Haw Shot needed to learn some respect. Earl contorted his face into his worst sneer. For the first time since leaving the war, he wished for a loaded gun then sneered at himself. What good would bullets do against a phantom?
His wit would be the better weapon. Earl stood taller. No matter how many heads Hawley gathered, Earl had more smarts.
The shadows bounced, becoming inkier. It had nothing to do with the lowering sun. Not fully dark, this spook had special powers indeed, for it materialized in the sole patch of natural light remaining inside the cell block, a block of two cages rarely visited by worse than disorderly drunks.
Shadows left the recesses, gathering in the pool of light. The black sparked with a dim glow of green slowly brightening until the green matched the glare of the sun, then Haw Shot fully materialized. This time, he sported three heads, his own on one shoulder, Susan’s on the other, and the birdman’s in the center. Earl’s throat tightened, but he stood his ground.
“Haw, haw. You ready for some fun?”
Earl couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “You have no room for another head.”
“Hell on hot sand, I’ve plenty of room for plenty more.”
“There’s the issue of me being locked in here.”
“Ain’t a problem.” Haw Shot’s green-glowing hands wrapped around the locking mechanism and squeezed. The metal creaked, squealed, and popped. It crumbled into flakes, which sifted to the ground like Hell’s snow. With a theatrical wave, Haw Shot aimed his fingers at the door, wiggling them. Electric arcs of green pulsed at the hinges until the cell swung open. “Come out and play, Bart.”
Earl studied the jewel embedded in the ghost’s neck, the stone of energy the birdman had created with his gyroscope. The power it emitted crackled and pushed Earl away. That could prove to be an issue, and Earl already had plenty of headaches. Cautiously, he sidled out of his cell.
“It’s a great night for killing. Haw, haw. The moon is bright, the stars twinkling, cold as dead woman’s kiss.”
Wow, an image Earl needed to expel from his mind. More than that, he had to clear his name of murder and get away from Haw Shot. No way would he hang. No way would he return to San Quentin. He cleared his throat, yelling, “Lou, I need you. Get your behind in here.”
“How pathetic.” Haw Shot’s heads bounced, his belly laugh threatening to dislodge them to the floor. His meaty fingers clasped around Earl’s throat, not feeling like mist and shadow.
Earl gulped, kicking at Haw Shot’s knees. His boot swept through air to connect with the wall. The sting in his toes sprung tears in his eyes. How could the ghost touch him and Earl not be able to touch it? Was that a smirk on the birdman’s face? Earl poked at its eyes. It squawked, and the phantom let go. Well, that was something. “Duly noted,” Earl muttered under his breath. He could affect the thing from the rift, but not the ghost from this world.
The birdman spoke in a language Earl had never heard — squawks, burps, guzzles. It made no sense.
Apparently it did to Haw Shot, though. He frowned as if he had never aged past the age of seven. “My head is fine on my shoulder. I like it this way.”
More gibberish came from the beaked thing, its eyes, which resembled goggles more than eyes, shone with a sickly yellow light.
“I could deal with that. OK.” Haw Shot plucked off his head from his shoulder and settled it over the birdman’s. His face’s green radiance took on a more yellow tone. He grabbed Earl by the back of his shirt, lifting him off his feet.
Earl twisted and flailed. With all of the beaked thing covered by an Earthly phantom, he could find nothing solid to punch or gouge. He couldn’t get away. “Lou!”
The cell block door clanged open. “What in Timbuktu is going on in here…” Deputy Banks mouth fell open, his eyes widening to the size of gold coins.
“Don’t let it take me,” Earl gasped.
“Haw, haw. Let’s get going.” Haw Shot lumbered past Lou, using Earl to shove the deputy out of the way, leaving the police station.
The sun had fully set, sending pitch over every crevice of Settler. The high desert night shocked Earl’s breath out of his lungs. He gasped at the slap of cold, struggling harder to get away from Haw Shot.
Most of the businesses had closed, but not Greg’s Pizza ‘n Pies across the road. The windows blazed like freshly stoked hearths. Townspeople sat inside, eating, laughing. Families. Earl couldn’t ruin their innocence. They didn’t know the rift. Only a select group knew of its horrors.
“Let’s go rob a bank. A big one.” Perhaps the lure of riches would divert Haw Shot. Earl had to try. “We can buy ourselves a castle.”
