Vulture Wings
Page 12
Desolation was not famed for its hospitality, but the stranger was gladdened to see the lights on in the saloon. The outsider followed the glowing orange beacon along the trail into town. Though he did not speak a word as he entered the bar, the traveller’s mere physical presence announced itself.
Chloe was behind the counter that night. Despite her former career, she had not lost her eye for a handsome man. And my oh my, was this stranger something! He was as burly as a wrestler, and his smouldering eyes seemed to be scanning the entire room. Though dirty snows clung to his poncho, and his chin was smattered with black stubble, his unkemptness only added to his coarse charm.
Chloe rushed over to the attractive newcomer.
‘What’ll it be, mister?’ she piped flirtatiously.
‘Just a coffee, please, Candy.’
‘Comin’ up.’ So, you remember my stage name? she thought. You’re not such a stranger after all.
Bob knew that using Candy’s name might reveal himself, but he did not care. His quarry was sitting alone at a table, so drunk that he was nodding off: Harry Charles, wanted dead or alive, $150 reward. Bob knew what Charles looked like, but Charles did not know that Bob was chasing him.
It had been over a year since the farmer had found Bob stupidly turning the rifle on himself. Kind though the farmer undoubtedly was, he had been angered by Bob’s erratic behaviour. The farmer had snatched the weapon away, and chased Bob off. When he had omitted to return the rifle to his father’s cabinet, it had created a stir. It did not take long before Eli had learned from the farmer what Bob had been caught doing.
The incident had caused angered voices and distressed tears in the Connor house. Yet, it had been cathartic. The confrontations ended Bob’s dark, yet self-pitying, meditativeness. Bob had also admitted a truth to himself. Morris had implanted a seed of barbarity in him, and Bob was addicted to the thrill of violence. By then, Eli could no longer conceal his own bloodied history. Bob had been both intrigued and inspired by his father’s murky past. Perhaps Bob could channel his ferocity into something positive. He certainly had the brains to be a manhunter.
Bob was not yet twenty-one, yet his reputation as a fledgling tracker was budding. He had inherited his father’s tenacity.
Chloe’s coffee was scalding, yet Bob gulped it. He needed that drink, but there was nothing to be gained from delaying any further. After leaving Chloe a few cents, he approached Charles.
‘Harry Charles?’
‘Huh?’ the runaway slurred.
‘You’re coming with me.’
Bob seized the crook’s lapels, and forced him to his feet. Charles tried to push Bob away, but the manhunter grasped the criminal’s wrist and twisted his arm around his back. It pleasured Bob to hear Charles cry out like a baby. Charles flailed his other arm pathetically, only for Bob to clasp that, too. He wrestled the other arm back and skilfully manacled the fugitive. Bob tightened the handcuffs as forcefully as he could. Their pinch made Charles squeal, adding to Bob’s pleasure.
Bob could easily have shot Charles in the back, but Bob had come to enjoy the fight in making a quarry submit. He marched the runaway out by the scruff of his neck. Charles was a multiple murderer, and had not earned Bob’s compassion.
Before exiting, he turned and winked at the landlady.
‘Thanks, Candy.’
Chloe winked back. How did this dreamboat know her? she pondered. Chloe hoped he would be back soon.