The Book With No Name (6 page)

‘Have they been arrested?’

‘Not yet. And they won’t be if that horse’s ass Somers has his way. He’ll try and convince you that the Bourbon Kid killed the guy but dressed himself up as two monks to do it.’

‘Okay. So tell me, Captain, if Somers retired, why the hell is he on this case?’

‘I already told you. It’s because the Mayor wants him on the case. Everyone knows Somers is obsessed with the Bourbon Kid, and the public will be happy if he’s leading the investigation. The public, you see, they don’t know that he’s an asshole. They just know that a lot of them lost relatives and loved ones when the Bourbon Kid came into town
last time
.’

‘Last time? The way you said that implied that the Bourbon Kid is back in town.’

Captain Jessie Rockwell sat back in his chair and took another sip of his coffee before once again spitting it back into the mug in disgust.

‘I’m not sure what I’m saying, to be honest, but the fact of the matter is this. Two monks showed up less than twenty-four days ago. That’s the first time in five years that any monks have been seen in this town. And that’s not all. You’re here because the Government thinks that something out of the ordinary is going on, right?’

‘Well, yeah. Five brutal murders in the last five days. That’s apart from the guy the monks are meant to have killed. That’s
quite a lot. In fact, it’s a helluva lot. And I’m here because from what I understand, these weren’t normal murders, right?’

‘Right. I’ve seen some sick shit in this town, Detective. But these last five killings, well, I haven’t seen anything like it since the last time the Bourbon Kid was in town. Maybe it’s all building up to another massacre like we had five years ago. Like history is repeating itself. That’s why the Mayor wants Somers back. Asshole though Somers is, he knows more about the Bourbon Kid than the rest of the world put together. And you, well you’re obviously here because for the first time in I don’t know how long, the outside world has decided that it gives a shit about what goes on in Santa Mondega.’

‘So it would seem, sir.’

‘Yes. It would.’ He heaved himself up from his chair. ‘Now, you wanna meet Somers, or what?’

Jefe awoke with a start. His heart was pounding, and his instincts were telling him that something wasn’t right. Something was definitely not as it should be. But what was it? What had happened to make him wake up so suddenly, awash with a feeling of dread? And threat? The only way he’d find an answer was to piece together the events of the previous evening. That shouldn’t be too difficult. First, Marcus the Weasel had bought him drinks all night. This was to be expected. Marcus was afraid of him, and rightly so. Jefe had intended to kill Marcus once he had served his purpose, and Marcus’s purpose was simple: he had to buy Jefe drinks all night and then take him to meet El Santino. But Jefe hadn’t met El Santino yet, and Marcus the Weasel was nowhere to be seen.

Jefe was lying on his back in a rickety old bed in what looked like a dingy room in a cheap motel. He was dehydrated, no doubt from all the drink he and Marcus had polished off the night before. They’d had not a bad time. As Jefe recalled, Marcus was quite a good drinking partner who could handle his whisky and tequila. He was still an asshole, but at least he could last the pace. By now, Jefe was starting to remember more and more about the previous evening. Marcus had seemed to be holding his drink incredibly well, while Jefe himself had been seeing double. This was unusual, for he could handle his drink. He could drink for days at a time and still keep it together. So why had he suddenly gotten drunk out of his skull so easily?

Oh no.

A cold shiver washed over him. On cue, his head began to pound as his hangover took hold. Had he fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book? Had Jefe been downing shot after shot, while his new-found friend had been drinking water disguised as shots of tequila? If that was the case, then one of two things could have happened. One: he could have been murdered in his sleep. Obviously not the case. Or two: robbed. Highly likely.
Shit.

He grabbed at his chest, hoping to feel the precious blue stone that had been hanging around his neck for the past few days. His hand clasped thin air, right where the stone should have been. He sat bolt upright.

‘
FUCKIN’ BASTARD!
’

His shout echoed through the sleazy building. This was bad news, in every way. Jefe had been ripped off, and to make matters worse he had been ripped off by a man who was known locally as a complete and utter slimeball scumbag weasel. How could he have been so stupid, so gullible? What an imbecile! That
fucking
weasel Marcus! The guy was as good as dead.

Jefe’s mind was full of questions, racing around in his head like foxes in a chicken run. Did Marcus know the power of the stone? Did he know that it was the Eye of the Moon, the most precious and powerful stone in the entire universe? And did he realize that Jefe would now make it his life’s ambition to kill him and get it back?

