Peacemaker

by Marianne de Pierres

  “Is everything cool?”

  “Nothing is cool.”

  “Then we’ll make it so,” she said, and hung up.

  Sixkiller didn’t proffer conversation, and when we got in the taxi, he just stared out the window.

  “Which government posted your bail?” I asked him eventually.

  “Bail?” He looked puzzled. “No one. They were very understanding. The visual footage collected by your… colleague clearly shows what happened was self-defence. No charges are being laid. Besides, the intruder was wanted for questioning in several murder cases and some illegal importation enquires.” He turned his head a little so he could see me. “You had problems?”

  The dryness in my throat, which had just started to ease, got all scratchy again. I told him, in short, quiet phrases so the cabby couldn’t hear, what Chance had said.

  “Do you flex?” he asked when I’d finished.

  I flashed on the guys and girls in the gym windows who did their weights routine for the benefit of the passers-by on the street. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that you should call work and tell them you’re having the afternoon off.”

  A blank stare from me.

  He sighed and gave me a patient father-to-confused-child look. “What I mean is… let me buy you a drink.”

  SEVEN

  I rang Hunt and told him I was taking Sixkiller on an orientation of the Western Quarter. It was partly true, and he didn’t argue with me.

  “How did the interview go?” he asked before I hung up.

  “About as bad as it could. They think I killed the guy in the park.”

  “But you didn’t. Right?”

  “Bull!” I was stunned that he was asking. We might not always get on but he knew me, and more importantly, he knew my dad.

  “It’s alright, Virgin. I’ve got your back on this. But make sure you’re squeaky clean in every way.”

  He sounded just like me talking to Leecey. “Any cleaner and I could bleach your white undies.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “That’s not funny. Be careful. OK?”

  “Always.” I hung up and paid the taxi, and we got out on the corner of Dry Ditch Boulevard and Tombstone Avenue.

  The names in the Quarter were kitsch, as were most of the stage acts in the theatre bars, but there was an undercurrent to the place that was just the opposite. Beneath the mash-up of local Country Hicks and American Western-o-philes, something hard and unhealthy was going on here. Like the fusion had sprung some kinda screw loose in the patrons. I both liked and loathed it, depending on my mood.

  We settled on some stools inside Beef and Horners. It was heading into closing time for most offices, and the place had already begun to fill up with sequined shirts, ten-gallon hats and shiny dance boots. An old Keith Urban track was on the E-box. Was that old guy even alive still?

  “What’ll it be?”Sixkiller was back in colloquial-speak, now he was out.

  “You do that so easy,” I said.

  “Do what?”

  “Switch from Cowboy to Yale in a breath.”

  “You’ve heard of Yale?”

  “Last I checked, we were still part of the Global Village.”

  He smiled. “And you’re having…?”

  “A Dark and Stormy.” Just how I was feeling.

  The woman behind the bar planted the rum mixer and a schooner of beer in front of us, and went off to serve two middle-aged women in long boots and short skirts.

  “I thought you didn’t drink.”

  “Only on special occasions,” he said.

  “So what’s the occasion this time? Me going to jail?”I took a long swallow that barely wet my lips but left the glass empty.

  “You want another?” He hadn’t had a sip of his beer.

  “Sure,” I said. “My buy, though.”

  Our unimpressed bartender lined two more drinks up and moved on, dabbing at bar stains with a dirty wet cloth.

  My throat lubricated a little with the second rum and ginger ale, and by the third, I was able to speak without catching a lump. “That Detective Chance’s got some kind of axe to grind or a quota to fill, and I think I’m in the crosshairs as the bounty.”

  Sixkiller shrugged. “Look at it from her side. The man in the park… you were the only one there.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be cheering me up.”

  “When did I say that?”

  “You offered to buy me a drink. Out here, that means you’re either hitting on someone or you’re trying to cheer them up…”

  His reply to that was a smile hovering at the edges of his mouth.

