Steve Malley

After the sound and the fury of the bar, Kane wanted quiet. For all the intensity of Queenstown’s streets, peace was never far. A hundred steps uphill, and the lights of town lay behind him. Another hundred and Kane stood above the rooftops. The stars of the Southern Cross and the great wild spill of the Milky Way sparkled overhead.

Kane moved deeper into the woods. Before long, he was surrounded by the good clean smells of dark earth and fresh pine.

He stood in the darkness, allowing his eyes to adjust. Coronet Peak was a great black mass before him. The restaurant lights at the peak glowed faintly through the trees, and the moon was a swollen yellow ball on the horizon. His frosted breath hung in the night air, pale and ghostly.

A gray shape streaked from a branch overhead. Kane caught a brief flash of the owl’s wings as the night bird hunted.

The air carried a distant scent of snow.

***

Harlan stood in the doorway and watched the party. The Ruckus Room had devolved into Jack’s vision of rock and roll.

Jack sat in his big old leather chair with a little blonde slip of a thing curled up in his lap. Whatever the whore whispered to him, old Jack was lapping it up. Harlan rolled his head on the column of his neck and wiped his palms on the front of his jeans.

“Man, is this the life or what?” Farrel swayed along in an eye-watering halo of whiskey and bumped Harlan’s elbow. “I can’t believe JD’s missing out.”

“Yeah, sucks to be him.”

“Where’n hell is he?” Farrel grinned, loose and sloppy. “You know?”

“I sent JD on into town, check something out.”

Over by the fire, the blonde on Jack’s lap was nuzzling his neck. Farrel laughed and spilled whiskey.

“Man, he sure must’ve pissed you off.”

“Son of a bitch shouldn’t have sassed me.”

The blonde got up and led Jack by the hand. Terrabonne stopped on his way out the door and put three damp fingers on Harlan’s arm. Farrel hunched his shoulders and did a fade. Harlan bent low so that Jack could speak close to his ear.

“That little girl, where’d you find her?”

Harlan shrugged.

“Always plenty of women want to meet a real-life star,” he said.

Jack burst out laughing and slapped Harlan on the back.

“Tell you what old son, you oughta talk to one of these little gals your own self.” Jack swayed and pointed out one of the women passing by. “I bet this one here’d like you just fine,” he said, “Might be her lucky night!”

Terrabonne slapped the blonde’s rump and chased her out of the room. A cheer rose from over on the couch, where a woman poured an entire bottle of champagne over her bare breasts. Back in the corner Queenstown’s top cop, a hard type named Hollings, looked to be getting mighty friendly with a young woman in a very small dress.

The girl Jack had pointed out stood frozen on the spot. Her eyes flickered, her knees trembled and she had bitten the lipstick from the inside of her lips.

Harlan took in the hollows of her collarbones, the soft skin of her shoulders and the frightened little shape of her mouth.

Her throat was white and soft. The rapid shadow of a faint blue pulse beat in the soft flesh at the side of her neck. Harlan’s mouth went dry.

“So,” she said, “You... You want to?”

Harlan touched his tongue to his lips. Everybody here was drunk, but too many might remember seeing the two of them together.

“Jack must’ve been right. This really is your lucky night.”

Without another word, Harlan pushed past her and stalked out into the autumn night.

***

It was a night for Americans. Another one stood in the hostel foyer, out of place and uncomfortable and smelling of whiskey. He was tall and wiry and cadaver-thin. His boots and coat were expensive, but his skin and teeth were poor.

“Y’all don’t remember me, do you?” The thin Yank said. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, swimming with poisonous green lights. “Name’s JD. Maybe you remember, we met last year here, down to The Bunker?”

“I’m afraid I don’t--”

“There was this girl you was asking about...

“Bridey?”

“That’s the one.” JD’s remaining teeth were long and brown and twisted in his mouth. He seemed to think his smile was charming. “I reckon that gal’s been on my mind a fair bit. I couldn’t stop thinking about what you told me, and well, I got something here I think you ought to see.”

“Show it to me.”

“Not here,” he said. “It’s outside, in the truck. Brand-new Rover.”

Maeve eyed JD to Turk and weighed her options. Under other circumstances, there was no way she’d let him get her anywhere near a truck or van. But for the chance he actually had something about Bridey, the risk was worth it. And if nothing else, Maeve had the knife in her boot.

***

Kane walked back down the mountain, calm and centered. The rising moon was hidden behind a screen of black and rustling leaves. Kane didn’t miss its light.

The hostel was easy to find. Its lights glowed downslope, alone at the place where the streetlamps ended.

The windows on that side of the building were dark. As Kane approached, a square of buttery light opened in the side wall.

Low slanting moonlight bleached the hostel wall silver and gray. Two figures stood tightly grouped in silhouette: one male and one female. They argued with their voices low, so that only the hisses carried.

The male was tall and lean. Moonlight gleamed off thin greasy hair and threw black shadows into the hollows of his skull. The wind carried in Kane’s direction, bringing a strong smell of liquor.

From his body language, the man was trying to coax the woman into a gleaming new SUV. The woman hesitated.

The tall man grabbed her by the shoulders. By that time, Kane was close enough to see the black tumble of Maeve’s dreadlocks as she stepped back out of his grasp.

The two stood facing each other. Suddenly, Maeve ducked low, reaching for her boot. The tall man lashed out. The sharp sound of the slap echoed off the face of the building.

It was followed quick and hard by the muffled thump of fists and boots striking flesh.

Maeve fell.

The two men looked at each other, shrugged and reached for her.

Kane stepped out of the treeline.