“The right kind of castle might tempt me. Be that as it may, I have something better than money now. Magic brewing in my gut, a magic powerful enough to change the universe. The more heads I get, the more powerful I become. Can’t you see how much stronger I am with that sweet lady’s head on my shoulder?”
How did the heads make him stronger? It didn’t matter. Haw Shot had to be stopped. Earl reached out, grasping for the glowing stone in Haw Shot’s throat.
“Haw, haw.” He laughed like a sick coyote, shoving open the door to the pie shop. “So many pretty ones to chose from.”
Mothers leaped in front of their children. Chairs toppled. Drinks spilled. Pizza plopped onto the orange tile floor. Screams and wails replaced the happy chatter.
“Run,” Earl yelled. “Run.”
Greg dropped the pizza he was about to put in the oven, cheese and tomato sauce coating him from waist to foot. Jaw flapping, he froze in place. Greg reacted like a slug, way too sluggish. Split seconds stretched into infinity, and in seemingly stop-motion he lunged for the phone on the wall. He was too late. Haw Shot grabbed him by the hair, pulling until Greg fell onto his knees whimpering like a child. “Please.”
“See, he wants it, Bart. He’s begging. Don’t keep him waiting.” Haw Shot let go of Earl.
Earl threw himself in front of Greg, shoving him out of Haw Shot’s clutches. “Run.”
Greg scurried on all fours toward the door. Haw Shot’s phantom boot stopped him, stomping him onto the ground as if he were a cockroach.
“Running won’t save him. Or you. You know what will. You tell me what I want to know.”
“Fools gold and empty prospects, let him be.”
“Wrong answer.” Haw Shot threw an arm around Earl’s neck, squeezing, dragging him to stand in front of Greg.
Greg stared into Earl’s soul, sobbing. “Help me. I don’t want to die.” He swiped at the ghost, connecting, resulting in audible thuds. It happened again.
“He’s saying please. Haw, haw.”
With all his might, Earl pivoted and swung at Haw Shot’s jaw. His fist went straight through it. He tried the same place Greg had landed his blow. Haw Shot cackled, slipping his ghostly hands into Earl’s.
Earl fought with arms, legs, and teeth, yet found his hands around Greg’s neck. He twisted. “No.”
“It all ends if you tell me. You know what.” Haw Shot paused with Greg’s head at a gruesome angle. It cut off the pie man’s air so his weeping came out in a stilted gurgle.
“I did tell you,” Earl said. The pressure he put on Greg’s chin increased like a team of ten horses stampeding to a river. Earl couldn’t stop. The man screamed then screamed no more. A sick pop silenced him. A moment later Earl held the head in his hands, blood cascading down his pants onto the floor. “Oh.” He drew in a sharp breath.
The door to the pizza shop flew open. Trinidad Cepeda slid in on her knees, firing a crystal gun. Blue energy blasted from the long slim barrel. The pistol grip had elaborate works of bronze and silver — scrolls, coils, gears. Before her first shot dissipated, Culver rushed in, aiming the same type of weapon. Haw Shot quit moving, as motionless as a vein of untapped gold.
Earl lunged for the stone in Hawley’s throat, but his fingers went through the phantom. “Son of a biscuit and lard.”
At that precise moment, the weapon wore off. Haw Shot swiped at Earl, sending him onto his butt into a wall.
“Shoot it,” Earl groaned.
Tiny blinked at her weapon, examining the barrel.“Why don’t the neutrolyzers work?” she asked Culver. She straightened her aluminum foil hat as if it might help.
Tattoos glowed on both of their hands and wrists. Tattoos like the one Charming wore to designate her rank in the Rifters. Earl squinted, trying to make out what level Culver and Tiny had achieved. The tattoos resembled old circuitry and shone softly with blue and violet light.
Culver fussed with a watch contraption on the same wrist. The glow shifted to orange on the device and on his tattoo. “Don’t know. I’m calling in backup.” He spoke into his wrist then fired at the phantom.
Tiny joined in, hopping, yelling, making wild hand gestures. It had a small effect. Haw Shot froze. The chance Earl had been waiting for. He knew how to stop Hawley, and he knew who had to do it.
He sprinted out the door to the library. He found the spare key Dante had hid above the window and let himself in.
hapter 