The Best of Penny Dread Tales (14 page)

“I’m glad you like it,” Lasater said with a smile in his voice.

“I really do appreciate it, mister. This is about as nice as I’ve ever seen.”

Lasater stepped into the cabin and grabbed a brass handle set a few feet above the middle cushion of the right-hand bench. With a gentle tug he pulled and swung down the recessed bed. “There’s one on that side too, you just pull on this lever, see?” He patted the down pillow to see how soft it was. “Nicer than a Kansas City hotel.”

“Yeah. Pretty slick,” the cowboy said, turning fully to face Lasater. “Don’t take this wrong, mister, but I gotta ask you a question.”

Lasater lifted the bed back into place, pulled his hat off and sat down, leaning his head against the window and stretching his legs out across the seat. He hung the hat on a hook above his head. “Why am I being so nice?” he offered, beating the cowboy to the punch.

“You nailed it. I ain’t never done nothing for you, and when a deal seems too good to be true, it usually is.” The cowboy sat down across from Lasater and hung his own hat on the hook above him, but he sat facing Lasater with a look of curiosity tainted with a blurry haze of mistrust. “What I owe you for all this?”

Lasater smiled. “Not a thing. I consider it paid in full, and I sorta still owe you.”

“How the hell you figure that?” Disbelief filled the cowboy’s voice.

Lasater tapped his right leg with his knuckles. “These.”

“Hunh?” The cowboy couldn’t have looked more surprised if Lasater had told him that the sun was made of honeydew.

“The battle where I lost ’em. I was tore up bad enough to be left for dead … in fact, the white boys in my regiment did just that. There was Rebs coming over a hill after that canon volley tore me up … well … from where I lay screamin’ and bleedin’ on the grass … all I seen was the backs of a bunch of blue coats and the bottoms of their heels. I figured I was all done, you know? Gave it up.” Lasater raised a gloved hand and rubbed the side of his face as he thought about the battle. “The Rebs musta’ been about forty or fifty yards away, running and whoopin’ and hollerin’ like they was about to win the war. All I could do was stare at ’em. Then we all heard it. Horses … a lot of ’em … They burst through the trees off the left flank of the battlefield. Forty or fifty riders … black as night and the sweetest sight I ever seen.” Lasater closed his eyes, remembering. “They came straight for the Rebs … and they didn’t make a sound. They held their fire, they didn’t yell … there was just the thunder of them horses … they were black too. The cannons let into them, and some of them fell, but not one of them slowed down. The Rebs had time to get into lines and started shooting, and they dropped a few, but you know most of them boys couldn’t hit shit when the heat was on. Then those Buffalo Soldiers opened up … they dropped most of the first line with their first volley, from horseback I might add, and then half tore into the Reb infantry like dogs into a carcass while the other half rode up that hill and took the cannoners apart piece-by-piece.” Lasater smiled, reliving something he still couldn’t believe. “In the middle of it, two of them Buffalos, they saw I was still moving, so they dropped off their horses, grabbed me and pulled me outa’ there, quick as you please and got me to the doctors. I never saw ’em again. Never thanked ’em.” Lasater sighed and sniffed a bit, barely controlling his emotions. “Without a doubt, I’d be dead if it weren’t for them. I figure my life is worth a hell of a lot more than a few days in this thing, so you just enjoy the ride, you hear?” He never opened his eyes.

The cowboy looked at Lasater for long seconds, looking for words but coming up short. “Don’t know what to say, mister.”

“Don’t need to say nuthin’.”

The sound of the gondola rotors revving up filled the morning calm and broke the silence that had taken up a perch between them. With a gentle shift of weight rearward, the zeppelin pulled away from the ground slowly and began a gentle ascent away from San Jose. Then they heard the whoosh of the big propellers at the back of the ship kick in, sending them sailing into the air with a lurch. A church steeple in the distance disappeared from view through the open window, and the zeppelin banked around in a long curve, pointing its nose toward the well-risen sun. The cowboy slid up to the window on his side of the cabin and cranked that one open too, sniffing in the fresh air and watching a flock of birds fly by at eye-level. As the birds disappeared behind the gondola and out of view, headed for the coast, the cowboy finally broke the silence.

“So … uh … where’s the head? This morning’s coffee is looking to make a getaway.”

