by JJ Zep
“Bug off!” Retlaw barked.
Murphy ignored him. “Did I hear correctly that this man here is not the Hellfire Kid, but rather someone impersonating him?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Barnes said and Murphy’s face lit up.
“Well, all bets are off then, aren’t they?” he said.
“What’s this imbecile on about?” Retlaw said.
“If he’s not the Hellfire Kid, then all bets are off!” Murphy suddenly shouted. “You hear that Henry Chisholm! All bets are off! You don’t own my saloon, or my general store or any of my other businesses, you thieving chisler! All bets are off!”
Murphy indulged himself in a little Irish jig right there, in the middle of the street, with his heels clicking together and his arms formed into a circle above his head. He was actually quite nimble for a big man, but unfortunately he’d forgotten about the body of Pancho Daniels lying in the dust, and as he did one pirouette too many, he stumbled over it and plowed headfirst into the horse trough.
A roar of laughter went up from the onlookers as Murphy sat up in the trough, spouting water. I’m not sure if the soul chasers joined in the laughter, but if they did it was soon cut short. Paddy Murphy’s body had turned semi-transparent and in the middle of his chest, where the heart would be, a small firefly-like light was glowing.
“It’s Billy the Kid!” Retlaw screamed. “Get him!” He hobbled forward towards the water trough, but as he passed Pandora, she hung out a foot, and Retlaw went plowing into the dirt.
“All yours, Ringo,” Pandora said, and the imp dashed forward with his apprehension jar at the ready.
“No you don’t, you Liverpudlian lay-about” Jitterbug growled, suddenly materializing from the dirt road in front of him. He grabbed the back of Ringo’s gun-belt and hauled him to the ground and the two of them went at it, like General Custer and Crazy Horse at the Battle of Little Big Horn.
While the two imps were rolling around on the floor and Retlaw was trying to lever himself up on his cane, Onslow Foster made a run for the trough and dipped his jar into the water. It came back filled with murky fluid that contained within it a small spot of light. Onslow held the jar up and admired it with a smile on his lips.
“Is that for me?” Pandora said. “It is, isn’t it? Oh, thank you Onslow, thank you so, very, very much.”
She tried to reach for the jar, but Onslow snatched it away and the contents went arching through the air and landed in the dirt. Seeing this, Walter Retlaw abandoned his attempts to get to his feet and crawled on all fours towards the spot of light that was creeping its way towards the prone form of Pancho Daniels.
Meanwhile, Jitterbug and Ringo were circling each other like a couple of miniature, western-themed, sumo wrestlers.
“Just so you know, Jit,” Ringo said, “I used your bobbit to wipe my bottom.”
“Could be worse,” Jitterbug said. “You could have used it to wipe your face.”
“What kind of an imp believes in bobbits, anyway?
“What kind of a Beatles fan thinks Penny Lane is where John Lennon lived?
“He did live there!” Ringo insisted.
“Yeah, and I suppose mean Mister Mustard lived next door.”
“You rascal!” Ringo screamed and charged, and the two imps were soon spitting and fighting again.
By now, the spot of light had reached Pancho, and the dead outlaw suddenly bounded to his feet and took off down the road.
“Stop him!” Walter Retlaw screamed, as Onslow and Pandora set off after him, with Pancho gaining at every stride.
twenty two
“Well, now that the circus has left town, I guess, we’d better be on our way,” Barnes said. “Noble, cuff him.” Agent Noble walked over and bound my hands in front of me, using a tiny pair of cuffs on my thumbs.
“We’ll refrain from using anything more heavy-duty as long as co-operate. Give us a problem though, and we break out the fire-wire. Understand?”
“I won’t give you any problem,” I said, and cast a wistful glance towards the boardwalk where Cecelia Chisholm stood, still supporting her father. She looked shocked and more than a little bit confused. I shot her a hesitant smile and she sent one back that said what we both knew, that we’d never see one another again.
