of an unexpected half day. But he did raise a point.
“Suppose that big coffin isn’t ready in time? What’ll Mister Shelton think?”
Klyne patted him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, boy. That’s his funeral!”
Fort Yuma was the home of the Reverend Charles Smith. Number three on their list. As they kept moving in their car towards their destination. Bates sucked on a stump of cigar and drained a third of whisky he’d been carrying with him.
“What do you think of the way things are going, Roy?” he asked.
“I had a friend once who stayed in a big hotel with rooms on the top floor. Ten stories high. Got drunker than a skunk one night and thought he was an eagle. Jumped clean out of his window. Folks all the way down heard him saying to himself: “So far so good. So far so good.” That’s about how I see it.” Klyne said looking at his friend.
“We should be in Yuma by sundown, day after next,” guessed Bates. “I can’t wait to get another of them bastards. We got to try and think up some new way of making this preacher suffer. Kind of take him out of town a spell and work on him.”
Klyne was slightly disgusted with Bates, his obvious delight and anticipation at the prospect of more killing and more suffering. Klyne looked upon what they were doing as a mission of revenge. Just as he’d stamp on a poisonous snake and not think any more about it. And if he could throw in a spot of suffering as well, then that was fine.
Devine retribution was down in the bible, and he’d help things along. But it was becoming clear that his friend was beginning to enjoy the violent aspect of a life that he’d never really experienced before.
Klyne slept, as easily and without dreaming, though he had thought for a long while about his beloved wife, his mind going back to the good times they’d had over the last three years, and finding his finger-nails biting into the palm of his hands as he remembered again how he’d found her mutilated on the floor and dying in his arms.
There were two of her murderers dead already. And they would hunt down the other five in time. Klyne knew well enough that the day might come when the bullet travelled the other way, and he was prepared for it. He reckoned that, without the help of his young wife, he would have been kicked out of the police force and would have ended under an unmarked grave long ago. So the three years were like a bonus. A bonus that he was prepared to spend in avenging her death.
As he slipped into the total blackness of sleep, Klyne’s last thoughts were of his wife. How she had looked in her thin summer nightdress, and how he felt the heat of her body through the cotton, her breasts pressing insistently against his naked chest. Her fingers feeling for him, grasping the swelling of his body, pulling it towards her and rolling him on top, so that he could thrust into her.
There’d been times in the past, when he’d been trailing some criminals for weeks on end when he had been without a woman. He was the sort of man who needed to use woman. To seek out the relief that they could give him. It had already been near a month since the last time with his wife and his need was growing. Before he finally slept.
For Bates, the time passed slowly. His thoughts too were travelling into the past. He briefly wondered how his wife was, he wept a tear or two for her, and her lonely death. But his thoughts were more of what had happened since. Of the gun spurting bullets into the helpless figure of Nathan. The horror of Shelton’s eyes as he finally realized what they intended to do to him. The satisfying thud that he’d almost felt as Klyne’s boot cracked home in the pit of Shelton’s stomach.
And there was more to come. Five more of them to go. But next time he was going to run it, and not his friend Klyne, spoiling all his fun. It was his wife that’d died and he was going to take it out on the remaining five men.
Without his noticing it, Bates’s
“Suppose that big coffin isn’t ready in time? What’ll Mister Shelton think?”
Klyne patted him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, boy. That’s his funeral!”
Fort Yuma was the home of the Reverend Charles Smith. Number three on their list. As they kept moving in their car towards their destination. Bates sucked on a stump of cigar and drained a third of whisky he’d been carrying with him.
“What do you think of the way things are going, Roy?” he asked.
“I had a friend once who stayed in a big hotel with rooms on the top floor. Ten stories high. Got drunker than a skunk one night and thought he was an eagle. Jumped clean out of his window. Folks all the way down heard him saying to himself: “So far so good. So far so good.” That’s about how I see it.” Klyne said looking at his friend.
“We should be in Yuma by sundown, day after next,” guessed Bates. “I can’t wait to get another of them bastards. We got to try and think up some new way of making this preacher suffer. Kind of take him out of town a spell and work on him.”
Klyne was slightly disgusted with Bates, his obvious delight and anticipation at the prospect of more killing and more suffering. Klyne looked upon what they were doing as a mission of revenge. Just as he’d stamp on a poisonous snake and not think any more about it. And if he could throw in a spot of suffering as well, then that was fine.
Devine retribution was down in the bible, and he’d help things along. But it was becoming clear that his friend was beginning to enjoy the violent aspect of a life that he’d never really experienced before.
Klyne slept, as easily and without dreaming, though he had thought for a long while about his beloved wife, his mind going back to the good times they’d had over the last three years, and finding his finger-nails biting into the palm of his hands as he remembered again how he’d found her mutilated on the floor and dying in his arms.
There were two of her murderers dead already. And they would hunt down the other five in time. Klyne knew well enough that the day might come when the bullet travelled the other way, and he was prepared for it. He reckoned that, without the help of his young wife, he would have been kicked out of the police force and would have ended under an unmarked grave long ago. So the three years were like a bonus. A bonus that he was prepared to spend in avenging her death.
As he slipped into the total blackness of sleep, Klyne’s last thoughts were of his wife. How she had looked in her thin summer nightdress, and how he felt the heat of her body through the cotton, her breasts pressing insistently against his naked chest. Her fingers feeling for him, grasping the swelling of his body, pulling it towards her and rolling him on top, so that he could thrust into her.
There’d been times in the past, when he’d been trailing some criminals for weeks on end when he had been without a woman. He was the sort of man who needed to use woman. To seek out the relief that they could give him. It had already been near a month since the last time with his wife and his need was growing. Before he finally slept.
For Bates, the time passed slowly. His thoughts too were travelling into the past. He briefly wondered how his wife was, he wept a tear or two for her, and her lonely death. But his thoughts were more of what had happened since. Of the gun spurting bullets into the helpless figure of Nathan. The horror of Shelton’s eyes as he finally realized what they intended to do to him. The satisfying thud that he’d almost felt as Klyne’s boot cracked home in the pit of Shelton’s stomach.
And there was more to come. Five more of them to go. But next time he was going to run it, and not his friend Klyne, spoiling all his fun. It was his wife that’d died and he was going to take it out on the remaining five men.
Without his noticing it, Bates’s
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