Without opening his eyes, Lasater pointed towards the door. “You’ll find a pair of ’em fore and aft, one pair just around the corner from our cabin, and the other all the way back past where we got on board, just this side of the dining cabin.”

“Much obliged,” the cowboy said and stood up.

“And remember to put the seat down when you’re finished.” He punctuated the directive with a chuckle. “There’s proper women-folk on this crate, and we wouldn’t want to offend their delicate sensibilities, would we?”

The cowboy let out a guffaw. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be sure to tidy the place up for ’em.” The cabin door closed on their laughter, and Lasater folded his arms in his lap. After a few minutes he dozed off into a light, dreamless sleep.

It was the cabin door opening that woke him up, but he didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t even open his eyes when he heard footsteps come in and approach him. When he heard the second set come through the door, he opened his eyes and his right hand was already moving towards his pistol, but it was too late.

In the span of a heartbeat, three things happened. First, Lasater spotted Hang Ah in a black, coat-tailed jacket over a red paisley vest, the ensemble topped by smoldering eyes shadowed under a short bowler hat the same color as the jacket. Hang held a long dagger in his hand that was closing in on Lasater’s face. Second, a shuriken thrown by the man behind Hang hit Lasater in the right arm, and the poison that coated it instantly paralyzed his arm, causing the limb to drop down uselessly at his side. Then, as he reached with his left hand for the pistol on that side, another shuriken hit home and his left dropped motionless to his lap. By that time the dagger was inches from his face, and he could even see small nicks and scratches in the polished steel.

Lasater looked down at both motionless arms and shook his head. “I was hoping I’d seen the last of you, Hang,” he said calmly. His breath fogged the blade as he spoke. “I figured friends could walk away from a mess like that and just go their separate ways. Guess I figured wrong.”

Hang spoke quietly, his accent making it that much more difficult for Lasater to understand. “Honor must come before friendship, Mr. Lasater. So, yes, you did.” Hang’s eyes narrowed down to slits. “
Gravely
.”

Lasater nodded his head and tried to fix an ‘I’ve learned the wickedness of my ways’ look on his face. Then he slowly leaned sideways and awkwardly adjusted his position so that his back was against the seat cushion rather than the outward-facing wall. The dagger maintained its inches-away position, keeping pace with Lasater’s good eye, but Hang did not otherwise hinder his prey. “So, umm … what happens next?” Lasater asked. He tried to rub his itchy nose on his shoulder, but he couldn’t quite put the two together with the numbing poison in his arm. When Hang made no move to help him, he wiggled his nose like a rabbit sniffing to try and make the itch go away. The motion did at least prompt a reaction from Hang and the assassin standing silently behind him. They both got subtle smiles as they watched Lasater suffer.

“What happens next, you ask?” Hang finally replied. His smirk turned to a beaming smile of pure delight. “Why, we wait.” Although the dagger never moved, the rest of Hang’s body appeared to relax a little, and the assassin’s shoulders actually lowered slightly as he leaned back on his heels. “Are you familiar with the ancient Chinese proverb on patience?”

Lasater’s features drifted into a desert of sardonic boredom. “Can’t say that I’m familiar with any Chinese proverbs, Hang. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Hang’s tone took on a taint of formality, like he was quoting scripture. “One moment of patience may ward off great disaster. One moment of impatience may also ruin an entire life.”

“Hunh …” Lasater blinked his eyes a few times, not really getting where Hang was going with it. “That’s really interesting and all, but I think you lost me there.”

“What I find interesting is that the reverse is also true.”

Lasater drew out his response, as if he were talking to a lunatic, “Right …” Before he could add anything, the cabin door opened and the cowboy stepped in.

“Run for it!” Lasater shouted, trying to warn the man off. Lasater was the only one in the room who was surprised.

“Why would I want to do that?” the cowboy asked as he closed the door quietly behind him.

Lasater felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. He wanted to kick himself for not seeing it coming. He was normally such a good judge of character, but he clearly missed the mark with the cowboy.

“So you sold me out, did you?” Lasater accused through gritted teeth.

“It certainly appears that way, don’t it?” the cowboy replied like he was talking about the weather. He stepped past the Chinese assassin, and just as he was behind Hang, he winked at Lasater with a serious look on his face. “Guess it’s like them Buffalo Soldiers you was talking about before … this old Buffalo’s gonna be your undoing.” The cowboy put his back to the windows and faced the assassin. “You catch my drift, mister?”

