Currency of Souls (5 page)

"This
is
eternal damnation," I counter, "And it seems to me that God would know what the fuck was going on, which you clearly don't."

Brody moans with pain as Wintry sets him down in his own chair next to Flo. Even in times of stress he knows better than to seat anyone in Cobb's place.

The Reverend looks over my shoulder at the kid, then smiles. "Then let's find out why things
haven't
gone according to plan, shall we?"

Cadaver regains his seat amid the shadows.

Gracie spills bourbon over the girl's exposed chest—the wound is deep—eliciting another agonized shriek from her, and I know I'm right. This is eternal damnation, or at the very least, some kind of waiting room where all we get to do is sit and stew and wait for our number to be called. I decide in that moment, without even the faintest idea how it's going to go down, that more than these kid's numbers are going to be called tonight.

The Reverend stands before the kid, who has a blood-soaked hand clamped over his belly. "Well now," he says, "Looks like you're in a bit of a pickle here."

"We need a doctor," Brody says, his pallid face slick with sweat. "Please."

The Reverend cocks his head. "And why should we do something like that for a man who introduced himself by shoving a gun in a lawman's face, then threatened to shoot the only fella in here who seemed inclined to help him?"

"Gracie, call Doctor Hendricks," I tell her, but the Reverend raises a hand he'd like you to believe was made to heal sinners.

"Do no such thing."

"Reverend," Cobb says. "This ain't how he's supposed to go anyhow, so what harm is there in fixin' him up?"

I look squarely at Cobb. "Can you help them?"

He nods frantically.

"Will you?"

Everybody present knows what it will cost Cobb if he does, but damned if he doesn't go on nodding that big old shaggy head of his. For a brief moment my envy extends from Wintry to this sad old man with his sagging body, who, if nothing else, has the kind of heart most of us would, and have, killed for.

But then the Reverend glances up at him and scowls. "You stay out of this, Cobb. When we need the black magic of heathens, you'll be the first to know. "

The dying kid fixes the nudist with an odd look. "Your name's Cobb?"

Cobb, equally perplexed, nods. "Yeah. Why?"

The Reverend sighs. "Shut your goddamn mouth. Now listen here, kid. All I want from you is a simple answer. This town's reserved for the dreamless, the lost and the hopeless. You may be a no-good piece of shit, but I bet you've got ambitions, right?"

"Sure. Seeing another sunrise was one of them."

"From somewhere other than Milestone."

"Yeah."

"Why is it, then, that instead of being in the driver seat of your nice new—stolen—midnight blue Corvette heading North, right the hell out of this burg, maybe with that filthy whore of yours giving you a blowjob while you listen to some of the devil's music on the stereo...why is it that you're sitting here dying?"

Brody's eyes widen until they seem to fill his face. "Shit, I'm dying?" He starts to chuckle. "Fuck me, Dean. Looks like we get to do that duet after all."

The Reverend slaps him, a quick dry open-handed slap that knocks the mirth right off the kid's face. He looks stunned, his breath coming in short hard rasps, then angry. "Preacher," he says, mustering as much iron into his words as he can. "You're lucky I'm down or I'd have to beg my Momma for forgiveness for busting your nose."

And on hearing that, God forgive me, I find myself warming to the bastard.

"Answer the question, sonny," Reverend Hill tells him. "Now, or I guarantee that shot to the gut will seem like a bee sting by the time I'm done with you. You see, here we follow a strict set of guidelines. Sinners atone for their sins by ridding the world of filth, just like them. There are outposts like this everywhere. Each one has its own methods too. Here at Eddie's, you get to drive. But seeing as how you're past doing anything of the kind, and therefore, all but useless to me, you'd better start answering my questions. So, for the last time, why are you here?"

Brody ignores the priest and glances at Cobb again. "She had the same name as you."

Cobb blanches. "Who did?"

Brody starts shaking, worse than before, and suddenly his eyes are on me with such intensity, even Hill looks over his shoulder. "Sheriff," the kid says. "Mind if I give you something?"

"Go right ahead, as long as it isn't a bullet."

"In my pocket...two twenty dollar bills and a five."

"Okay."

"Can you give them to that man there?"

"Cobb?"

"Yes."

I resist the urge to ask him why he didn't just get Cobb to take it himself.

"Not much life in you," Hill says, dropping to his haunches. "Better start talking. Just because you die doesn't mean I can't reach you."

Brody swallows, looks at Cobb, then away. "She came out of nowhere."

Cobb takes a step forward, but is stopped by the Reverend's glare and Wintry's hand on his shoulder. "What's he talkin' about?"

"Your wife, I expect," Hill says, with no emotion at all, then reaches forward and tilts the kid's head up until their eyes meet. "Am I right?"

"We didn't see her. She must have had her lights off. And if you don't get your fucking hand off me, Preacher, I swear I'll use every last ounce of my strength...to put you through the wall."

As I'm listening, I picture Eleanor Cobb, hunched over her steering wheel, trying to look as small and inconspicuous as possible, afraid of being seen by anyone, even in the storm, lights turned off on a quiet road because she doesn't imagine she'll encounter another car, and doesn't want to draw attention to herself if she does. But she hasn't counted on a thief and his woman traveling on that same quiet road, pedal to the metal, eager to be clear of a town that reeks of death.

I lower my head. "Jesus."

"Hang on, kid," Cobb says, and his tone is both desperate and disbelieving. "You must be mistaken. She doesn't come to get me. She never does."

"She did tonight," Hill says.

"No."

"I took her wallet. Figured...with the state she was in...she wouldn't need it. Saw her name...I'm sorry...you can have the money...I'm—"

I look up in time to see Cobb lunging for the kid, but Wintry's got him in a firm hold, and all Cobb can do is struggle until the strength leaves him and he turns, embraces the big black man and weeps uncontrollably.

