Chapter 13
Pendleton McKenzie was the kind of man who tried not to think about things too deeply, a useful trait for a mercenary; as long as the pay was right, he did what he was told and had no trouble sleeping. It was the soldier’s mantra, following orders for rewards, and one he’d adopted without ever being near a uniform.
This attitude made life simple. And a man needed simplicity when he turned his hand to so many things; across his long career he’d dug mass graves, been a bodyguard for a wealthy heiress, robbed banks to help their owners claim on the insurance and been a deputised sheriff. It didn’t really matter what was needed of him or why so long as the dollars rolled in.
But his current job was one of the oddest he’d done. Even he couldn’t avoid thinking about it, wondering. Their customer asked for some mighty strange things; placing strange trinkets around their tents and camp fires, digging up corpses to inject them with writhing masses held in darkened glass needles, bleeding themselves into that strange box every morning. The why of it all meant nothing, didn’t need to, but he had to admit the job had some odd requirements.
And another night of oddities was about to start.
He, the boss and the boss’ cousin Romano were sat at their camp in a wide Badlands plain, breathing in the scent of cooking food and a baked land. They’d dismantled their tent moments ago as the boss cooked and were hunkered round a camp fire that warmed the food, not the mercenaries.
Warmth they had plenty of; the hot sun beat down at them as they ate chilli and beans, giving them so much warmth they were drowning in it. Some shade would’ve been nice but the boss’d said the tents had to go and sitting near a Badlands tree wasn’t good if you fancied holding onto your life. So they were forced to prepare for another long night under the sun’s draining attention.
Pendleton looked at his partners. He didn’t know what, good or bad, they were doing here. Alongside the damned-odd orders, the three of them went across to that small town and used that strange box their customer had given them to summon… things. Inhuman things. On the boss’ command, these things worried at the town’s chapel, keening and moaning as they did so, in some attempt to destroy it. But they weren’t doing a good job of it. He, the boss and Romano had tried joining in by shooting the chapel as well but that was whilst they’d had rounds. They’d run dry a few days ago and only had the box at their command.
Whatever they were doing, it didn’t seem to be achieving much. But the boss and the customer must have a plan of some kind though and that was enough for Pendleton.
That and the money, of course.
Pendleton finished his portion of chilli, spiced warmth sliding easily down his throat, and gestured across the fire with his tin plate. “Pass us some more beans, boss.”
“I think you’ve had enough beans already. I can smell you from here,” Romano said with a wide grin. He was missing three teeth beneath that ridiculous moustache of his, the buck teeth and one from the bottom row.
“Shut up, Rome,” the boss said. Then he handed the pan across to Pendleton.
Pendleton just stared at Romano, the greasy fuck. Five foot two and thin as a fork, Romano would crumple beneath Pendleton’s big hands if he had his way but the prick was under the boss’ protection on account of him being family. And boy did Romano love testing the limits of that.
Boy but it was very hard to believe they were related; the boss couldn’t have looked much more different from Romano if the weasel’d been born a woman. The boss was tall, though not so big as Pendleton, and had white teeth he polished after every meal with some paste a quack’d given him. His face was angular in a way women seemed to appreciate and he always took things seriously. Romano was precisely none of these things; he and the boss seemingly had in common was some grandparent long ago.
Taking the pan, Pendleton spooned a few more beans into his plate and handed it back with a nod of gratitude. That nod was returned; the boss might be vicious and quick but he was also fair, someone who believed in the sanctity of an honest transaction.
Pendleton looked down at his beans then started eating. Normally, he’d do so in peace but the Badlands were as oppressive as the heat; they crowded around the silence in his head, made him think.
And naturally, he thought about the job.
It was kind of funny, he supposed, that this job was so much like his first with the boss. They’d met when the Mexican had been running a scam on a town called Pearlsville; he’d been racketeering, pretending there were harriers in the area, and had needed someone to convince the locals it was true. Work had been hard to come by so soon after the Badlands had erupted so there’d been plenty of men after the job. Pendleton’d got it because he had his own guns and a healthy disregard to the law.
The next night, Pendleton had scared the Hell out of Pearlsville, riding like an Angel of the Lord into Gamorrah. By the time he was done, the locals paid through the nose to get rid of him. The boss’d been thrilled. After handing the bloodied heads of some Indians in as proof that he’d killed the harriers, he’d asked Pendleton to come along for his next job. Pendleton had accepted and three years of good money had followed.
And here they were again, scaring fools for cash. It was enough to bring a smile to his broad, scarred face.
“What’s so funny, lummox?” Romano asked.
“That you have the guts to say someone else smells bad; you reek like a whore’s spittoon.”
That grin of his fell. Pendleton’s widened.
“Easy now,” the boss said. “Let’s keep things civil.”
Romano gave Pendleton a look sharper than a knife but said nothing.
Pendleton wished he’d kept going. No, really he wished the boss’ cousin hadn’t had to come along but the customer had insisted this was a three man job. Pendleton couldn’t see why but you give a customer what they pay for and the customer had paid for three men. Though with one of the men being Romano, they’d probably short-changed the customer.
