CHAPTER FIVE
I placed my revolver on the table and slid next to Malachi.
Cicatriz scowled. His hair was a greasy mop of black and silver. The nubby whiskers of his unshaven face glistened like the points of a barbed-wire fence. “Hands on the table. Now.”
I obeyed.
“Close the door.”
With the toe of my boot, I nudged it shut. I glanced at Malachi.
He looked at me and grumbled, “Nice move, jackass.”
Cicatriz’s black hat rested on the table. Beneath the brim peeked the ivory grips of two Schofields—Malachi’s revolvers. I replied, “I’m the dumbass? He got the drop on you first, goober.”
“Both of you,” Cicatriz barked, “shut up.”
When I turned back to him, I noticed a fleeting red iridescence in his irises, and then realized what my sixth sense was warning me about.
A werewolf had been waiting nearby. Cicatriz.
Back in the other world, the musky smell of a lycanthrope would’ve been as obvious to me as the odor of a kennel that needed a good scrubbing. Did werewolves not stink here?
As for Malachi, my memory confirmed he was human. Did he know Cicatriz was a werewolf? I wasn’t sure. But my gunslinger friend was so hard-boiled that even a lycanthrope wouldn’t faze him.
And did Cicatriz know I was a vampire? I was betting that he did. Was he going to reveal my undead identity or was there an omerta between us supernaturals?
A small leather pouch dangled just below Cicatriz’s open collar. Beads decorating the pouch glittered in the light of the oil lamp hanging over the table. The decorative fringe and the pattern of the beads—a red and yellow circle inside a ring of black and white—identified it as a Sioux medicine bag. The magical concoction of herbs and powders inside masked werewolf stench like supernatural deodorant.
Cicatriz noticed my interest in the bag. In a self-conscious move, his free hand tucked it back inside his shirt.
He swung his revolver in my direction. The gun was a nickel-plated Merwin Hulbert, probably a .44. The hammer wasn’t cocked back, but no matter. The pistol was a double-action so a quick squeeze of the trigger would be enough to write the first lines of my obituary.
As a vampire I could take one, two lead slugs, provided they didn’t drill my skull or break a major bone. But if the Merwin Hulbert was loaded with silver bullets, then all bets were off. Malachi was human. He had taken his share of gunshot wounds and kept fighting, but his body was a lot more vulnerable to bullets than mine. If we attacked simultaneously, one of us could take Cicatriz. The other would die. Not odds I’d gamble on.
Cicatriz studied me with quick stabs of his eyes. “What was your business with Wu Fei?”
“I was in the neighborhood and he wanted to chat. We had tea.”
His gaze fixed on the satchel slung over my shoulder. “Let’s see what’s in your bag.”
I didn’t move.
“You deaf?” Cicatriz asked. “The bag. What’s in your goddamn bag?”
I reached to slip its sling off my shoulder.
“Easy,” cautioned Cicatriz.
Slowly, carefully, I dragged the heavy satchel from my arm and let it go thunk on the wooden surface. Cicatriz and Malachi shifted in their seats, curious about the hefty, metallic sound.
“Open it,” Cicatriz commanded. His beady, wolfish eyes kept darting from me to Malachi and back.
I unfastened the brass buckles and lifted the canvas flap. Turning the satchel onto its side, I let its gold coins roll onto the table. Their reeded edges rattled hypnotically on the wood. I was hoping to distract Cicatriz, but he didn’t take the bait.
His left hand slapped over the coins. He scooped one and slid back on the bench until he wedged himself in the far corner of the snug. Lifting the coin, he brought it to eye level beside the Merwin Hulbert. His gaze flicked from me to the glittering coin, but only briefly. One furry eyebrow lifted.
“A fifty-dollar Sol.” He glanced at the other coins and grinned. “It seems you and Wu Fei had an interesting conversation.” As Cicatriz placed the coin back on the table, he asked Malachi, “What made the Dragon so generous? What does he want from you two?”
My buddy shrugged. “Wu Fei doesn’t want buffalo scat from me. If there’s a deal, it’s strictly between him and Felix.”
Keeping the revolver trained on us, Cicatriz scratched the whiskers on his jaw. Were we close to a full moon?
He said, “You present me with an interesting and advantageous conundrum.”
“How so?” I asked. My kundalini noir coiled against the floor of my belly, waiting for the moment to strike.