What concerned the bounty hunter more than anything was the knowledge that he had an appointment to keep that day. An appointment with a man whose reputation was more fearsome than that of the Devil himself. He was going to need the Eye of the Moon if he was to have any chance of surviving that meeting. El Santino was expecting the stone to be delivered to him before midnight. Jefe had promised it to him. El Santino was not a man Jefe wanted to disappoint, even though he had never met him, but that wasn’t even the worst of his problems. If Marcus the Weasel discovered the power of the stone, it would be virtually impossible to retrieve it from
him. Just as it should have been impossible for Jefe to have lost it in the first place.

Another thought struck him. There was, of course, always the danger that Marcus could be gotten to by others. There were plenty of people who wanted the Eye of the Moon. Many of them were as brutal as Jefe, some maybe more so. If any of them got their hands on the stone he would never get it back before the end of the day. If ever. He considered his options for a moment. He could just leave town and never return, but he had gone to such great lengths to get his hands on that stone. It was practically a miracle he had survived this long. Just finding and stealing the stone had seen him kill more than a hundred people. Some of them had come close to killing him, yet he had survived. He’d come through unscathed, only to slip up and let his guard drop as he approached the final hurdle. Although it might prove even harder to get the stone back from Marcus, he reminded himself that it was worth a lot of money to him. And his life depended on it, too.

Fuck it. He’d have breakfast, then that was it.

The Weasel was toast.

Jessica had been creeping through the densely planted woodland for longer than she could remember. The trees around her reached up so high they almost blocked out the sky above. The ground was a mat of tree roots, making it very difficult to walk steadily, and the likelihood of twisting an ankle was growing with every small step she took. And the time for small steps had now passed.

She could feel the cold biting at her shoulders and feet. Whatever presence it was that had been observing her as she made her way through the woods, it was now pursuing her. No longer just watching, it was creeping up on her. The trees were so close together, and the canopy above her was so thick that it was almost too dark to see. As it happened, she was too afraid to look back anyway. She could hear her pursuer breathing, except that now it was panting heavily. It was a beast of some sort, she knew that much. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human, and although it didn’t make much sense to her, she had a feeling it wasn’t an animal either. This was something else, and it wanted her.

As she tried desperately to pick up the pace, the branches of the trees seemed to become thicker and thicker as if reaching out for her, trying to slow her down. She was still managing to keep her footing, but she knew it was only a matter of time before one of the tree roots upended her. For its part, the beast was closing in all the time, its panting growing louder and quicker with each passing second. Nothing seemed to slow it down. It was gathering speed, and would soon be upon her.

Jessica suddenly experienced a sharp intake of breath and her eyes opened. She closed them almost instantly as they were stung by the brightness of the light. Then she opened them again. Then closed them. Then opened them again. She continued to do this for several minutes until the stinging sensation became bearable. All the while the dream from which she had just awoken preyed on her mind. It had seemed so real, almost as though it were not a dream but an old memory returning to haunt her.

She looked around her. The room was bare, the only furniture in it the bed that she was so snugly tucked into. The walls were covered with a cream-coloured wallpaper that had seen better days. The light colour was probably meant to compensate for the lack of a window. It didn’t, of course, nor did it lessen the room’s claustrophobic feel. It dawned on her that she was very cold, not that it actually bothered her much. She’d been colder than this. What was bothering her, though, was that she had no idea where she was, or how she had come to be there.

‘Hello?’ she called out. ‘Hello? Is anyone here?’

She heard, distantly, a voice mutter something. It sounded like a man’s and came from below, as if he was a floor beneath her. It gave her an idea of her bearings, for it implied that she was in an upstairs bedroom somewhere. Then a sudden charge of footsteps bounding up a staircase towards the door in the far corner of the room caused her heart to race. She began to wish she hadn’t called out so hastily. The footsteps were heavy, suggesting that they belonged to a very big man. When they reached the top of the stairs and stopped outside the door in the corner of the room there was a pause, then she saw the handle turn. Slowly the door creaked open.

‘Oh my God, you’re awake!’ exclaimed the rather startled-looking man who had opened the door. He was a big, rugged fellow.
Looks a bit like a farmer,
Jessica thought. Quite a handsome young farmer, mind you. Nice thick, black, hair, and strong, even features. He was wearing a thick lumberjack shirt hanging out over a pair of brown workman’s trousers
tucked into a pair of shiny black boots, which came up just a few inches above his ankles.