  I felt myself blushing. Surely… Surely he didn’t mean… Did he?

  He drained his beer and placed it down. “There’s a man sitting by the door, wearing a black felt hat. What do you call them?”

  “Akubra?”

  “Yes. He’s been following us since the police station. You know him?”

  I stretched and let my glance slide idly across the room. The lighting was dim but good enough for me to glean that I didn’t know the person in question. Not a cop, though.

  “That’s why you suggested a drink?” I said.

  Sixkiller gave a faint nod.

  Heat warmed my cheeks. I’d thought for a moment that he’d…Why had I even contemplated such a thing? “Well, I’ve never seen him before. You sure he isn’t following you?”

  “No. But I’ve never seen him before, either.”

  I grimaced. “So where does that leave us?”

  He got up slowly. “Reckon that leaves me and him having a private conflab.”

  “Oh?” This could be interesting.

  He gave me an earnest look. “Virgin, wait here. Please.”

  With that, he threaded through the tables, past the small stage and the banjo and fiddle band that were setting up for the night, and approached the guy from behind.

  He dropped his hand on the guy’s shoulder, and the man’s pained expression told me Sixkiller had pinched something tender. A moment later, he transferred hold to the man’s elbow. They got up together and headed toward the restrooms.

  “Leave our drinks here. I’ll be back,” I told the bartender, and hustled after them. My movements were a little clumsy after four drinks in as many minutes, and I collided with the roadie carrying a drum kit.

  He swore at me but I wasn’t in the mood to apologise. I shoved him out of the way so he fell onto the stage, hands outstretched to save the drum. Before he could recover, I was out into the corridor heading for the john.

  The pair was nowhere to be seen. I searched the ladies’ and then flung open the door of the gents’, setting off a ripple of whistles and shouts. But no Sixkiller.

  The only door left led to the kitchen.

  I opened it and peered in, taking in the spilled gravy on the floor and smell of roasting meat and potatoes. The cook was blowing cigarette smoke out a window, lecturing the young guy dishwashing about something. His smoke curled around and back into the kitchen, rendering his attempt at hygiene null. I watched where the draught was blowing it and spied the wide-open back door.

  As the chef stubbed out his butt and turned to stir his vat of soup, I skidded straight through and out.

  The alley was a patchwork of shadow and light. One end opened into Tombstone Ave, the other was a dead end banked up with two overflowing skip bins. Obligatory graffiti and a bent Do Not Park sign decorated the walls.

  Sixkiller had the man pinned up against the bricks, his Peacemaker pressed to the guy’s temple.

  “Nate!”I ran over to them.

  “Hey, lady, this guy’s a loony. Get the fucker off me.”

  Instant sobriety banished the warmer feelings alcohol had lent me. “Why were you following us?”

  “I wasn’t. Never seen you before.”

  I nodded at Sixkiller. “My mistake. Do what you have to.”

  He gave me a grim look and began searching the man’s pockets. From insid
e the guy’s leather coat he produced a wrapped object. I stepped closer to get a better look.

  “Let me see,” I said, pulling out my phone for light.

  Sixkiller handed it over and proceeded to check the other pockets. I wasn’t interested. The thing in my hand had me curious. I unwrapped the cloth and stared at a sharpened bone with a feather attached to one end.

  I walked away from both men and called Caro. “I’m sending you a photo of something. See if you can find out what it is now.” I hung up, took the snap and e-mailed it to her.

  She called me back within a minute. “The closest I can find is a sharpened bone, no feather, which is a Vodun marker said to call the strongest of the Loas. Usually used before a battle. Where did you get it?”

  “I can’t talk now,” I whispered.

  “Are you safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get back to me.”

  “Will do.”

  “And by the way, that tattoo you asked about... Local intelligence services have an alert out on it, but I can’t get specifics. My source says the security clearance is beyond them.”

  “You think it signifies an active group of some kind?”

  “My contact says yes but has no idea who.”

