Fistful of Feet (18 page)

   Doyle didn’t feel like cleaning up another mess. It was bad enough there was someone going around killing whores. Too much shit happened in Screwhorse and he felt like he was getting too old to deal with it all. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He never considered himself a bad man but sometimes it was easier just to go through the motions.

   The door swung open.

   “Jesus Christ, man, are you deaf or something?” Mayor Douglas said. “I even heard it from my house.” His face was flushed and his belly looked even fatter than the last time Doyle saw it.

   “Yeah, I heard.”

   Mayor Douglas slammed his knuckles down on the desk. “You get your ass over there and take care of things.”

   “You walked all the way down here just so you can tell me how to do my job? With all due respect, mayor, I’d much rather sit here and let things fix themselves. I’m already busy having to deal with those killings at Betty’s.”

   “Who gives a shit about some dirty whores?” Mayor Douglas said. “I don’t need a goddamn shootout in the middle of my town. Next thing I know, they’re sending in some government son of a bitch to investigate and then I’m out a job. And that means you’d be out of a job, too.”

   “Frankly, I wouldn’t give a shit. Besides, none of this was my doing. Your man Lyons and his three assholes started this shit.”

   “I don’t give a good goddamn who started it. You get the hell over there and take care of it or I’ll have you tied to the railroad tracks. You ever been buggered by a Chinaman? It ain’t pleasant. They know all sorts of tricks that’ll make your ass bleed for days. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? You make any more excuses and I call my friend Shanghai Joe. Got it?”

   Doyle said, “Sure do, mayor. I guess I’ll go head over there, see if I could talk some sense into everyone.”

   “I was told that stranger was dead. Now I’m told by some whore that he’s alive. If that stranger isn’t dead yet, you better make sure he gets that way.”

   The sheriff picked up a shotgun and then stood in front of the mayor. “You keep talking, I’m not going to get a chance to do anything. You done?”

   “Watch that smart mouth of yours or you’ll be picking Chinese teeth out of your ass,” he said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a whore’s tooth. He held it up to show Doyle. “I’m going back to my house for a fuck. When I come back, all this shit better be finished, got it?”

   “Yeah. I got it.” Doyle walked out slowly. He figured he’d take his time looking into things. Who cared if the stranger was alive and taking care of business? Maybe he’d get rid of Lyons and his jackasses. That’d make his job as sheriff a hell of a lot easier.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

   Sergio, Leonard, and Clayton walked up to the mayor’s house. It was time to get to work.

   They walked through a side door, one that was only used by the mayor’s staff. As they entered, they heard the sound of heavy footsteps upstairs. Clayton and Leonard drew their guns but Sergio kept his holstered.

   A skinny Chinaman walked out of the kitchen and stopped short when he saw the three men. His mouth opened wide to scream. Clayton ran up and punched him in the throat, sending him to the floor. A hard kick to the side of the head knocked the man out.

   Sergio led the way upstairs to the mayor’s office. They could hear more sounds now, not just footsteps. There was heavy breathing and squishy, thumping sounds. They stood in the hallway for a minute, waiting for the sounds to get more intense.

   Then Sergio kicked open the door.

   Mayor Douglas had his whore Ana bent over his desk. He was screwing her from behind while he was looking at a photograph he was holding up with his right hand. The screwing stopped. Clayton walked up to him and stuck a pistol in his tattoo-covered face.

   “Get off the girl, you ugly motherfucker,” Clayton said.

   The mayor’s face drooped in anger.

   Clayton smiled and then pistol-whipped the fat man. “You really are an ugly cocksucker. Who gets tattoos on their face?”

   “What the hell are you talking about?” the mayor said. He dropped the photograph and buttoned his pants.

   “No, seriously. You should be the one wearing the mask,” Clayton said. He turned to Leonard. “Don’t you think so?”

   “I don’t think the mask would fit his fat fucking head, Clay.” Leonard kept his gun aimed. He watched as Ana pulled away from the mayor. She said, “Thank you!” and then ran next to Sergio. As she did so, she looked at Mayor Douglas and gasped at the red tattoos that were now covering his face. They hadn’t been there when they had started fucking.

