The Dead Man: Kill Them All Read online

  “I’d like to fill your pitcher, babe,” Zeke said. “You need to put some time in over to the Pussy Parlor. Hell, I’d pay double.”

  Hog snorted, which was the second source of his unsubtle nickname.

  “Maybe it’s time you boys switched to coffee.”

  “Fuck that, babe. I’d pay triple!”

  Sally slipped by their clutching fingers and walked sideways toward the stranger at the other corner table. Matt Cahill. The guy everyone was calling a hero. Up close, he was a big man, dark haired and muscular. His work shirt and jeans were dusty, and he carried a backpack with a lumberjack’s ax strapped to it along with a small sleeping bag. The stranger had a battered cowboy hat pulled down low over his eyes. It looked like he was catching a nap before hitting the road.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  Matt looked up. Sally was struck by how handsome he was, in a rough-hewn way. He had careful, intelligent eyes that didn’t undress her. He really focused on her face, as if searching for something. It made her skin ripple and her legs part just a tiny bit. Easy, girl, you’re not in high school anymore.

  Cahill didn’t speak, just smiled and shook his head.

  Sally turned, then jumped back. Now Hog and Zeke were bracing her, blocking her way.

  Uh-oh.

  Over at the bar, Wally raised his head drunkenly. He fumbled to support himself, bleary-eyed, but wasn’t sober enough to intervene.

  “We’re making you an offer,” Zeke said pleasantly. His breath reeked. “A three-way for triple. You can’t refuse.”

  Out of the corner of her eye Sally saw Kyle slowly get to his feet. She silently willed him to stay put. He was a good boy, one of the only decent males left in Dry Wells, and she didn’t want to see him get hurt. Kyle had tried to stand up to Zeke and Hog before. It hadn’t gone so well. Zeke carried a couple of small knives and moved like a cat. Hog had guns like other men’s thighs and could poleax a steer with one of those fists. They liked to hurt people.

  “Easy, boys,” she said. “This may be Friday, and we’ve got cause to celebrate, but it’s way too early for me to have to be calling Sheriff Pickens on you. Hell, you still got the whole weekend ahead. The whorehouse is across the street. This here is just a bar.”

  “For now,” Hog said.

  “That old fart can’t do nothing and you know it, gal,” Zeke said. He moved a step closer, the better to stare down her top at her breasts. He seemed to like it that Sally was now breathing rapidly from fear. “You ever have two big men at once? Might like it.”

  “Let her be,” Kyle said.

  Zeke smiled at the sound of Kyle’s wavering tenor. Sally realized that this was what Zeke had really been after all along. The fight. He and Hog exchanged grins. Zeke nodded, and Hog turned, lumbered over to deal with young Kyle. He picked up a chair, raising it over his head, ready to smash it over the young man’s head. Kyle tried to duck but lost his balance and ended up on his ass on the sawdust floor. Meanwhile, skinny Zeke reached out for Sally with his right hand, intending to grope her breast. Sally took a deep breath to scream, knowing that there was likely nobody around outside, that it probably wouldn’t do her any good.

  The handsome stranger came out of nowhere and grabbed Zeke by the wrist. In a voice low and urgent, he said, “Hey, pal. Take it easy, okay?”

  Hog turned and saw that the stranger was now interfering. Pleased, Hog waddled back their way like a rhino crossing a mud paddy. His fat face was clenched into a huge red fist of excitement.

  Meanwhile, the stranger let Zeke go. “Guys, I don’t want any trouble.”

  Zeke laughed. “Mister, your ’tude just wrote a check your body can’t cash.”

  Sally gasped with alarm. Zeke produced a switchblade with his free hand, popped the wicked blade out, and stabbed at the stranger’s thigh. But the man wasn’t there anymore. He had moved out of the way, back towards his pack and sleeping bag. Hog changed direction to cut him off but moved too slowly. Cahill grabbed his ax and used the handle to pop Zeke low in the groin.

  Zeke gasped and dropped the knife. He sank to his knees, gripping his balls with both hands.

  Pissed off, Hog charged.

