Blood Ties (9 page)

“Comes with the arm,” Jake said easily. “Maggie did a hell of a job on me.”

“I’ll be damned.…” Cole added.

“Yeah, well … the cowboy was right about one thing,” Jake added with a touch of weary resolve.

“What’s that?”

“Us machiners … we
are
freaks … and it never goes away, you know what I mean?”

Cole’s tone was soft, somewhat understanding. “Yeah, Jake, I do. Remember?” Cole pinched his check, highlighting his mulatto skin. “Regular folks just don’t have much use for anything that’s different.”

“Good point,
amigo
.” Jake nodded.

They made their way through the rest of the gondola in silence. Cole unlocked and opened the door, and they stepped inside. After counting out their winnings, they discovered that they’d both cleared almost six hundred dollars. They slipped the money into their saddlebags and walked to their bunks. Gun belts went over hooks near their pillows, and then they sat down. Four boots slid off and hit the floor with dull thuds.

“Not a bad night,” Cole said cheerily.

“What, you mean aside from running into Ghiss and the gunplay?” Jake tried to force disappointment into his voice.

“C’mon,” Cole chided. “I know damn well you love that stuff. Who do you think you’re talking too?”

Jake chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you got me pegged.”

“Ghiss
is
a son of a bitch, though.”

“You got that right.” Jake stood up and pulled off his hat, setting it on a shelf above the bunk. He draped his vest on a hook near the door. “You ready for the light?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Cole leaned back and pushed his hat over his eyes.

Jake flipped the switch, and the room went dark. His metal heels thudded across the thick carpet as he approached the window. A sliver of a moon highlighted the faint edges of dark, sparse, shadowy clouds that drifted by. Jake watched them slip through the night, each cloud just another mass of fainter darkness in an ocean of it.

He found himself wondering about Skeeter and what trouble she might be getting into back home. A part of him regretted having to leave her behind. She really had gotten Jake and Cole out of a few fixes over the past six months, but the thought of Skeeter ending up in a slaver’s whorehouse terrified him.

The zeppelin hit an open stretch of sky and something caught Jake’s eye. Somewhat lower and far off in the distance, he swore he saw a faint flashing light the color of blood. Jake reached up and turned a dial, rotating the outer lens of his ocular as he watched the pulses continue. With the ocular fully open, the flashes were as bright as a torch at the bottom of a well.

“Hey,” Jake said. “Take a look at this.”

“Take a look at what?” Cole replied, lifting his hat.

“If I knew what it was, I wouldn’t need you to look, now would I?”

Cole sighed but sat up in his bunk. “I guess you got a point.” Jake pointed out the window, and Cole looked in the general direction. “So what am I looking at?”

There was another brief series if irregular flashes.

“There!” Jake adjusted where he pointed. “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“That red flashing … way off in the distance.”

It stopped.

“I didn’t see anything,” Cole said, confused.

Jake peered intently into the darkness, and then the flashing started up again.

“There it is again,” he said, pointing in exactly the same spot. “You saw that, didn’t you?”

“Sorry, Jake,” Cole apologized, sounding worried that his partner might be crazy.

The flashing continued, a chain of irregular staccato pulses.

“Wait a minute,” Jake said as another sequence of long pulses started. He covered first his good eye and then the ocular. “Well I’ll be damned.”

“What?” Cole asked, perplexed.

“My ocular. It lets me see the light … filters it somehow.” As he continued to watch, it occurred to him that the flashes were dots and dashes, but it wasn’t Morse code, or if it was, it wasn’t in English. He’d learned Morse in the army, and although he’d picked up some of the letters flashing by, none of them matched up to any words he knew. Some of the characters seemed to be off as well. “Hey, you got some paper and something to write with?”

“I think I have one of those fancy, new fountain pens in my saddle bag. Picked it up a few weeks ago back in Denver. Ain’t got no paper, though.” Cole got out of his bunk and headed over to his saddle bags.

“What about all that money?” Jake asked.

“You want me to write something on my money?”

“Just get the pen, would you?” Jake said urgently. “And hurry.”

“All right,” Cole sighed again as he went to his saddlebags and dug through them. He came back with the pen and pulled out one of the bills he’d won. Putting the bill up against the window, he waited for Jake.

“Write this down.”

“Write what down?”

“I’m getting to that.…” Jake mumbled, a hint of impatience in his voice as he waited for another series of flashes. “Dot-dot-dash, dash-dash-dot, dash-dot-dot.…” This went on for a few more seconds then stopped. A few seconds later the gondola passed through a thick cloud, and Jake saw a series of light pulses reflected against the cloud, coming from below and forward of their cabin. He rattled off the dots and dashes for Cole before they stopped abruptly. Once they were clear of the cloud, Jake focused on the same position in the distance and waited. It wasn’t long before the flashing started again, exactly in the spot Jake was looking. “Dot-dot-dot-dash-dash-dot-dash-dot-dash.…” He continued on for a few more seconds and then the flashing stopped.

