, I went to work. By week's end, my satisfaction was beginning to wear off. It was just about closing time when a buggy stopped in front of the barbershop.

  "What have we here?” the Captain asked as he gazed out the window.

  The door opened and Judge Wilbur Hastings of the United States District Court strolled inside. “Good day, gentlemen."

  "Good day, your honor,” I replied. “Captain, this is Judge Hastings. He's the man who keeps having marshals arrest me."

  "I see,” my employer said. “How do you do, sir?"

  "Mr. O'Malley, I am in need of a haircut. I have a speech to give and wanted to look my best this evening,” the judge declared.

  "Well, you should have the Captain do it if you want to look your best,” I said. “I mostly do the drunks and little kids."

  He looked at me oddly, “Well, I was a little kid once.” He climbed up in the chair. “Couldn't hold still if my life depended on it. They'd see me coming and go out to lunch, even at nine in the morning.” He gave the Captain a look that sent him retreating to the back of the shop. “Mr. O'Malley, there may be something to your belief that common criminals are not responsible for your horse being stolen."

  "I knew it."

  "There are certain indications,” the judge continued, “that certain irregularities are being committed."

  "Irregularities?"

  "Irregularities,” he said. “I want to assure you, this is being looked into."

  "I appreciate that, your honor,” I said. “I really do."

  "Maybe, we might have some more information in a few days.” He stood from the chair. I'd never even touched his hair. “I must be off, now. Have a big speech to give."

  "Good luck on your speech,” I said.

  "Thank you, Mr. O'Malley. I'm sure it will go well.” He headed out the door and embarked to wherever he was going in the buggy.

  I was beginning to understand them. They said volumes by saying nothing. At least someone besides me was concerned with what had become of my horse.

  Then, my enthusiasm waned a bit. Two more days went by with no progress or action. I, once again, was on my day off and I, once again, did not have any horse to go riding with. I found myself out on the beach, a place Paul detested because of the sand and lack of anything to graze on—all without really knowing how I got there. As I sat there, tossing sticks into the surf, somebody plopped down beside me. It was Angel.

  "Miles, there is no longer any investigation underway. The United States Government only investigates federal crimes. The only crime, that we can determine, is horse stealing, and that is not a federal offense.” She tossed a stick out into the surf. The waves soon brought it back to her. “I cannot even convince Judge Hastings that Ah Puch is still alive. The ship was sunk by the navy. There is no way he could have gotten out of the hold and escaped. He is underneath some very deep water."

  "Only Ah Puch would go after my revolver. He thinks it's his gun,” I said. “And he thinks Paul is a super horse of some kind."

  "He is a super horse of some kind,” she said.

  "I know that. So,” I tossed out another stick, “I guess that's it."

  "That's it,” she said. She tossed another stick and waited for it to flow back in. “Judge Hastings once sent you off into the wilderness on the ridiculous belief you would stumble on to them."

  "I remember. And I did stumble on to them, as I recall."

  "You certainly did,” she said. “Miles, that was hardly his idea. Someone at the Secret Service suggested it."

  "Someone?"

  "Someone,” she said. “And, there may be secret hideouts the Gray Army used that have not been found yet."

  "Someone?” I asked.

  "Someone once suggested you just wander off out there and you'll find them.” She tossed a stick. This one did not come back. “Oh, well.” She stood. “Tide must be changing. There have been Gray Army sites in California, Arizona and Nevada. To my knowledge, nowhere else."

  "Nowhere else?"

  "Nowhere else."

  "I was kind of thinking of my days in Nevada, just before you got here,” I said.

  "There's a train that leaves at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, from Oakland,” she said. “It goes to Reno, as I recall."

  "I guess I'll have to take the ferry, then. Probably an early one.” I stood and dusted some of the sand off my trousers.

  "Good night, Mr. O'Malley. Sleep well."

  Before heading back in, I asked her, “How come you don't call me Miles?"

  "I'm not comfortable with informality, Mr. O'Malley."

  "Oh.” This was a woman who had once taken her clothes off and crawled in bed with me. This was a woman who had once lectured me that people need not be married in order to sleep together. But, she was not comfortable with informality. At moments like that, I began to think Paul might have been right about her. Still, she was the only person in the universe willing to buy into my theory about what had become of my horse.

  As I marched along in the dark, while trying not to trip on any holes or driftwood, I found myself wondering why anybody would steal a horse and a revolver to transport it to Nevada. It would be far simpler to steal, or even purchase, either one over there. But, as cockeyed as this idea was, I would go to Nevada because the alternative of doing nothing was completely intolerable.

  So, I managed a few hours sleep, then started on my journey. First, to the ferry to Oakland, then I managed to get some fellow to give me a ride on his bread wagon over to the train station. The people who build trains always want them to be completely independent of boats and such. I'll never understand why they will not put them in the same places for the convenience of passengers.

  I bought a ticket, which just about cleaned out my finances, and found myself a window seat in the rear car. I'd only ridden on a train once before, when I'd first traveled out west. They hadn't changed any. The seats were still hard and uncomfortable. The washrooms—well, I lack the words to describe them.

