by Neil Hunter
“Now what?” Ryker asked.
Jake had gone directly to the table. He picked up a bottle and took a long swallow. Wiping his mouth he put down the bottle and drew his gun.
“I say we kill ‘em now. Let’s get it done. Never did see the sense in bringing ‘em all the way out here.” He waggled his gun in Sarah’s direction, easing back the hammer. “I’ll pop her tits off from here.”
“Put the gun away, Jake,” Calvado ordered, and there was no mistaking the authority in his voice. “Stop acting like an animal!”
Jake turned to face him, anger flushing his features. “Damn you, Calvado! What the hell gives you the notion you can talk to me like that?”
Calvado smiled briefly. His expression was unpleasant to see.
“I’ll tell you, Jake. It’s because I pay you to do as you are told. I pay you well. Because you’re too lazy to work like other men. This kind of work suits your mentality, my friend. So just do as I ask.”
Jake stared at him for a while. He seemed prepared to defy Calvado, but in the end money won over pride and Jake put his gun away. He scooped up the bottle again and took himself off into a corner of the room.
“Ryker, just off this room is a strongly constructed storeroom. It has a very heavy door and a sound padlock on the outside. I believe our guests will find it most congenial.”
Ryker nodded. He motioned for Brand and Sarah to walk ahead of him. Ryker paused, throwing a glance over his shoulder.
“Ballard’s dead,” he informed Calvado.
Mild surprise showed in Calvado’s eyes. He looked in Brand’s direction.
“Who did it? Our gunfighting friend here?”
“Brand? Hell no! Somebody took the top of Ballard’s head off. Used some high-powered rifle from off a roof. Ain’t Brand’s style.”
“Maybe we should worry about this. An unknown player in our little game. It could cause us a great deal of embarrassment. The last thing we need.”
Ryker fell silent. He didn’t speak until he opened the door to the storeroom. Brand following Sarah inside heard him call out: “Don’t you fret none Senor Calvado. You got me here to look after your good health.” His tone was edged with acid, his manner patronizing. “Hell, I can handle any horseshit comes our way. This game is a damn sight rougher than any they play at Eton.”
The final words puzzled Brand for a few moments. And then pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place with clockwork precision. He was suddenly able to see a lot clearer. The trouble was that if he was thinking along the right lines many of the questions inside his head were going to be answered. A lot of those answers were going to be unpleasant. And the more he thought about it the more he felt sure of his suspicions. He also began to wish he was wrong. The problem was that happy endings were the stuff fairy tales were made of. And he had never really believed in fairies.
Chapter Nine
THE rider on the powerful grey had been sitting at the mouth of the canyon for over an hour. It had been fully dark for almost two hours. A pale moon had risen, washing the landscape with a cold, watery light. The rider, clad in dark clothing, had watched the moon come up through pale eyes that gave no indication of his inner thoughts.
He moved finally, easing from the saddle, his feet touching the ground almost without sound. He moved easily, his actions controlled and precise. He was as light on his feet as any cat and just as silent. When he struck out it was swift and deadly.
His name was Raven.
The hired killer. The man who murdered as casually as another might swat a fly.
It was murder that had brought him here to this lonely place. Below him in the old mine buildings were the men he had come to kill. He had killed once this day. Now he was ready to do it again. It was unusual for him to carry out more than a single kill in one day, but this time he was being paid over the odds, and if nothing else Raven always earned his pay. It was how he built his reputation. He was dependable and never gave less than his best. He had only failed to deliver twice in his life. Once when his rifle misfired. The other time had been when a US Marshal had got to Raven’s target first. That had been the day Raven had almost been caught. He had managed to escape, but the experience taught him a healthy respect for the law; it made him realize that not every man who wore a badge was a country bumpkin. There were many good men behind those tin stars. Fast, hardliners like himself. They carried well-used guns and knew how to use them. Since his close call with the US Marshal Raven had devoted more time to preparing for his kills, and the fact that he was still around proved he had mastered all angles of his work.
Looking down on the mine buildings Raven’s keen eyes picked up a glow of lamplight inside one of them. He watched the light for a while, finally nodding to himself. Returning to his horse he pulled a sawn off shotgun from its scabbard. Twin barrels yawned blackly as he broke the weapon and slipped in two cartridges he’d taken from his shirt pocket. He plucked a handful of extra shells from one of the pouches in his saddlebags. Fat cartridges filled with double-ought shot. He checked the .45 caliber Colt Peacemaker holstered high on his left hip, butt forward; he wore it that way for accessibility and comfort; speed didn’t come into it as far as Raven was concerned; when he went after a man it wasn’t a contest of skills — simply a matter of him locating his victim, setting the time, and making the kill on his terms.
Leading his horse Raven made his way down to the cluster of buildings. When he was close he tethered his horse in the shadows, making certain he could get back to it without having to avoid any obstacles. It was a small point, but one that could mean the difference between living or dying.
Before he closed in he crouched in the shadows and studied the lay of the land, observing, noting. He let his eyes adjust to the alternate patches of dark and light. In some places the shadows were infinitely deeper than elsewhere and he knew he would have to make allowances for those places; plunging into unknown darkness without knowledge about what might be concealed there was another way of inviting disaster.