He waited a few more minutes, his left eye straining against the darkness to see if there was any more flashing, but after a while he realized that whatever communication had been going on was over.

“Is that it?” Cole asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Jake said, pulling his ocular off and rubbing his left eye.

“So … ummm … Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna tell me why the hell I just wrote Morse code all over a brand new twenty-dollar bill?”

Jake turned to Cole, his permanently dilated left eye seeing Cole perfectly in the darkness. “There’s a zeppelin out there, and someone on that zeppelin is talking to someone on this one … down in the cargo hold.” Jake slipped his ocular back over his head and strapped on his Colts. “C’mon.” He grinned like a fox finding the coop unlocked. “Let’s go check it out.”

Cole gave Jake a dirty look, stared at his bunk, and sighed, shaking his head. “You like getting into trouble way too much.”

Jake grinned in the darkness.

Chapter Eleven – Just One Lump, Please

“People thought Jake was fearless, but he wasn’t. He got scared like any man. He just figured he was already dead, so he didn’t pay it no nevermind.”

~ Cole McJunkins

“You know the doors to the cargo hold are gonna be locked, right?” Cole asked as they walked quietly down the narrow spiral staircase in the forward section of the
Jezebel’s
gondola.

“And you know about my pinky finger,” Jake chided, referring to the lock-pick that Tinker Farris had thoughtfully included with the clockwork arm.

“What if there are guards?” Cole sounded despondent.

“Look, I got the doors figured … I’ll cross any other bridges when I come to them.”

“You better.” Cole’s tone was sour.

“You get so grumpy when someone gets you out of bed in the middle of the night.” Jake smiled and patted Cole on the shoulder as they made it to the bottom step.

“You’re damn right I’m grumpy.” Cole pushed his hat back on his head and gave Jake an evil eye. “Them red flashes ain’t got nuthin’ to do with us.”

“You don’t know they don’t.”

“You don’t know they do,” Cole retorted.

“You know what the problem is?” Jake asked. “The problem is trouble follows you around like a dog behind a meat wagon, and you don’t like it.” Jake managed to keep from laughing, but it tested his control to the limits.

Cole turned his head slowly, stunned by disbelief. His eyes said more than his mouth ever could in the presence of bullshit stacked that high.

Jake tried to meet Cole’s look while keeping a straight face, and he even lasted for a few seconds, but he finally chuckled, unable to maintain the hypocrisy. “Okay, okay … so it follows
me
around like stink on shit.”

“That’s better,” Cole agreed, nodding his head.

The staircase opened up onto a small room with three doors leading to the sides and towards the back of the gondola. Jake stepped up to the forward door, bent down, and tried the knob. Finding it locked, he twisted a latch on the tip of his left pinky finger, and a small lock pick popped out. He worked the lock for about thirty seconds and finally got the knob to turn. With another twist of his pinky, the pick disappeared into the appendage. Still bent over, he opened the door slowly, peeking around the doorknob into the room beyond.

“Do you see anything?” Cole whispered.

“Yep,” Jake said in a normal tone of voice.

“What do you see?” Cole’s whisper was barely audible.

Jake sounded like he was talking about the weather. “A couple of those stewards … big ones … with pistols. And they’re looking right at me.” He stood up straight and opened the door. “Howdy fellas,” he said, sounding like they were old friends, and stepped into the room.

Cole followed him in and watched both stewards’ hands slide up easily to rest on the butts of their holstered pistols. The room was ten by twenty, and behind the stewards stood a big pair of oak doors with a heavy padlock securing them.

“Can we help you fellers out?” the bigger one asked suspiciously. He narrowed his eyes and stepped up to Jake as the other steward moved off to the side to keep a bead on Cole. Jake realized these guys were not run-of-the-mill stewards … they knew their job. He could get the drop on them if he needed to, but there was no reason in the world for things to go that route. He was there to help.

Cole looked at Jake expectantly, knowing full well that they’d just stepped onto the bridge Jake hadn’t given a thought to. He couldn’t wait to see how Jake handled the complication.

“Well,” Jake began, calm as you please, “I was looking out my window and thought I saw some flashing lights coming from out of the cargo hold. We both have our mounts in there and were worried.”

“Why didn’t you tell someone?” the second man asked, his eyes flickering to Jake briefly.

“Well, I did.… Just now. I told you.” Jake tried to sound as innocent as a child, but Cole had to admit it was pretty thin.

