THE INNOCENT: A Cowboy Gangster Novel

by CJ Bishop

  “The old Clint?”

  The younger man looked at him. “Are you going to try and deny that he’s different since he met Axel? Or that you’re not different since meeting Kane?”

  Cochise remained silent.

  “You guys still make good use of the guest room,” Cruz said. “But there are things you don’t do anymore. I’m not saying it’s bad that you’ve stopped, but simply that you’ve both changed.”

  Cochise couldn’t deny it. He was well aware of it and wondered if it should trouble him. But maybe a part of him welcomed the change. It was his “old” self that had put a bullet in a 17-year-old kid’s head out of sheer revenge on his father. Cochise hated that part of himself and wished him dead and buried.

  “I’m not complaining,” Cruz smiled. “I think I prefer the new you—and the new Clint—even better than your old versions. I think domestic life agrees with the both of you.” He chuckled. “Who would’ve ever thought that, huh? The two baddesthombres in the city settling down, getting married, building a family.”

  His brow scrunching, Cochise stared at Cruz through narrowed eyes. “We’re not married.”

  “Clint’s halfway there,” Cruz said. “And you…it’s just a matter of time. You know damn well you’re going to marry that man.”

  Could he deny that, either? Until Kane, the idea of marriage, family, domestic life was an alien concept. He’d only intended to fuck the man a couple times then walk away. Cochise still wasn’t clear on how he ended up where he was, living in a house he bought for Kane, playing “daddy” to three kids. He didn’t know how Kane had chiseled through what he had perceived to be an impenetrable shell. But he had. And now…the thought of life without him was not an option, though he wondered if one day he would have to face exactly that.

  A commotion suddenly exploded at the rear of the warehouse as shouting erupted within. A man burst into the alley from the back of the structure, sprinting toward the street. Detective Wil Jordan ran into the alley after him, weapon drawn and aimed forward as he shouted at the man to stop.

  •♦•

  The runner turned the corner at the front of the building and vanished out of sight. Shit. Wil forced his legs to move faster, boots splashing through slushy puddles, and raced around the corner of the warehouse—then suddenly hit the ground, pain exploding through his face. His weapon flew from his grip and clattered across the concrete out of reach as the air burst from his lungs. Everything went dark for a moment and he thought he would pass out for sure, then he slowly came back, his vision hazy. A figure loomed over him, clutching something large in his hands. As Wil’s vision began to clear, he saw it was a chunk of wood—2x4, 1x4…he couldn’t be sure.

  Tossing the board aside, the man pulled a gun from inside his jacket and aimed it at Wil’s head. “Shoulda let me go, pig.”

  Tad’s face immediately rose in his mind and in a flash vision, saw his son standing over his grave. Please, God—I’m all he has.

  The gun cocked, and Wil tensed, heart pounding furiously, tears rising. I love you, Tad…don’t ever forget that, son…I love you.

  Later that evening, when Wil retold these next events to Frank, he would still be in a bit of shock. The monster of a man came out of nowhere like an ancient warrior—black hair whipping in the icy breeze, face as brittle as the winter morn—and caught the gunman’s face with one large hand and wrenched his head, dragging his body off-kilter. The weapon swung up and wide haphazardly and fired into the gray sky as the gunman let out a strangled cry. The assailant’s free hand came up, clutching a thin-bladed knife, and plunged it to the hilt into the gunman’s neck. Blooded sprayed, showering the small drifts of snow in a crimson rain. He wrenched the blade sideways, tearing through the gunman’s throat, then dropped him. As quickly as he appeared, the warrior was gone, the body of his kill left behind, swimming in a pool of his own blood as he lay dead and glassy-eyed on the frozen pavement.

  Trembling, Wil crawled to his feet, his legs shaking beneath him. He retrieved his gun as the SWAT leader and another officer ran up the alley.

  “Detective Jordan! Are you all right-” The man’s face went deadpan as he spotted the bleeding corpse on the ground. “What the hell happened?”

