Den of Smoke

by Christopher Byford

  One of the showgirls finally piped up, querying who the ship in question belonged to.

  ‘The wonderful boys and girls over at Seratto Industry are transporting their payroll via a rather creative manifest, no doubt to avoid taxes. It’s cheaper than paying legitimately. As fine, upstanding folks, we’re going to be relieving them of this,’ Jack stated.

  ‘Don’t they do private security?’ the woman asked with concern, familiar with the name and, by extension, their trigger-happy reputation.

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘And you’re doing them over?’

  Jack paused, having expected some sort of resistance from the onlookers.

  ‘I’m aware of how bizarre that may seem.’ A follow-up including an insult was already brewing but Misu’s glare encouraged it to be stowed. Jackdaw continued specifying the plan.

  ‘The Messiah is handled by twenty people in total when barebones. This does not count the security detail for the payroll itself, nor any passengers picked up from the north who have paid for travel. It can be assumed that as they pay little and are treated as savages – those who die on the journey are literally tossed overboard – they won’t be putting up any sort of fight. The Seratto crew can be assumed to be deadly and will not give up their pay without objection. I cannot stress enough …’ he turned to the Jackrabbits, watching each shuffle, unaccustomed to such attention ‘… be armed and be prepared at all times. Their job is to put people like us in the dirt. Let’s give them no excuse for a bonus.’

  ‘Where does the train come into this?’ Franco asked. He had already been scrutinizing the rail lines going northward alongside the Dead Corridor, making note of the scant number of track changes between there and the nearest checkpoint.

  ‘The Morning Star will be travelling along the northern line out of town, which overlooks the canyon. Its role will be in a support capacity only. We Jackrabbits will be on the canyon floor already around here, at an old lookout called Six Wells.’

  Jackdaw prodded the area map where a large cross had been drawn, miles out from town judging by the accompanying scale.

  ‘When the Messiah departs at five p.m., the sun will be low enough to darken the canyon itself. The Morning Star will run ahead of the ship and, using that big ol’ cannon on the back, will fire some ammunition of a very special concoction. Cole and I have already discussed the payload. He will be able to provide further details – he’s worked with some very fancy explosives in his time and will assist in creating the mixture. Correct?’

  ‘Absolutely. It won’t take long to cook up,’ Cole agreed.

  Jackdaw continued. ‘The result will be a smokescreen that the Messiah will run right into. When it hits, us Jackrabbits will be running alongside and, using the cover, board the ship via these maintenance ladders at the stern. There’s also a secondary objective for the Morning Star. When the smokescreen is done with, the rear car will begin to load live ammunition in preparation.’

  ‘I thought you said that there wouldn’t be a risk,’ Misu said.

  ‘There won’t be. The ship is manned by too small a crew to cover both its operation and man the guns on the deck. Seratto like to give the pretence of security, intimidate others with their scale and firepower. It’s all for show. You need another six people to operate just one of those guns and given the crew numbers that simply won’t be possible.’

  ‘So why the need for live ammo?’

  ‘We’ll get to all that later.’ Jack beckoned the Jackrabbits’ attention specifically, resulting in Cole and Alvina leaning on the table’s veneer. Blakestone, on the other hand, decided to stand tall, his height dominating everybody else in attendance. ‘When on board we’ll be taking the maintenance ladders through the decks to advance. The loot is assumed to be located on deck three. This room here is built for storing valuables complete with a walk-in safe.’

  Jack tapped upon the blueprints, indicating a small room that could be mistaken for a cupboard, if the walls weren’t three times thicker than those surrounding it.

  ‘What if it’s not?’ Blake narrowed his good eye.

  ‘If it’s not, then we play it by ear and find someone to tell us where to look.’

  ‘That works.’ Blake shrugged.

  ‘How do we move the loot?’ Alvina queried, seemingly impressed by the idea so far, far from the ramshackle afterthought she had initially assumed.

