“That, kid, is who you knocked off.”
“I didn’t know.”
Dino lights a cigarette. “Why’d you kill him?”
“I told you.”
“Sure. Sure you did. Because he was going to rob you right?”
“Right.”
“Well ain’t that something. You took the guy’s life because he stole from you.” He slaps his knee, tipping ash onto the floor. “Just like you stole from me by killing him and robbing me of the limelight, right?” He laughs loudly. “Life can be a hell of a thing sometimes, can’t it?”
“I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.”
Dean blows out a plume of blue smoke. It flows across the windshield and up Brody’s nose. He coughs before he can stop it, looks fearfully at his passenger, then allows himself a sigh when it appears his involuntary protest has gone unnoticed.
“That was some pretty broad you had too.”
With no small effort, Brody raises his head. “Yeah, she was.”
“Too bad about the drugs.”
“Yeah.”
“You know her long?”
“Maybe a year.”
“Know who she was?”
Brody feels a tightening across his chest. The casual way the man is asking these questions, the way he’s not looking at him, makes him fear that Carla might have been someone a lot more important, at least to the ghost of Dean Martin, than he ever suspected. She certainly played the guy’s music enough to drive him crazy, so maybe…
“Wanted to be a ballerina,” Dean tells him, a wistful smile on his faces. “Like any little girl. Grew up, wanted to be a lawyer because she got hooked on Matlock. Got older still and wanted to be a model, even spent some time in L.A. That’s where she discovered the shit she kept putting in her veins. Came back, cleaned up, got herself enrolled in a nice community college thing, studied to be a medic. Dated a guy who beat the shit out of her at every available opportunity, so she ended up getting involuntary hands-on training with the medics. She left him and the college, hitchhiked her way to Texas, considered getting into music. First guy she approached told her he’d give her as much time in the studio as she gave him on his couch. The old story. She thought of suicide, but dismissed it in favor of resuming her habit. Why? Because I told her so. I thought her being messed up and alive was better than her being dead any day of the week. And she was helping to keep me around, playing my records every time she felt blue, mentioning my name whenever the subject of music came up. And why? Because her grandmother and me had a thing one time, back in the late ’50’s, right when I was at the top of my game. Showed up backstage on night at a Vegas show, a real country girl, out of her league and well aware of it, but just there to prove she had the guts to come say “hi” to a man she thought she loved because of how I looked and because I could sing real well. I took her to dinner a few nights, and sent her on her way, and that was that. Liked that gal a lot.
“Once I went balls up and they put me in the ground, I figured I’d look in on her from time to time, and kinda got to like it. She always played my records too. After she died, I watched over her daughter, then Carla.” He whistles. “What a kid. Helped that she liked my music of course. But I watched her real close, watched her life get worse and worse and not a whole lot I could do about it. Oh sure, I’d help her throw up after a bad night, or put her car keys where she could find them, maybe keep a bad guy she was thinking of dating out of the picture until she forgot about him and he forgot about everything except when to empty his colostomy bag. But she was on the downward slope, friend, and I couldn’t do enough to keep that from happening. After she left Texas, I followed her to Gainesburg, where she met you.”
Brody remembers. The bank job with Smalls, a low-level thug with dreams of grandeur that ended up splattered all over the wall of the First National. Kyle had kept his share, and spent the first of it at a roadside diner a hundred miles from Gainesburg. That was where he’d met Carla. She’d been sitting alone in a booth, staring into a cup of coffee, looking like she was considering jumping into it and drowning. He’d watched her from his own booth, weighing up the positives and negatives of approaching a girl when he was on the run from the law, when she took the initiative and slid in beside him, started talking about the weather, and music (Do you like Dean Martin?), as if they’d been friends forever.
“I didn’t mean for her to die,” Brody says, grimacing as he inspects his broken finger. “I swear I didn’t. I loved her.”
“You think you did.”
“No, I—”
“The same way you think you loved all those other girls you dragged along on the little crime spree you call your life, all those other girls you turned into mothers because you don’t care. Sooner or later they stop becoming your problem. Sooner or later they stop becoming anything at all.”
“That’s not how it is.”
Dean looks at him, grins widely. “Look who you’re talking to. There’s no sense arguing with me, and why would you want to? You’re stressed out enough as it is.”
“Please, look…”
“I’m not going to kill you, kid.”
Every muscle in Brody’s body unclenches, and he allows himself to sit back.
“That’s not how I do things. I just wanted you to know who that girl was those guys put in the ground back there. She wasn’t just another one of your crack-whores good for a hundred miles only. She was someone, and she was a damn sight more human than you’ll ever be.”
Brody nods. “I know you don’t believe me, but I did care about her.”
