The Two Devils (23 page)

"We're heading for the Gray Army,” Angel said. “They're right in front of us."

"Yep, I figure another mile or so."

"You're going to get that monster thing to fight the Gray Army.” She kind of squeezed me around my waist.

"Well, I was kind of hoping they might not get along.” I was actually looking forward to seeing them again.

We soon reached the rear of the Gray Army, and immediately had rifles pointed at us from a platoon. “Hold on, guys, I need your commanding officer."

No one seemed to be able to decide whether to simply shoot us, or not. Finally, a bald-headed man with captain's insignia rode up on horseback. “What's going on back here?"

"Captain, I need to get word to General Creed. Ah Puch has been attacked. I think he's dead,” I explained. And that was the truth.

"Why should you care?” he demanded.

"Because, what attacked him is right behind us."

"Follow me.” I followed him past another platoon of marching gray soldiers, then to a group of cavalry. He rode up to an officer, then to General Creed.

Creed rode back to our location. He looked at me with his usual suspicion. “What are you doing here?” I noticed he still had his ledger book tucked underneath his arm.

"Ah Puch has been attacked,” I explained.

"I find that unlikely,” he said.

"Remember the other day? The crater? Did any of your men see that thing before I shot it?"

"Yes,” General Creed admitted, “though I discounted their account of it."

"It ain't dead. It tore your leader to pieces,” I said.

"I find that most unlikely,” the general responded. “Most unlikely."

"I pointed over my shoulder. It's right behind us. You think I'd ride in here if it weren't?"

"Captain, send a squad.” He stopped talking. Gunfire flashes from the rear area started lighting the sky. We could hear the report of rifle fire—a lot of rifle fire. “Turn everyone around. To arms! To arms!"

The Gray Army soldiers paid very little attention to us. I let Paul sort of drift to the front of their lines, which was now the rear area of the battle.

The encounter was over in a few minutes. The men up close died agonizing, horrible deaths as the orange burning stuff devoured their flesh. More men found themselves being flung around like rag-dolls as its tentacles seemed to be everywhere. And, after hundreds of shots had little effect on the monster, they did what anyone else would do. They started running away, in every imaginable direction. A few officers stood defiant, right in its path.

This included General Creed, who held his ledger book in left hand and a Confederate Civil War revolver in the right one.

It stood there for just a moment, then the Martian monster flung more of its orange venom, striking all of them. They all screamed as they fell to the ground. General Creed managed to get one final shot off, though it did no more good than any of the others.

I noticed Angel was poking me in the ribs. “Time to go,” she whispered. “It's getting too close. Way too close."

"It's perfect,” I said as I slipped my rifle out of the saddlebag. “I can't miss."

"Bullets don't work,” she argued. “Are you nuts?"

"Perhaps.” I aimed my trusty rifle and fired. The monster began spinning around. After a few seconds, its head sort of imploded. The whole thing sort of shriveled up into a pile of goo.

Angel slid down from the horse. “How? It just...?” She ran over to what was left of it. “How?"

I remained on my horse. “I had one last titanium bullet. I thought, just maybe."

"Titanium? What's that?” Angel asked.

"Some kind of metal. It killed a ghost once. It was worth a try."

"Killed a ghost?” She looked at me with an extra puzzled expression. “Aren't ghosts already dead?"

"Well, sort of.” I decided to change the subject. “What happens now?"

"I think they've lost the element of surprise, not to mention most of their officers. I'll take one of their horses and see if the sheriff can form a posse.” She grabbed the reins of one of the horses. “Once again, the United States government is grateful for your assistance.” She climbed up on the horse. “What was that thing?"

"A monster from Mars.” I figured her thank you was her way of telling me she no longer wanted my assistance. I was sure her report to Washington would downplay my assistance and up-play hers. “Come on Paul, let's go back to Frisco.” I looked at her. “Be careful about any stray men in gray uniforms."

"You do the same,” she said.

We started back. “See, she's not really crazy,” I whispered to my horse.

My horse snorted.