  ‘We offload the pay by the stern. It’s tossed into the desert. Ralust and some girl he hired as an extra pair of hands will be doing the pickup, as they will be following behind on horseback. It’s collected then transported off to the safe house. We go in quiet and we’re careful. Anyone we need to off, I want stowed away so they’re not found until they reach port. I want the captain to roll in and only discover things have gone awry when the anchor’s dropped. If things go south, then we get it done as fast as we possibly can.’

  Franco audibly exhaled, clearly uncomfortable with such a lax attitude in taking lives. Jack caught wind of this but ignored it all the same.

  ‘What gear are we taking? You mentioned you wanted this done silently,’ Alvina queried, pulling the schematic closer for a better view.

  ‘Sidearms are taken for trouble. No rifles except for yourself who gets the job of cover duty. Knives are a must, machete if you feel the need for something heavier. I’ll be taking a handful of stick grenades for ingress. Cole, you get to carry the charges for the safe.’

  ‘No smoking for you then, kid,’ Blake quipped.

  ‘Blakestone, you just volunteered to protect the courier.’

  ‘Rats,’ he cursed at his need to crack an inappropriate joke.

  ‘Question, does Ralust know how much they’re moving?’ Cole asked, presumably hungry for specific numbers.

  ‘The Messiah is going to Windberg, so there’s approximately a hundred on the payroll there, not including any kickbacks and operational costs. At least seven to eight hundred thousand I would assume.’

  ‘That’s plenty to pay off the debt,’ Cole stated, ‘and then some.’

  The sudden mention of such an extraordinary amount of money drew hushed comments from the showgirls. Even Franco and Misu seemed relatively surprised by the potential score from this. Everyone was starting to understand that this wasn’t a bunch of chancers attempting to pinch a coin or two. This was going to be a calculated, professional heist.

  ‘You could buy the Star with that …’ Someone whispered their observations a little too loudly at the back.

  ‘Are we seeing a cut of the leftovers, boss?’ Blake asked with a glimmer in his eye.

  ‘Only if I see fit and only if this is done properly. If anyone sets off guards, we’ll have a whole heap of trouble. If you get out alive, you’ll have the pleasure of my foot up your ass. If you get killed, the same applies, only this time I’ll be hauling your carcass from the great beyond.’

  Jackdaw looked to Misu over his shoulder, choosing to address her rather than endure Franco’s thorniness once more.

  ‘The Morning Star will be running alongside the ship as we infiltrate, providing firepower as well. I’ll personally be carrying a number of red flares. These will be used to indicate targets should the need arise. Difficulties and such. One flare, one shot. Nice and accurate. Who’s your gunner?’

  ‘That’ll be me,’ Corinne said, a couple of the girls warily stepping aside, no doubt due to her frosty tone. Her immediate impression was of seniority among the showgirls, a figure they confided in before going any higher up with questions or grievances. A senior of the show, Jackdaw deduced, for want of a better term.

  ‘How’s your aim? Any good?’

  Immediately Corinne scoffed and began a verbal barrage. ‘Oh, you don’t want to begin that with me. Don’t you worry your head about it. If you need a demonstration, I’ll gladly stuff you into the barrel and –’

  ‘Corinne!’ Franco interrupted with a shout, attempting to instil a degree of respect. Instead she was too wild to suppress her
opinion.

  ‘I’m not going to be polite to someone who is basically blackmailing us!’ the woman protested, swinging her arm out so excessively others made way for it.

  ‘Quieten yourse–’ Misu blurted out, only to be brutally interrupted with fiery conviction.

  ‘No! We lost the Gambler’s Den due to deceit and damn us for openly cavorting identical behaviour that will bring us to ruin!’

  ‘Keep your tongue in check!’ Franco exploded. ‘He is a guest aboard our train so treat him accordingly, or leave. This. Room!’

  Franco shut her down, obviously embarrassed about such an outburst with outsiders present. There were times and places for disagreements and this certainly was not one of them. Corinne reluctantly corrected herself, clenching her jaw and forgoing any follow-up.