Lasater looked at the cowboy with steely eyes. “I believe I do. You know how I hate them Buffalos. You go right ahead and do what you gotta do.” Then he turned his face and stared down the Chinese Tong boss who held the dagger. “You sure you don’t want to rethink this, Hang? Last chance.” Hang and the assassin chuckled at the impertinence of a man about to die. “Well, Hang, I guess this is it.” And then Lasater did something that actually widened Hang’s eyes with surprise. Despite the poison, despite the dagger, despite being outnumbered three to one … he smiled, and it was a mean, bloodthirsty smile. It shook Hang, if only for a moment, and the Tong leader licked his lips and swallowed.

The kick from the cowboy hit the assassin square in the balls and lifted him up off the floor a couple of feet. The boot took the wind out of the little killer with a grunt of pained air blowing out of his lungs. Lasater’s left hand flashed in a motion too fast to follow, the gears of his artificial left arm screaming like the peal of a falcon, and it wrapped a leather glove around Hang’s dagger-hand and squeezed.
Hard
. The cowboy was grabbing the assassin before he came down and pushing him towards the open window with a twist of his body. Hang yelped like a little girl as the bones in his hand were crushed against the steel hilt of the dagger. He tried to thrust, but his hand moved forward only a fraction of an inch. With Lasater’s shoulder against the wall, Hang would have had to push like an ox to get Lasater’s arm to give way. The assassin went sailing quietly out the open window, still gasping for air.

It was Lasater’s turn with smoldering eyes. “I gave you every opportunity to walk away from this, Hang. Bent over backwards to do it. But I’m not spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for red pajamas.
Good bye.
”

Lasater tightened his hand, the gears within protesting at the resistance, and then all three men left in the cabin heard Hang’s fingers snap, pop, and crack like kindling as they were crushed to splinters. Hang screamed, his face contorting into agony and his other hand coming around to grip the broken one. Lasater released the crushed, useless fingers, and the dagger slipped through them and stuck in the floor, point down. His hand darted to Hang’s begging throat, and he squeezed there too, popping Hang’s eyes out as the air was cut off and blood started to swell in his now-crimson face. Lasater stood up, lifting Hang clear of the ground, and with a twist, he flung Hang’s flailing body out the window to sail screaming through the clear air down into a rushing river hundreds of feet below. They never heard him hit.

With an annoyed look on his face, Lasater pulled the shuriken stuck in his right arm out and tossed it out the window. Then he slowly sat down and ran his hand over the numb, lifeless dangle of his right arm, hoping that he’d be able to use it soon and the that poison didn’t have more in store for him. He let out a long, resigned sigh. “Damn it, Hang. I thought we were friends.”

The cowboy sat down across from Lasater, reached out slowly and pulled the shuriken from Lasater’s left arm. He had to tug quite a bit, and it finally came free, but he looked at Lasater with the unspoken question painted across his face.

“Rubber,” Lasater replied. “Over brass. It feels more natural when I brush up against people, but not by much. Is that how you knew? When we got on the zeppelin?”

“Yep … figured it was something like that.” The cowboy leaned back and smiled, waiting for the next question.

“So, they paid you to set me up, did they?” Lasater asked, a bit of irritation creeping into his voice.

“Yep.” The cowboy’s smile was broad enough to get a horse through.

“And you telegraphed from San Jose?”

“Yep.” His smile grew to deliberately infuriating.

“You get paid up front?” Lasater asked without taking the cowboy’s bait.

The cowboy’s face took on a more serious shape. “Half, but I figured it paid in full from the beginning.”

“How do you figure?”

“Better to see ’em coming when ya got help than not see ’em comin’ at all.” The infuriating smile was back.

Realization dawned on Lasater’s face. “So you set
them
up.”

“Yep.” The cowboy’s features softened into one of camaraderie, the kind that only the minority can share amidst a majority. “I figured if you were able to make your way out of that hole back at Hang’s, well this would be no trouble at all if you had just a little bit of a leg-up.”

“That’s a damn good point,” Lasater said, smiling. He paused for a bit and then added with narrowed eyes, “And you didn’t mention all this before because…?”