The Book With No Name (47 page)

The Bourbon Kid had seen what she was doing and turned his guns upwards. Now that there seemed to be no one else alive to shoot at, he was able to concentrate on firing at Jessica. So many rounds hit her that it came as no surprise when she eventually fell to the floor in a heap. She had long ago lost her own gun, and now she could only hold her hands up in front of her face to try to shield herself from the relentless torrent of bullets. For twenty seconds more the Bourbon Kid showered her with a hail of bullets, until his ammunition ran out and he dropped the two guns. While he was momentarily
taking a welcome breather and searching about his person for fresh ammo, Jessica found a body on the floor and crawled underneath it to hide while she worked out her next move. In the sudden silence that followed, the Kid rummaged through all the pockets and sleeves of his hooded trench coat for more ammunition, but quickly realized he had run out. He looked around the floor for anything he could lay his hands on, and his eyes lit on the body of the Elvis impersonator by the entrance. He headed over to it and picked the gun from the dead hand, then rifled through the pockets of the red suit for any ammunition with which to reload the shotgun.

And then, while the Kid was looting the King’s corpse, the eclipse began to pass and sunlight started to creep slowly back into the Tapioca once more. Now Dante reckoned he didn’t know much about anything, but he decided he didn’t like this girl in the Catwoman outfit. She wasn’t quite human. Worse, she was
definitely
bad news. She wouldn’t die, no matter how many times she was shot, and she seemed to have superhuman powers (she could fly, for one thing). If there really was a Lord of the Undead who had come to claim the Eye of the Moon, then it had to be her. No fuckin’ doubt about it, this was one mean bitch.

He pushed the washroom door shut and took a few seconds to think things through. On the floor Kacy, looking terrified, was holding up her gun for Dante to take. She had finally lost her nerve. She had been the brave one who had come to his rescue, but now it was time for him to do the honourable thing and protect the woman he loved. He flicked on the light switch behind the door and in the sudden brightness took a long hard look at Kacy’s beautiful yet terrified face. He guessed this might turn out to be the last time he ever saw her, so he wanted to savour the moment. After etching the look on her face into his memory for ever, he reached down and took the shotgun from her. It was time to do his bit for mankind. And, more importantly, for Kacy.

‘You got any more shells, Kace?’ he asked softly.

‘Dante, don’t go out there,’ she pleaded. ‘Let’s wait here
for the cops to arrive.’ He shook his head, smiling. Then he reached down into the pocket of her clown suit and took a handful of 12-gauge cartridges from it.

Although he wanted to heed her advice, Dante knew that he was going to have to help the Bourbon Kid. It wasn’t just a gut instinct, it was the knowledge that the fate of the free world probably rested in the hands of the quick-shooting Kid and his ability to see off the flesh-eating bitch in the Catwoman outfit. The Kid had to be a good guy, right? Well maybe, maybe not, but at least he seemed to be human. Dante had heard the stories of all the murders this man had committed during the last Lunar Festival, but right now if he had to pick a side to be on, it was that of the serial killer, not the flying member of the Undead in the Catwoman outfit. In any case, the knowledge that he and Kacy would undoubtedly die if he didn’t do something to help was more than enough to spur him on. Poor Kacy looked confused. She was gazing up at him, praying he would stay with her.

‘Don’t worry, baby,’ he said to her. ‘
I’ll
be back.
’

The firing really did seem to have stopped, and a murmur of voices was now reaching them from the bar. He turned back and threw the washroom door open, so hard that it almost came off its hinges, then took a deep breath and went flying through it. There, standing right in front of him, was Peto, pointing a gun at the Bourbon Kid and looking like he was about to shoot him. Dante pointed his gun at the back of Peto’s head.

‘Don’t do it, Peto.’

‘Dante, this doesn’t concern you.’

‘Yes, it does. Take your Eye of the Moon thing and get the hell out of here. I’ll deal with this guy.’

‘But he killed Kyle.’

‘Peto, you’re a monk. Monks don’t kill people. Not for any reason. Not ever. Now get outta here. Take your precious stone and go back to where you came from. Go on. Use the back door and get gone.’

Peto deliberated for a moment over whether or not to do as
Dante said. In that time he seemed to be caught in two minds, but then, as if he couldn’t decide what else to do, he simply backpedalled over to the rear exit, as Dante had suggested, never taking his eyes off the Bourbon Kid. When he reached the door he kicked it open with the heel of his left foot, and then backed out through it.

And then there were three. Jessica was now lying with her back up against a table that had been knocked on to its side. The face beneath the Catwoman mask had returned to its normal state. Dante pointed his gun at her and fired, hitting her in the centre of her forehead. Blood and brains spattered everywhere. This was the cue for the Bourbon Kid to unload all his remaining rounds on her, the cartridges he had taken from the body of the Elvis impersonator. For almost a minute, Dante and the Kid fired at her non-stop, the heavy shotgun charges doing terrible damage, until there was virtually no flesh left on her, just blood, bones and gristle. When they had both run out of shells and had lowered their weapons, Dante took a look at the mess they had created. Even though he knew the girl was evil and would, given the chance, have killed him and Kacy without pity, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for what he had just done. It reminded him of a time several months before when he had accidentally hit his dog, Hector, with his car. It hadn’t been his fault, but watching his beloved dog take its last breath had made him feel hollow inside. There was nothing worse than taking another life, whether by accident or intentionally. It just wasn’t a good feeling, no matter how you dressed it up.