  ‘She’ll do fine for whatever’s needed. Misu says she’s the best we have and she’s not done us wrong before. Accuracy won’t be a problem,’ Franco explained, shooting a sharp look at the culprit to ensure she was aware of the seriousness of this infraction.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jack said. ‘It’s that simple: we get on board, steal what we need to steal, get away without repercussions. Everybody wins.’

  ‘Do we?’ Misu slipped in.

  ‘If we pull this off, yes.’

  The lack of detail in that regard clearly frustrated Misu but she knew full well that the actual reward from this was clearing her debt of obligation. Anything past that, at Jackdaw’s discretion, was a bonus. Franco set about ensuring that his staff were fully aware of this not being a conscripted affair.

  ‘I want everybody to understand that this is not a demand. We are asking for your assistance, to wipe the slate clean for everyone involved. The dangers that you all endured on my behalf,’ Franco clamoured for the words, an onset of emotion bubbling beneath the surface, ‘the repercussions of which end with this proposal. Everyone is paid their dues. Debts are cleared. Nobody is to feel forced into this. It is undoubtedly dangerous and given the company, there’s a possibility that our good standing with the law may be withdrawn. So anybody uneasy with what is being proposed can step off for a few days to avoid incrimination. No judgement. This is very much an individual decision. Are there any takers for this offer?’

  Nobody moved. Franco had some of the best working for him and to assume they would abandon the show when things became difficult was borderline insulting. Offering them the opportunity to not be incriminated was respectful, which each one deserved.

  No hands were raised. Nobody spoke out.

  ‘Thank you. I think matters are concluded unless anybody has anything that they would like to add?’

  Jackdaw held his breath, scanning the faces for a challenge. For a moment he believed the short woman with the flail of fiery ginger hair would say something but she kept her lips firmly together. Jack recognized her of course, one of the pair who he escorted to extract information from Falkner, coquettish but forthright. Extract. Who was he kidding? It was torture, pure and simple. To dress it up as anything else would be ludicrous. She played her part as was required.

  Katerina stared intently. Maybe she did have something to say. Now wouldn’t have been the time if that were true as the Morning Star needed solidarity. Personal grudges had to be put on hold.

  As the room emptied, the murmurs began. Jack’s imagination danced wildly, sure that he picked up on some insults or exclamations of defiance. It seemed like every pair of eyes were piercing his soul in unison.

  The Jackrabbits stayed in place, awaiting further instructions. When the last of the showgirls left, Jack leant opposite and took a series of deep, stabilizing breaths.

  ‘You did well,’ Misu said, patting his back.

  ‘You call that well? It felt like they were going to rip me apart. It was only you two holding them at bay with your presence.’

  ‘Exactly. And they didn’t. Like I said, you did well.’ Misu concluded their business with a gracious offer.

  ‘We’ve got some spare guest bunks in the rear cars. Your people can stay here for the night. We’re not pulling off until the early evening so you have plenty of time. You may enjoy the bar but please instruct your people not to snoop in places that may be off limits. It’s too late to be chastising, but I will if the need arises.’

  ‘You have my word that they’ll behave.’

  Jackdaw thanked his hostess, with one eye on her as she chatted with Franco at the carriage end. He turned to his people and almost begged them to talk, if for no other reason but to subdue his racing thoughts.

  Bounty nudged him gently. ‘I’ve not seen that side of you before. You did good,’ were the only words she managed to muster but they were suitable to coax a weary smile.

  ‘Hell of a plan, boss,’ Alvina praised, or at least Jack took it as praise. There was a tinge of sarcasm there but he let it slide.

  ‘What’s next on the agenda? It’s almost three.’ Cole had obsessively checked his watch for the last hour, mistakenly believing it hadn’t been noticed.

  ‘Sleep,’ Jack replied. ‘I want to be sharp for tomorrow.’

  ‘More’s the pity,’ Bounty scoffed, either feigning disappointment or genuinely harbouring it. It was difficult to tell with a Rose, specifically this one. She took his hand, folded her fingers in his and whispered intimately into his ear.

  Hot breath sent lightning down his spine, stirring equally hot blood.

