“What are you doing?” asked Raxx.
“Getting a blindfold and some zap-straps for when we nab him. Plastic Handcuffs.”
“Gotcha. I think that’s him there.”
They crested a rise. Down the road was a thin, shredded looking figure. As they neared the details came into focus — Jenkins was pedalling on an ornate bicycle. A sudden movement might have been him turning to look back at the approaching vehicle. The sun was behind them, near the horizon. The truck was lit up with a halo of silver fire. The engine roared as Raxx shifted to low gear, the truck ran down the hill with a predator’s suppressed growl. Jenkins’ figure got off his bicycle and stood to its side.
The brakes squealed as Raxx slowed to a stop. He tore at the parking break, as Wentworth exited. He followed suit, pulling back the hammer on his revolver. Weapons raised, they moved towards the priest.
“Get the fuck down right now!”
“Gents,” said Jenkins, surprised recognition showing in his eyes as he assumed his priestly veneer, “I thought that when I spoke with you I had said—”
“Shut the fuck up!” bellowed Wentworth, “Get on the fucking ground! Now!” To the priest, the nine millimetre was a cruel cyclopean eye.
Jenkins raised his hands, “I told you both that this
“He said get on the goddamned ground!” As the priest continued to stammer Raxx stepped forward. Wentworth shifted right to keep a clear arc of fire. Raxx placed his boot on the centre priest’s chest and pushed hard, knocking him to the ground and winding him, “Stay on the fucking ground!”
“Stay down! Stay down!”
Unused to violence, the kick had launched Jenkins into a primal terror; his mind was going through sensory overload. Prostrate on his back next to his fallen bicycle his speech turned into nonsensical babbling. A stray lock of hair ran across his face, caught in his beard. His hands clawed at the air.
“Get him onto his stomach for me!” said Wentworth. Raxx hooked a toe under his shoulder and rolled him over, none too gently, then backed up several paces. “Cover me!” Wentworth holstered his weapon and moved forward, planting his knee on the priest’s kidney. “Stay still! Stay still!” he yelled, “Get your hands behind you!” Grabbing his flailing arms, Wentworth forced them through the zap-strap loops, drawing them tight. Jenkins stopped struggling as the pain from Wentworth’s knee registered. He pulled the bandanna of his pocket and wrapped it around Jenkins eyes. “Keep your mouth shut and we won’t put a gag on you. Raxx! You grab his bike, we can’t just leave it here.”
“Right.” Wentworth remained kneeling on Jenkins back, hand on his holstered pistol to keep it secure. Raxx secured the bike, then returned with his pistol drawn, “I’ve got him covered,” he said.
With both hands Wentworth grabbed Jenkins by the shoulder and the elbow, flipping him over and forcing him onto his feet. Then, gripping the back of his neck and forcing his head down, he marched him towards the vehicle’s backseat, forcing him in.
“Keep covering him, I’m going around!” He circled the truck, and slid into the backseat next to the priest. He did up the man’s seatbelt, then pulled out his pistol with his off hand. “Alright, let’s get the hell out of here in case Slayer decides to go patrolling.”
Raxx got into the driver’s seat and shifted the gearbox, “Full throttle to Hope — we’ll get there before the markets close!”
As the door to the Constabulary opened, Stewart looked up from the training roster he’d been working on. “Yes, can I…” he stopped when he saw the outfit of the man the two mercenaries were holding “What is going on here?”
“We need your Captain. Now.”
“Excuse me, do you know…?”
“Listen, troop, this is above your pay grade — we need Captain O’Neil, now!”
His neck flared, but he turned towards Patricia’s office just in time to run into her on her way out.
“Captain,” he said breathlessly, “Those two mercs are here and—”
As she looked past him her eyes flared with anger. The two men Talbot had hired were standing there with one of the Mennite elders bound and blindfolded. There were two days of beard growth on Raxx’s cheeks, and both of them bore a dirty, unwashed sheen on their skin. Wentworth was wearing an old helmet, complete with bullet- groove he’d probably put there himself. They smelled of sweat and damp wool.
“What in the devil’s name do you to think you’re doing?” Her anger simmered as she stepped towards them, “That is one of the Mennite Elders, are you actively trying to ruin this town?” To the Elder she said, “Sir — what have they done to you?”
“M’lass, I am both disappointed and appalled at—”
Raxx jerked down on Jenkins’ bonds, “Shut up,” he said.
“Captain O’Neil,” said Wentworth, looking her head on, “We have a very good reason for being here with this man, and we know who he is. He should be put into a holding cell for his own safety.”
Patricia eyes flicked from one to the other. “Constable Stewart; take Mr. Jenkins to Interrogation Room A. Make sure he’s comfortable. I’ll deal with these two,” she levelled her finger at Raxx and Wentworth, “Follow me.”
They entered her office; she shut the door behind them. It had the same makeshift decor as the Mayor’s, but it was far more cluttered with file cabinets and maps. They remained standing as she went behind her desk, leaning forward and gripping the edges before speaking.
“You two had better have a damned fine explanation for hauling in a Mennite Elder. The stipulations were that this was a covert operation, that we couldn’t have the Mennites finding out that Hope was behind it. What’s your explanation?” She looked up at them with a blue-fire in her eyes.
Wentworth squeezed his left wrist, fisting the hand and scowling. “Captain, I’m sorry for springing this on you. We’re both well aware of the situation, and I’d have given you warning if I could. But events happened, and we had to act on them, or not at all.”
“And what the hell were these events?”
“That man,” he gestured with a flat hand towards the holding cells, widening his stance, “isn’t a victim. He’s not even a representative of the Mennites, not anymore — he’s complicit in the whole damn thing. We saw him sitting down with Slayer—”
“Breaking bread with them,” said Raxx.
“—encouraging them. He’s part of this, working from the inside.”
Patricia chewed her lip, but the fire in her eyes didn’t relent. She reached for a box on her desk — an intercom — and pressed a button. “Stewart, is the Elder secure?”
“Yes, Captain,” came the tinny voice, “He’s in holding cell B, the chairs are better in there.”
“Good. Secure the door, but do it quietly.” She released the button, and sat back in her chair. “Don’t think you two are off the hook,” she clenched her hands, “You’ve put me in a situation, and locking that door is the only choice I’ve got right now. You two need to tell me everything that happened, and it had better make sense. If it doesn’t, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Explain — and don’t try to pull any punches.”
Wentworth launched into a recitation of the events of the past two days. He organized the information with an amalgamation of different report structures he’d learned over the years — passing over the narrative for the sake of the relevant facts. While describing Slayer’s encampment, he handed over the logs. Patricia split her attention between him and the records. By the time Wentworth finished the blue fire had distilled to a cold steeliness.
“I don’t understand why you decided it was necessary to capture him. You had your reasons. What were they?”
Wentworth looked over at Raxx. This part was on him.
“Listen, Captain — here’s the thing — like Wentworth said, these guys ain’t something the two of us can take on. We’ve got to hit the keystone to take them down, and Jenkins is that keystone.” He took a deep breath and glanced down at his hands. “I’ve known groups like this before. I know how they think — it ain’t about profit, they’re not thinking like that, they’re not stealing just to get rich or hurting people for fun — instead they’re thinking like the other Mennites.
“Listen, it would make sense for them to have asked for your help ages ago, but they wouldn’t because of
