WEST OF THE town the southern swing of the Rockies bulked high against the sky. Snow was already forming white mantles on the highest peaks, and as Azul rode closer to the looming ridges the air got colder, hinting at the stark divisions between winter on the lowlands and in the mountains.
Two days out of Banner he found a trading post where he bought a thick cloth coat that fended off the worst chill of the lonesome nights. He also bought supplies and a vague guide to Blood City, though mostly he relied on what he had heard in Banner and his own instinct.
The trail led into the hills west and north of Banner. There was a pass opening up a low ridge of mountains where the Colorado river split the rockface to form a series of rapids. Beyond that there was a wide trail that angled northwards into the southern flank of the mountains, rimmed with high stands of stone and dense coverings of pine.
He got further directions from a rancid old trapper who did his best to sell Azul a set of worked-out beaver traps and then admitted to shooting wolves and coyotes.
Azul headed north and found Blood City.
The Colorado flooded down between high walls of raw stone. To the west, where twin flanks of rock reached a hundred feet or more, there was an opening. A secondary stream came out through the split more gently than the main river. Aspens and pines and dogwood covered the banks, almost hiding the entrance.
Beyond, the canyon got wider, spreading out on both sides of the stream to reveal wide meadows of late mountain grass and a sizeable community.
The influx of the water spilled down from the rockface at the western end of the canyon. There was a trail there, bending through the rocks to lead out into the main swell of the Divide. The trail was barely wide enough to accept two horsemen riding together, though secondary trails wound up in dangerous curves on both sides of the cliffs.
At the center of the canyon there were nineteen houses. All of them were spread along the banks of the stream, with five wooden bridges crossing the silver water. Seven of the buildings were saloons, offering girls and beds. Two were eating houses. There was a general store and a gunsmith’s. The rest were private. There was a thin pall of smoke drifting up towards the rimrock, where it got swirled away by the wind and lost amongst the pines topping the high ridges.
Azul rode in with the Winchester canted over his saddle and his eyes full of hate.
He got down from the saddle outside the first saloon and bought a drink at the pine-plank bar. Then drifted from saloon to saloon in search of Nillson and his gang.
He didn’t spot any of them, so he asked about stabling for his horse. A barkeep with a leather patch covering his left eye suggested he fodder his animal out back, where there was a lean-to. And besides, the Nevada Queen offered rooms. Along with girls.
Azul said he would book the room and check the girls later.
And asked about Nillson.
‘Jesus! Arne’s long gone.’ The barkeep seemed surprised Azul should ask. ‘He came back in a hurry. Him an’ Paco an’ the others.’
‘Maze Lynch and Burt Hart with him?’ Azul made the question quiet, inoffensive. ‘The usual gang?’
‘Sure.’ The barkeep nodded energetically. ‘Come in boastin’ of a big hit down towards Banner. Arne figgered they should split up. So they did, bar one.’
‘Which one?’ Azul asked. Then picked names out of the air. ‘Burt or Maze?’
‘Burt,’ said the barman. ‘He’s shacked up right now. Living in the old Cody place with as sweet a little set o’ thighs as I ever asked to see.’
Azul grinned and emptied his glass.
‘Be good to see Burt again; real good.’ He set his whiskey down and went on smiling at the barkeep. ‘How’d I find his place?’
‘Reckoned you knew it,’ said the barman. ‘You knowing Burt an’ all.’
Azul went on smiling. ‘Been a long time. We lost touch a bit until him and Arne hit Banner.’
‘Straight across from here.’ The bartender laughed. ‘Cross the bridge an’ find the third house to yore right. Give Burt a real affront.’
Azul laughed: ‘I’ll give him some kind of shock. That’s for sure.’
The barkeep went on laughing as Azul exited from the saloon. He was still chuckling as the half-breed took his horse from the rail outside and led the animal across the bridge spanning the ice-sharded water of the stream.
Azul listened to the steady clopping of the stallion’s hooves over the frosted planks and smiled. This time it was genuine.
The houses were built low, only a few reaching higher than one story. Most were straightforward shacks of timber and tarpaulin, with single windows set in each wall and a narrow door to one side of the front. Some of them had porches built out over the doors, but the majority were plain and simple and devoid of any such fancy ornamentation.
The third one up was very simple.
There was a pine door and a window. Around the sides there were two more windows, matching the opening at the back. There was a door there, too, opening on to an area of flat, snow-covered ground with a few chickens and two hogs rooting about in the frost.
A stone chimney stuck up from the center of the flat roof, a thin wisp of smoke escaping from the square lips to spread a wavering curl of grey across the sky.
