CHAPTER SIX
So it was the four of us in the snug, bathed in the uncertain piss-yellow glow of the overhead lamp. Malachi and me on this side of the table, Hermosa directly opposite me, Cicatriz next to her. His menacing glare cut from face to face, and the muzzle of his revolver tracked wherever he looked.
That pistol didn’t concern me as much as Hermosa’s unexpected arrival. Staring at her, memories exploded in a glittering, brilliant shower. But it wasn’t all confetti, some of those memories pelted me like shards from a broken mirror.
One random sliver of memory: contentment, she and I riding together, laughing in the aftermath of a naughty escapade, our horses splashing across a sun-dappled creek. Another sliver: the sadness of awakening alone on a cool morning, her side of the bed empty, unkempt, and still warm. Another: the raw heat of her naked body pressing down on mine during a moist humid night, her hair cascading over my face, my skin electric from the caress of her hands and lips. Yet another: the burn of treachery when I realized my saddlebags had been pilfered and once again, she had run off with my cash and my self-respect.
Hermosa Singer, she could wreak more havoc than a dozen tornadoes. Named She-Who-Sings-With-The-Owl by her adoptive Caddo parents, her blood was as mixed up as a stray mongrel’s. Pick a tribe, a nation, a people. Shawnee. Huron. Manso. German. Creole. Irish. If there was a possible coupling between two random strangers, then it was in her bloodline.
At fourteen, she had escaped the reservation and with the ease of a chameleon blending into the brush she changed her surname to Singer and submerged herself into the white man’s world. Knowing that men did stupid things for beautiful women, she decided to grease that inclination by naming herself Hermosa.
I wondered how many of these recollections came from Coyote’s book and how many already resided in the brain of this alternate Felix.
Slowly, Hermosa removed her hat and laid it beside her on the bench. The lantern shined on her face. In its yellow light, her complexion took on an amber cast, lighter than mine. Even though her eyes remained in shadow, they glistened as bright as her jeweled earrings. Her hair was pinned up in layers of voluptuous curls. Loose strands teased over her ears. My undead heart waited for her to unpin her locks and shake them free, an invitation for me to reach across the table and cup the back of her slender, graceful neck.
My kundalini noir buzzed, conflicted between the desire to jump her bones or to sit tight and hope that she went away. Soon.
Her eyes were not on me but on the gold coins. When she went for one, Cicatriz growled, “Those are mine.”
She withdrew her hand.
He aimed his revolver at Malachi and me. “You know these two clowns?”
She smirked. “Maybe I’ve seen them before. In a circus.”
That made him chuckle.
I kept my expression tight, resentful that my insides were twisted over her while she could be so flippant. Then I saw a gleam in her eyes; she had a plan for Cicatriz. The poor bastard was doomed.
“Who sent you here?” he asked.
“Dale Prichard, the concierge of this fine establishment. Normally I do my business upstairs.” She leaned close to Cicatriz. “Listen, the meter is running. I get paid whether we sport or we sit here and look at each other.”
“You’ll get paid once I bed you,” Cicatriz replied. “If there was another deal involving these bums, then too bad.”
“Mr. Prichard won’t like that.”
“Mr. Prichard can go fuck himself.”
“Let her go,” I said. “There’s no reason for the little lady—” at this, Hermosa glowered spitefully, “—to attend to the business between us.”
“There’s a reason,” he answered. “She can watch me shoot you two shit heels and then tell the world that I’m somebody you don’t fuck with.”
“You might want to buy a dictionary,” Malachi said. “Expand your vocabulary.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“That way you can use another word besides ‘fuck.’”
Cicatriz furrowed his scarred brow. “Fuck you.” He jabbed the Merwin Hulbert at my friend.
As fast as a scorpion flicking its tail, Hermosa thrust both arms at Cicatriz. Her left index finger threaded into the revolver’s trigger guard, binding the trigger and keeping him from squeezing off a round. The knife edge of her right hand cracked across his Adam’s apple, hard. Even though he was a werewolf, the blow stunned him.
Seeing my chance, I got ready to spring over the table and jam my thumbs into his eye sockets. I would twist his neck until his skull snapped from the spinal cord.
Hermosa stayed me with a wave of her right hand. I got this.
Eyes bugged out, his jaw clenched and unclenched as he tried to suck air down his smashed windpipe. His left hand clutched at his collar.
Her left hand remained knotted around his revolver. With her other hand, she reached under the lapel of her jacket and slipped forth a slender glass syringe. With a flick of her finger, she knocked free the tiny cork on the needle. Aiming the syringe at Cicatriz’s neck, she jabbed the needle into his jugular and depressed the plunger.
His neck corded, and he trembled. His eyes glowed with pain. She withdrew the syringe and a dot of blood beaded on the wound. Both of his arms fell against the table and he slumped backwards, his body twitching to the cadence of his dwindling pulse.
Hermosa wrestled the revolver from his limp hand. She examined the nickel-plated gun and then placed it on the table. “Should bring me some nice pin money from a pawn broker.”