“A light?” the smaller one asked, and it sounded like he hailed from England or thereabouts.

“How’d you see a light coming from above,” the larger one asked.

“Saw the flashing reflected in a cloud we passed through,” Jake offered casually.

“We ain’t heard nuthin’,” the big one said.

“Well, maybe they’re being real quiet,” Cole offered.

“Maybe.” The big one flicked his eyes to Cole and back to Jake.

“How long you boys been here?” Jake asked.

“None of your business,” the big one said tersely.

“Fair enough,” Jake admitted. He got a thoughtful look on his face. “But if you’ve been here a while, then they’ve been in there a while, too …” Jake scratched up under his hat, “which don’t make no sense.”

Cole stepped forward and raised his hands, an imploring look on his face. “Look, fellas, there was something going on in the cargo hold. We ain’t makin’ this up. Don’t ya think you oughta at least check it out?”

The little guy looked to the big one expectantly.

The big one nodded. “Stay here and cover ’em,” he ordered. “That all right with you two?” he asked, turning to Jake and Cole.

“Just fine with us, as long as someone goes lookin’,” Jake offered.

The small one pulled his pistol out to cover Jake and Cole while the big one turned, pulled a large key ring from the back of his belt, and unlocked the door. He slowly pushed it open and stepped into darkness. A moment later they heard a click, and light filled the cargo bay. The smell of a barn wafted out to them, but there was the smell of very fresh air blowing through as well, and it was cold, as if something was open to the sky outside.

“You smell that?” Jake asked the steward pointing the gun.

“Smells like cows and horses and shite,” the small man muttered, his accent heavily laden with the green hills of Ireland.

“There’s some fresh air in there, too, like someone left the barn door open. Kinda reckless at five thousand feet, don’t ya think?” Jake put more sour than sweet in his voice.

“Yeah, I suppose.” The steward got an uncomfortable look on his face, and his eyes drifted to the door behind him.

“What’s your name?” Jake asked, trying to be friendly and ease the white knuckles the man had wrapped around a French-made revolver.

“Matthew. Matthew O’Malley. Outta Dublin.”

“Listen, Matthew.…” Jake got a thoughtful look on his face. “Hey, wait a minute. Do you know a Mickey O’Malley in Denver?”

“Aye! That’s one of me boys. Cora’s youngest.”

“So you’re based out of Denver?” Cole asked.

“No. I’m from Boston. Cora lives in Denver.”

Jake pushed his hat up towards the back of his head. “You live in Boston, but your wife lives in Denver?”

“One of them does,” O’Malley said easily.

“One of what?” Jake looked perplexed.

“One of me wives, o’ course.” O’Malley had a devilish grin on his face.

“How many wives do you have?” Cole managed around a gaping mouth.

“At last count, I had six wives, thirteen sons, and fourteen daughters, each one of them another part of me master plan.”

Jake and Cole looked at each other, their eyes filled with disbelief.

“And what master plan is that?” Jake asked.

“To someday have an Irishman rule the world. I’m putting the odds in me family’s favor.”

Jake thought about it and couldn’t find any flaws with the logic.
Make enough O’Malleys and you could take over the world.

The faint sound of breaking glass, like someone dropping a Christmas tree ornament, floated out of the cargo hold, and then silence.

“Bear, you all right back there?” O’Malley said over his shoulder. “Talk to me, brother.”

The continued silence made everyone shift nervously.

“Listen, O’Malley, I think you’re getting the sense that something may not be all cream and peaches back there, and I’d have to agree with you if you said so. My partner here and me, this ain’t our first rodeo, and we’re on your side. Honest. We’d be happy to go in there and check things out or back your play if you wanna go first … however you wanna do it.”

Matthew’s eyes shifted slowly between Jake and Cole, narrowing as he sized them up. Jake could read the conflict and watched it settle slowly into uneasy trust. Jake knew what the steward was going to say before he drew a breath to speak.

“I’m gonna trust you, Mister. You go on ahead and I’ll be right behind ya. Any funny business and I won’t have any choice but to shoot you in the back. Understand?”

“Fair enough,” Jake agreed. “Just remember to point that thing someplace else if anybody starts shooting at us. Deal?”

O’Malley nodded and motioned with the revolver for Jake and Cole to move inside. “You can go ahead and pull them pistols if you like. I ain’t one to send a man into the lion’s den unarmed.”

“Much obliged,” Jake said and, stepping past Matthew, pulled the Officer’s Colt out in his right hand.

