The Two Devils (29 page)

"How does she know?"

"What?"

"How does she know he's in Venus? Who delivered the telegram?” I asked.

"Some lad from Western Union.” He sat in his chair. “I guess. Marched into the courthouse. I cannot reach her to confirm it, not for a few days."

"Well, if it were me, I'd be a bit suspicious."

"I'm suddenly a lot suspicious. We have so few troops in California. The president is afraid bringing in more would alarm people,” Hastings said. “That's why these people think they can succeed."

So, I went home. I stretched out on the porch swing and watched my horse munch on grass. I thought about the major; I thought about Ah Puch. For once, there seemed little I could do on the matter. It was decided a special troop trained on reconnaissance would look over the town.

The unanswered question was essentially why the telegram was sent. Was it a diversion, a prank, or an ambush. I did not know.

I sat there on my swing for hours, as it grew darker and colder outside. Then, I had a really bad thought. I grabbed my horse and rode over to Judge Hastings’ house. I had to bang on the door for some time.

Finally, the same servant took me to a drawing room. I waited a few minutes, then Hastings arrived, looking rather bleary eyed. “This better be good."

"Oh, it's better than good.” I told a man in his own home to sit down.

The town was abuzz. There had never been a sudden move out of all the troops at the Presidio. The army had commandeered two ferryboats. The official word was it was a training exercise of some kind.

The Captain found me rummaging through the drawers of the barbershop when he arrived in the morning. “What are you doing, lad?"

"I'm trying to find that map, the one with Venus on it. Someone I know wants to go there.” I looked at him expectantly.

"Oh, that one. It's in back” He went in back, to his inner sanctum that was never to be disturbed. He promptly returned with the old map and handed it to me.

"Thanks. I'll be back in a jiffy.” I trotted off with it. I was back in about a half hour.

There were a lot of customers that day. The whole town was abuzz with folks wondering what the army was doing. Men went to barbershops in hope of obtaining the latest news. Things died down in the afternoon, and we closed up the shop for the day.

I went home. I picked up my revolver and told Mrs. Wilson I would not be home for supper.

San Francisco also had an opera house. It was pretty good sized. I'd never been in it. I found all the exterior doors locked. The key I'd been given that morning when I went out with the map worked perfectly. I quietly slipped inside and made my way to the audience area. I heard music playing.

I knew who it was before I saw him. The audience area was dimly lit with a few gas lanterns. The stage was also lit. I seated myself and quietly waited for Ah Puch to finish his tune. I started clapping when he was done.

He placed his violin on a little table. The stage was decorated for a performance of some Italian opera scheduled for the weekend. “Very clever of you to find me here, Mr. O'Malley. Why did you pick San Francisco?"

I shrugged. “I live here."

"Well, what are you going to try this time? You've tried bullets. You've tried monsters from Mars. You've tried to drown me. What's it going to be this time, Mr. O'Malley? Poisoned snakes?"

"I didn't come here to kill you. I don't know how to kill you.” I propped my revolver on my lap and cocked the hammer. “Now, don't get me wrong. If you even start toward me, I'm going to shoot those big eyes of yours out. You know how accurate this gun is. Now, I don't know if your eyes grow back or not, but while you're flopping around, I'm going to pour kerosene on you and light it."

"That could be rather unpleasant,” he admitted.

I could hear gunfire starting a few blocks down the street. “Ah Puch, you know the army only sent a troop to Venus, just to be sure. They sent a troop trained for reconnaissance. That's all."

He sat in one of the stage chairs and caressed his violin. “Really? Two boat loads sailed out of here today."

"Well, Judge Hastings figured the Venus thing was a trick. Funny thing about boats, you can turn them around and sail some other place."

"Where did they sail?” the Mayan god of death asked.

"They landed down the street, just off the financial district a little while ago,” I said.

"Why would they do that?"

"Well, the judge figured you weren't ready to try and take over California. You're looking for funds. You wouldn't be robbing monks for gold dust, otherwise. That was your mistake."

"Where are the troops, Mr. O'Malley?"

"With the army out of position, up near Napa, they wouldn't be close at hand to chase you across the countryside. Pretty clever. A few guards at the Mint and a few policemen would be no match for what's left of the Gray Army. The Mint has five-dollar gold pieces, gold bars, and lots of silver. It's just the sort of thing you're looking for."

"The troops are inside the Mint?” Ah Puch said. There was a touch of worry in his voice.

"And they put sharpshooters on the roofs across the street."

Ah Puch looked at his pocket watch. Then, he listened. Inside, one could just barely hear the gunfire. “Oh, dear.” Of course, owls hear better than I do.

"So, we're not quite as stupid as you had hoped. Have you thought of South America?"

"I should risk getting my eyes shot out,” Ah Puch chirped. “Tear you to bits."

"It's your choice,” I said as I readied my revolver. At that moment, I sort of wished Nick was there—even though I never trusted him all that much. I felt pretty feeble, sitting there, knowing how little effect weapons had on bird brain. I figured Nick would have something more creative than the plan I'd cooked up—a plan that was looking like I might have my head replaced with a bird head any moment.

Just then, Ah Puch looked into the rafters. “These theaters get rather warm, Mr. O'Malley. They have trap doors on the roofs that open up for ventilation. There's one open now.” His body sort of dropped to the floor as the head stayed put. Its wings extended, and he flew up into the structure of the building. I heard a whole lot of shots being fired, sort of reminded me of what a wild turkey faces the day before Thanksgiving. Some feathers dropped back down to the stage. Then, the owl part dropped down with a thud. Its eyes had been shot out.

Soldiers quickly flooded the stage—a whole lot of ‘em. There was one sergeant with a cigar in his mouth, barking a whole lot of orders. I didn't really pay him much mind, as my attention was on the owl. That owl was quickly scooped up and stuffed into a sturdy metal trunk, and it was locked shut. A chain was wrapped around it and more locks were added, then the soldiers carried the trunk off somewhere. As quickly as they'd arrived, they were all gone.

I had not moved from the audience section of the theater. The captain in charge came over to my seat. “We're doing a house-to-house search. Some of the Gray soldiers got away. Most of them were taken prisoner. When they tried to storm the Mint, they were completely surrounded."

"I'm sure Judge Hastings will be pleased."

"He ought ta be, damn sure ought ta be,” the captain declared.

"I'm sure he'll take credit for it,” I blurted out.

The expression on the captain's face changed to a smirk. “No one's getting credit for this, Mr. O'Malley—no glory at all for anyone.” He kind of chuckled. “Take care, Mr. O'Malley."

I'd been wondering something. “How come you Secret Service boys always pretend to be soldiers and stuff?"

"Who? Secret Service? Never heard of ‘em?” He marched off and out of the theater.

Sometimes, the O'Malley brain takes a moment to catch up with the events going on around me. As I'd been talking to the captain, the cigar smoke from that sergeant on the stage—the one who'd been barking all the orders—wafted out to where I was sitting. I remembered that smell. It was the type of cigar Nick smoked. I realized I'd never gotten a good look at the sergeant's face. Of course, everyone was gone by that point. I sat there for a few more minutes, then holstered my revolver. I stood up, then headed off toward home.

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David B. Riley
lives in Colorado, where he works as a sales agent for a transportation company. David had been editor and publisher of numerous small press projects over the past decade as well as an active writer. He has over a hundred short stories which have appeared in various magazines and anthologies in the USA, Canada and the UK. He has published two novels with more on the way.