  The alternative of walking or taking a stage was the driving force for people using the railroads. One was awful, but the other was intolerable. Many Californians still called it the new railroad, even though it had been in place for a number of years. But, twenty minutes late, we were underway as the train lurched forward, and we started our journey eastward.

  Just as the train jerked us forward, a woman sat down next to me. It was Angel, dressed very conservatively in a dark gray dress and matching hat. “Good morning, Mr. O'Malley. I nearly didn't make it."

  "I didn't think the government investigated missing horses?"

  "It doesn't, Mr. O'Malley.” She looked around our car for a moment. “Then again, it doesn't have women working in the field, either."

  Gradually, our train picked up velocity and began to believe it might actually make it to our destination in my lifetime. We had to stop periodically to take on water and passengers. I remember Stockton and Sacramento. There were other, less populous, stations as well. As the hours rolled by, we gradually began our ascent up into the Sierra Nevada foothills, then the mountains themselves.

  Angel had the habit of dozing off. This usually meant my shoulder was the preferred pillow for her. I didn't mind, and actually wished I could doze off. The rocking motion
of the train bothered me. I knew I would get little rest until our destination, and perhaps not even then.

  In the mountains, we would pass through stretches of covered railway and tunnels. I kept remembering I once entered the gates of hell by traveling inside such a tunnel.

  So, we plodded along and into the night. I suppose, being able to arrive in another state early the next morning is a major achievement in the field of transportation. With stops for water and such, I figured we'd averaged about twenty miles per hour. Still, I was quite tired when the conductor announced Reno just as the sun was coming back up. And the train had not been robbed or even crashed into anything.

  I started to suggest we look into an otel, then I remembered there apparently is no such thing, if assassins and shadow creatures are to be believed. Angel talked me into heading directly out into the sagebrush. She said we could camp out. So, we rented a wagon with two incredibly slow-moving horses and headed out into Nevada's scenic countryside.

  We found a grove of tall trees bordering a small stream that was fed by Sierra snow runoff. This was a good find, as much of the standing water, I'd learned the last time I was in Nevada, was very alkaline.

  As I stretched out next to my campfire, I realized things just did not seem right without my horse. “Where do we head tomorrow?” I asked Angel.

  "I don't know, Mr. O'Malley. You know this terrain better than I.” Angel sat down next to me. “Where is he?"

  "Well, there's a small mine I used to work.” I decided to leave out the kitchen boy part. “It's not all that far from here. As I see it, a mine would be a good place to store weapons and stuff and nobody would even notice."

  "This land is so sparse they could have drills out in the open and nobody would notice,” she pointed out.

  "True enough, but Ah Puch has to rebuild. He's not ready to take anyone on just yet."

  She looked at me for a moment. “Not true, Mr. O'Malley. He's practically begging you to come and kill him."

  "Ah Puch cannot be killed,” I pointed out. “He said so himself."

  "Well, then you've got yourself a real problem.” She put her head on my shoulder. “If you ask me."

  "I just want my horse back."

  We reached the mine about noon. As Roy had already told me, the place was deserted. The only movement was a jackrabbit running out from behind the old outdoor stove.

  There was nothing of interest. It was exactly what it should have been, an abandoned mine. Most of the Nevada gold was gone. A few outfits were finding life in silver production, but this mine was not one of them. Its inhabitants had long gone elsewhere in search of work.

  I wondered about the lair I'd once stumbled into, and nearly died by a shadowy creature with no one. “We could work the tailings,” I said.

  "What are tailings?” she asked.

  "The leftovers from ore and dust. When a mine's played out, some folks come back and work through what's been discarded. Some men have gotten wealthy doing this.” I looked at her. “Guess not."

  "Mr. O'Malley, there are plenty of ruffians and counterfeiters for me to tend to. I have little interest in mining,” Angel explained. “Where do you suggest we go next?"

  "While we were coming up here,” I explained, “it occurred to me that the Gray Army may have loved underground caverns and such places, but I can't say that was true for Ah Puch. That rig he traveled in was rather posh."

  She headed for the wagon. “Well, Virginia City it is."

  I didn't recall even mentioning Virginia City. I had not even thought of Virginia City. I climbed up on the wagon and we were underway. “Why Virginia City?” I finally asked.

  "You wanted posh. If he's not camping in a mineshaft, where else?"

  "He has an owl head."

  "Then we won't mistake him for the wrong person,” Angel said.

  Two hours later we rolled into Virginia City. The place had changed. There were more buildings and fewer canvas tents than I remembered.

  Angel found a hotel on the edge of town that offered reasonable rates, at least it said so on the sign in the window. This time around, things seemed slower and calmer in town. There were few new arrivals like me wandering around looking for work.

  I noticed a flyer for a performance at the Opera House that very evening. It was for some Italian thing I couldn't pronounce. I'd almost tossed it, when Angel took it from me and insisted we attend. I was not looking forward to it, but agreed to go. Why the government agent who had other villains to attend to suddenly wanted to waste time at an opera made little sense to me.

