Madness Rules - 04 (16 page)

“What are you saying? That if I win one of these fights, you’ll help my kid?”

“Oh heavens no,” he said, waving the suggestion aside. “That wouldn’t be a fair trade at all. Bring me three white cards, and you’ll have your doctor and medicines.”

Tanner looked over his shoulder at Commando. The man stared back at him with steel in his eyes.

“I should tell you that I’m considering just taking what I need.”

“I understand,” said the Merchant, “but I also sense that you’ll make the right decision.”

Tanner took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Fine. But if you cross me on this, God Himself won’t stop me from burning everything you’ve built to the ground.”

The Merchant managed a nervous smile.

“We honor all bargains. As I said, I am not a bad man.”

“Those are words I’ve heard before, and they’re usually spoken by bad men.”

The Merchant stared at Tanner, waiting for him to move beyond threats and into acceptance.

“When and where?”

“The fights are held every evening up at Horseshoe Curve.”

“Where’s that?”

“Out to the west a few miles, but we’ll escort you there.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t want you getting lost.”

“What is it exactly?”

“Horseshoe Curve is a tight bend in Norfolk Southern Railway’s Pittsburgh Line. It became famous in World War II when Nazis sent a team to sabotage the tracks. Thankfully, they were unsuccessful, and it subsequently became a tourist site. And now,” he let the words hang in the air for a moment, “now, it’s a fight club. All things must evolve, yes?”

Tanner couldn’t give three shits in the wind about the history of the railroad, but he tended to agree with the last part. Things had to evolve if they were to have any chance of surviving.

“Have a doctor and medicines waiting. When I bring you the three cards, I’ll need him to be ready to roll.”

“White cards. You must win the fights, Mr. Tanner.”

“Understood.”

The Merchant stood up and extended a soft, sweaty hand.

“It is customary to seal every important deal with a handshake. I think this one qualifies.”

Tanner reached forward, and despite the man’s assurances to the contrary, it felt an awful lot like he was shaking hands with the Devil.

Before he released the Merchant’s hand, he said, “There’s one other thing I want, and it’s nonnegotiable.”

The Merchant’s eyebrows rose with a mix of curiosity and amusement when Tanner told him of his final request.

CHAPTER

12

The rain had stopped, but not before Connie and Mason were both soaked to the bone. Even the truck’s seat was wet from the window having been left partially open. Mason sat with his shirt off, examining her handiwork. The stitches were clean and straight, but the cut still burned.

Bowie whined at the door, and Connie let him out to use the bathroom.

“Thank you, Marshal,” she said, her voice breaking slightly.

“For what?”

She wiped her eyes. “For saving me, of course.”

“I couldn’t very well leave you to a couple of sadistic clowns.”

Connie slid closer and leaned against him. Her hair hung in thick wet clumps, and her white shirt clung to her chest, showing the outline of a bra and the firm breasts beneath. She was shaking, perhaps from the cold, more likely from the entire ordeal.

He put his arm around her with the intention of letting their body heat slowly warm each other. Without saying a word, Connie unbuttoned her wet shirt, slid it off, and set it on the dashboard. Her skin was smooth and soft, perfect except for tiny freckles dotting her shoulders and the star-shaped burn on her chest. Before he knew what was happening, she slid forward and swung a leg over to straddle his lap.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m helping a cowboy to get back on his horse,” she said in a lust-filled voice.

“Connie—”

She leaned in and kissed him, hard and passionate, like they were the last two people left alive.

Mason started to protest, images of Ava coming to his mind. But as Connie continued to kiss him, pressing her warm breasts against his bare chest, he felt himself falling under her spell. His hands rose along the soft skin of her back, and he pulled her toward him.

Neither of them noticed Bowie whining at the door, staring at them through the steam covered windows, wondering why no one was letting him back in.

“No wonder people are afraid of clowns,” Connie said, combing her hair back into a tight ponytail.

She looked like she felt a thousand percent better. The truth was that Mason felt better too. The ordeal with the clowns had brought them closer, and making love like two teenagers in the cab of his pickup hadn’t hurt either.

“I suppose clown makeup is no different than a ski mask,” he said, steering the truck around a burned-out tractor-trailer. “It gives evil men something to hide behind.”

“You’ve obviously dealt with this kind of thing before.”

“Many times.”

“And it doesn’t bother you? All that violence?”

He thought about it a moment.

“When I see men who think they can take anything they want, I feel driven.”

“Driven to kill them?”

“Driven to bring them to justice.”

“And that’s what you’re about, isn’t it? Justice?”

“That’s some of what I’m about.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I was so afraid back there.”

He nodded. “Most people are consumed by one of two thoughts when confronted by violence.”

“What thoughts?”

“They either can’t believe it’s happening at all, or they wonder why it’s happening to them.”

She looked down at her hands.

“I guess I was thinking a little bit of both.”

He reached over and placed his hand on hers.

“Sooner or later, we all find ourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s better to focus on what it takes to get out alive.”

She turned to him. “Are you afraid of anything?”

“Of course. Everyone’s afraid of something.”

“Other than dying, I mean?”

“I didn’t say I was afraid of dying.”

