“Empty?” Dirker said.
Cabe just shrugged. “It is and it isn’t. There’s something there, but I’m not just sure what.”
Dirker just gave him those ice-blue eyes full blast. “Maybe you better explain yourself.”
So Cabe did. He took his time, telling the sheriff everything he had learned about Deliverance and James Lee Cobb and how he figured the degeneration of the place was definitely connected with the man. At least, it seemed likely. Because something was wrong there, the place had gone from a God-fearing Mormon enclave to a vile pest-hole and there had to be a reason.
Dirker didn’t laugh at him or dismiss it outright. He gave it all pause while he sipped his beer. “I’ll grant you that something strange has happened there… but witchcraft? Satanism? Christ, Cabe, I just can’t swallow that sort of business.”
“Don’t blame you, Dirker. Not in the least. I wouldn’t have swallowed it myself unless it was rammed down my throat,” Cabe said. “I think… I think what ought to be done here is a posse organized and taken in there. Hell, maybe the army. But something ought to be done.”
“Then why don’t you do it? I told Forbes that you were the man for the job.”
Cabe just stared at him. “I guess… I guess I appreciate that. But this whole thing is bigger than me. Even all that money he promised me, it ain’t enough to get me up to Deliverance by myself. That place has to be torn apart and rooted out.”
But Dirker wasn’t so sure. “When the time comes, I think that’ll be my decision.”
Cabe just sighed. “Goddammit, Sheriff… listen now, this ain’t a matter of who’s in charge. It’s a matter of something being real fucking wrong up at that place and something having to be done about it.”
But Dirker would only tell him he’d think it over, maybe do a little more intensive research on his own. What you don’t understand, Dirker told him, was that there was more than just that crazy town to deal with here. There was the vigilantes and last night they had raided Redemption. And word had it the Mormons had brought in the Danites now and things were about to get seriously ugly.
“Way things stand, Cabe, I can’t afford to have all my men sniffing around that deserted village, not with what’s going on.”
Cabe understood that, said, “Sooner or later, Sheriff, this is going to have to be dealt with. And I hope it’s before more people are dead or missing.”
Dirker agreed with him on that. “But right now,” he said grimly, “how about we discuss why I’m out here instead of at my office? How about that?”
Cabe finished his beer. “Why are you out here?”
“It’s about your friend Freeman.”
And it was more than that. It was also about the Sin City Strangler. Dirker told him that not less than two hours before… just about sunset, in fact… the killer had struck yet again, carving up another prostitute. This one was named Carolyn Reese and she worked at the Old Silver Gin House. But the law had gotten lucky this time, for another whore had seen a man with her shortly before it happened.
Cabe was paying attention now. “And?”
“And the description was of a tall man, narrow face, dead-looking eyes. Worn a Stetson and a canvas duster. He also wore the star of a Texas Ranger.”
Cabe felt his head go dizzy, felt a rushing sound in his ears. “Freeman… Jesus H. Christ. I figured there was something wrong there, but, dammit, I didn’t want to think this.”
Dirker nodded. “Well, it just so happens that I wired the Rangers in Abilene. They had a fellow named Freeman working for them. But he disappeared about six months ago back up in Wyoming. He was a short, rotund fellow with an eye patch.”
“So Freeman… or whoever we got here… he just borrowed this man’s identity?”
“That’s how I’m figuring it,” Dirker said. “Just so happens, Freeman has a room over at Ma Heller’s.”
Cabe stood up. “Well, let’s bag that cocksucker.”
Dirker smiled thinly. “Figured you’d see it my way.”
It was Cabe who kicked the door in to Freeman’s room.
He kicked it in and Dirker went through low with a sawed-off shotgun. But the theatrics were unnecessary for Freeman was not there. In fact, nothing was there. The closet was cleaned out and the bureau was empty. The sonofabitch had made his run again.
But he left a parting gift to the men he probably knew would hunt him: a human heart in a mason jar of alcohol.
Cabe and Dirker just stared at the thing swimming in that brine. It was pale and bloated, obscenely fleshly. It seemed to move with a gentle, unknown motion.
“I guess there’s no doubt that he’s the Sin City Strangler,” Dirker managed, his throat tight.
Cabe just nodded, knowing there was little else to say.
The bastard had slipped away yet again. The only good thing was that Cabe had seen him, would recognize him if the chance came again. But he still didn’t know who he was or where he came from. And things like that, he’d found in his line of work, made hunting someone down far more troublesome.
As it stood, “Freeman” could show up just about anywhere.
And probably would.
18
In Redemption, the bullets were flying.
The vigilantes had rode in again in force, but this time the Mormons were ready for them. Or so they thought. The Danites instructed the townsfolk to stay in their homes and cabins, to lock themselves down tight. To wait it out. The Danites wanted them to adhere to the teachings of Brigham Young which meant to avoid violence at any costs. If there was killing to be done, the Danites would do it.
So the Mormons waited it out.
And outside, it was a shooting gallery.
Within the first ten minutes three vigilantes were dead and a fourth seriously wounded. Likewise, two Danites had been shot from their hiding places by expertly placed bullets.
And it became something of a standoff.
Caleb Callister did everything he could to reign in his forces and mount the attack in a precise military fashion, but his boys would have none of it. They wanted to shoot. To burn. To kill and pillage. They saw in the Mormons everything that had ever gone wrong in their lives. And this is why Caslow, McCrutchen, and Retting were now dead and Cheevers was moaning in the street, his guts shot out.
He wouldn’t last and Callister knew it.
It was just him and Windows now.
The bad thing was they were outgunned about twenty to one, if not worse. The good thing was they were still in possession of the dynamite that McCrutchen had gotten from the mine. Callister’s idea had been to ride into Redemption and start throwing the stuff immediately, but the others wanted to do some shooting and things had simply gone to hell.
Windows and he were hiding behind a barricade of cordwood with their backs against the outside wall of a livery barn. Escape was not in the cards, at least not yet… but on the other hand, the Danites were in no position to overrun their position.
Stalemate.
But it was night and it was dark and just about anything could happen. A few fires were burning, most of them set by the vigilantes, and the illumination they threw was enough to see and shoot by.
A couple townspeople rushed out with buckets of sand and water to extinguish a blaze that had started in bales of hay and was quickly working its way up the walls of a stable.
Windows brought up his Winchester 1866 carbine. Scarcely aiming, he sighted and fired, levered quickly, and fired again. The bucket brigade-both of them-lay dead in the streets.
“Two more dead nits,” Windows said.
A flurry of rifle fire grazed the log embankment they hid behind as the Danites tried to flush them out. Callister and Windows returned the fire which came from no less than four different locations.
Callister had no doubt that the Destroying Angels were trying to flank them. Probably crawling over rooftops in order to draw a bead on them. But it wouldn’t be easy in the murk.