A Lust For Lead (10 page)

The tray scraped as it was pushed into his cell, bringing with it the smell of greasy fried bacon and lukewarm coffee. It was not Buchanan who delivered it but one of the invigilators instead, a solemn-looking man in his early-thirties who left without saying a word.
Shane rose from his bunk and rubbed his head with his palms. He felt different this morning. Perhaps it was just that he had slept well for the first time in six years, but he felt clear-headed and composed. What was more, he had an appetite and wolfed down his breakfast, mopping up the last drips of fat with a crust of bread. He paced over to the window when he was finished and looked out, angling himself so that he could see to the end of the alley and look onto West Street and the crooked walls of the Grande hotel. The sun beat down on another hot and dry morning with scarcely a cloud in the sky to offer any shade. A pair of invigilators walked by.
It was all exactly as it had been the day before, only this time Shane saw it with different eyes. It was as if he had been seeing in black and white and now the colours were back again. Details that he had only half-noticed the day before now caught his eye: the way one of the two invigilators favoured his right leg over his left; the tilt of the third step that led up to the Grande’s porch, which was more precarious than the rest. Little details that were insignificant on their own but which added up to make a larger picture.
A picture that became a map or a diagram that went some way towards forming a plan of escape.
Shane stepped back into the shade. He had been thinking a lot about the newspaper that Buchanan had brought him yesterday, about how the world outside of Covenant thought he was dead. Before yesterday, Shane had been convinced that he had nothing worth living for. Now he knew better. Outside of Covenant he was a free man, free to stop running and free to start over again. If anybody ever said that he looked like Shane Ennis he could laugh and remind them that Shane Ennis was dead, he just had the misfortune to be a man who looked like him. His name . . . his name could be whatever he wanted it to be.
Shane Ennis was dead.
All he had to do was escape from Covenant.
He turned as the door to the sheriff’s office creaked open and Castor Buchanan strode in. ‘Well, something’s got you looking sparky!’
Shane did not answer him but waited sullenly while he unlocked the door to his cell.
‘Come on, out you come. Round two, Shane. Time to show us what you’re really capable of.’
As Shane stepped out of his cell he deliberately dropped his shoulder into Buchanan’s chest, driving the wind from his lungs. Buchanan was pushed sideways. A second later, his temper exploded and he hit Shane like a cannonball. His arm came up across Shane’s throat and drove him hard against the bars of his cell, pinning him there and choking him. Buchanan pressed his face close, eye-to-eye, the light of his madness glittering like sparks from a tinder box.
‘I let you get that shot in yesterday,’ he snarled. ‘But don’t think you’re so fucking important to what we’re doing here that I won’t lay you out if you fuck with me again.’
He pulled his arm away and Shane dropped to his knees, gagging for breath.
‘There’s plenty of ways I can hurt you and still leave you well enough to compete.’ Buchanan said. ‘Just remember that.’ He hauled Shane up and propelled him towards the door. Shane staggered where he was flung, colliding bodily against the wall. He was shaken and his throat felt raw, but inwardly he felt victorious. He had wanted to test Buchanan’s reaction and what he had learned was very encouraging. Buchanan’s temper was still volatile for all that he had learned to control himself, and it was still the easiest means by which he could be manipulated.
Shane would remember that for when the time was right.

The streets were already lined with contestants and invigilators, all of whom had gathered for the morning’s first match: the fight between Matt Nesbitt and Chastity.
Shane walked to the edge of the boardwalk and sat down on his own. Buchanan settled on the wooden bench behind him while Shane’s jailer stood nearby, watching Shane with narrowed eyes. Buchanan’s temper was still unsettled and Shane could feel his anger radiating from him, the emotion evident in the way he breathed loudly and shifted restlessly on the bench. Shane noted that it took him a while to calm himself completely.
A sullen breeze that did nothing to ease the morning heat blew dust across the road. Shane let his attention wander slowly, first to the invigilators – whose body language he discreetly studied, ascertaining who was good and who merely wanted to be – and then the contestants.