  Wil swallowed hard, his face swelling and nose bleeding. He turned slowly and looked around but saw nothing and no one. He saved your life. Because of him, Tad will get to spend Christmas with his father. He swallowed again and looked at the other two officers. “I’m…I’m not sure,” he mumbled. “The man hit me in the face with a chunk of wood and I…I blacked out for a minute.”

  The SWAT leader frowned. “You didn’t see who did this?”

  Wil stared at the dead man. “No.” He raised his eyes. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  Chapter 16

  “How we doing this fine day?” Olson spoke around the nasty cigar protruding from the corner of his mouth; he never lit the cigars, just chewed on them until they were slimy, mangled, and gross.

  The horde of kids—all ages and genders—occupied about half the large room and milled around aimlessly. Some sat silently on the floor, staring off into space. Fifteen-year-old Kelly hugged her little brother close to her body. Raimi sagged weakly against her chest, his breath quick and short with a wheezy wet rasp. He was barely breathing, barely conscious, and that scared the hell out of her. His fevered body felt extra-hot against her icy skin. She pressed her lips to his scalding forehead and tried to sink further back among the throng, willing herself and Raimi to disappear, become invisible.

  Just before breakfast each morning, Olson and Barron performed a “thinning of the herd” as they called it, removing the critically ill kids and transferring them to a back room where few were ever seen again. For the last couple days, Kelly had convinced them that Raimi was just sleepy and a little weak, but that he would get better. But he wasn’t getting better and there was no hiding that now.

  “Everyone line up,” Barron ordered.

  Kelly held Raimi in her arms. If she set him on his feet, he would fall down. Sometimes he shook so violently she could hardly hold onto him and when he was coherent, he would cry because his chest hurt, made even worse by the severe coughing.

  “Hurry it up, sweetheart,” Barron told her. “No breakfast until we’re done here.”

  Keeping her eyes down, Kelly moved into line. Her weak arms trembled from holding her brother. He was six but in his malnourished, ill state, he didn’t look more than four. Had she been healthy, he wouldn’t have been heavy at all, but as it was, it took every ounce of strength to support him.

  “Put him down.” Olson gnawed the disgusting cigar. His gut protruded his belt a little, stretching the fabric of his t-shirt. He shoved his hand through his greasy hair then clamped his hips. “I said put him down.”

  Swallowing a sob, Kelly whispered to Raimi, trying to wake him up a little more as she slowly lowered him to the ice-cold floor. His bare little feet touched down but didn’t hold as he slid into a heap against her leg.

  “Get him out of here.”

  “No…” Kelly whimpered when Barron stepped over and reached for her little brother. She dropped to the floor and clung to Raimi. “Please,” she begged. “He needs me. He-he can’t breathe when you lay him down. Please let me go with him.”

  “Face it, honey,” Barron grunted. “He’s done for.” He yanked the child from her arms without care and flopped him over his shoulder like a bag of grain. Raimi began to cough and choke as his small chest depressed beneath Barron’s shoulder, bringing him closer to consciousness.

  “Kelly…” he cried, gagging on the phlegm clogging his throat and lungs. His cries caused him to cough harder, impairing his breathing even more, increasing the pain in his chest.

  “No!” Kelly cried and scrambled to her feet. “Don’t hold him like that! He can’t breathe!” She screamed when she was suddenly jerked back by the hair and thrown to the floor.

  “Stay down,” Olson ordered, a stiff finger jabbed at
her.

  “Please,” she sobbed. “He needs me.”

  Olson snorted. “Not gonna matter soon, anyway. He ain’t gonna last much longer. Should just put him down.”

  “No!”

  “Kell-eee!” Raimi screamed as Barron packed him out of the room.

  “No! Please! Bring him back!” Kelly crumpled in a heap, crying and screaming. “Raimi!”

  Olson backhanded her and knocked her all the way down. “Shut up. I’m sick of your fucking whining. Face it, the brat is as good as dead.”

  The horde of other kids stood silently, no one making eye contact with anyone else. Kelly curled into a ball on the freezing cold floor and buried her face in her arms, terrified of Olson’s words…because she knew they were true. Raimi was really sick, and he was getting worse by the day. Every morning, she was terrified to open her eyes, for fear he would be dead in her arms.

