“Sofa, Mr. Cabe,” the man said.
“Sofa?”
“Sofa.” The man was high and mighty and something about him seemed to demand that. He poured himself some brandy and turned to his visitor, his eyes simply cold as ice chips. He cleared his throat. “I apologize for the somewhat unconventional invitation, but it was important I speak to you immediately.”
“And you are?” Cabe said, knowing that to this guy not introducing himself was a grave social error.
“Yes, of course. Excuse me. Forbes, Conniver Forbes. I’m the chairman of the board and controlling stockholder of the Arcadian Mine, which is a merely a holding of the National Mining Cooperative. Perhaps, you’ve heard of us?”
Cabe had. They had more money than any three countries and more pull than a dozen state senators. “Sure. You people own lots of people. Folks just like me.”
Forbes arched his left eyebrow. “I have some business I would like to discuss with you…perhaps over dinner?”
But Cabe shook his head. “I just had me some pickled eggs. Besides, that French food gives me the gas something awful.”
“Yes.” Forbes sat down. “I’ll make it simple then and lay my cards out for you. I’m here as not only a representative of National Mining and the Arcadian, but of the Southview and Horn Silver mines as well. You see, we have a problem. A problem you may be able to help us with.”
“Such as?”
“I understand you’re hunting this deviant known as the Sin City Strangler?”
“That would be true, yes.”
“And the compiled bounty on this individual is…?”
Cabe rolled himself a cigarette, amused as always how rich folk could never say what was on their minds. “About five-thousand, I reckon. Seems to go up every month.”
Forbes nodded, stroked his chin. “I would like to hire you, Mr. Cabe. Hire you to address a problem which is much more severe than this Strangler. You see, there has been some problems in this town of late…”
He explained in some detail about the murders and disappearances up in the hills. Those which were originally thought to be the work of some large predators, but after the slaughter at Sunrise…well, other avenues of thought were being considered.
“See, Mr. Cabe, this Strangler business is bad, yes, but our problem here is tad bit worse. The Strangler has killed…what? Seven, eight women? Horrible to be sure, but minor in comparison to dozens and dozens that have disappeared or been slaughtered outside this town. And when you levy on top of that the massacre at Sunrise, well, you can no doubt see the time has come for action.”
Cabe lit his cigarette, told Forbes it was not his problem. That such things were being handled by the county sheriff. He had put bounties on the animals thought to be responsible. And if they weren’t animals, then just what in hell were they? He was not much of an investigator. Not given to wild leaps of speculation in general. He usually went after a man or an animal that had been identified in some way. But this, this was-
“Out of your realm?” Forbes said. “Maybe, maybe not. The fact is you’re a bounty hunter, Mr. Cabe. You hunt for a living, men or beasts. As far as being an investigator goes, I think you’re being modest. Your record is impressive. I want you to turn your complete attention over to our problem here.”
“Why should I?”
Forbes, not a man used to having to beg, told him that there was a bigger issue at hand here than lives. There was money to be considered. If the killings and disappearances continued, the mines would be in trouble. People were already running scared. More than a few had already left and what they-the mining people-did not need was a mass exodus which would put a stranglehold on profits.
“A mine does not exist without men to work it,” Forbes pointed out.
“Well, shit, you’re right,” Cabe said. “Men dying is one thing, but when all them bodies piling up starts to cut into the profit…well, damn, something had better be done.”
Forbes just stared. “Whether you agree with our motives or not, Mr. Cabe, is beside the point. We’ll pay you and pay you well to handle this matter.”
“Why don’t you bring in hunters from outside?”
“The time factor. This has to be moved on and contained immediately.”
Cabe thought it over. Decided he did not like this manipulative sumbitch who stank and stank bad of boardrooms and privilege. “Sorry, but I got me other matters to attend to.” He butted his cigarette and stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-”
“We’ll pay you fifty-thousand dollars, Mr. Cabe.”
Cabe felt light-headed. He sank back down on the loveseat. He cleared his throat. “Course, first thing you need in something like this is facts. So, tell me what you know…”
11
Like vultures gathered around a fresh, meaty kill, the vigilantes (sans hoods) gathered around the body of James Horner. He was laid out on a slab in the mortuary, just as dead as 150 pounds of trail-killed steer. His eyes were glazed over, but wide and staring.
One of the vigilantes, a mine captain named McCrutchen kept pressing them closed, but the lids just popped back open. He crossed himself. “Don’t like that,” he said. “Don’t like that at all.”
A few others laughed.
“Nothing supernatural about it,” Caleb Callister explained. He took a brown glass bottle of liquid and brushed the inner eyelids, gumming them shut. He held them closed for a moment and when he released them, they didn’t open back up.
Horner was covered in dried blood. It had soaked into his blue overcoat and spattered across his face. The side of his throat was a great blackened chasm.
“Slug must’ve ripped out most of his neck,” Luke Windows said.
“And his carotid artery with it,” Callister said.
He pulled a sheet up over the body, the dead face making the others uneasy. They were down to six now without Horner-Callister, Windows, Caslow, McCrutchen, Cheevers, and Retting. They had been harassing the Mormons for better than three months now. Mostly they preyed on small groups caught away from the villages. The raid on Redemption tonight had been the first action of its kind. But now with Horner’s death, it would not be their last.
Windows said, “I grew up with Horner, I grew up with him.”
“He died bravely for the cause,” Callister said, although it had a decidedly hollow ring to it. But what else could he say?
McCrutchen had been uneasy since they got Horner’s body back to town. “I wonder if this is some sort of omen,” he said.
Caslow just shook his head. “Since when is a shot man an omen?”
“I’m just wondering is all.”
“Crazy,” Retting said. “Crazy talk.”
But Cheevers wasn’t so sure. “Maybe we offended God with this business and we’re being punished.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Windows told him.
Callister knew he had to get control of them or this in-fighting would be the end of their little society. “All right,” he said, stepping between Windows and Cheevers. “Enough of this horseshit. We’re all part of the same thing here, we’re brothers. We all took the oath, did we not? As far as Horner goes, his death had nothing to do with God or the saints or the Devil himself. It was an accident. We rode in there shooting and burning. With all that lead flying about, we can count ourselves lucky no one else took a round. Maybe the Mormons hit Horner or…maybe one of us did. Ricochet. It’s possible, very possible.”
That shut them up, gave them something to chew on for a time.
“So enough of this nonsense,” Callister said to them. “Those bastards’ll pay for this, just not tonight is