“How could anyone not be afraid of dying?”

He shrugged. “I accept that I’m going to die a violent death.”

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“I’m a lawman trying to pick up the pieces after an apocalypse. It doesn’t take Nostradamus to predict my fate.”

She seemed disturbed by his statement.

“Even so, that’s an incredibly sad thing to say.”

“Why? My end will in no way diminish my accomplishments.”

Connie thought about that for a moment.

“If you’re not afraid of dying, what else could there be?”

Mason debated on whether or not to tell her. Like much of his life, it was private.

“Come on, open up a little.”

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “I do have one fear that I think about quite often. But if I tell you, you may not understand.”

She sat forward, her interest clearly piqued.

“Tell me anyway.”

“My single greatest fear is failing people when they need me the most.”

She furrowed her brow. “That’s your greatest fear? Disappointing people?”

“Not disappointing them. Failing them. There’s a difference.”

“Give me an example.”

“All right,” he said, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “The first person I ever killed was an Iraqi colonel in the Republican Guard, a real butcher. My unit had been hunting him for nearly a week, but he had a knack for always managing to stay one step ahead of us. When we finally caught up to him, he was hiding in a school. We moved in, careful and deliberate, but he used our caution against us. By the time we cornered him, he had taken three young girls hostage. He knelt behind them with a bayonet stuck to the throat of the oldest, shouting the usual religious babble. The poor girl was so scared that she didn’t even seem to notice the blood running down her neck.”

Connie cringed. “That’s awful.”

“My fellow rangers were all lined up, everyone wanting to stop him but no one sure of exactly how to do it. When I looked into his eyes, I knew he was going to cut that girl’s throat. Don’t ask me why—maybe to show his resolve, maybe as some kind of brutal sacrifice. I figured I had maybe two seconds to act.”

“What did you do?”

Mason stared off into space, reliving the moment.

“I brought my rifle up and fired a single shot.”

Connie sat quietly for a moment, waiting for him to finish.

“I never heard the gunshot, but I remember watching him fall.”

“Was the girl okay?”

He nodded. “The bullet caught the colonel right under his eye, and he was dead before the bayonet hit the floor. Some of the rangers went around saying that it was the luckiest damn shot they’d ever seen.”

“And was it?”

“No. I refused to fail that little girl. If I’d had to take that shot a hundred times, I’d have hit him a hundred times.”

“But that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? Missing that shot or acting a little too slowly? Seeing that girl, or whoever it is at the time, murdered before your eyes?”

“That’s right.”

She leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a man like you, Mason Raines.”

He smiled but said nothing.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your girlfriend.”

Mason looked over at her, surprised.

“You knew Ava?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The deputy told me about her. He said I should take it easy on you.”

He smiled, imagining Vince warning her not to push him too hard. They had all been a little worried about him since Ava was killed.

“And what you did to me an hour ago was taking it easy on me?”

“No,” she laughed, “that was me getting everything I wanted and more. I hope you didn’t mind. I can be a bit pushy at times, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I didn’t mind.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

Mason rotated his arm around a little.

“I’ll live.”

Bowie snuggled up against him as if sensing his injury.

“I said I’d live,” he said, stroking the dog’s head.

Bowie slid his tongue in and out a few times, laying his head on Mason’s lap as content as a dog could be between meals.

“That dog loves you something fierce,” she said.

“Bowie’s the one constant in my life. Without him, I’d be lost.”

She looked at the dog, clearly not fully understanding the connection between man and beast.

Mason motioned to a road sign showing that Ashland was still eighty-seven miles away.

“We’re not going to make it before dark.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I know a place in Prestonsburg, maybe ten miles up the road.”

He waited for her to offer more.

“It was the house I grew up in. My mom and dad have both passed, but I’ve been down to it a few times. It sort of makes me feel safe, you know?”

“Sure,” he said, thinking of his own family’s cabin. “I can’t say I know much about Prestonsburg, Kentucky. Was there much to do there when you were growing up?”

“Oh sure, as long as it had to do with farming or country music.”

He smiled. “And what made you move up to Ashland?”

“To escape farming and country music, of course,” she said, laughing.

“I see, and did you find what you were looking for there?”

“Almost.”

“Almost?”

“I met a man.”

“That sounds serious.”

“It was. We were going to get married. Maybe even have a couple of kids.”

“What happened?”

“He was killed by a drunk driver two years ago. One second he was there; the next he wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” she said, “me too. But we go on.” She turned to look out the window.

“Things will get better.”

“That’s what I thought too.”

“But not anymore?”

Connie stroked her fingers across the blistered skin on her chest.

“No, Marshal, not anymore.”

Mason stood by the kitchen window, looking out at the sprawling ten-acre farm. Endless stretches of weeds and grass grew up through the rich brown soil. Night would be upon them soon, but Connie was right, being at her family’s home did make them feel safe. It was nearly a mile out of Prestonsburg, so there was little to worry about, certainly not the infected, who seemed content to stay in the cover of towns and cities.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

Connie was sitting at the kitchen table in a small chair stained from years of hardworking people taking a brief rest. She looked relaxed, like she belonged in the old house.