I stood beside the shaky piece of a bed and gazed down into Clementine Webb’s scabrous, splotched face. Took the whole of my self-control to keep from breaking down like the girl’s very own father. “Sweet Jesus, don’t know for sure, Glo. Doubt we’ll ever know all of it for certain. Whatever he did, we need to get her warm and cleaned off right quick-like. Want her outta here and shaped up as best we can manage ’fore she manages to regain some semblance of consciousness—if she ever does.”
“Goin’ for the blankets, water, and sech right now, Mistuh Dodge. Back fast as these ole legs and the good Lord’ll let me.”
Glo’s words were still hanging in the air when I heard Eagle Cutner moan. He sounded most like a man being tortured by a band of Satan’s red-eyed imps.
I stomped my way across the room and tried my dead level best to put my booted foot completely up his no-account backside. Guess I must’ve kicked the unmitigated hell out of him four or five times. Would’ve probably kicked him slap to death, but then Boz slid up from behind, grabbed me around the shoulders, and dragged me back a few steps.
Arms still locked around me in a viselike grip, mouth right next to my ear, Boz hissed, “He’s still alive, Lucius. Son of a bitch is still alive. Doubt he’ll die from losing them there gonads of his’n. And we don’t wanna kill ’im completely dead just yet.”
Still mad enough to eat raw bees, I grunted and tried to wrench myself from his grip.
“Think, now, ole friend,” he hissed into my ear. “Wanna get at the head of this beast, we’ve still gotta find out where that stink sprayer Ax Webb went. Keep on kickin’ ole Eagle and he just might give up the ghost.”
Can’t remember a time when I’ve let my emotions get hold of me to the point where I seemed to lose all reason like I did that day. But, my glorious God, appeared as how Eagle Cutner had gone and done deplorable things to Clementine Webb, and I wasn’t in anything like a forgiving mood. Felt like my head might explode if I couldn’t stomp a bloody ditch in his sorry hide, then stomp it dry.
Boz didn’t turn me loose until I’d relaxed a mite. Got to admit, it took an almighty heap of self-control to keep from finishing the job I’d started. I clomped a path all the way around that big ole room a time or two. Kicked at every piece of broken-down furniture handy. Was trying like the dickens to shake off the urge to go back over and put the boot to Eagle Cutner till I’d stomped him slap to death. Pretty sure, at the time, the simple act of killin’ the bee-Jesus out of him would’ve made me feel one hell of a bunch better about the whole situation.
After about two or three minutes of fuming like a forest fire on the verge of bursting loose and flarin’ up like Hell’s lowest circle, I finally calmed down enough to go over and squat down beside the castrated son of a bitch.
He was still rolling around in his own filth. Man had both blood-soaked hands clamped between his legs and had descended to the point of whimpering like a hurt dog. Was enough to make me want to puke up my balbriggans, socks, boots, and silver-mounted spurs. Sweet Jesus, he was pathetic.
Arms crossed over his chest, Boz slouched against one end of the rotting fireplace mantel and watched. After a few seconds of contemplation, he set to rolling himself a ciga-reet.
As I recall it, Boz’d already started on his smoke by the time I grabbed the sniveling stack of walking scum at my feet and snatched him onto his nekkid back. Knees hiked up against his heaving chest, Cutner fingered at the still-bleeding ribbon of flesh between his legs, whimpered and mewled. Just typical. Cowardly bastard’s real self had popped out with the loss of his manhood. And he couldn’t hide it any longer.
24
“GO ON AND KILL ME.”
NOW, I HAVE to confess, I might’ve gone and slapped the blue-eyed hell out of Eagle Cutner a time or two, maybe three, that fateful afternoon. As I now recollect the events of that day, my open palm across his cheeks did tend to make loud cracking sounds. Pretty sure I left a goodly share of red welts that looked like my fingers on his surprised countenance.
Once I’d finally got his undivided attention, I grabbed the sorry bastard by the throat and said, “You’ve gotta clear your mind, Eagle. Whatever there is left of it. Gotta perk up. Pay attention. You’n me, and ole Boz Tatum here have unfinished business to discuss.”