  ‘You’re a brave idiot, but I don’t trust you to not get yourself killed. If this’ll be your last night, then I’m going to make sure you enjoy it.’

  Jack felt his face become flush with embarrassment. This wasn’t the moment to succumb to lust. More needed to be discussed; there were copious preparations to be made before tomorrow. The sensible thing would be not to leave them until the morning.

  But tonight Jackdaw didn’t want to be the sensible sort. Professional, definitely. Sensible, not at all and especially not when it came to Bounty.

  ‘Hey!’ he called to Franco and Misu who immediately stopped conversing. ‘These beds are where, exactly?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Run, Jackrabbits, run

  The day was spent undergoing measures to ensure the plan’s success. Those on the Morning Star went through their relatively simple orders. Few were tasked for the actual job.

  While Franco worked on the cannon with Katerina, Corinne was instructed to look after the acquired horses in an empty boxcar, which most considered to be punishment for her tirade upon Jackdaw though this was false. Along with the show’s resident singer and former farm hand, Elizabeth, the pair ensured that the animals were fit for transport, well fed and checked for injury or defects. After all, if the mount wasn’t up to the ride, there would be no point in taking them out. Elizabeth preferred the equestrian company, finding them much simpler to work with. She taught Corinne what to look for and how to treat the animals, despite not knowing when the knowledge would be applied after today.

  The Morning Star had pulled off early in the afternoon, travelling to the edge of the Dead Corridor before the tracks lifted up along the ridge. Here, they stopped in a rail siding to finalize matters and for the Jackrabbits to venture off on their own. The sun was already starting to fall from the sky and shadow was spilling into the Dead Corridor like a tide of water.

  * * *

  Jackdaw walked alongside the train and helped the train’s driver, a hulk of a man by the name of Ferry, fasten a ramp to the horse-laden boxcar. Elizabeth led the animals out one by one, telling them niceties that encouraged their cooperation. A stubborn mare who refused to budge needed bribing with a bucket of apples, but even that was as eventful as things got.

  ‘You sourced good horses. They’re in good shape,’ Elizabeth said to Jack, handing him the reins of the most troublesome one, already nose-deep in the bucket. ‘Not a problem among them that’ll jeopardize your trip.’

  ‘That’s reassuring to hear. They look in good spirits,’ Jack said, watching the other Jackrabbits
examine the mounts. Blakestone wandered between the horses available, unsure which to pick.

  ‘I would suggest that the big fella take the Quarab, the pale one there, as it’ll handle his weight better. Good knees on her too – she’ll ride fine. The other two can go with what suits them. There’s little difference.’

  Jack spoke to the patchy animal beside him, unsure whether it was even listening. ‘That leaves you with me.’ Its ears flicked side to side, which was either an acknowledgement or it was trying to rid itself of a bothersome fly.

  The animals had already been saddled inside and each behaved, being led about by the bridle or reins before being mounted. Jack’s horse snorted, shaking its head before he took a foot to a stirrup. The horse finally withdrew from its snack, flicking its tail in annoyance, an attitude subdued by scratching the back of its head. The mare’s ears flicked again, allowing the reins to lead her to a turn.

  Elizabeth took to the ramp, carrying buckets of water, putting them where routine dictated. Corinne patted at her jodhpurs, dusting her thighs with handprints, having been completely quiet in Jack’s presence. He watched her pay him a dirty glance occasionally, sore no doubt about the present situation and, unlike the shows owners, taking it far too personally.

  ‘Watch you don’t fall and break your neck, Jack. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?’ she crossly called out.

  ‘I’ll ride just fine – don’t you be worrying about that none. Just make sure you’ve got a good aim with that cannon. You can go about giving me sass as much as you like afterwards but until then, make sure you’re sharp.’

  ‘You’re an asshole,’ she retorted in her wildness.

  ‘Through and through,’ Jack agreed, watching her begrudgingly retreat back inside via the ramp, ‘but you should know that underneath my gruff, abrasive surface … I’m even worse. Humour me though: your bleating last night. What exactly was the Gambler’s Den?’