The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [179]
Damn. This guy knew his stuff.
Kanazuchi tossed Frank his rifle; Frank cocked it one-handed, then exchanged the long knife for his pistol. Kanazuchi slid the wakizashi into its scabbard; Frank holstered the Colt. They moved to either side of the back door and waited.
"Didn't have to hit me so hard," whispered Frank.
"More authentic."
"Glad I wasn't playing dead."
No one came; none of the guards from the front had been alerted by the skirmish. Frank tried the door; it opened.
Dim lamps lit the interior hallway. Thick carpets muffled their steps. Plush furnishings throughout the house, oil paintings on the walls, a crystal chandelier hanging over the stairs in the front entryway. Not a spittoon in sight. Fancier than a St. Louis whorehouse.
They heard a raised voice in a parlor to their left, crept up on its partially open sliding doors. Inside, four more of the black shirt elite being jawed at by an obvious superior, a tall, blond fella with a foreign accent; the same bunch Frank had seen arrive that afternoon.
"... the wire says they got off the train in Prescott and left on horseback this afternoon. Look for them on the eastern road. Five men, one woman. They should be carrying a book with them. Let them ride through; take them when they pass the gate. The Reverend won't release our money to us until he has that book. Go."
The four men started for the sliding doors; Kanazuchi and Frank slipped across the hall into a dark room as the men moved off toward the front of the house.
"Not you, Mr. Scruggs."
One of the four, a baby-faced man carrying a briefcase, stopped obediently; the blond man put an arm around his shoulder and walked him toward the door.
"You stay with me," said the tall one.
Frank and Kanazuchi waited until they heard the front door close before stepping back into the hall. Through curtains they could see the guards patrolling the front porch. Keeping one hand on the pommel of his sword, Kanazuchi nodded toward the stairs; Frank acknowledged and they went up; stopped on the landing when they heard the creak of a floorboard above.
A black shirt came into view, looking down over the balustrade to the entrance hall below.
Kanazuchi whipped his arm forward and the handle of his knife appeared in the guard's throat; he slumped to the floor, silently clawing at the blade. Kanazuchi took the rest of the stairs in three steps without making a sound, put a foot on the guard's neck and snapped it.
This guy really knows his stuff, thought Frank.
Frank followed him up. They entered the first door to their right off a central hall. Kanazuchi closed and locked the door behind them. Brighter light. A lived-in feel, more than the other rooms they'd seen. Book-lined shelves. Work on a desk. A large globe. A Bible, open on a reading stand.
"Reverend Day," said Kanazuchi.
Frank knelt down to examine dark stains on the carpet.
"Blood here," said Frank. "Fresh; maybe two hours."
"Jacob," said Kanazuchi, looking at broken glass littering a corner.
"Looks like he put up a fight. They dragged him out... this way," said Frank, following the smeared trail of blood; it stopped abruptly before a blank panel of wall.
Both men studied the wall.
Shouts from the back of the house, relaying quickly around to the front, an alarm; someone had found the bodies.
Frank and Kanazuchi looked calmly at each other. They heard footsteps pounding up the stairs outside but neither man hurried. Frank traced a barely visible seam running parallel to the line of the rose-colored wall paper. Kanazuchi discovered a discolored spot on the paper, slightly darker from an accumulation of skin oil. He touched his finger to the spot and pushed; a catch released and the wall panel swung open along the seam, revealing a narrow passage.
The doorknob to the office behind them rattled; the lock held. They heard a jangle of keys. As a key was inserted, Frank dropped to one knee, fanned the handle of the rifle, and emptied the fifteen shots in the Henry's chamber through