  Sally couldn’t believe her eyes. The handsome stranger stayed put. Hog was bigger, outweighed him by forty pounds, but Cahill didn’t move. His assailant launched a haymaker at his chin, but the stranger stood fast. At the very last second, when Hog was slightly off balance, Cahill knocked his arm up and out of the way. He punched Hog twice with the end of the ax handle, rapid-fire, right in the soft spot above the belly and between the ribs. Hog went white, sank to his knees gasping for air. He rolled over onto his side and drew up his knees like a baby trying to let loose a huge fart. The stranger tossed his ax onto his sleeping bag.

  “Just breathe, man. The pain will go away.” Cahill went down on one knee. He lowered his voice, said something to Hog and then repeated it to Zeke. He was whispering, but Sally caught the gist of it. He actually apologized again for hurting them and told them both to go sober up. He said to lay off the girl from now on.

  Like a pair of whipped puppies, Zeke and Hog helped each other limp out the batwing doors. They didn’t look back.

  What amazed Sally was that Cahill didn’t seem to be an expert at martial arts. Maybe he was just a man used to fighting in bars. He looked a bit shaken but wasn’t even breathing hard.

  The man looked over at Kyle, who had struggled back to his feet and was holding a candle as if wishing it would magically turn into a weapon.

  “You okay, kid?”

  Kyle’s cheeks went pink. He’d just lost a substantive dick-measuring contest. Sally stared at the stranger. She shook her head. “Mr. Cahill, you move like you’ve had a few fights in your day.”

  The man shrugged. “A few.”

  “We thank you.”

  “No sweat.”

  Sally watched as he turned to get his dusty pack, bedroll, and hat. He dug into his jeans to find a few dollar bills. He handed them to her, finished his beer, and turned to go. The harsh sunlight surrounded him, turning his features shadowy and mystical. Sally tucked the money into her bra and held out her hand.

  “Sally Morgan, Mr. Cahill.”

  “Mr. Cahill was my father.” The handsome stranger hesitated as if he’d grown tired of meeting people. He shook her hand. “Matt. Call me Matt.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Friday, 11:14 a.m.

  Matt Cahill walked back through the ghost town, this time with the pretty young waitress. Despite the sunshine, he had his battered hat stuffed in his pocket. He kept the bedroll, long ax, and backpack over his right shoulder.

  “You’re pretty much as advertised,” Sally said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You pulled Suzie Pickens out of a mine shaft. And then you come into my bar and straighten out two of the local bullies like it was nothing much. Whole town is buzzing about you. You must have some kind of powerful cereal for breakfast.”

  Matt sighed. “Can we talk about something else?”

  She grinned. “Sure is hot, ain’t it?”

  “Okay, how about telling me where we’re going?”

  The girl gestured, pointed. “To my car.”

  “How far?”

  “Right down that alley. Now, where is it you need to go, cowboy?”

  Matt paused to wipe sweat from his brow. “What is the fastest way to get back to the Kearns ranch? I’d appreciate a lift, but no need to take me all the way.”

  Sally stopped, and her boots thumped on the wooden slats. A trickle of sweat ran down the sweet crevice between her full breasts. Matt tried not to follow it with his eyes, looking up, busying himself with adjusting the ax and pack. A dust devil twirled by behind her sunburned shoulder.

  “Sure,” Sally said. “But answer me this: Why the hell would you want to go back out there?”

  Matt shrugged. “Why not?”

  “You really want to know? Because Zeke and Hog work on the spread righ
t next to Kearns.”

  “Oh.”

  “Look, those two are bad enough, but there are also some new strangers out that way. Four guys that showed up crack of dawn this morning.”

  “So?”

  “So they are damned spooky. They came in for breakfast and they were armed to the teeth. Looking for someone, I’d expect. They’re so mean, they make Zeke and Hog nervous.”

  Matt frowned. She had his attention. “What did they look like?”

  “Desperados, with buzz-cut hair and a shitload of muscles. Their leader, Scotty, was cute, but he has Zeke’s kind of eyes, like a predator who gets off on the suffering of others. Know what I mean?”

  “I think so.” Matt felt his pulse twitch. He had no reason to believe this had anything to do with him, but still…He shifted his pack, ax, and bedroll to the opposite shoulder. “These men—did they actually hurt anybody?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. No, nothing bad happened, but they made sure we all got the feeling something might if we don’t behave. I think they wanted us to know that, to feel spooked. They are up to something.”

