Hitch caught the wrist of Zlo’s gun hand and bashed it against the ground. The soil here was too soft to do much damage, and Zlo’s grip didn’t so much as loosen. Hitch hit it again with no luck, then looked back in time to take a fist in his ribs. His own breath whuffed out, but he managed to plant a knee on Zlo’s throat.
He curled his fingers into Zlo’s fist and pried the gun loose. “Now you’re going to see the deputy, whether you want to or not.”
Against Hitch’s knee, Zlo’s throat bobbed. “Maksim!”
The eagle hit Hitch from behind. Its talons skimmed the meat of his shoulder and knocked him off balance.
He lost the gun as he rolled, and it disappeared in the cornstalks. He turned around, jumping into a crouch.
Zlo was already up, fists clenched at his sides. The whites of his eyes shone in the dark.
Well, now Hitch had gone and made the man mad. Probably not a good sign, since to all appearances, he was already on his sixth kill.
Hitch rose, panting.
On the road, a motorcar puttered past. A woman’s familiar laugh sounded over the rumble of the engine. Lilla.
And Rick with any luck. Never thought he’d be saying that.
“Rick!” Hitch kept his eyes on Zlo. “Lilla! Rick! Get yourselves over here before I end up dead!”
Behind him, the hard slap of the eagle’s wings beat the air.
Zlo cast a glance at the road, then back at Hitch, hesitating.
The engine slowed. Stopped.
Lilla’s voice floated across the cornfield: “I heard something, I know it!”
Hitch hollered again. “Rick!”
“It’s Hitch,” Rick said. “What’s he want now?”
“Go see,” Lilla urged.
That was enough for Zlo. He glared at Hitch, then whistled for the bird and turned to scramble back through the corn.
Hitch gave a thought to following. But in a cornfield at night, Zlo could hide five feet away and nobody’d ever see him.
The beam of a flashlight cut across the field. Rick and Lilla tromped through the corn.
“Oh, it is you!” Lilla said.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What is it this time?” Rick said. “We’re on our way into town. There’s supposed to be a speakeasy down on East Ninth. Anything to relieve the tedium.”
“Well, how about this.” Hitch pointed at the corpse. “That relieve the tedium?”
Lilla screamed.
*
Practically the whole crowd from the airfield came out to see for themselves.
When Jael eased forward to see the corpse, still lying in the circle of smashed corn, her face went whiter than ever.
Hitch looked at her. “Know him?” He pitched his voice low, so only she could hear him.
She tucked her chin in barely a nod.
“Whoa now,” one of the flyers said. “Looks like somebody jumped without his parachute.”
That was a whole lot closer to the truth than these folks knew. The gent in question was a big man, tall and lean with a muscled torso. He was bearded, had dark hair down to his shoulders, and wore loose pants and scuffed knee boots. A black leather apron covered everything down to mid-shin. On one hand, he wore a black leather mitten extending to his elbow. Both the apron and the mitt were smeared with oil and ash. Gelling blood coated his nostrils and ears, and he most certainly had about twice as many bones now as he’d had before his fall.
Hitch had offered the crowd a quick explanation about finding Zlo standing over the body. He left off the falling-out-of-the-sky part.
He watched Jael. “Who is he?”
She shook her head.
“Not a friend of yours, is he?”
She stared at Hitch for another of those long, studying moments, probably gauging whether she should tell him.
Then she shook her head. “He is Engine Master. Never is liking me. But is not bad man.” She hung her head and huffed softly. “This is not how it is done.”
“What do you mean?”
“This”—she flung an arm out at the field—“this is what we do with dead. Drop them to final sleep. But over water, not over Groundsworld. And not before death comes.”
Okay. He glanced overhead. Not exactly what he had been expecting. If enough people died up there that they had rituals for taking care of the bodies, then it was starting to seem like more and more of a long-term place to visit.
Back at Rick’s car, the voices grew louder.
Hitch looked over his shoulder. The talon cuts in his shoulder pulled and stung, and he winced.
Livingstone had arrived. He strode through the weak beams of the car headlights and held up both hands in a placating gesture. “Not to worry, ladies and gentleman, not to worry. Before leaving camp, I stopped at the farmer’s house and was lucky enough to discover he is the proud owner of a telephone. I contacted the proper authorities. They should be here at any moment.”
Hitch’s heart sank.
Proper authorities meant Campbell. Maybe he’d send a deputy. Maybe he’d even send Griff since the farm was close by. Assuming Griff also had a telephone.
Problem was—murder was a big deal in a sleepy town like this, especially with all the brouhaha of the airshow in town right now. If Campbell had any notion at all that Hitch might be part of that airshow? He’d be personally headed in this direction, sure as shooting.
If he did come, there was no way Hitch could get out of talking to him, since he just happened to be the chief and only witness.
Jael turned back to him. “Authorities? These are custody men—like your brother? You have talked to him?”
“Yeah, about that. It didn’t go so well.” He made himself stop poking at the cuts and drop his hand back to his side. “He didn’t want to see me.”
“He is your brother.”
“That’s mostly the problem.” Hitch had never had any difficulty winning over strangers—only the people he cared about.
She frowned.
“In the meantime,” Livingstone continued, “I suggest we do not sully the scene of the crime any further.”
Even as he said it, headlights swiped across the field and tires crunched against the shoulder of the road.
“Ah,” Livingstone said. “Admirably timed.”
Hitch nudged Jael behind him and eased around to see the road.
Even before the big green sedan’s engine stopped rumbling, Hitch started getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The sedan’s door opened, and Sheriff Bill Campbell slid his bulk out of the driver’s seat.
Frustration rolled over inside of Hitch and rose back up, carrying with it more than a fair share of anger. Nothing left to do but face it. Now that Campbell was here, Hitch sure wasn’t about to skulk around in corners, waiting to be hunted down.
He glanced back at Jael. “You stay back here. I’ll keep you out of it if I can.”
Her gaze flicked between Campbell and him, maybe not quite understanding what was happening. But she ducked her chin in a tight nod.
Hitch squared his shoulders and walked into the wind to meet Campbell.
They met at the roadside, a few paces off from the noisy crowd that had gathered around the body.
Campbell didn’t look surprised to see him. “Well, now,” he rumbled, his voice deeply graveled. “If it isn’t the famous Hitch Hitchcock. Heard folks saying you might be back.”
So it didn’t matter after all that the dead body had fallen right on his head. Hitch wasn’t sure if there was any comfort in that or not.
“Here you are,” Campbell said, “one day back, and already you’re my chief witness to a bizarre death. How’s that happen, I wonder?” He rooted in his shirt pocket and came out with a match. He flicked the flame free with his thumb and cupped it in his hand to protect it from the growing breeze. As he held it to the cigarette in his mouth, he looked past Hitch to the crowd in the cornfield.