Beyond the Rails 3: Slayer of Darkness

Chapter 21

Hippo Point Sunday evening

          Reinhard wiped his hands on his apron as the two guards got under Jinx’s arms to half drag, half carry the limp and sweat-soaked woman back to her cell. As they exited, Mutala came in, turning to watch them go.
          “How did it go, Mr. Reinhard?” he asked. “Did she know anything useful?”
          “Surprisingly little,” Reinhard replied, picking up the two bottles to return to their cabinet. “These Darklighters aren’t at all well-organized. The left hand rarely knows what the right hand is doing.”
          “So, she is one, then?”
          “Yes.”
          “What do they want here?”
          “She came to have a look at me, oddly enough. Something made them suspicious of my activity on Zanzibar, and they sent her from their Australian chapter to determine whether I was a threat. It was undoubtedly her, or possibly Mr. Smith, who broke into my office there.”
          “So it was good that I got hold of her, then?”
          “Would that you had gotten hold of her. I seem to recall a confused young lady named Hobbs, one with no information to speak of, being dragged in off the street against her will, and traded for this Miss Jenkins. That was incredibly stupid, an action I would have expected from an illiterate bush savage.”
          “But, sir, you said you needed information.”
          “Information, not a kidnapping. If you had taken the right one, this one, we could have killed her and fed her body to the crocodiles, and she would just be one more unfortunate white woman who disappeared in Africa.”
          “We can still do that, sir.”
          “We undoubtedly will do that, but there are your loose ends to clean up. There is the other woman you kidnapped, and her friends that I had to make the exchange with. They know she is being held by someone, even if they don’t know who. When she doesn’t return, do you think her friends, associates, whatever these people are to her, are just going to assume that she went home, and go about their business? Make no mistake, Mutala, this was a blunder of the first order. I expected better from you.”
          “But, sir—”
          “But nothing! They could have thrashed about up here for a year without getting anywhere. Now, and thanks solely to you, make no mistake about that, they have all the information they need to involve the authorities, put the Darklighters onto us in force, whatever they need to do to disrupt our operations for the foreseeable future. This entire operation is in jeopardy, Mutala, and should it have to be abandoned, the council is going to want to know why. Don’t believe for a moment that I’m going to take the blame.”
          “We could have thrashed about for a year as well, Mr. Reinhard. You needed information. I took measures to get it.”
          “Yes, you certainly did. Well, it’s done now, isn’t it? I’ve gotten all we’re going to get out of this one. She will have to be killed, of course. Put a bullet in her head, and drag her down to the bank for the crocs to feast on tonight.”
          “Yes, sir.”
          Mutala started to leave.
          “Wait a minute,” Reinhard added, stopping him. “Let’s not be hasty. Wait until after midnight. You and some of the boys kill her with some blows to the head. Make it look like a random assault, and dump her body in an alley in the foreign quarter. Then get into contact with Mr. Fales at the Herald. Make sure he reports it as a robbery in which the perpetrators got a bit overenthusiastic, and then we can only hope for the best.”
          “What about her friends?”
          “What about them?”
          “Won't they need to be silenced as well?”
          “Calm yourself, my enthusiastic young friend. We can’t kill everyone in Africa.”
          “But they’ll talk. You said so yourself.”
          “I know what I said. What if they talk? If she isn’t missing, no one becomes too curious. To them, she’s some sort of spy on a secret mission. To the world, she’s a traveler whose luck ran out. There’s the body to prove it. These Darklighters like to work in complete secrecy, a fact that now works to our advantage. Do you think when these balloon jockeys start telling wild tales of some multinational organization at war with a secret society, that anyone’s going to take them seriously? Well, the Darklighters themselves would, if anyone knew how to contact them.”
          “There must be people who do, sir.”
          “Undoubtedly there are, people in London and Paris. In this backwater? Unlikely.”
          “You hope!”
          “No, Mutala, you hope. Because if this blows up in our faces, it’s your arse that’s going to be in a cargo sling, not mine.”