  Barron returned from the back and walked over to Kelly, dragging her to her feet. “You know the drill, sweetheart,” he said. “We gotta weed out the sick ones or you’ll all get sick. Now, you don’t want that, do ya?”

  It was futile, but she pleaded one more time. “Please let me go be with Raimi. He needs me.”

  “Nothing you can do for him now,” Barron smiled and puffed on a rolled cigarette. “I told ya, the kid’s a goner. But if you like…” He pressed closer and she instinctively flinched. “…I’ll do you a favor and distract you from thoughts of your dying kid brother.”

  Kelly trembled, and tears formed, running down her face. She shrank away from him, shaking her head.

  “Ah, come on,” Barron murmured. “I thought you liked me. Don’t I treat you special?”

  Kelly ducked her head and hugged her skinny body through the worn, filthy dress.

  The man ran his hand up her thigh and under the hem of her dress. “Don’t be playing now. I know you like me.” He leaned closer still and smoke spiraled up her nostrils, making her cough. “Come on, now, darlin’…let’s go see what we can do about getting your mind on something else.”

  “No…” Kelly whimpered as Barron gripped her arm. “Please…I-I need to be with Raimi…please…”

  “Well,” Barron smiled around his cigarette. “If you’re real nice to me, maybe I’ll do something nice for you.”

  She knew he was lying but she was desperate for hope. He wasn’t really asking her permission and would rape her whether she was consenting or not, but if there was even a small chance of him letting her be with Raimi…

  “O-Okay.” She shuddered hard.

  “That’s my girl.” Barron looked at Olson. “Go on and slop the livestock,” he smirked. “This one can eat when we get back.”

  Slop the livestock. How far off was that description? She and the other kids were treated like animals…fed like animals…until all they knew to do was react like animals. Most of them didn’t even speak anymore. They screamed when hurt, but otherwise just seemed to grunt at each other. She wondered if some of them even remembered they were human.

  As Barron led her away, she let her mind go numb. None of this really mattered. Once Raimi was gone, she would soon follow…by her own will. Her fate was sealed. Maybe something good waited for her and Raimi on the other side. It couldn’t be any worse.

  •♦•

  The orphanage was about an hour out of the city and in a private, rural setting that might’ve appeared serene if not for the shabby lawn and weeds sprouting up in the pathway to the entrance—and the knowledge of the atrocities that lay beyond the doors of the structure. It looked like it may have been a small Inn at one time. There was no sign out front naming the orphanage—perhaps to hide its true identity from anyone who happened upon the place by chance?

  Climbing out of the car, Axel looked the place over again as a knot balled his gut; did he really want to go in there? What Jacob had described to them about the orphanage was bad enough, what if it was worse now?

  Clint walked around the front of the car and stood beside Axel. “We have to make them believe we’re here to buy. Regardless what you see in there, you have to keep your game face. If you don’t think you can do that, I’ll go in alone.”

  Clearing his throat, Axel shook his head. “No. I can do it.”

  “All right, then.” Clint lifted his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, then settled the hat down again. “Let’s do this, partner.”

  Axel smiled small and resisted the urge to grab his hand as they walked up the unkempt path to the front door. After three firm raps of Clint’s knuckles, a man in his early forties answered, his appearance immediately repulsing Axel. His beady eyes that seemed too close together scrutinized the two of them warily.

  “Can I help you?”

  Clint stared back, eyes narrow, hard, and steady. “We aren’t here to fuck around,” he stated chillingly. “If you have merchandise, we have cash.”

  The man frowned. “Show me the cash.”

  “Show me the merchandise.”

  For an instant, Axel thought he was going to feign ignorance and turn them away. He looked Clint over and moved back, motioning them inside.

  About ten feet past the door, Axel caught a whiff of repugnant odors that sparked sudden nausea. A sickening concoction of what he could only identify as human waste, vomit, and rotting food. Maybe it was a mistake to come inside.

