“What about this case?”
Whatley hesitated, looking as if he had no intention of responding at all. “If I didn’t know better,” he said finally, “I’d say you were looking at wounds that could only have been made by talons, as opposed to claws. And the depth and width of the wounds are indeed consistent with some kind of raptor.”
“As in, what, a bird of prey?”
“If I didn’t know better, Ranger, yes.”
“But you do know better, right, Doc?”
Whatley turned the monitor more her way. “What I know is that whatever did this would need to be maybe ten to fifteen times the size of the talons of a hawk or osprey. The curvature of the wounds tells me that whatever ripped the victim apart did so while standing on two feet before him.”
“So what am I looking for, Doc?”
Whatley’s expression crinkled, like someone had balled up his skin. “Something I sure as hell can’t identify. Didn’t your great-grandfather come up against something like this in his time?”
“It was my great-great-grandfather. And what he went up against turned out to be nothing like this.”
35
AUSTIN, TEXAS; 1874
Jimmy Miller stumbled his way down the street from the saloon, toward the hotel where he shared a room with three men who smelled even worse than he did when they took off their boots. They’d made him drink more than his share of whiskey and couldn’t stop laughing when he puked his guts up all over the woman who was supposed to be his first.
He was halfway down the dark street before he realized he had no idea where the hotel actually was, even as his stomach was turning again. He leaned over just as a flood of vomit poured up his throat, splattering his boots and leaving his mouth tasting like cow shit. That’s when he saw the match flare on the plank walkway across the street, a cigar coming to life.
“I got me a gun,” Jimmy managed, fumbling for his Colt. “Don’t you move!”
“I’m not going anywhere, son,” Steeldust Jack Strong said from the shadows, puffing away.
“I know who you are,” Jimmy said, recognizing the voice, which for some reason made him think of a hot blacksmith’s anvil. He managed to get his gun out, but the world before him was teetering too much to hold it steady. “I’ll shoot you dead I will, Ranger.”
“Good shot, are you?”
“Damn good. You don’t want to test me.”
“I’m sure I don’t, least not sober. Ever kill anybody, son?”
The gun felt like a lead weight in Jimmy’s hand. “What if I have?”
“It’s a lot harder under these conditions is all I’m saying. The night, the rain and all.”
Jimmy looked around him. “It ain’t raining.”
“And in the time it took you to look, I got my own gun out. Know the difference between us, son?”
“You killed more men than me?”
“I’m sober and you’re drunk. Not equal ground for a gunfight; trust me on that.”
“I ain’t scared of you none!”
“It’s not the man you need to be scared of, son, it’s his gun.” Steeldust Jack stepped down off the plank walkway and tossed his cigar aside. “You got two choices, son: either you take your best shot here and now, or you tell me what I want to know.”
Jimmy Miller lowered his Colt just a little. “What is it you want to know?”
“Who you and those other boys are working for. Who sent you onto that Indian land.”
The Colt started back up. “Nobody. We was looking for who killed our friend is all.”
“Man who got himself mangled, you mean. What was his name again?”
Jimmy searched his drunken mind for the answer. “Can’t say.”
“Must’ve been a really good friend, then.”
Only then did the kid realize Steeldust Jack had drawn closer to him, close enough to make out his features through the flickering firelight behind the nearest windows.
“Think I’m close enough for you to shoot now, son? Here’s your choices: either start talking or start shooting. There isn’t a third, and only the first leaves you alive. Second means I’ll be the last thing you’ll ever see.”
The gun was shaking in Jimmy’s hand now, and he promised himself he’d never take another drink, not even one. Not when it left him sick to his stomach and the world too wobbly to shoot.
“He just got in tonight,” Jimmy said finally.
“Who?”
“The man we work for. I guess, anyway. I didn’t meet him, didn’t even see him. Just heard his name.”
“And what would that be?”
“Rockafella. Something like that.”
*