The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [178]
"We must get him out."
"That's what I was hoping you'd say. Looking for this?"
The man tossed the Grass Cutter toward him; Kanazuchi caught the scabbard and pulled the sword in one blindingly fast move. The man's grip on the rifle didn't flinch.
"My name's Frank," said the man.
"Kanazuchi," he said, with a slight bow.
"Kana ... that mean anything in English?"
"It means hammer."
"Well, what do you say, Hammer," said Frank, finally lowering the gun. "Let's go raise a little hell."
Kanazuchi stood aside as Frank climbed out of the wagon. They looked at each other warily, a perceived sense of professional kinship and common cause delicately balancing the scales against powerful self-preserving instincts. Each waited for the other to make a first move; then, like dance partners, both turned and walked in step toward the stable.
"Took my sidearm when I rode in but they left the rifle with my saddle gear. They didn't look for the one in my boot," said Frank, touching the butt of the spare Colt in his holster.
"Mistake."
"This town's sicker than a bag of drowned kittens."
"It is like a clock; wound up, running down."
"Getting sloppy," said Frank, nodding. "You feel it, too."
"Yes."
"This freak show's coming to a head," said Frank.
"Remove the head, the body will fall."
"Now there's something I know you're good at."
"Sorry?"
"That's sort of a joke, Hammer."
Kanazuchi thought for a moment, then nodded. "I see."
They stopped just short of leaving the alley at the edge of Main Street. Ghostly laughter followed by applause drifted toward them from the theater, then faded to an eerie silence. Lights burned in windows on both floors of the House of Hope; they could see at least six of the guards in black patrolling its broad front porch.
Frank struck a match on the side of the barn and lit a cheroot. "Figure this Reverend A. Glorious Day's the one we want," said Frank.
"Twelve men guard the house; only three in back," said Kanazuchi, watching their movements.
"Move around much?"
Kanazuchi nodded. "They change every hour."
Frank glanced at his watch. "Had a notion about how we might get inside."
Frank explained as they crossed Main Street. Kanazuchi agreed. They turned down an alley and approached the back door of the House of Hope.
Three guards sitting on the porch armed with Winchesters and Colts. Frank walked five steps ahead, hands over his head; Kanazuchi behind him—Frank's pistol in his belt, the Grass Cutter out of sight down the back of his shirt—pointing the Henry rifle between Frank's shoulders.
The guards stood up. They wore loose black clothes; their eyes clear and alert. Not the same group of men, but their manner reminded Frank of the ones he'd seen ride up to the House earlier that day.
"I found this man walking in the stable," said Kanazuchi.
"I already told you, you stupid slant-eyed son of a bitch," said Frank, staggering and slurring his words, "wanted to make sure they were taking care of my horse—"
"Be quiet," said the lead guard.
"He had the colic few weeks back, can't be too careful; those damn kids weren't even tending to—"
Kanazuchi smacked the back of his head with the rifle butt; Frank stumbled and fell forward on the stairs.
"He told you be quiet," said Kanazuchi.
All three guards looked down at Frank curiously, rifles lowered. Frank curled his hands near his stomach and moaned as if he was about to be sick.
"He's one of the visitors," one of them said.
"Yes. He has been drinking," said Kanazuchi.
"Take him to corrections," said the lead guard.
Two of the guards reached down to grab Frank by the arms just as he slipped Kanazuchi's long knife out of his shirt; as they stood him up Frank drove his shoulder into the chest of the lead guard, knocking him back hard into a column, then grabbed him around the face and plunged the knife in behind the man's left ear. He died without making a sound.
From behind, Frank heard two sounds like a rush of rainwater; when he turned, the bodies of the other two guards were falling to the porch and their heads were rolling down