  “Do folks spook easily around here?”

  “They are my friends and like family,” she said, “but they all live in fear. They’d back down from a dog with a hard-on. That sort of mind-set tends to encourage bad guys, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, Sally,” Matt Cahill said with a laugh. “I know what you mean.” He wiped his forehead. “Did anyone try to stand up to them?”

  “Sheriff Pickens walked up and had a talk with the one called Scotty, but as you know, our sheriff’s getting on in years. Those teenage kids keep him young since his wife died, but hell, his chest dropped into his gut when Bill Clinton was president. Put it this way—these guys were professionals. They didn’t seem too intimidated.”

  The passed the closed movie theater and Matt peeked inside. The furniture was covered with blankets and drop cloths, and the John Wayne posters on the wall were decades old. What an interesting old town.

  “Sally, I still don’t see why that has anything to do with me just revisiting the Kearns place.”

  “And I still don’t see why you’d want to go back there.”

  He couldn’t tell her about the Dark Man. Kearns had likely just been raving from drugs. Still, Matt had to follow anything that looked like a valid lead. Maybe it would come to nothing. Perhaps the man was just another crazed redneck cooking speed in a shack who’d imagined the whole thing. Still, just in case, Matt needed to get this thing over with. He had to find and stop the Dark Man. And hopefully return to the life he once had.

  But he didn’t tell her that. What he said was: “I want to talk with him about living alone in the desert.”

  “You writing a book or something?”

  “Or something,” he said. “Look, thanks for the concern, but I can take care of myself.”

  Sally sighed. “I figured that part out.”

  A bald head appeared in the window of a storefront. They both jumped. “Jesus, Bert. You scared me half to death.”

  Matt saw that the bald man was wearing a white apron stained with blood and juices of some kind. The sign outside said he was a grocer. Bert had a large, red-veined nose and a twitch under one eye.

  “Howdy, mister,” Bert said. “Thanks for what you did for Suzie Pickens. Whole town is buzzing about it.” His curious eyes gave him away as desperate for human contact and maybe a bit of gossip.

  “Howdy.” Matt again opted to avoid introducing himself. Sally hadn’t made the connection, but even way out here in the Nevada desert some folks watched television. Sooner or later someone would recognize Matt Cahill, a man briefly famous for having returned to life after being buried under an avalanche for three months. Stories like that had a way of getting around, and Matt didn’t want to answer any more questions. He wanted answers…like how he’d survived, why he could now see evil in others as a physical rot, and how he could stop the horrific Mr. Dark, a man who could spread that evil with a touch.

  “Sally! Wait up.”

  Matt turned. The young redheaded man from the saloon jogged to catch them, then slowed to a walk. Like so many other men in this part of the country, Kyle had the rawboned look and worn hands of someone who kept his own cars running. Meanwhile, Bert the grocer seemed to remember something and popped his head back inside the darkened store. Kyle came closer, stopped a few feet away. Matt could sense how possessive he felt, but the ego-driven part was well tempered by a genuine concern for Sally.

  “I’m Kyle. I just wanted to say thank you, mister. Those two are mean as a pair of badgers.”

  Matt lowered his pack and bedroll, extended his hand. “You’re welcome.”

  The two men shook. Matt could see that Kyle wanted to stay, to keep a sharp eye on Sally. Matt couldn’t blame him. She had to be the best-looking female for a couple of hundred miles in any direction. Instead, Kyle said, “You’ve made quite an impression on Dry Wells in one morning.”

  As if he weren’t there, Sally said, “Like I said, I’ll drive you about halfway back. After that you’ll have to hitch a ride from the highway. Best take a big bottle of water with you. The roads aren’t exactly jammed up around here. I’ve got some in the car. See you later on, Kyle.”

  Knowing he was beaten, Kyle stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and backed away with a forced smile. He turned his back and walked off. Matt cocked his head at the girl.

  “Wow. Now, that was subtle.”

  “Come on,” Sally said. “My car is around the corner past the jail.”