Jitterbug and Ringo had worn themselves out and now lay of their backs in the dirt, both gasping for air. What the good folks of Devil’s Gulch made of the battling imps, of everything else they’d just seen for that matter, is anyone’s guess.
“Jit, we’re heading out now. You coming?” Barnes said.
“You fellers go on ahead,” Jitterbug gasped. “I’m not done kicking this sad excuse for an imp’s butt yet.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ringo said.
“Yeah,” Jitterbug growled.
Before they got started up again Barnes and Noble led me away and helped me into the saddle on Bucko. We left town heading south with me riding between the two agents.
“So what happens now?” I asked Barnes.
“Now we go back to the Rio Diablo, jar you and then head on back to Hades Correctional.”
“And after that?”
“You’ll go on trial. Two counts of illegal flight from jurisdiction, one of falsifying paper work, one of impersonating an SPAA officer, one of aiding and abetting a fugitive, plus various other misdemeanors.”
“Is that serious?”
“Oh yeah, I’m afraid it’s the furnace for you my friend, plus you’re likely to be docked a couple of lives, maybe even three.”
We had now reached the thin end of Diablo Creek, just a trickle of water less than an inch deep.
“Let’s head further upstream,” Barnes said, “water’s a bit too shallow at this end.”
We turned east and followed the path of the stream as the day drifted towards late afternoon. The mesas cast long shadows across the red earth and the sky was becoming a deepening blue. Up above I could see an eagle riding the thermals, and in the distance I heard the plaintive cry of a coyote. It was all very beautiful and I tried to remember every detail. I had an eternity to come working the furnace in the global warming department and perhaps when things got particularly tough I could think back on my last day of freedom.
We’d now reached a spot where the river widened and deepened enough for what needed to be done. Barnes called a halt and dismounted and removed an apprehension jar from his saddlebag. I’d never been jarred before and I asked him if it was painful or uncomfortable.
“Not at all,” Barnes said. “You’re not claustrophobic are you?”
“No.”
“Then it’ll be no problem at all. Let’s just say you’ll get to feel what it’s like to be a goldfish. Now lets make this nice and easy. You get yourself submerged in the stream and Noble will scoop you up and we can be on our way before nightfall.”
Noble removed my thumb cuffs and I waded into Diablo Creek until I was knee deep, then sat, and eventually lie down on my back.
“Right, Noble,” I heard Barnes say. “Jar him and let’s go home.”
I heard a small splash as Agent Noble entered the stream, then the sounds of him walking towards me, and then stopping. For a while it was silent and then I heard Noble say, “Uh-oh.”
“Problem?” Barnes said.
“I’ll say,” said Noble.
“Well, what is it?”
“See for yourself.”
There was more splashing as Barnes waded towards us, then silence. “Bugger,” Barnes said after a while. “Fetch the stethoscope.”
“What’s the holdup?” I said.
“A minor problem,” Barnes assured me. “We’ll soon be on our way.”
Noble had now returned with a stethoscope in his hand. He handed it to Barnes who knelt down in the water and placed it against my chest.
“Bugger,” Barnes said again.
“What?” I said. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“It appears there’s someone else in the
re,” Barnes said.
twenty three
“What the hell do you mean, there’s someone else in there?”
“I mean,” Barnes said, “that you have two fireflies when you should have only one.”
“Is that even possible?” I said, although I knew it was and I had a pretty good idea how it had happened.
“Let’s just say, it’s not impossible,” Barnes said, “although I haven’t seen one of these since, oh…”
“The Corsican twins,” Noble said.
“Exactly! And that was three hundred years ago.”
“So what do we do now?” I said.
“We do what any good SPAA agent would in these circumstances, scoop first and ask questions later. Noble, jar the both of them. Hang in there, Black, this could be a tight squeeze.”
Noble dipped the apprehension jar into the water and the next thing I knew I was being scooped up and the jar was being sealed. Barnes hadn’t been kidding about it being a tight squeeze, I felt like a pickled plum in one of those glass preserve jars.