Azul hitched the Arab stallion to the front fence and tugged his blanket clear of the saddle. He draped the cloth over the pony’s back and drew the Winchester clear of the scabbard.
The gate fronting the garden of the house made a scraping sound as he pushed it open, but it was hidden by the laughter coming through the curtained windows. His feet crunched on the ice covering the path, but that too was lost in the laughter.
He got up to the door and pressed his head against the wood, listening. The laughter went on, and he could hear a stove rumbling along with what he thought was the boiling of the coffee pot. He drifted round to the rear of the shack.
The window gave easily under the pressure of the Bowie knife, the loose catch breaking clear of the fastening so that he was able to slide it up, and clamber in with no more sound than a sneaking mouse might make.
He dropped over the sill and paused, listening.
The room was quiet: a bedroom, he guessed. He eased the window shut and went over to the door. It was held on a leather catch that he slid up as he elbowed the door open. There was a narrow passage beyond, light showing from the farther end. Where the laughter was coming from.
He eased the door open and stepped into the corridor.
A board creaked under his feet and he stepped to the side, but the voices from the front room hid the sound. He went on down the passage.
There was the smell of beef stew and whiskey. The ranker smell of sex. He reached the end of the corridor and came out into the main room with the rifle cocked and angled round to cover the two people sprawled on the carpet.
The woman was old and fat. Her hair was tugged back in a bun that exposed the grey streaks resting under the black dye. Heavy applications of kohl darkened her eyes, and even thicker layers of rouge covered her lips and cheeks. She wore a black whalebone corset that held in her flabby belly and spread her breasts upwards and together. The nipples were painted with the same color as her lips. Wide white thighs were girded with black stockings, the silk spread either side of Burt Hart’s face.
Between the black of the stockings and the darker mat of pubic hair, Hart’s face shone white. All Azul could see was a tangle of white hair and two red eyes staring at him.
The outlaw was naked. He stretched on the carpet beneath the woman with pale, skinny legs thrusting like poles. Whatever else thrust up was hidden in the woman’s mouth.
‘Oh, my God!’ The woman came up from Hart’s body so fast her teeth caught him. ‘Don’t kill me.’
‘Don’t aim to, ma’am.’ Azul stepped forward and slammed the stock of the Winchester against her face. ‘But you look like you had enough to eat.’
She groaned, slumping sideways as the ruptured blood vessels beneath her temple and jaw burst a flood of red over her pallid skin. Azul kicked her clear of Hart’s body and angled the Winchester down to point the muzzle against the outlaw’s teeth. He smiled and slanted the rifle forward. Chips of enamel splintered from Hart’s mouth, followed by a trickling of blood as the half-breed twisted the foresight against the back of the outlaw’s throat and then snatched the metal clear so that it tore on the upper lip-
Burt Hart whimpered, dropping his hands to cover his groin.
Azul went on smiling and lifted the rifle up and back. Swung it down so that the barrel landed across Hart’s chin. Then again. Twice. Three times. Until the outlaw closed his eyes and spat blood.
Azul lashed the woman’s hands across her belly with a length of rope taken from his horse. The animal was stabled in a shed behind the house, alongside Hart’s pony. He tied her ankles together and then set a running noose about her neck and stuffed a stocking into her mouth. Then he went back to Hart.
The outlaw was sprawled on the carpet with blood all over his face. Azul rolled him on his belly and lashed his wrists together, taking the cord down so that he could link it to Hart’s ankles, bending the man in a bow shape.
Then he got a pan of water from the kitchen and poured it over Hart’s head. The outlaw woke up and began to scream. Azul kicked him in the mouth.
‘Where’s the money?’
‘Arne! Fer Chrissakes! Arne took it. He took it all.’
‘Where’s Arne?’
‘I don’t know!’
Azul kicked him in the groin.
‘I don’t know! God! I swear I don’t.’
There was an open fire to one side of the room, the flames serving as much for light as for heat. Three heavy logs were glowing red behind the grate, alongside which there was a fancy set of tools: shovel, tongs and poker. Azul picked up the tongs and thrust them into the center of the fire. Then he went back to Hart.
‘You split up?’
‘Yes; we split up! Arne reckoned it was best.’
‘And took the money?’ Azul stood up. There was a bottle of whiskey on the table: he took a drink. ‘All of it?’
‘I swear on Almighty God! He took it all.’
‘You talk a lot about God,’ Azul murmured. ‘How’s that?’
