by Jordan Krall
“I do.” Stacklee left for town. The other two men were alone among the boulders. Calamaro asked if he would be willing to help in getting vengeance on the men who buried him alive. The Indian agreed.
After they had a plan, Kimama handed over a handful of crushed herbs. “Swallow this.”
Calamaro looked at the medicine the Indian had prepared and thought it looked like something a man would vomit. Still, he figured that Kimama probably knew what he was doing. It was unlikely that he would be trying to kill Calamaro since he had already saved his life. He swallowed the herbs and then felt heat well up in his chest.
Kimama said, “You will feel many things. It is okay. Just close your eyes. If you feel scorpions on your skin, do not be afraid. That is how it works.”
For the next hour, Calamaro was in and out of delirium. He decided to put all of his trust in the Indian and fought the fear that came when he felt scorpions pinching his skin. He smelt burning flesh and the musky scent of an unwashed woman. There were sounds, too, like the chattering of many teeth and the low roaring of a steam engine.
Then he felt a hand on his forehead and assumed it was Kimama’s but when he opened his eyes, he saw the Indian sitting ten feet away. Calamaro closed his eyes again and was lulled into sleep by the sound of high heels clip-clopping around him.
He saw his wife and daughter dead on the floor of his house. Their killers were seated at the table, eating and drinking. He looked at the men. Every single one of them looked like William Lyons.
One of the killers looked over and said, “That your family? We sure did enjoy killing them. Especially your wife. We even stuck our fingers in her holes to see what we’d find. Sometimes there’s treasure in there. This time there was just some dead scorpions inside your wife’s ass. How about that?” The killer took a bite of food. “She’s worthless but makes a mighty good meal.”
Rage surged through Calamaro’s body. He tried reaching for his pistol but it wasn’t there. The men at the table continued to eat while the bodies of his wife and daughter were melting into blue puddles filled with tiny crabs.
Calamaro felt himself running from the house, running from the men who all looked like William Lyons. He vowed he’d come back and get revenge on the killers of his family. He would come back and slaughter them all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“So, he’s okay?” Betty said.
“Well, he’s alive.” Stacklee had told her the whole story about Calamaro. “I wouldn’t say the man’s okay physically or even mentally. The man’s got a lot of healing to do.”
Betty said, “I guess he’ll just have to …”
There was a scream from upstairs. It was Angie.
Betty ran up to her room and found her crying on the hallway floor. She pointed down the hall. “It’s the new girl.”
“Who? Rebecca?” Betty said. Angie nodded.
Betty slowly opened the door. In the middle of the floor was Rebecca’s body lying in a pool of blood and intestines. Her throat had been cut and her body sliced open.
Betty started to cry. Within the last twenty-four hours two of her girls had been murdered. Calamaro was abducted and most likely dead. It was all too much for her.
Then there was another scream. This time it was Stacklee saying that Lady Troy was dead, too. Her killer had cut her throat and left her face-down in the chamber pot.
“Angie, when was the last time you talked to Lady Troy?” Betty said.
“Yesterday. But I heard her singing this morning. She was fine.”
“Go tell the sheriff two more girls are dead,” Betty said. “Stacklee, get all the girls out of their rooms.”
Stacklee nodded.
Angie broke down, sobbing like a wounded child. “Who could have done something like that? I can’t…..” She stomped downstairs and left the brothel.
When Angie walked into the jail, Sheriff Doyle was leaning up against the wall, smoking a cigar. He looked worn out.
“Sheriff,” she said. “Two more girls are dead!”
“You have to be fucking kidding me.” Sheriff Doyle slammed his fist against the wall. Was the shit storm never going to end? He grabbed his hat and headed for the door.
As he was walking out, he bumped into Mrs. Duma.
“I’m here to see my husband, sheriff,” she said.
“That right? Well, it’s his lucky day.”
“Why’s that?”
Doyle didn’t answer. He just grabbed his keys and led her to the jail cell. Though he was always polite to the woman, something about her irked him. She was just too bitchy for his taste. How Tom Duma lived with her and didn’t put a bullet in his head was beyond him.