“You scared, lummox?” the fuck asked, knocking him from his train of thought.
“Why would I be?” Pendleton asked, shovelling more beans. He chewed, swallowed, enjoying the taste as much as he enjoyed keeping Romano waiting. “Fear ain’t something I’m used to.”
“Well maybe you oughta get used to it, real comfy with it, because the customer’s coming here. Ain’t that right, Kaspera?”
The boss nodded and flashed Romano an angry look; Romano hadn’t noticed that he didn’t like his name being used.
The customer was a mystery; only the boss had talked to him though Romano had probably been nearby, pretending to offer some protection. Pendleton hadn’t asked about him or their orders and his blunted curiosity didn’t provoke any questions now.
After all, what good did questions ever do? No good, that was what. Questions always lead to answers. Most people seem to love questions; who are you, what are you doing, why did you shoot him? But answers, they hate those with a passion. Especially Pendleton’s answers.
Pendleton shook his head, disoriented for a moment as he returned from deep thought.
The idiot grinned again, his weak excuse for a sense of humour returning. “You’re terrified. But I tell you what, lummox, even I’m a little scared of our customer. So you must be quaking in those enormous boots of yours, pissing the pants that some team of nigger women had to sew together to cover your giant ass.”
“I ain’t scared,” Pendleton rumbled. His height meant he had to order his clothes specially, a sore spot that Romano enjoyed prodding. “He’s only a customer.”
From what little the boss’d said, he knew the customer was a hard case, the kind of man who’d kill you because it took less effort than having a conversation. But that didn’t bother Pendleton much; either the guy paid and went away happy or he refused to pay and a fight had to happen. It was that simple.
“You say that but you didn’t see him; he’s the kind of guy you never want to mess with,” Romano continued. “I met people like him during the war, tough sons of bitches who’d sold their souls and didn’t care who knew it. Whatever dark powers our customer has given himself to have made him terrifying, lummox. Terrifying.”
The boss wouldn’t do something like roll his eyes – he was too classy, too loyal to his family to disrespect them like that – but the sharp movements he made in eating betrayed annoyance at his cousin.
“That way he walks everywhere but doesn’t make a sound?” Romano said, eating some beans. He spoke with his mouth full, something that would’ve earned Pendleton a whipping when he was a kid. “And that he doesn’t carry any weapons with him? Those are the warning signs. In the war with you Americanos, guys like him killed and raped, women and children, just because it was the done thing; they didn’t get any pleasure out of it, just thought it was what was expected. He, lummox, is a monster.”
The boss looked up. “Hush, Rome.”
Romano frowned. “Why?”
Pendleton turned and faced the way the boss was looking.
“Because our customer’s nearly here,” Pendleton said.
It was still the middle of the day and the sky was pristine, the earth golden. On the horizon, stared at the ground, not caring what was around him, was their customer. His pace was lazy, gentle. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat that covered his face in shadow and expensive-looking black clothes. Corpse-thin thumbs were hooked in his pockets, leaving his hands to dangle.
“He can’t hear me from there,” Romano said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Want to bet?” Pendleton asked, deciding to rib Romano. “A tough guy like that, sold his soul and everything?”
The little man’s eyes narrowed but he kept his tongue still. Apparently that wasn’t a bet he wanted to take. If for no other reason than he could shut Romano up, Pendleton liked their customer already.
They ate in silence until the customer arrived at the camp fire, with Romano shifting between shooting aggressive looks at Pendleton and watching the customer approach with dread and awe. The boss simply stared into the distance and ate. Pendleton took his cue and polished off his food.
He was setting his plate down when the customer took a place at the fire, right beside him. Then he closed his eyes. Romano had at least been right that he didn’t make a sound; the only sign of him had been the approaching shadow.
Now he was close, Pendleton saw that the customer wore a mask under the shadow of his hat; a fabric construction, probably with a little wire under there to keep its shape, it hung around his pale white ears and curved round his face to join over his nose like the bow of a ship. His mouth and nose were covered entirely by the black velvet, into which someone had sewn silver patterns that made Pendleton’s eyes feel twitchy. All he could make out of the customer’s face was that he had been badly scarred somehow; the topmost edge of a wide patch of twisted skin on his cheek peered out from the mask.
The boss continued eating. Romano watched the customer like a yellow hawk.
The customer’s silence was almost a solid thing, like steam in the air. The long it went on, the more nervous Romano became. Even Pendleton felt his cool being eroded but a deep breath every fifteen seconds cleared the feeling.
Eventually, the customer spoke. His voice was bland, unremarkable; it had no accent and no tone. All Pendleton retained was the word; “Report.”
“We’ve been going at Crucifix every night, not once going before sunrise,” the boss said, slowly putting down his plate, “but they still haven’t budged, are holding firm. We’ve used the artefact just as you asked but the things it summons can’t seem to get past whatever protection the priest’s using.”
The customer opened his eyes and looked into the fire. “Has he weakened at all?” Pendleton remembered him saying.