The Bourbon Kid didn’t appear to be suffering the same inner turmoil as Dante. He dropped the gun in his left hand and casually pulled a pack of cigarettes from his inside coat pocket. He flicked the bottom of the packet with his index finger and a cigarette popped up at the top. Raising the pack to his mouth, he used his teeth to take out the cigarette and then rolled it to the left corner of his mouth with his tongue and let it hang there. As he drew on the end of it, the cigarette lit itself. Maybe there was so much gunsmoke in the bar that
it could almost be classed as flame. Whatever the explanation, the trick looked extremely cool. The Kid took another drag and looked over at Dante.

‘Thanks, man. I owe you one. Take it easy.’

With that, he turned round and walked out of the Tapioca. He stepped over a few bodies on his way, but he never looked down and he never looked back. The Bourbon Kid was gone. All around the bar were the decaying remains of his handiwork. There were shattered, blood-soaked bodies, some with tendrils of smoke still drifting from bullet wounds. There were tables and chairs spattered with the flesh and blood of the evil scum and the innocent bystanders who had crossed his path. And then there was Dante, the only visible survivor, standing in the midst of it all. He walked back to the ladies’ washroom and stepped past the door, which was hanging brokenly from its hinges, liable to collapse at any second. Once inside he peered down at Kacy, who was lying with her arms covering her head on the floor in front of one of the cubicles. The last, frenetic burst of firing had terrified her, and she had not dared look out to see whether her boyfriend had survived. He smiled broadly at her.

‘Come with me if you want to live,’ he said in his best Schwarzenegger voice.

Kacy smiled back at him, as though she was the happiest girl in the world.

‘I love you.’

‘I know,’ Dante grinned back at her.

As they walked out of the bar, stepping over the bodies and broken furniture and pools of gore all around them, Kacy stopped suddenly and tugged at Dante’s arm.

‘Hey, one of these guys might have our ten grand. D’you wanna search them?’

Dante smiled and shook his head.

‘Baby, if there’s one thing I learnt out of all this, it’s that I don’t need money. I got you, babe. That’s all I’ll ever need.’

‘You sure, honey?’

‘Sure I’m sure. Just you and the hundred grand back at
the motel, right?’

‘You betcha.’

Dante put his hands around the back of Kacy’s neck and pulled her in towards him, planting an enthusiastic kiss on her lips.

‘You’re the best girlfriend in the world, Kace,’ he said, with a wink from behind his sunglasses. Kacy winked right back at him.

‘I know.’

Sanchez needed a drink. The only bottle behind the bar still intact after the shootout was the one that held the good bourbon. Even the piss bottle had been smashed, and Sanchez had a feeling that its contents had sprayed all over him. No doubt the work of the Bourbon Kid.

There was now not a single person alive in the bar except him. The goddam Kid had wiped out his entire clientele again, and then the guy dressed as the Terminator had helped him kill Jessica. She was as dead as could be this time. He mulled over the situation, casting his mind back five years. No two ways about it, there was some seriously hard work ahead in the next few months to build his business back up.

He was about to take a hefty swig from the bottle of bourbon when he spotted a single whisky glass on the edge of the bar that had somehow remained intact throughout the whole gunfight. It was probably the one the Kid had drunk from. Sanchez smiled to himself as he poured a large measure of bourbon into the glass. Maybe drinking from the Kid’s glass would have an effect on him, too? Though a positive one, he hoped.

He downed the shot of bourbon in one, and then poured himself another. It was time to clean up the bar. He knew the cops would be along soon enough to ask the usual questions. So he figured it would be best to rifle through the pockets of the dead to see if he could find any cash before the cops arrived and beat him to it. No sense in missing the opportunity to make a bit of dough to contribute towards his redecorating fund. Polishing off his second shot of bourbon, he set about the task at hand.

By the time the police sirens came to a stop outside the bar he had found about twenty thousand dollars in used notes hidden in the pockets of a select few of the bodies. Many of the corpses were unrecognizable, which made it a little easier on the conscience. When he got to Jessica, he was reluctant to search her. This was a girl with whom he had been secretly infatuated for the last five years. All that time she had been in a coma he had hoped and prayed she would come out of it and thank him for saving her. Who knows, maybe she could have fallen for him as he had fallen for her? But she was definitely dead this time. He checked the pulse in her wrist and her neck. Nothing. He found an only slightly bloodied yellow bar towel on the floor and placed it over what was left of her face. What a waste. What a terrible, terrible fuckin’ waste.

‘You got a survivor there?’ said a voice from behind him.

Sanchez turned, instantly recognizing the man in the grey trench coat leaning against the bar. It was Detective Archibald Somers, the washed-up old cop who had unsuccessfully dedicated his life to finding the Bourbon Kid. Just how unsuccessfully was pretty evident from the present state of the Tapioca.

‘No, she’s dead.’

‘You sure?’

‘Well she ain’t got no pulse and she’s not breathin’. I figure the hundred-and-fifty-third bullet might just have finished her off.’

Somers stepped away from the bar towards Sanchez, crunching broken glass underfoot as he did so.

‘There’s no need for sarcasm, okay? We’re gonna need another statement from you. Was it the Bourbon Kid again?’

Sanchez stood up and walked back behind the bar, careful not to let Detective Somers see the wad of cash in his back pocket.