“The biggest problem is getting both of you out of here and to a safe place,” Cicatriz said. “Safe, I mean, for me.” He groped at his waist, unsheathed a Bowie knife and stabbed the table. “Once there, Felix, you will have the pleasure of watching me skin your friend until you tell me everything I want to know about your meeting with Wu Fei.”
Malachi sucked his teeth, unimpressed.
“Save yourself the trouble.” I chuckled and began to raise my hands. Cicatriz’s snarl made me lay them flat again. “Just head on over to the Dragon’s door and ask him. I found he can be a very reasonable man.”
Cicatriz glowered and touched his scar. “That reasonableness is up to interpretation.”
Malachi balled his fists and pushed up from the table. “Enough jawing. Let’s get this show going.”
“Sit back down,” Cicatriz ordered. “We’re not leaving yet.”
“What are you going to do?” Malachi replied, sitting. “Stare at us all night with that ugly puss of yours. Now that’s torture.”
“Quit running your mouth, gringo. How about I ask Felix one more time, right here, right now? If he bullshits me, I shoot you in the shoulder. I ask him again and if I get more bullshit, I put a bullet in your gut. And you should be plenty worried because Felix is always full of bullshit.”
“How many times do you intend to shoot him?” I asked. “Not that I care. I’m simply curious.”
“Four times ought to do it. I’ll keep the last two bullets for you.”
“Kill me and you won’t know about my business with Wu Fei.”
“Now that I have this gold, that’s a mystery that can wait until another day.”
“People will hear the gunshots.”
Cicatriz laughed, a coarse rattle from deep in his throat. “This is St. Charles. Gunshots from a snug can be forgotten with a simple exchange of money.” He patted the pile of gold coins.
A knock on the door. We all sat up, surprised.
The doorknob turned and the door swung open to bang into the table. A woman bumbled in, her form swaddled in a dark-blue, slim-waisted jacket. Her pleated skirt draped past the tops of tall boots. A brimmed hat with a gauzy veil masked her face. She sidestepped noisily—boots scuffing the floor, clothes rustling—as she squeezed against the table to close the door.
Cicatriz braced himself against the wall opposite the door. His confused gaze darted from the woman to me. I shrugged to let him know I had no idea what this intrusion was about. He looked at Malachi, who also shrugged, then looked back at the woman. His grip tightened on the Merwin Hulbert.
If the stranger had been a man, I’m sure Cicatriz would’ve plugged him twice by now. But the appearance of a woman had left all equally bewildered.
He growled, “Who the hell are you?”
She planted herself on the bench next to him. I smelled her perfume and perspiration. Definitely human. She gushed, “Okay, I’m here.” Her tone confident, assertive, almost too big for the snug. “But I was told to expect only one of you. I see, un, deux, trois. That’ll bump up my gratuity.”
I recognized her voice and her brusque, impatient manner. A choker with an ivory cameo grazed the collar of her white blouse. She had stolen that cameo from me. Slowly, the memory of her congealed, and it brought a bitter taste.
She examined the confines of the snug. “Not much room for the four of us, but we can make it work provided you fellows don’t mind bumping swords.” She faced Cicatriz and tapped a lacy finger against the muzzle of his revolver, acting unconcerned that it was aimed at her chest. “You, my roughneck friend with such a lovely shiny gun, get to go first.”
She withdrew her hand and deftly unbuttoned her jacket. All the tension in the snug spiraled around her. The front of the jacket parted and it swelled open to reveal the full bosom of her blouse. The air was electrified with the anticipation of seeing more of her feminine charms. And as dangerous as those charms were, even I wanted to see them again.
Bringing her gloved hands to the table, she drummed her fingers, then stopped, abruptly, dramatically. My kundalini noir hitched. Her head jerked and tilted to regard the gold coins as if she had just noticed them. She raised her veil and folded the hat brim to better examine the coins in the dim light. “Oh my. Such a treasure. We are going to have a very good time.”
She lifted her head and the overhead lamp caught her face, though her eyes remained in shadow. Her face: oval-shaped, high cheekbones. A sharply sculpted proud nose, almost too big. A wide, too-big mouth with mismatched lips. The upper was a thin line while the lower drooped like a plump slice of ripe fruit. A lot of her parts were too big, yet amalgamated as they were on her, they were perfect for the kind of woman that she was. Seductive. Scheming. Treacherous.
Hermosa Singer.
We were all in trouble.