To his surprise, Kip Kutcher’s girlfriend was still around. Shane had not expected to see her again, figuring that the town would have disposed of her during the night, and yet still she was here, looking in fine health but for what looked like a bad night’s sleep and a hangover. She had tricked her eyes out with liner and powdered her face but she had not been able to hide all of the signs that she had spent most of the night crying.
The fact that Kip’s death had upset her so badly, or rather, the fact that she had tried to conceal it surprised Shane almost as much as the fact that she was still alive. It implied a level of self-respect and pride that women of her kind seldom possessed in any great quantity, and he wondered if maybe there was more to her than he had first assumed. He made a mental note for future consideration and turned his attention to Matt Nesbitt, who was pacing back and forth by the side of the road.
He wore his nerves like an overcoat: plain for all to see. Like the girl, he showed signs of having passed a sleepless night but that was to be expected. Having seen Chastity fight, there was not a man in Covenant who would have put money on Matt Nesbitt surviving this round and it was a measure of his courage that he had come to the crossroads at all.
He periodically stopped his pacing to check the time on his pocket watch, or draw his Merwin revolver and check it over before returning it to the holster; acts of nervous repetition that nonetheless passed the time for him until the door of the Grande was opened and Nathaniel emerged with his bodyguards, Whisperer, Chastity and her nanny.
Pointlessly, Nesbitt checked his watch for the final time, snapped it shut, and went out to take his mark. He walked with his head held deliberately high as if he could fool anyone that he was not afraid. The only prayer he had was that he would meet his fate with dignity and not die like a coward.
Nathaniel took Chastity from her nanny and led her to the crossroads. As with the day before, the girl’s face was expressionless, like something sculpted in fine bone china with wide blue eyes painted on above a straight, flat mouth. Her steps were clumsy, feet scuffing in the dirt, so that Nathaniel almost seemed to be dragging her half the time. The hand that he held might have belonged to someone else for all the awareness she had of it.
The mood along the street became apprehensive. Everybody watched as Nathaniel positioned her opposite Matt Nesbitt and drew out the tiny pocket revolver. The girl stared vacantly straight through it and into the middle distance beyond.
Nathaniel tucked the weapon into her holster, then straightened her shoulders so that she was facing Nesbitt more squarely. He then hurried to the side of the road.
Nesbitt stared at her, his brow furrowed with concentration. Everybody knew what was going to happen next.
The girl seemed unaffected for the space of three heartbeats and then her posture straightened. She drew herself up from her slouching stance and raised her head, eyes swimming into stark focus, piercing Nesbitt with her gaze.
Nathaniel called it, seeing that she was ready, and both fighters reached for their guns.

Two shots rang out in rapid succession.
The first struck Nesbitt in the hip, shattering his pelvis into splinters of bone that lacerated his kidney and spleen. The second shot hit him in the chest going faster than the speed of sound. It ripped straight through his lung and burst the left ventricle of his heart, filling his chest cavity with blood. He staggered sideways, clutching at his side, blood frothing on his lips. His gun slipped from numb fingers and hit the dirt. Seconds later he sank down on his knees next to it and cursed Chastity with his final breath.
The third shot caught everybody by surprise.
It was unexpected and broke the post-match silence like a hammer breaking glass. It was followed moments later by a dull thump as one of the invigilators fell from his perch on the clock tower and hit the ground, dead.
Startled, everyone looked to see who had fired.
The culprit was in plain sight for all to see. Chastity stood with her tiny revolver pointed at the spot where the dead invigilator had stood, thin wisps of grey-white smoke curling from the barrel.
The surviving invigilators reacted at once, bringing their guns to bear on her. Nathaniel shouted at them. ‘No! Stop!’
A fourth shot rang out.
It was not the piercing crack of a rifle but the angry cough of Chastity’s revolver and a second invigilator fell in a burst of crimson. The girl had moved with phenomenal speed, going instantly for the man who had moved the fastest.
Shane and the other contestants instantly went for cover. Chastity moved, turning on the spot with balletic grace, scanning the multitude of moving targets for the one who next represented the greatest threat to her and settling on a third invigilator. The man had her in his sights but held his fire on Nathaniel’s order. For some reason, Chastity held her fire as well and a tense stand-off was achieved. The little girl stood in the middle of the crossroads, surrounded by five invigilators. Others came running and Nathaniel shouted at them to stand down. ‘She is not to be harmed,’ he ordered.