He studied the movement behind the grimy windows of the building that lay before him. He counted three men in the room; which was the number he had been told to expect. Three men didn’t worry him. He had handled double and triple kills before.
They would be anticipating trouble and that would mean they would be tense. Even nervous. That would work to his advantage. Raven’s own nervous system took a lot of upsetting. Even now, contemplating coldblooded murder, he was calm and in full control. It was seldom he ever became agitated. Remaining cool in a stressful situation allowed him a distinct advantage over his victims.
Rocking back on his heels, eyes narrowing, Raven allowed himself a mild surge of anger as he thought about the fourth man inside the building. He had ignored the presence of this man until now through choice, because he had to separate him from the main reason he was here. Now, with his principal plan of action mapped out, Raven gave himself the pleasure of contemplating a truly personal kill.
One that he would carry out — not for money — but for himself. It was unusual for him to even consider such an act. But in this case he was going to indulge himself.
Because the fourth man — a captive of the trio Raven was going to murder — was Jason Brand.
The former US Marshal who had blocked one of Raven’s contract killings. Raven had promised himself that he would settle with Brand one day. But due to the pressure of his work he never had been able to actively pursue the matter. Raven had not allowed the need for revenge to become obsessive. Time would bring Brand and himself into contact again — and it had. Raven had been mildly surprised when Brand had turned up in Miles City and involved with the same individuals as himself. Brand’s involvement had precipitated a course of action and Raven had been forced to alter his own plans. Even so he had managed the killing of Cody Ballard, and had followed up by setting fire to the Apex warehouses in order to destroy evidence that might have incriminated his principal.
Now he was ready to
carry out the final stage of the operation. The killing of the three men in the mine building. And when he had done that he would deal with Jason Brand before he moved on.
Raven stood up. He slipped the hammer-loop off the Colt, easing it in the holster. He eased back the shotgun’s hammer, holding his right thumb against them as he made his silent approach. He had earlier spotted the corral holding the horses and gave it a wide berth so as not to disturb the animals. He ignored the porch steps, choosing to move to the far end of the porch itself and climb over the end rail. He made his way along the porch, shifting his weight before each step so he trod lightly.
At the window he’d looked through before his approach he checked the room. The three men — Calvado, Ryker, and the one named Jake — were inside. Raven saw no sign of Brand or the Debenham girl. No matter. He would have time for them once his kill was completed.
Raven reached the door. He had the relative positions of the trio fixed in his mind and he was ready for action. He lifted one booted foot and drove it against the door. It flew open and slammed against the inside wall with a crash.
Jake was in the centre of the room. He began to turn, his mouth open in a silent protest, right hand snatching at the gun on his hip. He neither uttered a sound or touched the gun. The shotgun in Raven’s hands had already settled on him. The right-hand barrel gushed flame and smoke. The sound of the shot filled the room. The charge caught Jake just above his belt buckle, picking him up and hurling him backwards across the room. He thumped against the wall with a sodden sound. When he fell there was a dark smear of blood on the wall.
Even as Jake was going down Raven arced the shotgun at Ryker, who was awkwardly trying to kick his chair from under him. Ryker had his gun out, the hammer going back, and his staring eyes locked on to the round black muzzle of the shotgun as it lined up on him. Ryker’s expression showed that he had realized he wasn’t going to get his shot off in time. He tried to pull his body away from the shotgun. The sawn off exploded with sound and Ryker felt as if he had been slapped by a giant hand. He crashed to the floor, and seconds later the pain blossomed, numbing him. He twisted his head and saw that the blast had ripped open his right side, high up, practically severing his arm at the shoulder. Blood was pumping from him in excess and Ryker began to weaken rapidly. He felt a shadow fall across his face. When he looked up he saw Raven standing over him, a revolver in his right hand. The muzzle centered on Ryker’s head. As a surge of pain swelled up in his ravaged body Ryker found he was willing the man to fire the handgun. The bullet when it came drove through Ryker’s skull and burned into his brain, ending his suffering — and his life.
Turning from Ryker’s shuddering form Raven moved forward, seeking Calvado. The Latin had fired a single shot at Raven before he had fled.
Calvado made it through the door on the opposite side of the room. It led him to the rear of the building and a long passage, with rooms leading off. At the far end was a door that led outside and just before that a flight of stairs leading to an upper floor.
All Calvado could think of was survival. Nothing else. The deals he had going didn’t mean a thing right now, and would mean even less if he was dead. So his prime objective was getting free and clear. If he did manage to get out he could afford to concern himself with salvaging something from the deals. Courage and honor meant nothing at the moment. They were fancy words for bandying about after a good meal when there was time for brandy and an expensive cigar. Here and now the only concern was staying alive.
So Calvado ran!
He heard the sound of Raven’s approach just as he reached the door at the far end of the passage. He grasped the handle with sweaty fingers. The door was locked! His stomach lurched. Calvado turned away from the door and ran for the stairs. He had only climbed a few yards when he lost his footing and slid back to the bottom. He lay for a fleeting second, feeling the shadow of defeat wash over him. He sensed Raven’s closeness and remembered the gun he was holding in his sweaty hand. He knew right there and then that the gun was useless. He would never have a chance to use it against this man whoever he was. He lurched to his feet, letting the gun fall from his hand.