“Sure you did, kid.” Dean cracks open his door, puts one foot out on the road. “Sure you did.” He exits the car, brushes dirt from his trousers and leans in the open window. “Do me a favor, will ya?”
Brody looks at him. “Sure.”
“When you get on your way, play some of Carla’s discs. I don’t imagine there’d be a nicer way to sing her to sleep.” He winks, “See you soon, kid,” thumps a set of gold-ringed fingers down on the door, and walks away whistling a song Brody has heard but can’t place. It comes to him by the time he finds the strength to sit up and start the ignition again. It was one of Carla’s favorites. ‘There’s No Tomorrow.’
Chapter Twenty Three
Though Blue Moon’s face is made of black glass, I can see the doubt and wariness etched into it, or perhaps I’m seeing those emotions swirling beneath the surface. Can’t say I blame him. He has risked everything to be here for a man he has always trusted. Problem is, I’m hiding in the body of a man he doesn’t.
He nods that great big hunk of glass, his eyes glimmering jewels in a dark mask. “Sheriff.”
“Thanks for coming, Blue. You too Red.”
There is nothing about Red Cloud to suggest he’s a living thing. He’s standing there to the right of the door just as he always stands by Blue’s door, motionless, face raised to the sky, painted eyes staring upward, mouth set in a grim line. He’s a cigar store Indian, nothing more, but I know he’s listening, and his quiver is full.
Something slams against the door.
Blue looks down at the witch. She’s on her knees now, head lowered, lank hair hanging almost to the floor. “She goin’ to make it?”
“Don’t know. Would be better if she didn’t.”
He sighs and steps closer to me. Seen through him, the flame from the hurricane lamp on the bar is fragmented, the light dulled and trapped in feeble shards inside his chest. “What do you want us to do?”
“She’s not going to let this slide,” I tell him quietly. “Chances are she’s going to make me very sorry I crossed her. If that happens, I want to be sure I’ve done at least one thing right. I wanted to give you and Red Cloud what you want. I want to set you both free.”
Blue glances from Red Cloud to me. “I didn’t come because of that.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“And after all this time, I’m not sure I want it.”
“Maybe not, bu
t it’s no way to live, Blue. You deserve better.”
A sigh that sounds like someone blowing air over the top of an empty bottle and he shakes his head slowly. “Sheriff, we’ve been friends for a long time, but that don’t mean you know all there is to know about me. Now I’ve had plenty of time to think it over and it seems like everyone comes to this town for one reason only, and that’s to pay for the bad things they’ve done. I don’t know why it has to be Milestone, or whether or not there are a thousand places like this all over the world, if there even is a world outside this town anymore. All I know is we’re here because we brought ourselves here, and I figure if I’m meant to pay for my sins by living out the rest of my days like this, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“What about Red?”
“Hell, Red doesn’t know how to do anything else now but use that bow and arrow of his. Truth be told, he was never much of a talker even back when he was flesh and bone, but his company was always good, and company enough for me.”
“I’d go crazy stuck in that damn house, Blue.”
“You’re stuck in a house of your own now, Sheriff, and I don’t figure that’s much of a way to live either.”
A bang and a crack as antlers splinter the door.
As if it’s her cue, Lian Su raises her face, looks from Red Cloud to Blue Moon, before settling her gaze on me. Her eyes are gone, the remains of them already hardening on her cheeks. The teeth she bares are bloodstained. “You tricked me,” she says, with what might be delight. “You hid the mark, that’s all. A simple thing. What a fool I am.”
I take a step back. Blue Moon doesn’t move.
Thunder slams against the door.
“You don’t belong here, Lian, and you’ve done enough damage.”
“I’ve done enough damage?” She stands without moving, as if invisible hands have jerked her up from the floor. “I haven’t even begun to do damage.”
The light from the hurricane lamp goes out. Automatically, I move away from the queer gray light that seems to cling to Lian like a second skin. Again she looks around, as if counting her adversaries, and then, grinning, starts moving in my direction.
“Don’t,” I command. It isn’t directed at Lian but Blue Moon, who, though the darkness has made him all but invisible, is moving toward her. I can tell by the sound. I can tell…just because I can.
He ignores me, and suddenly the gray light around the witch begins to swim. Fuzzy misshapen shadows clamber up the walls. He’s standing before her. She looks up at him, a tall obsidian man, utterly fearless and with nothing to lose, and admiration flickers across her chalk-white face. “If I broke your heart,” she asks, almost sweetly. “Would it break the rest of you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, and he doesn’t wait for her to hurt him. In an instant, his hands are around her throat, lifting her off the floor, and from the gloom comes the telltale sound of Red Cloud loading his bow.