"Get him a drink and sit him down," I tell Wintry, and he does. I'm surprised anyone is listening to me. On nights as wild as these, badges count for nothing.

All the fight has left Cobb.

Reverend Hill stands up and scratches his chin. He sighs heavily. "Sheriff," he says. "Looks like you and I have a bit of a problem."

Chapter Four

Considering the amount of blood on the chair and the floor beneath him, I don't reckon the kid has much time left. His face is the color of fresh snow and he's propped up against the bar like a guy who's had too much to drink and is trying to remember where the hell he's found himself. And, aside from the drink part, maybe that's exactly what he's doing.

The girl on the bar turns her head. Her tears are silent. Seems all the fight has left her too. She closes her eyes, jerking occasionally and gasping as Flo and Gracie tend to her. "She's goin' to die if we don't do somethin'," Flo informs me, and it's hardly a revelation, but the one man willing to do something is way past doing it now. It's not like I can waltz up to Cobb and ask him to mend the people who killed his wife. That's the saddest part of all. I doubt he'd have been all that worried if his gift allowed him to raise the dead. But it doesn't. He can heal, that's it, and only wounds, not diseases. And right now, I'm willing to bet Cobb's second-guessing the limits of his power, wondering if it might work on his wife.

The priest turns to look at me. "You've got a job to do, Sheriff. Lucky for you, there'll soon be one less victim to worry about. Your boy gets that one. It's almost poetic, isn't it?"

"What is it you want me to do, exactly?"

"You gonna just let me die?" Brody croaks. "I knew there was a reason this town stank."

The Reverend shrugs. "No more than you were planning on doing all along. I want you to get in your truck and drive through town, fast as that piece of shit can carry you."

"Might want to watch the profanity there, Reverend. It being the mark of an ignorant man an all."

"Just do your job."

"For what? The kid's dying and—"

"Quit saying that, wouldya?" Brody interrupts.

"—his girl's bleeding out on the bar."

"True..." Hill shows his teeth. "But dying means they aren't dead
yet
. I reckon if you work fast and get them in your truck, you can still take care of business. Hell, I'll give you a break and just get you to take care of the girl."

"Can't you just let this one be?" Flo asks. "She's with child, for God's sake."

Without glancing her way, Hill says, "As are you, but you wouldn't expect anyone to forgive you
your
transgressions just because you spread your legs for a man."

Flo doesn't look shocked or stunned. She looks angry, and when she looks at Wintry, who is kneeling next to Cobb at the table where I first sat down, that anger turns to shame. Wintry, however, doesn't look quite so impassive anymore. Sins, the threat of Hell, death and murder don't make him blink, but finding out he's a Daddy sure does. His mouth is open, just a little, and I reckon even though he can't talk, he's saying something.

Thunder rolls like boulders across the roof.

Lightning shows me Cadaver in the corner, counting.

Me, I feel no more envy. Instead, I feel bolstered a little, aware that all those long-winded old passages you find in the bible about life and death and retribution may mean something after all. All we know, all we have known for as long as I can recall, is death. Now there's life. Even if we can't help poor Brody and Carla, even if we can't save her baby, Flo is pregnant, and the significance of that single fact is so great it makes my head hurt and my heart beat a little faster. Flo, a creature of death, is carrying life. Untainted life. Life Reverend Hill, for all his threats and blustering, cannot reach. Yet.

Flo is pregnant.

And whether or not she ends up filling that empty vessel with hate, or sadness, or sin, right now, for me, it represents just the tiniest bit of hope.

It's enough.

And it would seem I'm not alone in feeling that.

Without any of us, even the supposedly all-knowing Reverend, hearing his approach, Kyle is standing next to the priest, and the gun that has held so much meaning tonight, is gripped firmly in his hand again, the determination I've watched for three years back on his face, the muzzle nestled firmly against Hill's temple.

"I'm not driving tonight," I tell the priest, but Kyle has other ideas.

"Yes you are."

I look at him, wondering if this is how he finally intends to rid himself of his long-dead father. A man, who, despite all the nightmares and all the people he's killed on someone else's behalf, only ever felt guilty for the death he didn't cause. Cold as that sounds, I reckon there's a lot of truth to it.

"Me and you and the Reverend are going to take a ride tonight," Kyle says. "We're going to take that girl with us, and we're going to get her to Doctor Hendricks."

The priest chuckles. "Is that so?"

"Shit," Brody intones, struggling to sit up straighter. "What about me?"

He is ignored. We're not going to abandon him. That much I know. Not if there's a chance to save him. But Kyle's calling the shots now, so we're going to play it his way for the time being. The girl looks a lot worse off, so she goes first, is what I'm guessing is Kyle's reasoning here, though it would be just as easy to take them both. Maybe I'll suggest that once the gun's been lowered.

"Yeah, that is so," he says in response to Hill. The gun trembles in his grasp. I'm not yet at the point where I'm doubting my earlier opinion on whether my son will ever shoot a man again, but I'm not confident. What I am, however, is damn proud.

"Let me ask you something, Kyle. What exactly do you think shooting me will accomplish? Do you think I'll just drop like a rock? Like all these other weaklings? In case you haven't noticed, I'm the landlord here. Everyone answers to me, just as there are higher forces I answer to when the work has been done. When their
penance
has been done. And you, boy, have a lot of making up to do."

"And when is the penance done, huh? How many corpses amount to penance in your eyes? Ten, twenty, a hundred?"

"You'll know when it's done."

"Right," Kyle tells him. "When you've had your fill, maybe, you sick fuck."

The Reverend sighs. "Is it your intention to see how much suffering you can bring upon yourself? Pull that trigger then and we'll all see just how—"