Jack Yeovil Dark Future 2 Krokodil Tears

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call this chicken run a tie and cruise over to a make-out motel for some party
action. We've got brews, broads and bennies to spare."
Without thinking about it, she stabbed the chain gun control, and made a
pass. The entire rear section of the Fratmobile came apart.
Redd passed the wreckage, knowing there would be no survivors, and kept on
speeding. She fired off her remaining ammo into the desert dark.
The chase was over, and she was coming down from it. But for now, she kept
her pedal to the floor, and sped into the dark.
Some night, there would be a brick wall across the road, and that would be an
end of it.
Some night, but not tonight.
Hawk-That-Settles felt emptied of his song, as if he had poured his spirit
out into the sand with the ancient words. The Devil was at the door, and he
didn't have the strength to wake up Jesse.
The one-eyed white girl was on her own.
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"Houston, if you think I'm going to let you wake up the President with some
glitches from a base we should have decommissioned in the '80s, you have got
another think coming. Send a fax in the morning."
"What's that I hear, little pigs? Not on the hair of your chinny-chin-chins?
Well, I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in..."
"This is Lola Stechkin, bringing you the Middle of the Night Bulletin, and
informing you that absolutely nothing is happening around the world, thank
God. Soon, it's back to the Late Nite Lingerie Lounge with Lynne Cramer, but
first, here's a message from GenTech, the BioDiv that really cares..."
There was someone down in the courtyard. One of the men from her dreams.
Jesse carefully pulled on her clothes. It would be dawn soon.
The moon was going down.
X
From the shadows, Hawk-That-Settles saw the Devil come into the courtyard of
Santa de Nogueira. He looked like a man, but Hawk saw the spirit writhing
inside him.
The Devil sauntered across the open space, apparently unconcerned.
This was Jesse's test. Hawk had no part in it. Although he knew that if she
failed, the Devil would surely kill him too.
Again, he was an expendable innocent bystander for the one-eyed white girl's
elevation to a higher plane of being. This little Indian was getting fed up
with that.
"Tonto," said the Devil. "I see you."
Hawk came out of the shadows. "My name's not Tonto."
"No, of course not. You are Hawk-That-Settles, son of Two-Dogs-Dying, of the
line of Armijah. You could be a Chief of the Navaho."
"But I'm not."
"No. You are not. You are just something in my way."
"And who are you?"
The Devil smiled. "Dr Ottokar Proctor, at your service."
"The killer?"
"The Artist."
They had been circling each other. The sky was getting light. The shadows
were receding. Hawk could see the Devil's face more clearly now. It was quite
a famous face, a television face, a newspaper face. Bland and unreadable, it
concealed his horns, his forked tongue...
"Have you heard the one about Roy Rogers?"
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"No." Hawk tried to remember the Song of his Dying, but it would not come to
him. He could only sing it once, and he had to do it right.
"Well, Roy is coming home from Santa Fe on the stagecoach one nightmdashhe's
been away on businessmdashand he stops off in town before heading out to his
ranch..."
The Devil stood in the open, hands visible, as relaxed as a professional
golfer.
"'Mr Rogers, Mr Rogers,' says the town drunk, 'where are you going?'
"'Well, Gabby, I'm going out to my ranch...'"
Hawk heard Jesse coming from a long way away. She was making her way
cautiously down to the courtyard.
"'But Mr Rogers, the Apaches rode through yesterday, and they burned your
ranch down!'
"'In that case, I guess I'd better go look out for my wife...'
"'But Mr Rogers, when the Apaches were gone, the Wild Bunch rode through, and
they whipped your wife to death."'
Hawk saw Jesse standing behind Dr Proctor.
"'In that case, I'll mosey out and see to my three children...'
"'But Mr Rogers, after the Wild Bunch were through, Mexican bandidos came up
from below the border, and they took your three children and hanged them from
the old oak tree...'"
Jesse was calm, ready for the move. Hawk knew that Dr Proctor knew she was
behind him.
"'In that case, I'd better look after my cattle..'
"'Oh Mr Rogers, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but once the bandidos
headed out of here, the rustlers came through and stampeded your herd the hell
out of the valley...'"
It was the hour of the wolf, the quiet moment between nightset and sunrise.
The desert was still.
"'In that case, I'll go give Trigger his oats...'
"'But Mr Rogers, when the rustlers were finished Black Bart turned up
spoiling for a fight, and he shot Trigger right between the eyes, killed him
deader than a skunk...'"
Jesse walked into the open. Dr Proctor nodded to her, but kept on with the
story.
"And Roy looks at the ground and says 'well, I guess I'll go out to the ruins
of my ranch, count my missing cattle, and then bury my wife, my horse and my
kids.'"
Jesse wasn't armed, but that shouldn't mean anything. Hawk knew she was as
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deadly as Dr Proctor.
"So Gabby says, 'Roy, there's just one more thing...'"
In the killing game, Dr Proctor was the Artist, but Jesse was the Grand
Master. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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