And my companion didn’t help either. “Hey, let me out! Let me the hell out of here you saddle-bums, or I’ll cut you down like the low-life Yankee trash you are.”
“Mister,” I said. “There’s no ways you’re getting out of here, so you may as well settle down and enjoy the ride.”
“You’re that varmint what snuck into my hidey-hole, ain’t ya? It’s on account of you I’m banged up in this calaboose. Well, I tell you mister, and you can take this as gospel mind, when I get outa here, I’ll make you pay. I’ll gun you down like the mangy runt you are or my name ain’t William H. Bonney.”
“What did you say?”
“I ain’t in the habit of repeating myself, mister.”
“Your name, what did you say your name is?”
“William H. Bonney, what’s it to ya?”
“You’re Billy the Kid,” I said.
“I don’t abide that handle, mister. And I’ll thank you not to use it, lessen you’re prepared to back yourself in a gun duel with myself.”
“No offense, Mr. Bonney.”
“Now that’s better,” Billy the Kid said. “Nice and respectful, just the way I like it.”
With the two of us now safely jarred, Barnes and Noble entered the river, located the portal and soon we were being pushed upwards to emerge in a pool on level U14, back at Hades Correctional.
Barnes pulled himself from the water and then gave Noble a hand up. Noble then handed the jar to Special Agent Dope Doppelganger, who’d been waiting on our arrival. Doppelganger held the jar up to the light and peered in, his wire-framed spectacles magnified by the curved glass.
“You’ve got two in here,” Dope said.
“Uh huh,” Barnes said. “The host had a double firefly, quite rare.”
“So who’s the other feller?”
“No idea,” Barnes said. “We figured, scoop first, ask questions later.”
“Solid decision making,” Dope said. “By the way, where’s Jitterbug?”
“He had a beef to settle with some big nosed critter back in Devil’s Gulch. Said he’d follow later.”
“That’d be Ringo,” Dope said. “Lot of history between those two. Send Jit in my direction when you see him, would you? I owe that imp a box of cigars. Wasn’t for him we’d never have tracked Black so fast.”
twenty four
“So we gonna dehydrate these suckers, or what? We’re kinda keen to see who we’ve bagged here,” Barnes said.
“I don’t know,” Dope said. “It’s a bit risky being a double and all, especially when we don’t know who the other party is.”
“Come on, live a little,” Barnes said. “Noble here will cover you with the fire wire.”
Dope thought about that for a moment, then said, “Okay, but not here. Wouldn’t want one of these critters sneaking past us back into the portal. Let’s find a dry room.”
Dope carried the jar into the next cavern and set it down on the floor. “You fellers got a ladle I can borrow?”
“Sure thing,” Barnes said, and produced a small scoop from his pocket and handed it to Dope. Dope tugged at the handle and it telescoped out.
“Okay, now be ready with that fire wire,” Dope said. He knelt down and unscrewed the lid of the apprehension jar and then dipped the ladle into it. As soon as the ladle hit the water I swam towards it and was scooped up. I wanted this over as quickly as possible.
“Eager little beaver, isn’t he?” Dope said and poured the contents of the ladle onto the hard, rock floor. The minute I was out of the water I felt my body begin to rematerialize.
“Okay, that one’s Black. Bag him and tag him,” Dope said, then to me, “Welcome back, Johnny, you’ve caused quite a stir in these parts running out of us like that. You’re in for the high jump I’m afraid. Hope you’re not over sensitive to heat.”
Noble helped me to my feet and applied the thumb cuffs again, this time cuffing my hands behind me.
“Now let’s see who we have here,” Dope said, hovering the ladle over the apprehension jar.
“That’s William H. Bonney,” I said, and Dope abruptly stopped what he was doing and looked towards me blinking his eyes like a myopic owl.
“William H. Bonney?” he said. “You mean Billy the Kid?”
“The very same.”
“Holy moly,” Dope said. “If this is true, you fellers have just pulled off the biggest coup since Benito Mussolini did a runner from Netherworld. Billy the Kid, hey. How’d you do it?”