Stacks of crates, trunks, and suitcases towered to the left and right, fifteen feet high and secured with cargo netting. It made a tight corridor twenty feet long and wide enough for a skinny bridesmaid and her father if they were walking up the aisle in a chapel. Jake could see an open area beyond and the livestock stalls another forty feet past that. Now that he was in the hold, he could hear the open air rushing through wide-open doors. The steady hum of propellers filled the air. Jake paused and listened for a few seconds, but all he heard was the wind. He looked up to his left and right, noting the gap between the tops of the luggage and the ceiling was too narrow for a man to do much more than lay down in.

Jake pressed his back to the left side of the corridor and slid up towards the opening, straining his senses to pick up anything. The air in the hold grew even colder as he moved. He heard the steward shuffling behind Cole, but Indian-fighter that he was, Cole remained as quiet as a panther. As Jake neared the end of the aisle, he could see that one of the cargo hold doors had been slid aside, with nothing beyond but open sky and the occasional outline of a cloud.

Clamped to the floor in the open doorway, Jake spotted two curved, metal brackets set about thirty inches apart. Several coils of stout rope were anchored to steel braces that held in the luggage. He scanned forward toward where the animal stalls were and didn’t see anyone, so he crept up to the edge of the luggage and darted a glance around the corner, the Colt tracking wherever he looked. Along the far-left side of the hold stood a high stack of larger crates that looked like produce, clothing and other goods, and he could see a tall gap near the far side close to where the livestock was kept.

Bear stood about five feet to his left, up against the luggage, immobile as a statue. His back was turned to Jake, and his hand appeared to be frozen halfway towards the pistol at his hip. Jake looked close, and it looked like he was still breathing.

“Bear!” Jake whispered, but the man didn’t move a muscle. Jake slid back half a pace and glanced over his shoulder. “Cole, Matthew, I want y’all to stay here and stay low. Bear is just around the corner … standin’ there. He looks like he’s breathing, but he ain’t moving otherwise.”

“You got it, Jake,” Cole said and pulled the hammer back on his pistol.

“Matthew, how deep does the cargo go off to the left there?”

“About another forty feet … we’re standing near the port side of the ship.”

“Was that stuff packed tight, or is there room to walk around back there?”

“Damned if I know. Could go either way, knowing those cargo-handlers.”

“Great,” Jake grumbled. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Here we go.” Jake slid forward, keeping his back against the luggage and his eyes scanning every nook and cranny in the hold that could possibly hold a threat. As he passed behind Bear, he put his foot down and heard the distinct crunch of breaking glass. His gaze darted down, and he spotted shards of broken glass around Bear’s feet. It looked like a small glass cylinder had been dropped there. There were also a few traces of a grayish liquid on the floorboards. Jake took another look at Bear, and realization struck. “Cole,” he whispered over his right shoulder.

Cole peeked around the corner and stared at Jake.

Jake deliberately sucked in a long, drawn-out breath and made it obvious he was holding it, and then nodded. Cole got the message and did the same thing. About the time Cole’s cheeks puffed out, a glass vial about three inches long shattered between Jake’s feet. A second one shattered directly in front of Cole as Jake spotted a shadow moving up behind some crates.

He heard the wood creaking to his left before he saw anything, but it was enough to get him to turn his head. His gun naturally tracked towards the movement when Cole shouted, “Jake, lookout!”

Jake saw a stack of three-by-three foot crates in the corner coming down right on top of him. His left arm came up in a flash as he braced with his legs. The stack came down fast and hard, and Jake’s raised arm slammed into one of the crates. His metal forearm cracked two of the boards on impact, exposing dense rolls of canvas inside. The rest of the stack fell around his feet, bouncing up against his legs with dull thuds. As the crate teetered on his arm and fell towards the floor, he heaved hard, pushing it back in the direction it had come from.

The soldier who pushed the crates over raised a stubby-looking rifle strapped over his shoulder. The weapon’s barrel was a thick cylinder about the diameter of a beer bottle, and the hole in the end looked to be on par with Jake’s .45. Behind the barrel was a cross-mounted ammo cylinder. The soldier aimed it at Jake when he realized one of the crates was coming back towards him. Jake had just enough time to notice that the soldier was one of the crop-haired goose-steppers that followed the foreigner out of the salon.

He had to grin at the surprised look on the soldier’s face when the eighty-pound crate crashed back into his mid-section, pinning him to another stack of crates behind him and sending the strange gun clattering down to the floor.

Jake stopped grinning when the other goose-stepper from the salon came around a corner with one of the strange guns swinging toward him. The second soldier pulled the trigger before it had centered on Jake. The thing screamed with the sound of an electric motor and barked a staccato chain of gunshots, flame burped out of the end and heavy rounds chewed great chunks of wood and leather from the wall of luggage in front of Jake. The holes drew a dotted line toward him.