He wheezed a final death rattle. Hermosa grabbed his hat from the table and covered his face. “Now hush. Die quietly, you smelly son of a bitch.”
Back in my former world, a freshly dead lycanthrope would’ve cycled to his wolf shape by now. What to expect here I couldn’t guess.
Hermosa reached into the pleats of her skirt and produced a long jewelry case. She popped it open, slid the syringe through loops in its velvet lining, snapped the case shut and tucked it back into her skirt. As the final gesture in her act of murder—cold-blooded though well-deserved—she wiped her gloved hands.
“Felix, Malachi,” she hooked strands of hair behind her ears, “a gentleman would’ve thanked me by now.” She pushed the Schofields across the table toward Malachi. “I think these belong to you.” She wagged a finger. “And I caught that look you gave me earlier. Shame, shame. You’re a married man.”
My friend pruned his lips and retrieved his revolvers.
I palmed my Colt Navy and dropped it back in its holster. I tipped my head at Cicatriz’s corpse. It still remained in human form. “What about him?”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Hermosa answered. “Not soon, anyway. Let’s discuss business.”
A hunch prompted me to ask, “It was you on the roof of the Marcus, wasn’t it? Watching me.”
She touched her chin and looked to the ceiling. “Felix Gomez dipping his wick in Mattie’s House of Mirrors, that’s not news.” She dropped her hand and beamed excitedly. “But Felix visiting the Dragon, that’s news.”
“Who told you I’d be there? A little bird?”
“I have a flock of little birds telling me all kinds of things. But before we continue.” She tallied the gold coins using her fingers. “Knowing that Wu Fei likes to work in round numbers, this looks like it should be five thousand dollars. Split three ways, that would be …”
“What the hell you talking about?” Malachi asked, crossly.
“We’re partners,” she replied, feigning surprise.
“I don’t remember asking,” I said.
She laughed. “You and your formalities. If it hadn’t been for my serendipitous arrival, this ugly rascal would’ve added two more notches to his gun.”
“You only saved me the trouble of killing him myself,” I replied. “In another minute, I would’ve sent his twisted soul to Hell.”
“How so?” Malachi asked. “Seemed to me like he had us both by the nether parts.”
“I had something cooking, don’t you worry,” I said. “Besides, other than sitting on your lazy ass waiting for me, you didn’t seem keen on a—”
“Boys, boys,” Hermosa thumped the table. She pointed at the coins. “What’s this money for?”
I couldn’t risk telling her. “How about I give you a third and you go about your merry way?”
“Oh no,” she replied. “I smell a bigger payoff. That third is only my retainer.”
Malachi shook his head. He knew as well as I did that if we brought Hermosa into our fold, there was a good chance she would hogtie us with her self-serving schemes. I knew Wu Fei was playing with a marked deck, and we didn’t need another cheater in this poker game.
I stared at her. Malachi stared at her. She busied herself dividing the gold coins into three piles.
Malachi asked, “What would it take for you to leave us be?”
She sat upright and crossed her arms. “All right. I can tell I’m not exactly welcome. So let’s make a bet.”
Betting against Hermosa was like getting into a kicking contest with a mule. You would always lose. But accepting her challenge seemed like our only recourse other than shooting her, and we hadn’t yet crossed that bridge.
She plucked one Eagle off the table and held it between us. “You tell me why Wu Fei hired you. If I can’t be of any use, then I’ll keep this one coin and call it a night. On the other hand, if I can provide worthwhile utility, other than my charming company, then I’m in for a third of everything.”
“Hell,” Malachi relented with a heavy sigh, “Felix hasn’t yet told me what’s going on with Wu Fei.”
“In that case,” Hermosa said, “fill us in.”
My kundalini noir curled in my belly, waiting, hoping that I wouldn’t do something stupid because of her. Again.
“Here’s the story.” I reached into my coat pocket and withdrew the envelope Wu Fei had given me. I opened it and fished out the tintype. “The Dragon wants me to find this girl.”
Malachi took the photograph and held it to the light. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Ling Zhu Han. She’s Wu Fei’s daughter.”
Malachi mumbled under his breath. “I was hoping he wasn’t allowed to breed,” His eyebrows arched in curiosity. “What happened to her?”
“She’s gone missing.”
“Was she kidnapped? Did she run away?”
I shrugged.
Hermosa beckoned with her fingers. Malachi passed the tintype to her. She studied the image, her eyes shrinking to a squint. “I know her.”
“You do?”
“If that’s Ling, sure.” Hermosa handed the tintype back to me.
“Do you know where she is?”
“I do.”
My nerves strummed with excitement. This might be the easiest bounty I’d yet collected. “Where?”
“Oh no. First, do I get a third of the payoff?”
Malachi and I looked at each other. We both nodded.
“All right,” I said, “you’re in.”
She looped an arm around a third of the coins and raked them to her side of the table.
“Hold on,” I slapped my hand on hers. “Tell us where we can find the girl.”
Hermosa pulled free. “She’s in a grave. Dead.”