* * *
Bluford Barnes had just closed his eyes when he heard the sheriff walk in with Tom’s wife strutting in behind him. She was an intense and bitter-looking woman but attractive, very attractive. Bluford thought that under different circumstances, he might like to make a try at her. She looked like she’d enjoy a good, hard screw.
Mrs. Duma handed her husband his coat and hat. Something in Bluford’s mind clicked. There was something wrong. But what? Then he saw it.
The coat. The hat.
Bluford froze. In his mind he saw the shadowy person at the bottom of the stairs and it became clear that it was the same man who was now getting freed from the jail cell.
Tom Duma put his hat on and then turned to the sheriff. “No hard feelings. I know you were doing your job.”
Sheriff Doyle nodded. “Just make sure you cooperate next time.”
As Tom Duma put his coat on, he started to cough. It was a thick, loud phlegm-filled cough that was instantly familiar with Bluford. It was the same one that woke him up right before he discovered Lily’s body.
And now the sheriff was shaking hands with Tom. Bluford’s throat constricted, nausea creeping through his body. He watched the killer leave with his wife.
The sheriff looked back at Bluford.
“You going or what?” the sheriff said.
Bluford didn’t answer. He simply ran out of the cell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Betty was looking at a walking corpse.
Or at least that’s what she first thought. The man who walked through the doorway was bloody, his face mutilated beyond recognition. His body was covered in thick dust.
“Oh my God,” Betty said, dropping the glass of whiskey she was drinking from. It shattered at her feet, splashing alcohol all over her boots.
The walking corpse smiled and said, “So. How do I look?”
It was Calamaro.
Betty laughed through her tears. It was amazing how this man who had just gone through hell managed to show a sense of humor. But she knew that it was only for her sake, so that she didn’t break down completely. Calamaro was no doubt suffering both physically and mentally.
Betty came out from the back of the bar and ran up to him, wrapping her arms so tight around Calamaro that he grunted in pain. She let go but then placed her hand on the small of his back.
From behind Betty, Stacklee walked downstairs. He said, “So, looks like the Indian knew what he was doing. You managed to walk back to town okay.”
“I don’t feel as shitty as I look,” Calamaro said. “I feel like I took a bad fall off a horse. But I imagine my face looks pretty bad.”
“Well, it doesn’t look good.”
Calamaro laughed and when he did, blood and drool seeped out of the gashes in his face. Betty pulled a handkerchief from her brassiere and wiped his face. She turned to Stacklee. “Did you tell all the girls to leave?”
“All of them but Mary and June,” he said. “June said she wanted to stay and being she was sick, I didn’t want to argue. I thought we’d take turns watching her. And Mary still has Timothy Horn in there. She said he’s been out cold for a few hours. Man wore himself out.”
Betty said, “Well, I still don’t feel safe with them up there.”
“As long as we’re done here, no one�
�s getting in.” Stacklee turned to Calamaro. “And I found out from Kersey that Nix and his boys are up in your room at the hotel.”
“Did you tell him to take his customers and clear out?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he give you any trouble about it?”
Stacklee said, “Who? Kersey? No, he knows something’s going to happen whether he likes it or not.”
Betty grabbed Calamaro’s shoulder. “Don’t do this.”
“You know damn well I’m not going to change my mind.” He put his hand on hers. “But I appreciate you trying to stop me.”
Kimama walked in through the back door, dragging his shovel. He said, “The man named Lyons. He is in his house.”
“Good,” Calamaro said.
“He has a family. Wife. Small boys. You think this is a good idea?”
“Long as the wife doesn’t pull a gun, she’ll be left alone. The boys won’t try nothing.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a scream from upstairs. Betty said, “That’s June! I knew you should’ve made her come down!”
Stacklee said, “Like I said, she told me she wanted to stay.”
Betty shook her head and ran up the stairs. The others followed.