  The man led them down a narrow hallway as the disgusting smell grew strong with each step. Axel cleared his throat and rubbed his nose. It didn’t help. Would this stink cling to them after they left this place?

  “They’re right in here,” the man said when he paused at a solid door. The smell was coming from the other side—where he kept the kids. “They might look a little worse for wear, but they’ll serve your purpose, I’ve no doubt.”

  He opened the door and Axel steeled himself, even held his breath. The gust of chilled air that swept out caused Clint’s face to pinch and grimace as he swallowed hard. Axel reluctantly released his breath and was forced to suck air back in. His stomach revolted, and he barely avoided dumping his breakfast all over the floor.

  What awaited them inside the huge room was nothing short of hell. Axel couldn’t imagine the real hell being any worse than this. His eyes watered from the powerful pungent odor and he was horrified to discover its source. On the far side of the room sat five-gallon buckets full of nasty shit—literally—and maggot-infested slop, some of which seemed to have been vomited up.

  A light dizziness swept over Axel and his body broke out in a cold sweat as his stomach began to turn and churn, rolling and rebelling against the sights and smells.

  Don’t lose it—don’t fucking lose it.

  He twisted away from the vulgar sight and his eyes fell on the merchandise. A new level of horror invaded him as he stared at the…kids. Except they didn’t act like kids. They were all huddled on the floor, each of them clutching a tin pan of gooey slop—the origin of which Axel couldn’t identify—some eating with their hands, others lapping it up. Some of the kids growled at each other like dogs protecting their food.

  This couldn’t be real…it couldn’t…it fucking couldn’t. Axel was trying his hardest to keep his “game face” but he was fast losing control. He tried to focus his thoughts and looked for the man Jacob had told them about. No other staff was in the room.

  Clint didn’t have to fake the look on his face as the rage surpassed the revulsion and hardened his features to granite. “What the fuck is this?” he growled at their host. “You expect me to pay good money for these?”

  “They’re not as bad off as they appear,” the man insisted. “Feeding time is never a pretty sight, but they’re durable. They can take a fucking.”

  Their attention snapped to the back of the room when another man appeared, shoving a young girl ahead of him, tears streaking her face and her movements labored.

  That’s him. That’s Barron. Axel immediately recognized him from Jacob’s thorough description.

  “Please,” the girl wh
impered. “Y-You said I could see him. Please let me see him. Please—he needs me.”

  Barron snorted and shoved her down with the rest of the kids. The girl curled into a ball and buried her head in her arms, shaking and sobbing. His eyes narrowing, Axel watched Barron approach.

  As Clint’s deadly jade eyes turned to the man as well, Axel experienced one small comfort amidst this ungodly hell; You are going to die, motherfucker—you are going to die a fucking ugly death.

  Chapter 17

  Kelly huddled on the freezing cold floor, barely aware of the customers who had arrived. She needed to be with Raimi. If Barron had laid him on his back, he wouldn’t be able to breathe—he could hardly breathe when he was sitting up. And he was so weak; too weak to even sit up on his own without support.

  Please, God… Kelly faltered in the prayer. What if by some miracle Raimi did get better? He would still be in hell. He would be raped and abused…sold off…taken from Kelly…or Kelly taken from him. She pressed her head to the floor and sobbed harder, wanting to beg God to just take him to heaven, but couldn’t force the prayer out, even silently in her mind.

  She was pulled from her frightening thoughts by Barron’s booming voice. Kelly shifted a bit and took her first real look at the newcomers. Both men wore cowboy hats—one of the men considerably larger and older than the other with a face as hard as granite. The younger man’s face was softer, more pleasant looking—except for the fierceness in his eyes—but Kelly had learned that a nice face didn’t mean a nice heart.

  “Well, howdy-doody,” Barron smirked, his eyes crawling all over the large cowboy. “We got us some real live cowboys.” A sardonic grin jerked up one side of his mouth. “Lookin’ for some fillies to brand?”

  Kelly trembled and tried to make herself smaller.

  The cowboy stared at Barron, a dangerous heat in his eyes. “What’s your name?” his voice was deep, slightly coarse, and thick with a southern brogue.