Burt stared at him. ‘I believe in the wrath to come. I believe in the fires of Hell! I seek only to bring sinners to their due justice. It is evil to own money. I own nothing, so I am clean. Those who lust after money will suffer the due rewards of their avarice.’
‘Like that girl you killed?’ Azul asked. ‘Like Jill?’
‘A whore! A filthy wanton. Such filth must be wiped away!’
‘In the fires of Hell?’ Azul asked softly. ‘Like with a knife?’
‘The clean swift sword is better than the fires of perdition!’ Froth rimmed Hart’s lips. ‘She was unclean. A whore! To sleep with devil’s spawn such as you! Better the swift sword than eternal damnation.’
‘Maybe. Let’s see how you feel about it.’ Azul glanced up: the tongs were glowing red now. ‘You make up your own mind.’
He reached across to the nearest chair, dragging the cloth cover away from the frame of wood and leather. Tearing it into strips, he bound up his hands before lifting the tongs from the fire. The tips were glowing white, smoking in the cooler air of the cabin. As he grasped the handles, the cloth singed, giving off an odor of burning material.
‘I hope Hell burns worse,’ he rasped. ‘But maybe confession will save you.’
He reached down between Burt Hart’s legs and pressed the red-hot pincers tight against the outlaw’s testicles.
Hart screamed. Triple floods of liquid burst from his body. He urinated and defecated at the same time as a thin spume of vomit burst from his mouth. The room got filled with the sour reek of heated piss and the foul stink of emptying, liquid bowels. He jerked, trying to twist away from the burning agony of the tongs. His penis became erect, jetting a thin spray upwards.
Azul leant back, dropping the tongs on to the floor. The carpet sizzled, scorching as the heated metal fell against the wool.
Hart’s entire body flexed. His eyes rolled up to the top-sides of his sockets and his ribs stood out stark against the paleness of his thin body. Muscles corded along his arms and legs and he arched back so far that Azul thought he might snap his own spine.
The half-breed picked up the tongs and set them back in the fire.
Hart’s head drooped on to his chest, vomit trickling over his lips to dribble on to his chest.
‘Dear God!’ His voice was a husky whisper. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’
‘You think to ask that when you sliced the girl?’ Azul’s voice was cold, harsh as the wind coming down from the northern mountains. ‘Where’d the others go?’
Hart shook his head.
Azul picked up the tongs again and set them back around the blackened ruin of the man’s testicles. Hart twisted, his screaming choked off into a throaty groaning. Azul twisted the tongs. Hart’s groaning turned into a scream again.
‘I don’t know! Oh, God! Please let me die!’
‘In time,’ rasped Azul. ‘Tell me where they went first.’
‘I don’t know!’
The tongs twisted again. ‘You gave twelve thousand dollars to Arne Nillson and never asked where he was taking them?’
‘Somewhere safe.’ Hart’s voice was almost gone now, just a dry whisper through his vomit-flecked lips. ‘We was to meet again in the spring.’
‘But you never asked where he was headed?’
Burt Hart nodded. ‘I never asked. All I know is that Paco was goin’ down into Mexico. Some nowhere place called Hoyos. That’s all I know. I swear to almighty God!’
‘I even believe you,’ grunted Azul. ‘So I’ll do you a favor.’
‘You’ll let me go?’ Hart spat bile from his lips. ‘I told you all I know. On the Bible. I got one in my coat. I’ll swear on that, if you want.’
‘Swear on this instead,’ grated Azul. ‘Like Jill Torrance did.’
He swung the Bowie knife clear of the sheath and brought the blade down in a fast cut across Hart’s throat. The thin flesh covering the windpipe parted easily, releasing a jet of blood that fountained upwards and then splattered down over the vomit-drenched lips and burned groin. Azul drew the knife back and drove the point down hard under the ribs, angling up to strike the heart. Burt heaved once, releasing a fresh gush of excrement over the floor as he died.
Azul stood up, wiping the blade on the nearest cloth, which was a cushion. Then he located Hart’s clothes and found the Bible tucked inside the jacket. He held it in his left hand as he went into the bedroom to loosen the knots that held the blowsy woman down. He removed the gag, too.
‘You bastard!’ She spat shreds of silk clear of her teeth. ‘You killed him.’
‘He was all eaten up with sin, ma’am.’ Azul parodied a bow. ‘I just released him from his mortal coils.’
‘Bastard!’ she repeated as he went out from the house and climbed astride the grey stallion. ‘Goddam bastard killer!’
Azul heeled the pony to a canter, heading south out of Blood City.
‘And I thought I was helping him,’ he said to the cold night air. ‘Teaching one more bleeding heart a lesson.’