They found June on the floor, a starfish on her chest, two of its arms hooked on her areolas. Her eyes were opened but they were glazed over with blue goo.
Stacklee bent down and held her in his arms. Her legs shook, the four feet trembling like branches on a tree. All twenty toes wiggled.
Kimama slowly bent down in front of her. She looked at Betty. “May I help?”
She nodded.
Rubbing his hands together, Kimama chanted softly. He stuck his fingers into his mouth and massaged his teeth. He lifted up June’s calves and put her feet to his lips, taking all twenty, wiggling toes into his mouth.
The others watched as Kimama sucked on June’s toes, slurping loudly, drool oozing down his chin and onto the floor. The girl didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it looked like her eyes were becoming less glazed. Kimama was healing her.
Stacklee thought it was strange seeing the dress-wearing Indian brave sucking on a whore’s toes. After three minutes of it, June’s eyes were back to normal and she sat up on her own. “What happened?” she said, looking down at her chest and seeing the starfish attached to her.
Kimama pulled her toes out of his mouth. He yanked the starfish off June’s chest. She yelped in pain. Her areolas were covered in deep red tattoos.
The Indian held up the creature and then slammed it down onto the floor, killing it.
“Why’d you do that?” June said. “It was my baby.”
“This creature is not a good creature.”
Calamaro walked over to the window and looked out to see if there was any sign of trouble. There was a small crowd gathering by the hotel and he could see the sheriff standing there trying to calm the crowd. He didn’t seem too concerned and Calamaro could tell that the man would rather be somewhere else.
He turned away from the window and said, “Stacklee, let’s leave through the back and head up to the hotel now. I’ll go get Sartana. Then Kimama, you meet me up by Lyons’ house.”
The Indian nodded.
Stacklee said, “Hope the plan works.”
“It will,” Calamaro said. “But if it doesn’t, it was nice knowing you.”
* * *
Nix walked into Calamaro’s hotel room. He thought it was real funny having some fun in that dead bastard’s bed. As he entered, he saw Chaps and Ryan under the covers. He said, “One of the whores just told me that Stacklee and Betty found out about Calamaro.”
“Isn’t that something? I wished I could’ve seen that nigger’s face when he found out,” Ryan said.
Nix scoffed. “Man, you should never wish to see a nigger’s face. That’s bad luck.”
Ryan laughed hysterically while Nix joined him in bed. After they had gotten back from dealing with Calamaro, Chaps finally got the courage to share his feelings with Nix. One thing led to another and soon he was wearing a dress and was sucking on Nix’s tiny pecker. Ryan watched the whole thing while he pleasured himself. His leg stumps looked like two extra penises and so both Nix and Chaps sucked on them a little bit.
Chaps said, “Nix, you want me on my stomach? I can take it.”
“Maybe later. A man needs time to recover, know what I’m saying?”
Nix was glad that the three of them were finally honest with their desires. He hated having to pretend he was interested in pussy. When he flexed his muscles around town, he had really wanted to impress the men not the women. Chaps was perfect. The guy didn’t have a macho bone in his body so there was no risk of the two of them battling for male supremacy.
Nix said, “Right now I’d like just to take a load off, relax, maybe play some cards. I don’t know about you two but I’ve been dreaming about poker, know what I’m saying?”
“Sure thing. Cards sound good,” Ryan said. “Did you ask Kersey about those cards from France? The ones with the pictures of a woman and a snake.”
“Kersey wasn’t there.”
“What?”
“He wasn’t downstairs. Didn’t see anyone down there at all.”
Ryan squinted. “That’s weird, don’t you think?”
“Yeah and this place has been awfully quiet. I could’ve sworn when we got in all the rooms had been taken up,” Chaps said, adjusting his dress.
Nix scratched his head. “Maybe there’s a picnic we don’t about.”
Before Chaps or Ryan could reply, a shotgun blast came through the wall. Ryan was hit in the groin. He screamed and fell off the bed onto his leg stumps. Another blast came through and hit Nix in the legs. He fell to the ground and screamed, “Shit!”