  A camera in the park, a random guy belonging to a new gang or cartel trying to kill me, and now this. I wondered if Indira Chance had guessed right on there being a connection between the two murders – but not the kind she was trying to make.

  I wanted to talk it over with Caro more, but Sixkiller looked like he was strangling the guy.

  “Laters.”

  I hung up, turned and ran back to them.

  Too late, because the alley made like a dirty bomb.

  EIGHT

  OK, not nearly that bad, but enough to knock me hard against the skip. Momentarily winded and totally confused by a loud detonation and a lot of smoke, my first thought was how bad something stank.

  A few blinks and head shakes later, I realized it was me, covered in some kind of red slime. Vegetable matter, I hoped, not human.

  A hand thrust in front of my nose, motioning to help me up.

  “I’m OK,” I said, scrabbling to my feet. “Where is he? What happened?”

  “A mild percussion device. Knocked me down, too, while someone snatched him.”

  Sixkiller sounded distant. Like we were talking though a door or window.

  “Whaddya mean, mild?”I tugged at my ears a few times, and the near deafness improved to a ringing noise.

  At the open end of the alley, a couple of passers-by peered in. Down at our end, the previously overflowing rubbish was now pasted on the walls, and the rear door of the bar hung off its hinges. The cook was pressed against the frame, a cleaver in his hand.

  I gave him the reassuring thumbs up.

  “He got away,” said Sixkiller.

  “No shit.” I wiped some of the slime off my face. “Don’t know about you, but I don’t want a return trip to Pol-Central to explain the unexplainable.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s git.”

  He picked up the bone feather that I’d dropped and headed out past the curious young couple in ponchos and moccasins. I followed, stopping long enough to slip them all the remaining cash I had in my wallet.

  “Drinks on me if you can forget this?”

  We slapped hands in agreement and that was that.

  NINE

  “You find out anything from the guy before the boom?” I asked as we took the lift up to my apartment.

  Sixkiller was insisting on walking me there, which irritated me more than I could say. I didn’t need a caretaker, but I also wanted to keep him in my sights. Lord knows what he might do if he slipped the leash.

  “No. Just the bone feather. I’ll run it through our databanks see if I can identify it.”

  So, the Marshal wasn’t going to share evidence. Figured.

  “Right. Well, let me know what you turn up. And now tell me why I stink of kidney beans and you’re hardly showing a scrape,” I said as I thumbed my key lock.

  He laughed, a dry, cut-off noise that could just as easily have been a cough. Glad something could amuse him.

  I entered my apartment in a hurry to hit the shower but stopped dead on my cactus rug just in front of the fluorescent dead-guy outline, at the sight of a naked body lying curled on my two-seater, face buried in the cushions.

  Sixkiller was past me before I could speak, slipping the muzzle of his Peacemaker into the person’s ear, cocking the pistol.

  “Stop!” I bellowed, recognizing the heart-shaped tattoo on the buttocks.

  Sixkiller paused, flicked me a glance. “You know… him?”

  I nodded carefully. Emphatically. So there could be no mistake. “Put the gun away, Nate.”

  He eased his thumb off the hammer and withdrew the piece.

  My lover, Heart Williams, rolled over slowly.

  “We all good?”Heart asked, taking in me and Sixkiller before he got up.

  Another big nod from me.

  Sixkiller holstered the pistol.

  The moment it hit the leather, Heart sprang up from the couch and punched Sixkiller low in the guts.

  The cowboy sagged a little, then straightened, murder returning as quickly to his eyes as it had left.

  “Don’t ever pull a gun on me again,” barked Heart.

  I stepped in between them before any more friendly fire could be exchanged.

  “Marshal Nate Sixkiller, meet my… er… friend, Heart Williams.”

  Heart was as almost as tall as the Marshal and I but had a finely sculpted body. Every muscle defined. When you worked as a stripper for a living, you had to keep the bod in tip-top shape. It also meant you didn’t get too worried about standing starkers in front of strangers. Right now Heart’s manhood was on full display, and he looked as confident as if he wore a suit of armour.