As we passed a pile of partially destroyed bodies, I noticed the ledger book General Creed had always held so dearly. I hopped off my horse, picked it up, and looked through it. Nothing made any sense. There were drawings and a whole lot of numbers, but nothing seemed to correlate with anything else. I studied it for a little while, then stuffed it in the saddlebag. I was a bit disappointed.

I was getting very tired by this point. I wanted to get away from the battle area and any straggling soldiers, but I was also looking for a place that might do as a campsite for a few hours. We eventually came upon a grove of trees that I thought would be a nice spot to rest for a little while. It would've been, except for the fact there was already somebody else camping there.

I first noticed a yellow canvas tent. Next to the tent, a man sat by a small fire. I thought, since we were right on top of the camp, we could at least stop by for a moment, maybe see if he could spare a cup of coffee. I sure didn't want any of
my
coffee.

My horse, however, stopped and would not budge. In spite of my pleadings, I had to dismount and walk the remaining hundred feet into the camp.

The camper had his back to me. When he turned around, I understood Paul's reluctance. The camper was Nick. He was smoking a cigar. “Hello, Miles. How have you been?"

"All right, I guess.” There was an empty canvas chair. I availed myself of the opportunity to sit. “And you?"

"Very well, Miles. Very well, indeed.” Nick had one of those blue camp coffeepots sitting by a few coals. He poured me a cup of coffee, which I graciously accepted. “You look tired, Miles."

"I am,” I admitted. “I've had a rough night.” I drank some of the coffee. Amongst his talents, Nick served excellent coffee. What I was drinking may well have been the finest cup of Java I'd ever had. I had a few sips more before even making any effort at chit chat. I knew by now that Nick was not here by accident.

After a few pleasantries, he'd reveal his intentions. Then I decided I had some intentions of my own. I pointed my finger. “You know. Be right back.” I ran over to my horse and retrieved the ledger book. “Nick, this came from a guy known as General Creed. Well, you've been around a while. You know things. What the heck does this writing mean?” I handed it to him. “I can't make heads nor tails out of it, but that guy kept it with him every moment of every day."

Nick looked through it, or pretended to. I could never be certain with him as to what he actually knew. Then he closed it, took a sip of coffee from his own cup, and smiled. “Miles, you cannot make any sense of this because there is no sense to be made. It is gibberish, plain and simple."

I was really disappointed. “Gibberish? No secret code? No Mayan language?"

He slowly shook his head from side to side. “No, it is the ranting of a madman, nothing more."

I was disappointed.

"Miles, may I have it?” Nick asked.

"Sure, but..."

"Why?"

"Yes,” I admitted. “Why would anyone want it?"

"Why indeed.” He took another sip of coffee. “I collect things like this. We can throw it on the fire, if you prefer. Or you can take it home with you? It has no real value."

"Keep it. I certainly have no use for it.” I'd almost thrown it away. I probably should have left it with the body.

"General Creed was as crazy as a loon, Miles. However, Ah Puch was not. They made for an odd pairing, don't you think?"

"I'll say,” I replied. I actually thought Ah Puch the stranger of the two, but decided not to press the matter. Nick apparently did not view some guy with an owl head as all that unusual.

Nick continued. “But he had a keen military mind. General Creed might well have taken California. The state is isolated and not well defended. Take the railroads away, and this is not an easy place to get to."

I helped myself to some more coffee. “But there are a lot of lawmen and farmers with guns who could've thrown together a pretty fair militia in a few days,” I pointed out. “It might not have been such a picnic."

"I did not say he would have succeeded, only that he might have. War is a very unpredictable business. Who'd have thought some creature from Mars would drop in and spoil his fun?” Nick tossed the remaining drops of coffee onto the fire. “I think we can close the chapter on Ah Puch."

"He knew a lot more about me, frankly, than I cared for. He seems to think I'm your paid lackey."

"Ridiculous,” Nick responded. “I've never paid you."

I tossed my remaining coffee. “Nick, Ah Puch didn't seem to like you very much. I'll bet you're glad to see him dead."

"Well, I'll be off now, Miles. You're welcome to sleep here for a bit. Heading back to the city?"