Kisumu 8:30 PM

          Monroe listlessly rotated his half-empty glass of Prussian lager in the wet ring it had made on the table. One of the advantages of living in close proximity to a Prussian colony was the availability of magnificent beers and ales, but this one held no interest for the captain on this most dismal of nights.
          “Where in hell can she be?” he asked, frustrated. “Kisumu isn’t that big!”
          “I think we’re getting a feel for just how big it really is,” Smith replied.
          All five of them sat around a table in the Antelope Bar, a European-owned establishment that had become their “watering hole” since their failure to rescue Jinx that morning.
          “There’s a limit to what we can do,” Hobbs said. “We aren’t the police.”
          “And what can the police do?” Smith asked. “You heard Musa. He took a few men to that factory. They claimed they never heard of Reinhard, let them in to look around, gave them the East African Salute,” – he punctuated this by holding his arms out in an exaggerated shrug – “and that was the end of the so-called investigation. Maybe we ought to go in there and crack some heads.”
          “And get ourselves arrested?” Hobbs asked. “How does that help Jinx?”
          “How does sitting here drinking help her?” Smith countered. “We’d have a better chance asking Darweshi here to divine her location with her voodoo.”
          “Is that even possible?” Monroe asked.
          “Many things are possible,” the young shaman answered, “but not guaranteed. I can certainly try, but my connection with her is not strong. I would hate to see you wait, only to have me fail in the end.”
          “All we’re doing now is waiting,” Smith groused.
          “Say, you really like her, don’t you?” Hobbs asked, a mischievous smile growing at the corners of her mouth.
          “We took her in, she got in trouble. ’Course I’m worried about her. I’d be worried about any of you.”
          “But this is special,” Hobbs went on, needling him a bit. “Don’t you see how his eyes light up when he just mentions her name?”
          “I ain’t in the mood, Hobbs,” Smith snarled.
          “The less am I,” Monroe said, cutting off the banter. “These louts are likely going to kill this girl, may have already, and here we sit, drinking like we haven’t a care in the world.”
          “I’d hardly call the mood here carefree, Captain,” Hobbs said.
          “Maybe not, but we need to be doing something.”
          “What, exactly?” Smith asked. “The only lead we have is that factory. We were there almost twenty-four hours ago, and there was no sign of her. There sure won’t be one if we go back now.”
          “This is terrible, this feeling of helplessness,” Monroe said, taking a drink of his now-warm beer. “So’s that. Darweshi, do you think there’s any chance you could locate her? Maybe from back on the ship, in her cabin, surrounded by her things?”
          “I can certainly try,” she said, “but you must understand that what I do is not of my own volition. My gods and spirits show me the visions they wish me to have, loan me the powers I may use for a brief time. They may smile on my efforts, they may not.”
          “Nonetheless, I would ask that you try. Bakari, would you be so kind as to escort her?”
          “Of course, Nahodha.”
          “What are we going to do, Captain?” Hobbs asked.
          “Keep asking questions, swing by the police office and see if they have any new information. You know, what we can.”
          Darweshi and Bakari rose from the table.
          “You two be alert,” Monroe cautioned them. “There’s no telling what these people may do next.”
          “Of course, Nahodha. We will see you when you return.”
          “How about it,” Monroe asked Smith and Hobbs, “shall we get busy?”
          “I’m gonna finish my beer first,” Smith said.
          “Seriously?”
          “I paid for it. Probably use the privy, too.”
          “David!” Hobbs exclaimed.
          “Just be a few minutes. Not like we haven’t wasted the whole day already.”

Hippo Point 8:35 PM

          Reinhard, having cleaned and replaced all his tools, hung his apron on a coat rack, closed the door to his interrogation room, and locked it. Putting the key ring in his trouser pocket, he headed for the stairs. He was surprised to see Mutala coming from the direction of the cells.
          “Mutala? What are you doing down here?”
          “Merely checking on the prisoner, sir.”
          “There shouldn't be much to check. The drugs should keep her subdued for the next couple of hours. You find her interesting, do you?”
          “Intriguing, I suppose. I wanted another look at the person who has gotten me into so much trouble.”
          “Look in the mirror then, Mutala. She didn’t ask to come here, you made it necessary. But that gives me an idea. She should be fairly active by midnight. Bring a couple of the boys down here and rape her. She’ll try to fight, of course, and that should produce some quite realistic wounds, broken fingernails, bruises and whatnot. Not to mention the evidence of the rape itself. That should convince everyone who matters that she was a victim of a pack of criminals, nothing more.”
          “Now, Mr. Reinhard?”
          “No, you imbecile! What’s gotten into you lately, Mutala? I can remember a day when I would give you an order, and you instinctively understood what I needed. At midnight, understand? The whole point is for her to have the kind of defensive wounds that become apparent when a woman has tried to fight off an attacker. She isn’t going to do much fighting when she’s too drugged to move. Midnight. Understand”
          “Perfectly, Mr. Reinhard. At midnight. Rape her, kill her, dump her. Then tell Mr. Fales to report it as an unfortunate crime.”
          “That’s my boy. Good to have you back, Mutala.”