“My, but you’re a strong one,” Lian says and brings her arms up between his, her hands grabbing his wrists. As three of Red Cloud’s arrows pierce the flesh at the side of her neck, one after the other, thwick-thwick-thwick, with barely a second separating them, she screeches. Her hands convulse, shattering Blue Moon’s wrists. Glass rains to the floor. He staggers back, stunned, and raises arms that no longer have hands at the end of them.
Thwick-thwick-thwick. Another trio of arrows fly forth from Red Cloud’s bow, this time hitting home in the side of Lian’s face. She whirls, ducks low, and ends up in a crouch, one leg splayed out, the other folded beneath her, hands like claws on the floor. It could be ballet; it could be martial arts, but either way it means trouble for the wooden Indian.
“Stop…”
She doesn’t acknowledge my request, doesn’t look over her shoulder at me. Blue Moon, forgetting his newly acquired handicap rushes her. By the door, which continues to deteriorate under the weight of the deer, Red Cloud calmly draws back the string on his bow, his face forever expressionless.
Lian Su raises her hand in the air, palm faced in my direction, as if she’s calling a halt to proceedings. But then something swishes by my ear, catches the hazy light and smacks into her palm. It’s the bottle we drank from at the bar, still half-full, and before I can begin to guess what she’s going to do with it, she brings it to her lips, empties it into her mouth, then almost immediately spits it back out. In Red Cloud’s direction.
Before it hits him, it ignites, and abruptly Red Cloud is engulfed in violet fire.
Blue Moon collides with Lian Su, driving her into the door. She laughs and chops her hand against the side of his neck. Dark fragments fly, but he raises his arms and brings them down on her skull. She grunts, but does not fall, and delivers a second chop to Blue’s neck. Then another. This time there’s a sound like spare change falling to the floor and Blue Moon falls. He does not shatter, but enough of him breaks and scatters across the floor that I know he’s not getting up again.
Red Cloud makes not a sound. The fire seeps into the cracks in his hide, vanishing inside him, burning him from the inside out. Smoke seeps from every fissure. The wood begins to blacken. His eyes have become red-hot coals.
He reaches for another arrow.
I’ve got to get her outside again. I’ve got to get her over that threshold, weaken her. With this resolution comes self-chastisement for not dealing her a killing blow when the opportunity was there, an error that cost Blue Moon and Red Cloud their lives. But of course, there’s a very good reason for that lapse in judgment: I can hurt Lian as much as I like, but I’m not entirely sure I can kill her, or anyone for that matter. I can set it up so they kill themselves, offer them bargains that put them in the line of fire, but pulling the trigger is not something I believe I’m allowed to do.
But I’ll do all I can.
As if she senses this, Lian turns to look at me, a smile growing as she gleefully steps on one of Blue Moon’s legs, crushing it and scattering glass everywhere. Behind her the door is weakening, barely hanging on its hinges, and I wonder how much of that is her doing, because the weight of those animals out there combined with their infuriated battering, should have brought it down long before now.
“I have to tell you,” she says, kicking aside a rough chunk of obsidian. “Although I ache in parts of me I wasn’t aware I had, this is turning out to be quite a lot of fun.”
There’s a whoosh of air, a sickening crack I’ve mistakenly thought has come from the door, and she stops with a sudden intake of breath, shudders, and looks down at the point of an arrow which is sticking out of her cheek, black blood dripping from the tip.
Red Cloud, still burning, reloads. But his movements have slowed and fresh flame has begun to erupt from those cracks in his body. He’s wreathed in smoke and wavering.
There isn’t much time.
* * *
The scream does not come again.
Too much time has passed.
Whatever thrall has held him here ebbs away at last, and Kyle runs. His initial awe and fear at seeing them forgotten, he steps off the path and right into the middle of the herd. They don’t so much move to accommodate him, as grudgingly let him infiltrate their number. Flies buzz his face. Warm bodies try to crush him between them. Antlers scratch his cheek, stab his flesh, but he continues on, aware that he still has the gun if one of the deer should decide to take him on. He fights his way through until he is almost there and almost out of breath. His throat aches. Anticipating a struggle with the animals that are busy ramming the door like maddened things, he is surprised when they stop their assault, look back at him, and slowly lope away. The wind seems to whisper, as Kyle moves quickly into the gap they’ve left for him, cocks back the hammer on the gun, and throws the door open.
* * *
I watch Lian Su’s expression change from hate, to rage, to pleading, as she spins around to greet the boy in the doorway. To greet my son.
* * *
“They hurt me,” his mother tells him, and Kyle feels every ounce
of his resolve turn to dust.
“Mom?”
She nods slowly, a creature of ethereal beauty, her hair lustrous, skin pale. She is naked, but he does not register this for now. All he can see are her eyes, which look bloated and black. She reaches out to him in a gesture of pleading. She is asking him to save her. But from what?
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