"Thanks, Nick. That's real nice of you."

Nick stood, then started strolling off down the road. “We'll see you, Miles.” He started thumbing through the ledger book as he walked along.

"See you, Nick. And thanks for the coffee."

He rounded a turn and disappeared from sight. Giving it to him might've been a mistake. I suspected there was more to that ledger book than he let on, but it had no purpose or use to me. I really did not care if he had it. I retired to the tent. There was a cot already set up. I plopped down on it and was asleep in minutes. I slept the remainder of the day and awoke sometime in late morning the next.

My horse was munching away on some grass, trying to appear uninterested in the fact I was finally awake. “Sorry buddy, I was so tired I forgot to take your saddle off."

My horse snorted.

"Let's head back home."

My horse snorted again.

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I was relieved when we finally turned on my street and I saw my rooming house ahead. I put Paul up and promptly stretched out on my bed in my room. I relaxed for a few minutes, then I headed down the street to the barbershop. I'd gotten home just in time to go to work. The Captain was sweeping the steps out front, one of my menial duties. “Mornin'."

"Mornin',” the Captain replied.

I went inside. The place had not changed in my absence. I was pleased to see the latest issue of the
Examiner
lying on one of the barber chairs. I took a quick gander and noticed a story about a large posse in Sacramento County, but the sheriff was uncharacteristically silent about the operation. Another story, also with a Sacramento dateline, said scientists were unable to determine what caused the flash of lights in the sky Sunday night, but they did not believe the mild earthquake that also happened was anything more than mere coincidence.

"Miles, where in heck have you been?” the Captain asked.

"Sacramento,” I replied, although I'd never actually made it to the city.

"What in tarnation were you doing out there?"

"Government lost some guns. They wanted me to find them."

"Did you?” the Captain asked.

"Sure, I found them."

"Don't they have people for that?"

I shrugged. “Beats me."

He handed me the broom. He looked at me for a few seconds, then went in the back room. He came back out after a couple minutes. “Why you, exactly?"

"Captain, I don't know. They said I had an uncanny ability to find things like this.” I shrugged. “Beats me."

"How'd they know you could find them?” he skeptically demanded.

"The government knows everything."

He scratched his head. “I don't know nothing no more.” He again retreated to the back of the shop.

I was so glad when closing time came along. I wanted to get home and eat a hot meal, maybe even get a bath. Others had different plans for me.

A mustachioed, nervous-looking man was lurking outside the barbershop when I left. “What do they want now?"

"I am a deputy United States Marshal,” the fellow said. He showed me a badge. “Judge Hastings wants to see you."

Bailiffs, marshals, Secret Service agents at his disposal; Judge Hastings was a very powerful man. It never seemed to matter that I did not particularly want to see him. “Very well."

The deputy had a buggy wagon nearby. We rode downtown to the courthouse. He escorted me to the judge's chambers. Judge Hastings entered right after the deputy left. “Mr. O'Malley, I am so glad you were successful.” He seated himself behind his shinny immaculate desk. “However, you have stolen the government's money. We can't have that."

"Stolen! I just got back. I haven't had a chance to return it.” I tossed the money on his desk. It had been wadded up in my pocket the whole time. “I never got to spend any of it, except for the ferry across the bay."

"Do you have a receipt?” the judge asked.

I fished around in my pockets, then tossed two ferry tickets, torn in half, on top of the money. “There."

He carefully examined the tickets. “Very good, then."

I asked, “Why didn't you just have the deputy marshal ask me for the money? Why drag me down here again?"

"Miles, the governor read the Secret Service report. Frankly, he doesn't believe it.” The judge tapped his fingers on top the table.

"So? I'm a barber. I do not care what the governor believes. I don't work for the government. I just want to go home and have some supper and get some sleep.” I noticed my hands were folded in front of my chest. “Can I go now?"

"You're not likely to be telling preposterous tales to the reporters at the
Examiner
, then?” his honor asked.

"No."

He wrote down something on a slip of paper.
Res Ipso loquitur
, along with his signature. He handed it to me. “Here."