Kisumu 8:40 PM

          Across the street from the Antelope Bar, Jubilee Bellouard sat with her colleagues on a public bench they had moved back into the shadows. The bar and its surroundings were still well-lit, the evening trade going on at a brisk pace. In the vacant lot beside the building and well back from the street, a pair of outhouses had been erected for the convenience of the clientele. Charlie Bender, alias David Smith, now stepped out the door of the establishment, looked up and down the street, and walked around the corner to use one.
          “This is the time,” Bellouard said when the door closed behind him. “Benjamin, take your rifle up to this balcony. Johnny, get the drop on him when he comes out. Remember, if you have to shoot him, legs only. I’ll cover you from the left. Go!”
          Benjamin Crenshaw slipped his Sharps buffalo rifle from its soft leather case, looped its rawhide sling over his shoulder, and began to climb the tree beside them whose branches hung over the second story balcony of the hotel to their rear. Two-Fives and Bellouard crossed the street quickly, the woman skirting to the far side of the lot while Two-Fives took a position ten feet in front of the privy, and drew his six-gun. Smith emerged after a few seconds, looking down to check the front of his clothes, as men will do, and Two-Fives drew a bead low down on his body.
          “Hands up, Bender,” he said menacingly.
          Smith looked up to see a very steady Peacemaker holding an aim at about the midpoint of his legs. He raised his hands.
          “Wise move. Now, very slowly, unbuckle your gunbelt, and let it fall.”
          “Who the hell are you?” Smith asked. “What’s this about?”
          “I’m a bounty hunter. I got friends you don’t see looking over sights at you right now. We’re answering a wanted poster naming you as a murderer during a Tucson bank robbery in 1879. You take a lot of finding.”
          “England ain’t gonna honor a three-year old wanted poster,” Smith countered, making no move to disarm.
          “We ain’t exactly gonna ask ’em. Now lose the hardware, or lose your knee.”
          “How about you lose your hardware instead?” came a woman’s voice from behind him, accompanied by the sound of a lever-action carbine being cocked.
          “You must be the pilot,” Two-Fives said, holding his gun steady on Smith. “Let me explain something to you. I’ve filed the sere off my trigger. The only thing holding the hammer back is my thumb. What do you suppose happens when you shoot me?”
          “You die?”
          “A woman with balls,” Two-Fives said. “I like that. Sounds like she thinks even less of you than I do, Bender.”
          “Or of you. I’ve known this girl a long time, and I give you my solemn word, if you do anything but holster your gun and walk away, she will shoot you.”
          “Maybe. Do you know whose side you’re taking?” Two-Fives asked over his shoulder. “Did he tell you his name’s Charlie Bender, and he’s wanted in America for murdering a baby? Is that who you want to protect?”
          “That’s not possible.”
          “We’ll show you the wanted poster when the excitement dies down.”
          “A wanted poster doesn't make him guilty.”
          “Why do you think they’d have sent three people halfway around the world if they weren’t sure?”
          Hobbs said nothing, mind racing. They had long suspected there was more to Smith than they knew, including the fact that he hadn’t given them his real name, but this! This was unthinkable.
          And then a bullet drew a searing line of pain across the top of her left shoulder, the report coming from just behind her. Her own shot went wild as she pitched forward, falling to her knees in the dirt.
          Two-Fives had been holding his head turned, while still watching Smith, to converse with her. At the sound of the two shots, he shifted his gaze by reflex. In that split second, Smith’s own Peacemaker came up in a movement too fast for the eye to follow, and he fired twice. The first shot he thumbed and triggered, the second he fanned, and the two reports sounded as one, the bullets striking Two-Fives at the bottom and top of his breast bone. The third report was Two-Fives’, his bullet tearing the sky as he was thrown backward. He was dead before he hit the ground. As Smith ducked back to shelter from the rifle across the street, a bullet smacked into the outhouse where his head had just been. A glance to the right showed him a woman in a green satin dress holding a tiny gun, and he snapped off a shot at her that threw wood splinters into her hair. Then he had to take cover as the rifle fired again, and the last he saw was a swirl of green skirts darting around the corner.