Chaps reached for his bullwhip. He yelled, “Stop your shooting!”
Because he expected a response in the form of a shotgun blast, Chaps was surprised when he heard a voice coming from a hole in the wall.
“Any of you religious men?”
Chaps and Nix looked at each other. They recognized the voice but were shocked to hear it.
Again, it said, “I asked if any of you are religious men?”
Ryan was trembling on the floor. He slid his hand underneath the bed and pulled out a starfish. It squirmed in his hands. Ryan rolled over onto his stomach. Blood started to spread out like a rug underneath him. The starfish squirmed out of his hands and floated on the puddle.
“Where the hell’d you get that?” Nix said.
“Found a barrel of them in the church about a week ago.”
Another blast through the wall but this time it didn’t hit anyone. Again the voice spoke through the hole. “Though I don’t think it’d be much good for anyone, you should probably start praying if you believe in that sort of thing.”
Nix looked at Ryan. “There’s no way that fucker survived, know what I’m saying?”
Ryan shook his head slowly. “Guess he did, Nix but look at me. I’m not going to survive. I feel like a slaughtered pig.” His large eyes got even larger as they bugged out of his head. “Things are starting to look blurry, blue. You look like a donkey. Are you wearing a mask or something? A costume? Oh, lord, my head hurts.”
Nix knew Ryan would be gone in a minute or two. There was no use in trying to help the bastard. He looked at Chaps who appeared to be in deep thought.
“Is that you, Calamaro?” Chaps said.
“It just might be,” the voice answered. “I think it’d be best if your friend Nix came on out in the hallway.”
Nix shook his head. His legs were busted up badly but he thought he could probably make it if he ignored the pain. “I’m coming out!” He figured there was no harm in dragging himself to the hallway if he was armed so he grabbed his pistol and started crawling.
When Nix reached the door, he opened it and found himself staring at a pair of boots. He looked up and saw that it was Stacklee. The black man said, “He’s here, Calamaro.”
“Shit,” Nix said. He tried pulling the gun up but it was kicked away.
“Look at you. Guess you were right. Guess looking a nigger in the face is bad luck.” Stacklee smiled. “Real bad luck.”
Nix saw a blade in the black man’s hand. He grabbed Stacklee’s ankle and pulled, sending him down on his ass.
“Fucker,” Stacklee said. He sliced Nix across the face and then kicked him in the head. After that, he thought it’d be over but the man attacked again, this time biting Stacklee on the ankle. “You biting me? Jesus Christ!”
Calamaro appeared behind Nix, grabbed a handful of hair, and sent a fist into the side of his head. The teeth held on, digging deeper into Stacklee’s leg. Finally he pulled his gun and put it to the man’s temple.
The pistol burped, sending a bullet into Nix’s head. Chunks of brain bombarded the wall.
As Calamaro stood up, he heard a crack and felt a piercing and familiar pain on the side of his head. Another crack and the gun was knocked from his hand.
Chaps was standing in the doorway now, holding his whip. “Bring back memories?” he said.
Calamaro ducked and jumped into the room, sending his head into the bastard’s stomach. Chaps doubled over but managed to wrap the whip around Calamaro’s neck.
“Should’ve killed you when we had the chance,” Chaps said. He pulled the whip tight while Calamaro pummeled him in the gut. In the doorway, Stacklee stood pointing his gun.
“Let him go, asshole,” he said.
Chaps showed his goofy grin and said, “Okay.” He let Calamaro go and then jumped backwards out the window, cracking his whip on the way down so it caught the bedpost. He landed safely on the ground below and then pulled his whip free.
Calamaro and Stacklee ran to the window. Chaps was running down the street, his dress blowing in the wind and his whip dragging behind him like a tail.
“Asshole got away,” Stacklee said.
Calamaro nodded. “No, he didn’t.” He aimed his gun, resting it on his other arm. He squinted, watching Chaps run like a child until he made it to the blacksmith’s place. Calamaro had him in his sights and then pulled the trigger.