The invigilators obeyed him insofar as they did not shoot, but they kept their rifles trained on her diminutive figure. Peering out from behind the water trough where he had dived for cover, Shane studied her technique. She was completely at ease with the situation. She kept turning in a slow circle, gun moving in a controlled sweep, her eyes making small, rapid movements to keep everybody in sight. She reacted quickly to the slightest possible threat.
It was an incredible and chilling thing to see. Watching her, Shane figured that she was at least as good as he had been in his prime, if not better. He saw the look of coldness in her eyes and knew that she would not back down. She would fight until the invigilators killed her, and she would claim one of them with every shot she fired.

Across the street, Nathaniel was aware that he had lost control of the situation, and he was worried. His invigilators were hired men, loyal to the money he paid them and the promises he had made but at the end of the day their loyalty was bought, not offered, and that meant that there were limits beyond which they would not be pushed. Sooner or later, he knew one of them would disobey his orders and Chastity would die, and that was unacceptable. She was too important to what he was doing in Covenant. True, he would still have Ennis if she died, but he placed less value on that old gunslinger. Chastity was fresh. Chastity was pure.
And she was out of control.
He needed to disarm her before anybody else got hurt, but lacked the courage to go out onto the street and do it for himself. Casting about, he spied the girl’s nanny, Bethan, cowering under the Grande’s porch beside Whisperer. He called out to her.
‘Bethan! That child’s your responsibility. You get out there and you get her to put that gun down.’
Bethan’s eyes went wide and she shook her head at him imploringly, but Nathaniel would not be denied. ‘Don’t you make me ask twice, woman! You get out there and you do as you’re told.’
Whisperer closed his hand around Bethan’s shoulder, adding his formidable presence to Nathaniel’s demands, and the woman’s will dissolved. She was crying as Whisperer pushed her out into the open, silent tears streaming down a face that became pinched and ugly whenever she cried. Nathaniel had no sympathy for her and even less concern for her safety. He called out to his invigilators again. ‘Nobody fires. Is that understood?’
The invigilators kept their rifles trained on Chastity. Their fingers were on the trigger and getting tired. Soon, people would start to get twitchy.
Chastity slowly turned, keeping them all in her sights. She paid little attention to Bethan, recognising in just a single glance that the woman carried no weapon and was therefore no threat to her. As Bethan advanced tentatively out into the street, she realised that she was being ignored and grew a little bolder. She wiped the tears from her face. Bending over slightly, she offered her hands toward Chastity, inviting her to an embrace, and called out her name. Her voice was shaky, but soft.
She got no reaction and edged closer to the little girl, who suddenly turned to face her.
Chastity brought her revolver up to point directly at Bethan’s face. She said nothing, but the look on her face stopped Bethan in her tracks and forced a startled cry from her lips. Her courage faltered and she wavered uncertainly, poised on the edge of running for her life when Nathaniel shouted at her: ‘What are you waiting for? Get her to put that gun down, woman!’
His words checked Bethan in mid-step. She burst out in sudden tears, sniffed them back and wiped her eyes. ‘Chastity,’ she said, her voice weak. She held out her hand imploringly to the child. ‘Give me the gun, please baby.’
Chastity gave the proffered hand a suspicious look, then glanced up at the rooftops, studying the invigilators as if concerned that Bethan had been sent out as a distraction. Thinking that she was being ignored again, Bethan took a step closer.
Chastity immediately swung back to face her. Bethan was only a couple of steps away from her now, her outstretched hand just a few inches from grasping Chastity’s gun. The little girl stared at her nanny with a look of pure hatred such as no child should ever possess.
On the roof of O’Malley’s, one of the invigilators rose out of the half-crouch he had been holding since the first shots had been fired, stretching stiff legs. Chastity glanced his way, assessed what level of threat he represented, and dismissed him. She swung her attention back toward Bethan and the whole street waited tensely.
Bethan edged closer. ‘Please, baby. Please.’
The little girl’s expression remained the same. Hesitantly, Bethan stepped a little closer and that was when the gun went off.