   “Oh my god!” she said. “What’s wrong with you?”

   Mayor Douglas said, “Shut up, you traitorous little whore!” He looked at Sergio. “Are you men mad? Have you any idea who I am? Do you?”

   Sergio calmly stepped forward. “Oh, we do,” he said. “You’re the mayor. The question is: do you know who I am?”

   The mayor squinted and shrugged. His eyes were ugly pinpoints beneath the tattoos. “No. Am I supposed to?”

   Sergio took another step closer and drew his pistol. It was a huge gun, one that dwarfed both Leonard’s and Clayton’s. It was carved out of ivory and had intricate red designs on the barrel. He pointed it at the mayor’s head. “My name is Sergio,” he said. “Sergio Cardinale.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

   Bluford Barnes didn’t know what the hell to do.

   There was no way the sheriff would believe him. Tom Duma had an alibi and a stranger from out of town wasn’t going to be able to prove anything different. Thinking about Lily and how she was gutted, Bluford decided he was going to take care of things himself.

   The only problem was that he didn’t have a weapon. He did know how to throw a punch or two, one of the few things he had learned from his pugilist brother. If it came down to it, maybe he could knock Tom Duma out and find some proof that he was behind the killings.

   But who was he kidding? He was a card cheat and nothing more.

   Doubt overcame Bluford. How could he confront a murderer? He had always lived his life in the proverbial shadows, deceiving and drawing as little attention to himself as possible. The rule was to never get involved in any serious matter that went on in a town and that included multiple murders.

   But this was different. He couldn’t help shake the feeling that if he hadn’t taken Lily up to her room, she’d still be alive. There was a part of him that felt responsible even though he wasn’t the one that actually committed the gruesome crime.

   So Bluford let his conscience take over. He ran toward the General Store and went around the side, peeking in the windows. Through the smudged glass he saw Tom Duma pointing his finger in his wife’s face and screaming. “It was my secret! Mine!”

   Bluford watched as Tom then wrapped his hands around his wife’s throat, squeezing hard, still yelling.

   His wife was hysterical. “I did it for you! I did it so they’d let you out!” She brought up her own hands and Bluford saw that she was wearing black leather gloves, slick with blood.

   Tom Duma grabbed one of the gloves off his wife’s hand and stuck it into her mouth. Her eyes widened as she gagged but she made no move to fight back against her husband.

   Bluford pulled away from the window, ran to the back door and went inside. He lunged at Tom Duma, hoping to knock him out with a few punches.

   Mrs. Duma spat out the glove and screamed, “Don’t you dare touch my husband!”

   Tom took three hits to the face before running out of the house, leaving his wife hysterically crying and cursing at Bluford. She jumped on him, knocking him down, and then ran up the stairs.

   Bluford stood up and quickly made the choice to follow Mrs. Duma and not her husband. He wasn’t sure if it was his cowardice or chivalry that was behind that decision but he made it anyway. When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw her at the end of the hallway. She was no longer crying. She was filled with calm anger.

   She said, “You know, don’t you?”

   “That you killed the girls?”

   Mrs. Duma smiled. “Not all of them.”

   Seeing the woman’s crazed expression made Bluford realize that he had made the wrong decision in following her. There was something extremely dangerous about the woman. Her eyes were filled with rage and death.

   “Why?” he said. “Why kill anyone?”

   “I couldn’t let the sheriff lock Tom up.”

   “So it was true? Your husband killed Lily?”

   “Yeah, so what business of it is yours? He had to kill her. There’s a lot about Tom no one knows.”

   Bluford was both confused and terrified. Why the hell would she be confessing to all of this? There were only two possibilities. Either she was planning to give herself up or she was planning to kill him. If she was capable of killing of two innocent girls then would she probably wouldn’t hesitate in killing him now that he knew her secret.

   Despite his terror, he made a grab for Mrs. Duma but was surprised to find that she was both strong and fast. She knocked him down and ran into a bedroom. He followed, her musky perfume invading his nostrils. It reminded him of seawater and menstrual blood.

   The bedroom was full of broken dolls, most with their eyes poked out and their heads torn from their bodies. Several of them were covered in black lace and some were made of glass. There were newspapers scattered on the floor along with a camera and a pile of black envelopes.