The boss shook his head. “Not that I can tell.”
The customer nodded again. “And you’ve been attacking as well?”
“I don’t know if you remember,” the boss said, narrowing his eyes, “but we ran out of bullets a couple of nights ago and we don’t have the time to run back and get some more.”
That was unusual; the boss never got pissy with a customer. Something must have rattled his cage.
“Did you bring us more ammo?”
The customer shook his head.
A twitch of disdain, a mere moment of unhappiness, crossed the boss’ face. “Then there isn’t a lot we can do. If you could spare one of us for a night, we could stock up on some dynamite, blow the chapel’s doors to pieces-”
“No,” the customer said with another slow shake of his masked head. “Three of you are needed to make the artefact work.”
That explained Romano being here.
The boss didn’t find the response quite so gratifying. He stood, balled his fists. “Then what do you want us to do? If your creatures aren’t up to the job and we can’t get any ammo or go before dawn, I don’t see any options. You’re paying us to do this quietly, your way, but frankly it isn’t working”
“Boss, calm down,” Pendleton warned.
The customer looked up and fixed Pendleton with dead eyes. His irises were silver discs that reflected the light of the camp fire like mirrors.
“You stay out of this, lummox. We obviously has a problem here.” Romano spat. It seemed that he’d found his tongue, if only to berate Pendleton.
“We don’t,” the customer said. It looked like he was smiling beneath the mask. “You do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Romano asked.
The customer stood up and brushed some dust from his jeans. All three of them watched, tense, ready for a fight. Pendleton noticed that he couldn’t see any shoes beneath the customer’s jeans; there was just darkness. The sight concerned him more than he liked so he looked up, put his questions out of his head.
“This,” the customer said.
Then he vanished.
“Where’d he go?” Romano called.
Wary, Pendleton leant back to grab his rifle.
“I don’t know,” the boss said. “Watch out for-”
The customer cut the boss off when he appeared before him. With a linen-white hand, he lifted the boss up by his neck and held him aloft.
“You asked what I want you to do?”
Romano jumped to his feet and reached for his guns. Before they’d even left his holsters, the customer dropped the boss, knocked the son of a bitch to the ground and took his weapons. It happened in a moment, so quick Pendleton had trouble believing it.
At least until the customer idly tossed both of Romano’s guns to him then went back to pick the boss up by his throat. Pendleton considered turning the guns on the customer but there was no point; the fight he’d knew might come had already happened and they’d lost.
“I’ll tell you what I want you to do; your job. You were hired to scare an Irish priest into giving us something he took from us. I need this object and you were hired because you’re supposed to be strong enough to get it. I granted you tools to help but the whole point was for you to work out how to get it yourselves without alerting every twobit operation out here.”
“So… you’re… okay with a massacre now?” the boss wheezed. “You said… you didn’t… want any blood.”
“I’m saying you should do whatever you need to do to get it. Anything. Do you get me?”
“We’ll figure something out,” the boss croaked.
The customer held him for a moment longer, considering the boss like he were a circus freak. “Good,” he said.
And then he was gone. The boss dropped to the floor in his absence, coughing and spluttering, tears streaming down his eyes. Pendleton didn’t go to help; the boss hated other people trying to help him.
Romano picked himself up a few seconds later – probably because he thought the way was clear – and moved to to get his guns from Pendleton. He looked sheepish, had enough sense to be aware that he’d betrayed his cowardice.
But the customer reappeared between them before Romano could claim his guns. The idiot shrieked at the sight and fell back; he’d probably fainted.
That basically left Pendleton alone with the customer, what with the boss still suffering. The weird pale man turned to Pendleton, knelt down, put one hand on each of Pendleton’s shoulders and pressed his mask close.
“Your stupid friend asked if you were scared of me. You said you weren’t.”
Pendleton tried to shrug but the customer’s immense strength prevented him doing so. It seemed impossible for such dainty, thin fingers to contain so much strength but there they were, pressing him down like a vice.
“I only had his word for anything about you,” he said.
Those silver eyes floated down to meet his. “Are you scared now?”
Questions and answers. He hated them both. But Pendleton figured he ought to be honest. “No. I ain’t scared.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve not seen anything to be scared of,” Pendleton replied. “You’re stronger and better than me but many people have been. It’s nothing new.”
The customer laughed. At least, Pendleton assumed it was a laugh. The noise was so atonal as to be difficult to classify.
“Well then,” the customer said, “let me show you something new, something for you to be scared of.”
Slowly, he reached up, unhooked the mask from one of his ears and leant in so that only Pendleton would see what lay beneath. Not that he needed to, with Romano having taken the chicken’s exit and the boss struggling to breathe, but it signalled his intent to show this only to him.
Then the customer removed his mask.
His mind didn’t accept what he saw for a moment because it was so… wrong. So utterly wrong. But when it accepted what he was seeing, Pendleton screamed for the first time since he was a boy. And then his mind was full of questions, ones that would only lead to answers he didn’t want to hear.