Page 22 of The Bastard Heir
“Let’s go in the back,” Zane said and took the turn into the alley. “There’s a dinner tonight and likely to be too many people in the foyer.”
Castillo agreed and followed Zane, but they both stopped when a shadow separated itself from the dark exterior wall of the general store. As they watched, it darted across the alley to disappear around the corner of the building and down a small alley barely wide enough to walk through without turning sideways. Castillo caught Zane’s eye, who nodded and went back the way they’d come to make his way around the building andintercept the shadow at the other end. Drawing his gun, Castillo quietly headed to the corner and drew back the hammer as slowly as he could so it wouldn’t make more than a soft, metallic click. He paused when he reached the corner, his back against the brick wall and his pulse pounding in his ears.
The shadow wouldn’t be Derringer. If the man was connected to him, he’d be a lackey, but at least Castillo would be one step closer to the man. He strained to listen, but couldn’t hear anything except the steady patter of rain on cobblestones. Out of habit, he pressed his palm to the golden cross that hung on a chain around his neck, tucked inside his shirt. His mother had given it to him when he’d been a boy, telling him that it would keep him safe. It had seemed to work so far, though he was certain dodging bullets and chasing outlaws wasn’t what she’d had in mind. Nevertheless, he mouthed a prayer, not daring to speak the words aloud. When he’d waited long enough for Zane to make his way around the building to reach the other end of the narrow outlet, he yelled, “We have you trapped. Throw down your gun.”
For a full minute there was nothing and then the shadow reappeared, brandishing a scrap piece of wood that had probably been lying in the darkened alcove. Before Castillo could react, the length of wood knocked his gun out of his hand. Castillo dove forward, tackling the shadow to the ground. The man grunted at the impact when he hit the ground with Castillo’s weight on top of him, but he wasted no time in striking back, catching Castillo with a fist to his chin that left him reeling. He rolled from the impact but didn’t loosen his grip, so his assailant rolled with him.
Castillo recovered before the man could get another punch in and hit him hard with a right hook that knocked him backward. Following him down, Castillo took another hit to his cheekbone before landing enough blows to leave the man on the defensive,his hands raised to cover his face. Footsteps approached from the narrow alley, coming so fast that for a moment Castillo wasn’t sure if it was another attacker, but he turned to see Zane running out of the alley.
“There’s no one else down there,” Zane said.
Castillo turned his attention back to the man on the ground beneath him. “Who the hell are you?”
The man’s head lolled. He seemed to be only half conscious.
“Let’s get him inside before someone else comes,” Zane said. As if to emphasize his point, a wagon drove by on the main road, the driver whistling a tune though rain continued to drizzle.
Castillo nodded. “We’ll take him to Glory’s.” Though the madam wouldn’t like it, they needed somewhere to question him. Castillo took the man’s gun and rose, and Zane reached down to sling him over his shoulder. Castillo picked up the gun that had been knocked out of his hand, and together they made their way through the dark alley to the gate in the tall, wooden fence that led to the courtyard behind the brothel.
“Good. Still unlocked.” Zane kicked it open and led the way inside with his burden over his shoulder. Castillo latched it behind them and rushed up the steps to the back door.
The door led into a servant’s hallway. A girl he vaguely recognized screeched when he forced the door open and stumbled inside. She dropped the pile of linens she’d been holding and rushed away from them toward the front of the house, no doubt going to alert her mistress. That meant they’d have only a few precious moments alone with the man before Glory found them.
“This way.” Castillo led them to a storeroom off to the left and shut the door behind them. Zane set the man down onto a crate of bottled whiskey. In the light, Castillo could see the man was young, probably around twenty. The flesh around his eye wasalready beginning to swell, but he was alert as he looked back at them, fear making him tremble.
“Who the hell are you?” Castillo demanded.
“J-Johnson, Rob Johnson.” He gave them an insolent glare as he spat a mouthful of blood onto the wooden floor.
Zane shrugged when Castillo looked at him to see if the name meant anything to him. Castillo wasn’t able to place it amongst the lowlifes they’d met over the past several years, but then again, it wasn’t a very memorable name. “Do you know who I am?” Castillo asked.
“No, didn’t ask.” Johnson drew forward a little as he gave Castillo a closer look.
“What’s that mean?”
When Johnson just glared, Zane reached forward and grabbed a handful of his shirt, nearly pulling him all the way up to his feet. “Better start explaining yourself real quick, boy.”
Johnson’s eyes widened as he looked from Zane to Castillo and back again. “I meant that I was told to follow this one.” He nodded at Zane, who still held him. “He’s been staying at the brothel here, and I was told to watch him and follow him.”
“Who told you this?” Zane asked. “Glory?”
The man’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Fella I met over at the Alhambra.” The Alhambra was a saloon just a few blocks over, nearer the edge of town. It was said that men went into that hell hole and never reappeared. “Gave me twenty dollars to take the job. Said he’d give me fifty if I could deliver the Spaniard to him.” He tilted his chin up toward Castillo. “You’re the Spaniard, ain’t you? The fella said he wanted you dead or alive, and the big fella here would lead me to you.”
“What man?” Castillo asked. There must’ve been something menacing in his voice, because Johnson began to quake.
Before Johnson could answer, the door swung open and Glory stood framed in the doorway. Her dark-red hair was piledartfully on her head and she was dressed like she’d just stepped from the most elegant salon in Paris in a gown of black silk with an underskirt of pinstripes in gray and white. She looked like an elegant lady, but her eyes were blazing with fury. “What are you doing?” For all its anger, her Southern accent put a cultured slant on her words.
“Do you know who this man is?” Castillo asked.
She narrowed her eyes at Castillo, as if considering if she would deign to answer him, but after a moment looked at the man Zane was still holding. “No. Now get him out of my house. All of you, out.”
Zane dropped the man, who landed hard on the wooden crate of whiskey bottles. The bottles wobbled and clinked together inside the crate. “You’re saying you didn’t hire this man to follow me?” Zane asked.
“What? No, of course not.” Glory drew herself up to her full height, which was still short of Zane’s chin even though she wore heeled shoes.
“I told you,” the man said, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “A man hired me.”
“What is going on?” Glory demanded.