  At seven o'clock I found myself waiting in line outside the Opera House with a few dozen others. The experience itself was not what I had imagined; it was worse. Listening to people who sounded like strangled cats carry on in a hot stuffy theater for the better part of three hours made me want to get on my hands and knees and repent for all my past deeds. Mabel once told me that opera is an acquired taste. That may be true, though I doubted I would ever acquire it.

  The only consolation of the evening was that Angel had obtained the tickets somehow, and I had not been required to pay for them.

  As we left the building, she wrapped her arm around my elbow. “Did you like that?"

  I never had a chance to answer. Someone grabbed me from behind, slid a burlap sack over my head, then tossed me inside a wagon of some kind. As we lurched into motion, my hands and feet were quickly bound.

  Then, someone kicked me in the stomach. Then someone kicked me again in my private parts. I thought that was uncalled for. I don't remember much after that. They may have hit me again.

  My next consciousness was inside a mineshaft. An oil lamp provided a dim glow of the surroundings. I could see that there was an ore car near me. My right wrist was chained to a spike driven into the rock. I quickly discovered I lacked the strength to remove it. At least the bag was off my head. I'd been right about a mine, but simply the wrong one. There were hundreds of abandoned mines in Nevada.

  I looked around and decided, even though it was rather dark, that I was alone. I wondered what had become of Angel. I don't know how long I sat there, but it seemed like a very long time.

  Finally, I heard footsteps coming my way. I pretended to be asleep. That was a mistake. A kick to my stomach convinced me of that. I looked up at two bearded men with unkempt hair. “Wuh?"

  "Get up."

  I staggered to my feet.

  "Let's go,” my captor invited.

  "Uh?” I jangled the chain around, then looked expectantly for a key.

  They looked at each other, both with a blank expression. Then, both men turned and headed back down the tunnel.

  I seated myself in the dirt and waited for somebody to come up with a key. Eventually, my captors returned. This time, they had a key and unlocked me. I was dragged up and out of the mine. We were just outside Virginia City. In fact, I could easily see the lights from the mine entrance.

  They tossed me into a wagon and we rode down into town.

  I thought it was strange to kidnap somebody and then drive him down a public street. The saloons were all open and seemed rather active. People were wandering around everywhere, even though I guessed by the position of the moon that it was rather late.

  We didn't go to the bawdy part of town where miners were parting with their pay. Instead, we went up a quiet side street and parked behind the Opera House. They dragged me inside.

  Surprisingly, the lamps were on, at least some of them. The curtains were drawn on the stage and violin music was playing from behind them. I was tossed into a seat in the front row. My captors unlocked my chains and left me there to listen to the music. Whoever was playing it was skilled, but the tune itself lacked inspiration, at least to my ear. Then it stopped. I could hear one person clapping very slowly.

  The curtain eased open. The person clapping was Angel, sitting by herself on stage on a posh leather chair. She was frowning, her clapping forced—as though she wasn't really happy with the performance. The s
tage was elegantly furnished. When it was nearly fully opened, I could see Ah Puch stood at the right end of the stage, holding a violin.

  He looked at me and bent over in an exaggerated bow. “Bravo,” he said. “Bravo.” He sat in one of the other chairs. “What did you think?"

  "You scare me, Ah Puch,” I said.

  "How so?” he asked.

  "You're a lot like Nick. He plays the violin as well,” I said.

  He gently placed the instrument on a small table. “You've heard him play?"

  "Who's Nick?” Angel asked.

  "The devil,” Ah Puch and I both said at the same time.

  "You've heard him play?” Ah Puch repeated.

  "Yes,” I lied. I'd never actually heard him, but I had heard him boast of his musical abilities. That seemed close enough.

  "He plays well?” Ah Puch asked.

  "Yes, quite well,” I said. “Where's my horse?"

  "My horse is just fine,” the Mayan God of Death replied. “He's just fine. Tell me, how did you ever acquire such a fine horse on a barber's salary?"

  Even though the truth would have certainly made him angry, and I saw that as a good thing, I decided not to share how I came to have a horse like Paul. “Just lucky, I guess."

  "You're, no doubt, wondering how I escaped when the ship sank,” Ah Puch said. “When it was under water, I simply detached the owl part of me and shot through the water. There was a hole from one of the shells. Once on the surface, I simply flew along near the waves. No one noticed a small bird flying away. Then, I found a fishing boat, tore the head off one of the fisherman,” he pointed at himself with his thumbs, “and here I am."

  "What of the other fishermen?” Angel asked.

  "I killed them and ate their hearts. Well, more accurately, I ate their hearts and that killed them. I like hearts still fresh, still beating. They're better that way.” He sat in another chair. “So, here we are.” He reached into his pocket and produced my revolver. He held it up into the light. “Mr. O'Malley, do you have any more of those titanium bullets?"

  "No, I do not,” I said, though I was beginning to wish I did.

  "Pity."

  "They don't work on you,” I pointed out. “I've already shot you with one."