Unbury Carol(55)

“Lafayette,” Dwight whispered, “I need to know Moxie is dead.”

“You hired a professional. You should act the same. Wait.”

“I want to hire someone for Smoke.”

“It’s just not smart thinking, Evers.”

“Can you do it?”

“Of course I can do it. But I’m in on this deal. And I don’t like this.” A second bluebird landed on the wire box. Lafayette said, “The Cripple will be back before your second man has time to leave. My advice is you go home. You keep crawling into the daylight like this, hiring more men, and presto, people you don’t want around will be knocking on your door. People you thought you had nothing to do with.”

“What does that mean?”

“What do you think that means?”

Dwight looked over his shoulder. To the mouth of the alley. The birds looked nervous, he thought.

Hide your lady.

“I need to know Moxie’s dead.”

“Just tell me what you want to do.”

“I want you to get someone to watch the Cripple.”

Lafayette exhaled. “I’ll tell you what I think you should do and then you tell me what you want me to do. I think you should go home and grieve. I think you should go home and make sure things are set right with the funeral and grieve with friends and family and forget about the outlaw and the Cripple. I think you should bury your wife, like any good man would, and I think you should wait. Moxie makes it here safe? Then we can talk about hiring someone else. You don’t understand the character you’re paying. He might have finished the job and done another for no money at all. Or he could be at the gates of Harrows now, the blood of your outlaw on his hands as proof. You send someone else out and you’ll upset the man. You don’t want that loose bird landing on your shoulder. Men like this don’t like to be babysat. You send someone, he’ll know it. And when he comes back to let you know the job is done he might do one more for himself.”

“Don’t threaten me, Lafayette.”

“This is no threat, Evers. This is the Trail.”

A third bird settled on the wire box and nipped at the first two. Dwight yelled, “Pig-shit birds!”

Lafayette laughed. Dwight said, “I want someone to follow Smoke.”

Lafayette nodded. “Consider it done.”

“Who do you have in mind?”

“I’ve got a man.”

“Who is it?”

“I’ve got a man, Evers. He’ll check on him. He’ll report back. What more do you need me to tell you?”

Chilled now, Dwight slipped his coat back on. Lafayette said, “Just remember I warned you. Remember I said Smoke won’t like it.”

“I don’t care what the freak likes. He works for me.”

Then Dwight knelt and picked up a stone and threw it at the birds. But he missed badly and the bluebirds only watched it clip the alley’s brick wall before falling to the dirt. They continued pecking at the wire.

Dwight surely expected Lafayette to say something—nice aim—that implied he was misfiring and making bad choices but when he turned around to face the Trail-watcher, he only saw Lafayette’s unkempt hair slipping out of view, out the mouth of the alley.

“Good,” Dwight said. As if Lafayette’s absence somehow validated his decision after all. The wheels were in motion now. Someone would watch Smoke. And Smoke would catch Moxie. And Moxie would die.

A simple chain, Dwight thought. Easy pieces. One after the other.

“Moxie will die,” he said, stepping from the alley. He paused for a woman and the woman looked at him as if maybe she’d heard what he just said. He watched her walk away, imagining his own deeds formulating in her head, as if, just by seeing him, she’d been able to determine all he had in mind.

She looked nervous to Dwight. Hell’s heaven, the whole world was nervous.



* * *



—

But not Lafayette. Lafayette had predicted Dwight would want someone to watch Smoke. Let Dwight think he was calling the shots. Let him believe he was born again. Either way, Lafayette wasn’t going to hire someone as crazed as Smoke to follow Smoke. No. In fact, she’d already sent word down the pipe, the Trail, the unseen channel of communication that Lafayette knew as well as witches knew the contents of their brews. She’d hired someone, yes. But rather than hire another man who might need to be watched, she’d sent for the man who does the watching.





Moxie hadn’t seen his longtime riding partner in nine years but knew that didn’t matter. Jefferson was just about as stuck in time as nobody deserved to be, and Moxie wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t noticed any time pass at all.

The horse was tired. She had endurance, but she was old. Hadn’t been ridden this much over two days since before Moxie settled. It was hard terrain, and more than one tricky incline brought the beast to gasping. At times Moxie thought little of it, a sacrifice, let the horse die if she must, but the horse had done well by him and the brief stop at Jefferson’s would do them both some good.

In truth, Moxie needed to pick something up.

Rinaldo’s news was worrisome. Moxie didn’t know of any crippled triggerman. The guy could be good; some hit men were.

It’d been a long time since Moxie knew the names of the Trail.