  If Caro had been here, she’d be gawking with delight.

  “Do all your friends let themselves in and lie naked on your furniture?”Sixkiller sneered. His gaze swept my couch in a way that said he wasn’t likely to ever sit on it again.

  “Only her close friends,” said Heart with equal weight.

  I wasn’t used to Heart bristling macho. Usually, he was just a cool, funny guy who was outstanding in bed. We slept together about once a week. It was great sex, but that was all. Some light pillow talk, maybe. But no dating, being seen in public together or acknowledgment that we had any type of real liaison going between us.

  “Fellers,” I drawled. “A mistake made from good intentions. Let’s just get on with our day.”

  Sixkiller shot me a both a critical and questioning glance.

  “I’ll call you in a while, Marshal,” I told him.

  He let out a breath, spun on his heel and left.

  “Did he just do that weirdly fast, or is just me?” said Heart.

  I walked over and locked the door.

  He still made no attempt to clothe himself.

  I wanted to be mad at him for being in my place when I wasn’t here (even though I’d given him security access), but in truth, I would have been pleased to see him under any circumstances. Our liaisons were the only time I felt connected to another human being, except when Caro and I got hammered and drunk-talked.

  I guess that said a lot about me. I didn’t relate well to the rest of the world. It’s not that I didn’t want to. But since Dad had died… trust came hard. And before that… maybe I was just wired different.

  “Looking good, Ranger,” he said sarcastically, eyeing my slimy appearance.

  I appraised his nakedness with equal attention. “Let me return the compliment.”

  He smiled. And that was unfair.

  Heart without the smile was a good-looking guy with a great body. With the smile, he became a weapon of mass destruction. I never could understand why he worked as a stripper when anyone would have employed him. Then add polite and quick-witted to smoking hot. But it
seemed like his current job was an index finger at anyone who ever had expectations of him.

  I guess we all had our thing. The shoulder-chip that held us back in life made us act stupid.

  “You hungry?” I asked.

  He widened his smile and let his tongue rim his top lip. “Starving.”

  “Let me just catch a shower,” I said.

  “Let me help.”

  An hour later, we were dressed and sharing tea, leaning against my kitchenette.

  “So who was the trigger-happy cowboy?”

  “Visiting US Marshal.”

  “You get all the fun,” he teased. “He here to keep you in line?”

  “Something like that.” Noncommittal was my default. We didn’t usually talk about our work.

  He took a sip of this tea and nodded toward the couch and the outline of the dead body. “So you gonna tell me about that, then?”

  “Some crazy broke in here and tried to abduct me. Nate – the Marshal – shot him.”

  He frowned with concern. “You OK?”

  “Fine.”

  “But the Marshal’s a little touchy?”

  “Actually, he was just doing what comes naturally to him. We’ve had a kinda bad day. I mean… I have.”

  Heart placed his hand to my waist and left it sitting there. “I’ve got no work this week. You want me to hang around a bit here? Keep you company.”

  I stared into his eyes. They were almost the same red-brown of the mesas in the park. “That’s sweet of you, Heart. But I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Friend to friend,” he said. “For company. I mean, you could whoop my arse in a fight, Virgin.”

  I thought of the punch he’d landed on Sixkiller. Heart had an athletic build, but he wasn’t a fighter. At least, I hadn’t thought so… “Not so sure about that. Where’d you pull that punch from?”

  “Jeez, girl, I take my clothes off for a living. It’s not the first time I’ve had to switch it up to macho.”

  “The other-man syndrome?”

  His mouth twisted in amusement. “Well, sometimes from the ladies as well. But yeah… I’ve had more than one jealous boyfriend.”

  “Course you have,” I sighed.

  We stood for a bit, sipping some more. The tea brought a biting flavour to my palate; the sugar brought life to my limbs.