   Mrs. Duma grabbed a glass doll from the floor and held it up. “Whores!” She smashed it against the wall and then picked up another one. “Whores, all of them!”

   Bluford decided to play along since the woman was in such a frenzied and unpredictable state. “Yeah, I know. They’re whores.” He took a step closer but she held her black-gloved hand out.

   “Don’t get any closer!” she said. “Or I’ll do to you what I did to those dirty little cunts!”

   “Relax, Mrs. Duma, just relax.”

   “Don’t tell me to relax, you little cocksucker. You prance into town without a second thought about the people in it. You don’t think about the mayor and his killers. You don’t think about the sickness that runs through here.” She held a glass doll up above her head. “This town’s a hell! Do you hear me? A hell!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

   William Lyons wiped his mouth. He patted his wife’s hand and said, “That was a wonderful meal, love. Really hit the spot.”

   Catherine blushed and nodded. “I’m glad you liked it.”

   “Boys, did you thank your mother for making such a delicious meal?”

   The two young children at the table smiled and shouted, “Thank you, ma!” and then ran off to play.

   “Those little ones sure are cute, Cath,” William said. “I still can’t believe I had a part in making them.”

   “Yes, they’re our little angels.” Catherine was starting to clean the dishes when there was a knock on the door. “You expecting company, William?”

   “No, I’m not,” he said, standing up. “Why don’t you take the boys into the sewing room?”

   Catherine put her hands to her chest. “Oh my, what’s happening, William?”

   “Probably nothing but take them nonetheless.”

   Before either of them could move, both of the boys ran to the front door and opened it. Their father yelled. “Get your asses back here!”

   One of the boys said, “There’s no one here. Someone just left a toy.”

   William walked over to the door, grabbing his pistol on the way over. He pushed his boys towards their mother and watched them run into the sewing room.

   The kids were only half right. Yes, there was no one there but the hell if someone had left a toy. It wasn’t a toy at all.

   It was a wooden donkey.

   William put a hand on the door to slam it shut when the mouth of the donkey opened up with a fiery blast. He was blown back by the small explosion, landing on the table that he had built for Catherine for their anniversary.

   Then he saw that bastard standing in the doorway, the bastard he left in the desert to die.

   Calamaro smiled. “We were never properly introduced. William Lyons, is it?”

   “You little cocksucker.”

   “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Calamaro winked.

   William lifted his pistol and pulled the trigger hard, sending a bullet in Calamaro’s direction but missing by a good six inches. That’s when William heard the burp. At first he thought it came from him since, after all, he did just eat. Then he realized that it came from the doorway. Did the stranger actually have the nerve to belch? William heard it again and he saw that it hadn’t come from the stranger’s mouth but from his gun.

   That’s when he felt the pain of a bullet in each of his kneecaps. William lifted his pistol but didn’t aim it. It was shot out of his hand with another burping bullet.

   “Fuck you,” he said. He started crawling to the cellar door. It wasn’t much of a cellar, just a small area that he had dug out himself. It looked like the stranger wasn’t going to stop him. The stupid bastard had no idea what he kept down there. He held the doorknob to the cellar and said, “Hey asshole, you ever heard of syphilis?”

   Calamaro said, “Afraid not.”

   Lyons coughed and when he did, his wounds pumped more blood onto the floor.

   “It’s a disease. You get it from whores. My younger brother, he’s a doctor, lives in London, he told me all about it and I’ve never been able to get it out of my head, you know? Well, this disease does a lot to a man’s mind, makes them crazy enough to eat the devil with horns on.”

   “There a point to this story?” Calamaro said. He held his gun up, eager to hear it burp again.

   “The point is that I’ve always been fascinated with how a man can go and screw some whore with a dirty cunny, have a few minutes of pleasure not knowing they’re leaving with a disease that’ll rot his brain out. Tell me that doesn’t fascinate you.”

   Calamaro pointed his gun at William Lyons’ head. “I imagine you’re talking for a reason, trying to get my guard down or something. Sorry to disappoint you but it’s not going to work.”