The Crack in the Lens by Steve Hockensmith

Author:Steve Hockensmith
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2009-10-15T16:00:00+00:00

22

Bump Bump

Or, We Put an Old Enemy’s Feet to the Fire

It was too dark to make out more than thrashing shapes back there behind the hotel. Yet that’s all I needed to see.

The silhouette the size and shape of a grizzly had to be Stonewall. The slip of a shadow on the ground beneath him had to be Gustav.

And the moist, burbling sounds that little shadow was making? That had to be choking, though it was getting awfully close to a death rattle, too.

I whipped out my new Bulldog and stepped toward Stonewall’s broad, stooped back. My finger twitched on the trigger.

That’s all it did, though—twitch. It didn’t tighten.

I flipped the gun around and brought the butt down on the back of Stonewall’s head.

Bob came charging out the Star’s back door just as Stonewall went crashing to the ground…or almost to the ground, seeing as he had my brother to land on.

“Holy shit!” Bob gasped. “Is Gus alright?”

“I don’t know! If he ain’t been choked to death, he mighta just been crushed!”

After some frantic heave-hoing, we managed to roll Stonewall over on his back.

Old Red sat up, gulped in a lungful of air, and showed us he was alright by immediately starting carping.

“Jesus,” he wheezed, “couldn’t you have pushed the big bastard off me before you brained him?”

I scooped up Gustav’s Peacemaker, which was lying on the ground just outside the stairwell.

“You’re welcome.” I stomped over and offered my brother the gun. “What the hell were you tryin’ to do back here, anyway?”

Old Red snatched the Colt from my hand. “Talk.”

“Talk, huh?” I nodded at his iron. “With that?”

Gustav pushed himself to his feet and delivered a none-too-gentle nudge to Stonewall’s side.

The man-mountain’s blubber jiggled for a moment, but beyond that Stonewall didn’t move.

“I wanted to talk so’s he’d hear me,” Old Red said.

“Well, I guess he had a thing or two to say to you, too, didn’t he?”

My brother gave Stonewall another toe-prod. This time, the big man moaned.

“The conversation ain’t over.” Gustav turned to Bob. “You’d best go fetch the wagon. We’re leavin’. All of us.”

“You mean”—Bob looked down at Stonewall—“all of us?”

“What do you think ‘all’ means?” Old Red snapped.

Bob put his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. I didn’t know Stonewall counted as an ‘us,’ that’s all. Won’t take ten minutes to collect the wagon from the livery.”

He stepped into the alley running along the Star and was promptly swallowed in darkness.

“Why don’t you go up and tell Lottie and Squirrel Tooth what’s goin’ on?” I said to Gustav. “I’ll keep an eye on Stonewall.”

“Feh. He ain’t in no condition to cause trouble now. You run on upstairs. I’ll wait here.”

“It ain’t the trouble he’ll cause I’m worried about,” I said, and I crossed my arms and planted my feet.

Old Red stared my way a moment, silent. There wasn’t enough light to see more than the general shape of him, an outline that was only slightly lighter than the blackness all around. His face was a smudge, a gray blur revealing nothing.

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