  As if on cue, the sheriff appeared in the doorway of his office.

  Sally greeted him warmly. “Sheriff Pickens.”

  “You on your way already, son?”

  “Yeah, need to get moving.”

  “Matt, I owe you big,” the sheriff said. “Whole town does. You ever need anything, anything at all…” Behind him in the gloom, Matt could just make out the antique bars of a jail cell and a desk cluttered with papers. He saw a couple of hunting rifles anchored by a long rack on the wall. Matt nodded.

  “Tell the kids I said good-bye.”

  “I will.”

  They shook hands and Matt resumed walking.

  As if sensing something out of place, Sheriff Pickens called out after them. “Hey, you all right there, son?”

  Matt just waved his right hand without looking back. His mind was on the strangers Sally had mentioned. Matt knew he didn’t particularly want to meet them. Still, he had to investigate what the miner Kearns had said about a dark man in the desert. Matt was worried, as the sheriff had sensed, but Sally didn’t seem to notice anything. She led him down an alley that ran behind the one active street in this part of the ghost town. Two feral cats watched Matt go by, one black and one white. Their eyes seemed to be glowing, as if they were spying for the Dark Man.

  Although the air cooled as the shadows took over, the smell of feces and dead animals was still oppressive in the stifling heat. At the end of the alley, they entered a small area with cracked pavement, where Matt saw a beat-up old white Toyota with a black replacement hood. The backseat was littered with junk-food bags and piled-up clothes ready for the washing machine. The car was facing another opening, out to the highway. Wind caressed them and the air became fresh and clean.

  “My chariot.”

  The Toyota was unlocked and the windows were down. Matt tossed his pack, ax, and bedroll into the backseat and got into the passenger side. The car smelled like Sally stole a cigarette now and again. She started the car and rolled slowly down the alley, over gravel and the desiccated remains of small animals. He liked her profile, the full cheeks and thin nose. The way she concentrated on driving, looked both ways before heading out onto the highway. He was paying so much attention to Sally that he missed the black van parked near the edge of the ghost town, the two motorcycles on top, and the very odd look of the men inside.

  One tracked his movements with a video camera.
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  CHAPTER FIVE

  Friday, 12:49 p.m.

  Once they were out on the open road, Sally put on sunglasses, popped in an old Emmylou Harris music cassette, and floored it. The engine roared like someone—perhaps the kid called Kyle—had souped it up. This girl was a rush. The wind whipped her hair back and flushed her cheeks. They soaked up the sunshine but didn’t say much, didn’t really have to talk. They were clearly attracted to each other, but he was a drifter, just passing through.

  Matt enjoyed his brief time with her. She had no idea who he was, and he liked that. He wished he could stay longer, but he suspected he was nearer to locating the Dark Man than he’d been in weeks. The prospect of another face-to-face meeting both thrilled and frightened him. His torment, the curse of recognizing evil in others, would never end unless he stopped the Dark Man. Somehow, someway, someday…

  Sally drove, and Emmylou Harris sang “Too Far Gone” with a clear soprano voice that broke Matt’s heart. The wind howled as if struggling to slow them down. When Matt looked over his shoulder, the Ruby Mountains behind them were retreating into low clouds and the green foothills were shimmering like a mirage. In front of them the Nevada landscape went flat, high-desert bleak, just bleached fists of tumbleweed and the grinning skulls of long-dead cattle. They tore up the road to the 41 cutoff, and then Sally slowed down and whipped off the highway with a spray of sand and rocks. A hot and dusty silence descended.

  Sally licked her lips. “Don’t do anything stupid out here all by yourself.” She lowered her sunglasses and took him in one last time. “Cowboy, I owe you. I really mean that. You ever want to collect, you know where to find me.”

  “Wally’s Saloon in historic Dry Wells, Nevada. Yes, ma’am.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. It had been a long time, and Matt felt himself stir. She kissed him on the mouth, and he kissed her back, but then Sally pulled away.

  “You’d best go,” she said in a husky voice. “Stay clear of those bastards you beat up, avoid the strangers, find out whatever you need to know from Kearns, and get the hell out of Elko County. You’ll be safer that way. Sure you don’t want me to come with you?”