          “Patty!” he called, reloading his empty chambers.
          “I’m all right,” she called back. “Just grazed me.”
          “Okay, stay down.”
          He peeked around the outhouse, and another rifle bullet slammed into the wood beside his face.
          “Where the hell is he?”
          “Balcony across the street, left of the tree.”
          “All right. Watch out for a woman in green. She took a shot at me.”
          He leaned out and fired three rounds at the location Hobbs had indicated. From his left, Hobbs began to work Jinx’s carbine, and from the door of the saloon, Monroe’s LeMat joined in, sending dust and splinters flying. Smith had emptied his gun and leaned back to reload when the man on the balcony fell back against the wall of the hotel, then came forward over the rail, completing a somersault and landing hard on his back. Checking the street for more assailants, the trio emerged from cover and crossed over to him.
          He was a big man, looking like a farm boy, with a plain, simple face, and muscles developed from following a plow all day, every day. His eyes flickered open as they gathered around.
          “Couldn’t kill a little girl,” he rasped, blood pooling in his lungs. “Johnny was right. Should have been harder.”
          His head lolled over, and he was gone.
          “What the hell was all that about?” Monroe asked.
          “Bounty hunters,” Smith said. “They got careless.”
          “Bounty hunters?” Monroe repeated. “For who?”
          “Me,” Smith said. “You knew I had a past when you hired me.”
          “You never said anything about being an outlaw.”
          “You never said anything about murdering a baby, either,” Hobbs added. “Care to tell us your side?”
          “Murdering a baby?” Monroe asked. “Who the hell are you, anyway.”
          Smith led them to the same bench the bounty hunters had watched them from, and they sat down to await the arrival of the police.
          “She was ten or twelve,” Smith said, beginning to pull the torn fabric of Hobbs’ blouse away from her wound. “I’ve run away from everything I’ve ever known, but I can’t run away from her.”
          “What happened?” Hobbs asked.
          “I was in Tucson, Arizona Territory. Got mixed up with two brothers. A couple of idiots if there ever were any. They had plans to rob a bank, but they figured, rightly enough, that the two of ’em couldn’t watch everybody and get the bags filled too, so they brought me in for a half-share to hold a gun.”
          “You didn’t have to do it,” Monroe said.
          “That’s true. But I was down and out. Looked like the easiest money I ever made, so I went along. We went in, showed our iron, they started yellin’ about this bein’ a holdup and all, and things started goin’ wrong right away. Women screaming, a man threatening to walk out the door if we didn't shoot him in the back, and bring the sheriff, tellers claiming they couldn’t open the vault. Things were falling apart, they were arguing with each other, it looked like somebody was gonna go for a gun just any second. I was standing just inside the door to the right, aiming my gun down the teller line, and wishin’ I’d never got involved with these two, when the door flew open hard, like somebody’d kicked it. Like a lawman would do if he was gonna come in shooting. It was completely reflex. I couldn’t have stopped it if I'd known it was gonna happen. I turned and fired. Low. Would have been a belly shot on a grown man, but on the little girl who ran in the door, I hit her right in the heart. I’ve never forgotten the look of surprise on that face, the understanding that her life was over, and every day since, I've had to find a reason not to turn my gun on myself. And now they’ve found me.”
          Hobbs looked at him, and in the glinting light from across the street, she was sure she saw the tracks of tears glistening on his cheeks.
          “Here come the police,” Monroe said. “We should be able to prove self-defense easily enough. We won’t say anything about your previous adventures, David, but we’ll need to talk later.”
          “No we won’t”
          “What?”
          “I’ll stick around to help you find Jinx, but then I’m gone.”
          “I think we should decide that together,” Monroe said.
          “Already decided, Cap’n. These jackasses found me. They’ll never stop comin’. I got no right to put you through that. I’ll be movin’ along, and that’s that. Now, let’s deal with these deputies, then we can find a doctor for Patty.”