Calvado turned to face the assassin. He was numb, as if the knowledge of his impending death had insulated him from all feeling. He knew there was no escape. This time he had pushed his luck too far and it had run out. He accepted what was to come with fatalistic calm. If it had to be there was no avoiding it.
Calvado found he was suddenly curious. He raised his head and stared directly at his killer. Before his life was taken from him he wanted to look upon the face of Death.
Chapter Ten
IT took Brand a while to free himself. The ropes around his wrists had been tied by an expert. By the time he had loosened the hard knots the skin on his wrists was raw and bloody. He freed his legs and climbed to his feet, groping his way across the shadowed room. Pale shafts of moonlight misted in through the dirty windows.
“Jason, what is this all about?” Sarah demanded as he freed her.
“You’re being used to get your father out here,” he told her.
“But I thought this man called Raven was looking for him?” She was on her feet now, rubbing at the numb flesh of her wrists.
Brand was glad he couldn’t see her face clearly. Or she his. During the past couple of hours he had been doing some hard thinking. It had been the only compensation for being tied up and dumped in a dark room.
The problem was that the answers he’d been getting to his questions added up to something unpleasant. Brand had tried other approaches, but none of them worked out as did his original line of thought. It meant that if he was correct someone was going to be hurt.
“Sarah,” he said gently, “it’s true Raven’s around. The way I’ve figured it he isn’t gunning for your father.”
She stared at him out of the gloom. Her eyes were large, fixing him with their intensity.
“Go on,” she said.
“Raven isn’t after your father ...”
“Jason, it’s why you were assigned to keep watch on him.”
“Yeah, I know that.”
Brand felt his mind whirling with frenzied thoughts. How did he say it to her? What he was thinking. And how close to the truth was he anyway?
He was, as always, acting on instinct. On that gut feeling that first showed itself as a vague stirring in the pit of his stomach. As time passed the feeling became stronger. It began to nag, demanding that he pay attention. To give it free rein. That was the way it was now. He had listened to that small voice, and it had convinced him there was something odd behind this assignment. He thought about the way McCord had set it up. The ease by which his cover had been broken. The more he thought about it the angrier he became. Damn McCord! He turned from the window, and even in the semi-darkness Sarah Debenham was able to sense the mounting anger in his mood.
“We’d better get out of here,” Brand said sharply. “I’m getting the notion this could be Raven’s next stop.”
“Before I go anywhere, Jason Brand, I want to hear you finish what you started to say a minute ago.” Sarah’s hands grasped his arms. She confronted him, her face and eyes angry.
“I could be wrong,” he said.
“No. You’re a professional. It’s your job to know people and what they’re capable of. Now I might not want to hear what you’re thinking. But I’m damn well going to get you to put it into words. Now, Jason!”
“What I’m thinking is Raven is working for your father. Not against him. And this bunch here is the reason.”
Sarah wilted visibly, her fingers digging into Brand’s arms. Yet her eyes never once shifted away from his face. He could feel her trembling, struggling to stay in control of her emotions.
“Do you realize what you’re suggesting?” A faint tremor edged her words. “Jason, do you really understand what you are saying?”
“I know,” he told her. “I’m suggesting that your father may be involved in murder and some
kind of fraud. Damnit, Sarah, of course I realize what I’m saying. And I hope to hell I’m wrong.”
Sarah’s head shook from side to side.
“I can hardly believe this. Here I am, out in the middle of nowhere, listening to a man calling my father a murderer. So why aren’t I angry? Why shouldn’t I hit you? That scares me. I should be so outraged I’d want to kill you. But I don’t. Why, Jason?”
“Maybe you already know the answer to that.”
“Because I might have worked the same thing out for myself?”
Brand reached out and brushed a stray curl of hair back from her pale face. “And have you?”
“Perhaps. I do know father has plunged himself deeper into debt than ever before over this rail project. He’s never said anything to me, of course, but being with him all the time made it easier for me to notice the way he’s been acting. Little things, but enough to make me pay attention. He’s always brushed my questions off by saying he’s tired. Too busy to relax.”
“Sarah, trust me. I know it’s a lot to ask. Especially after what I’ve just told you. All I’m looking for is the truth. I want it as much as you do.”
“I believe you do. But you are wrong on one point. You can’t want to get to the truth as much as I do.”
Brand decided they had talked long enough. Maybe too long. He wanted to get them both out of their prison. They were in danger from two sides. Calvado and Ryker on the one hand — and the man called Raven on the other. It was a situation that needed changing quickly if they were going to survive.
He turned his attention to the dusty window. It hadn’t been opened for a long time. The frame had warped out of shape, jamming itself tightly into the surround. He struggled with the catch for a minute, eventually managing to free it. Not that it made much difference. The window still refused to open. He hit the edge of the frame with the heel of his palm. The wood resisted his efforts to dislodge it.