Cutner groaned, then made the kind of pitiable sounds that would normally have had the power to pull tears out a glass eye, but not that day. From behind his own set of piss-yellow orbs, he whimpered, “Ain’t g-got nothin’ to say to either of you star-carryin’ b-bastards. Skunk ugly a-assholes done turned me into a geldin’. One pistol shot. Damnation. One shot. Cain’t b-believe it. Went from bein’ a rooster to a hen in a s-single heartbeat.”
“Best shot I’ve made in years,” Boz said, then let out a self-satisfied chuckle.
“Ain’t nothin’ no more—not even a m-man. W-Why didn’t you just go on ahead and put one in my skull bone, like you said you’s gonna do? Just get it over with and k-kill me. Go on and kill me. Kill me now. I’m ready to go. Ready to meet Jesus.”
Boz took a lung-filling drag off his hand-rolled, picked a sprig of tobacco off his bottom lip. He glared at the offending morsel, then said, “Well, we can still do that, but I don’t think Jesus would wanna talk to a walkin’ pile of murderous, hammered manure like you, Eagle.”
Cutner groaned and rolled back and forth in the dirt like a fresh slab of country bacon frying in a hot skillet.
I said, “ ’Course, unless you bleed out while you’re rollin’ around down there in the mud, the blood, and what used to be your tiny hoo-hahs, you’ll most likely live through this little setback. So, why don’t you just buck up, you mangy pile of chicken shit? Rancher castrates a bull, animal don’t even act like he feels it.”
Cutner twisted back onto one side. He moaned again. “Well, by God, I ain’t no bull. An’ I fer sure felt this ’un.”
Then, good Lord as my witness, the quivering skin sack puked all over hell and yonder. Let loose with a real gusher. Something that looked like half a gallon of bunk-house chili. Then he rolled onto his back again, coughed, and geysered the awful stuff a good three feet in the air. Nasty-smelling crap rained down all over him. Covered his chest, face, and damn near everything else. I had to jump out of the way to keep from getting hit myself. My God, having to witness such behavior’s enough to put a man off his feed for a solid week.
“Aw-w goddamn,” Cutner snarled. “A little setb-back, huh, Dodge? That’s what you’ve decided to call this horrible thang you bastards have gone and done to me? Shit a-runnin’. Had my pistol, I’d give you two a real setb- back.”
The smoldering quirley dangling from the corner of his mouth, Boz grinned and said, “Well, you could be deader’n Crockett and Travis right now, by God. If Lucius had given me the word, ’bout two seconds earlier, what little there is of your more-than-worthles brain would be decorating that wall yonder instead of your tiny set of
Behind me, I heard Glo at the door. “I’s back, Mistuh Dodge. Got all them thangs as you wanted me to bring.”
Didn’t take my narrowed gaze off our bleeding, puking prisoner. “You go on ahead and see if you can get Clem cleaned up some, Glo. Boz and I are still a bit occupied with Mr. Cutner.”
Could tell from Glo’s voice my instructions distressed him some. “But, Mistuh Boz, maybe it’d be best if’n you . . .”
Still squatting beside Cutner, I twisted around so Glo could see my face. “It’s okay. You go ahead and clean her face, neck, arms, and legs, as best you can. Check over all those spots for cuts, bullet wounds, and such. Me’n Boz’ll do whatever else we can when we’re finished here.”
With a dumbfounded look on his face, Glo nodded. “Yes, suh. Do what I can. But you know I . . .”
“Telling you it’s all right. Trust me. No need to worry yourself. Go on ahead and clean up what you can get at. We’ll be over to help you with her shortly.”
“Yes, suh. I’m a-goin’, I’m a-goin’,” he said and shuffled his way toward the bed as though it might contain a horror story beyond his ability to grasp.
I turned back to Cutner and put a serious eyeballing on him. “Here’s the deal, Eagle, you tell me where Axel Webb is, and I won’t kill you. Swear it on my dear ole sainted grandma.”
Sounded as though he might be weakening, when Cutner mewled, “Aw, hell, if’n you don’t d-do fer me, Ax