“Much as I’d like to take credit,” Barnes said, “we didn’t do nothing. It was Black here that nabbed him.”
Dope looked at me with an expression that was close to reverence on his face. “You did this?” he said.
“Well, I didn’t really do…” a started to say before Dope stepped forward and placed a hand over my mouth.
“When are you going to learn to shut your yap, Black? Don’t you see? This is the most prestigious collar in the last fifty years. If we spin this right, it might just get you off the hook with Abaddon.”
twenty five
Despite Dope’s assurances that capturing Billy the Kid would mitigate my sentence, I was treated like any other prisoner, booked, fingerprinted, photographed and shoved into a cell in the ‘Awaiting Trial’ section. My trial was set for two days hence and, on the first day of my imprisonment, I had a visit from my court appointed attorney, a tall, boney man who introduced himself as Advocate Bryn Cheese.
“Now let me explain the trial process to you,” Cheese said. “You will be tried by a judge and two assessors, three of the more senior demons. First the judge will pronounce sentence…”
“Sentence? I said. “What about the trial?”
“That’s how it works old boy, first the judge pronounces sentence, then the defense brings forward their witnesses and based on their testimony, the panel decide whether to mitigate the sentence, or even suspend it.”
“Sounds a bit backward to me,” I said.
“Not at all,” Cheese said, sounding offended. “In hell, everyone is guilty, so it would be pointless trying to prove their innocence. In fact, claiming innocence of anything, will get you banged up for perjury. The only way to redeem yourself is to claim guilt, and then present evidence as to your good intentions.”
“Good intentions? In hell?”
“Well,” Cheese said. “When I say good, I actually mean bad, if you get my meaning.”
“No, I don’t actually,” I said.
“No matter,” Cheese said, “I don’t expect you to understand the vagaries of the Hades Penal Code. Leave that to me, old chap.”
“I’d still like to know what my prospects are.”
“Ah, prospects,” Cheese said. “Not good, I’m afraid. You have some solid witnesses, including a number of key figures in the SPAA speaking on your behalf. They’ll show how you were a major player in the apprehension of this… what was it Bully the Kid?”
“Billy
the Kid,” I corrected.
“Quite, quite,” Cheese said. “Now, by my understanding Mr. Kid has been traded back to Underworld for forty two of our runaway souls that they’ve managed to run down over the years. That buys you a lot of leeway, but unfortunately it won’t get you all the way.”
“So, what are we looking at?”
“Oh, I think I can get you about six hundred years on the furnace and maybe just one life docked. But that’s only on a good day, and if we get the right assessors.”
“Six hundred years!” I said. “Is that the best you can do?”
“I’m afraid so,” Cheese said. “I’ve gone over and over the case file. You’re too good by half, Johnny Black. Rescuing that young girl and her father, deliberately missing when you could have shot John Wesley Hardin, turning down the opportunity to philander with your employer’s wife. Such things are frowned upon in these parts you know.”
By the time Cheese left my cell I was utterly depressed and in no mood for company. So, I wasn’t exactly pleased to receive my next visitor.
“How you holding up, Dexter?” Jitterbug said.
“Err, let’s see Jitterbug,” I said. “Two days ago I was living it up in New Mexico, I had a girl I was sweet on and who liked me too, I was one of the most famous gunfighters in the west. Now I’m banged up in here facing six hundred years working the furnace. How do you think, I’m holding up?”
“No need to get testy, Dexter. I was just asking after your wellbeing.”
“My wellbeing? You’re the reason I’m in here in the first place.”
“How so?” Jitterbug said. He seemed confused.
“I’m just spotting for someone, but I couldn’t say who,” I mimicked him.
“Oh, that,” Jitterbug said. “Just doing my job, Dexter. Don’t take it personal.”
“Well, excuse me if I take six hundred years on the furnace and losing one of my lives personal.”
“They’d have caught you anyway,” he said. “Actually, I was doing you a favor. What’s the point getting your hopes up with that blue-eyed, rancher broad when they’d have caught you anyway?”