Partners
Steve Crow
(This story takes place after the events of "A Wilderness of Tigers", and is a sequel
to "How to Get Ahead in Gomorra Without Really Trying")
Frank had become so used to the pain that its sudden disappearance was almost . . . painful.
He still couldn't see. He couldn't feel his body. He had no idea where he was. He couldn't even
remember how long he had been in this state. Days . . . ? Months . . . ? Years? Frank had
no idea. He vaguely recalled the shootout at the Whateley Estate, blacking out, a brief period
when he had been awake, and then wave upon wave of constant, unavoidable pain.
The first thing he did, an old habit, was to reach out with his mind. Before the pain started
in last time, he checked before to see if the demon which shared his body was still in residence.
It had been then, albeit faintly. Now, though . . . Frank couldn't get a sense of it at all.
Whatever he chad been through had apparently either driven it out, or weakened it so much
even he couldn't feel it anymore.
So that brought the next test. Cautiously Frank reached out with his senses. Which was rather
odd, since he didn't seem to have any. Everything around him was black. He couldn't tell if his
eyes were closed, because he couldn't feel his eyes. Not that he seemed to have hands or
anything to feel them with in the first place. And being Harrowed kind of numbed you to
physical sensation anyway.
Still, you tended to have a sense of your eyes, even if you couldn't move them. Frank didn't
have that sense. He couldn't sense anything. Still, when he told his brain to open his
eyes . . . something happened.
Slowly, the room around him came into focus. There was nothing distinctive about the room
itself. Simple wood walls, a cot in one corner. The decorations, though . . . symbols
inscribed in red decorated the walls and floor. Black feathers hung from the walls.
And there were three people in the room. Two women, one man. They looked familiar . . . Frank
"squinted" and make out who they were. The large one in white had to be Katie Karl. And Bobo
was hard to miss, what with the top hat and all. Judging from the decor, it was Bobo's room at
Rangers HQ. The other woman, Frank didn't recognize right off hand. Looked like a nun.
So Katie and Bobo had survived the shootout at the Whateleys. And so had Frank himself,
presumably. He was tougher to "kill" than both of them, so that wasn't surprising. He tried to
open his mouth to speak, to ask them what was going on. But Frank still couldn't feel anything.
He couldn't turn his head, or even move his eyes to see something different.
Regardless, he was back with the Rangers. Whatever the problem was, they could take care of it.
"Goddamn, but that's ugly."
Katie winced at the nun's language. She hadn't decided yet what was worse about the Union
operative: her stinking cigars or her foul language. Sure, she had lost an arm and all,
but that was no excuse for poor manners. Typical Northerner.
"Don't be makin' a difference what he looks like," Bobo replied. "We got him back from that
Badson kid at the orphanage, and dat's what matters."
"Besides," Katie interjected, "if you had done your job properly when we buried him, the
Whateleys couldn't have got hold of him."
Sister Mary shrugged. "I don't tell you about how to keep your pretty white coat clean, you
don't tell me how to administer the last rites. That's not the kinda thing that keeps
grave robbers out, anyway. Besides, he's just a lousy Harrowed Con . . . outlaw, that is.
Far as I'm concerned, he could have got kicked around by those little brats for the next
couple of centuries."
She took the stub of her cigar out of her mouth and looked like she was going to throw it down.
"I'n'I wouldn't be doin' dat," Bobo growled without bothering to turn around. For a second, Sister
Jebediah looked like she was going to do it anyway, then reconsidered.
"Anything else you folks want me for, other than to bitch about my work? Don't know why you
bothered havin' me track him down. He's dead, and his body's nowhere to be found. The Good
Lord only knows what the Whateleys did with it."
"You can go," Katie replied. "Tell your new boss that this is the last time we'll need you
Northern folks' 'services'. From here on out . . ."
Yeah, yeah. He'll be shakin' in his boots, I'm sure." Producing another cigar from beneath
her habit, Sister Mary bit off the tip and went stalking off as she looked for a match.
"She's got a point," the head Ranger said to LeVeux. "Frank's not much use to us as is.
It doesn't look like the Whateleys had any big plans for him, so getting him back don't hurt
them or stop whatever plans they set in motion."
LeVeux leaned back on his haunches, tapping his feathered stick on his knee. "You're not sayin'
we should have left him like dis, are you?"
Katie shrugged. "Might have been more merciful in the long run to let him go on rather
than . . . how did you put it? 'Pass on through to the other side'?"
"No, it wouldn't have," the huckster replied. "I know what's there. And besides, Frank's
loa is strong. And stronger still for all the torture he been put through."
"What good does that do us?"
"More than you might tink, particularly if de rumors you heard about de Legion is true. The
loa are restless out deer. And we never accounted for all the Whateleys. Particularly Nicodemus.
Dat bastard frightens I'n'I, Katie. I saw what the theatre looked like after him and Whitmore
went at it up on the stage."
"If you're goin' to be havin' I'n'I go up against him, then I be wantin' every bit of extra
power up my sleeve if it comes to a showdown.
"You won't begrudge me that, will you, Katie?"
Karl sighed. "I suppose not. But are you sure Frank's willing? He was a mean SOB back when
he was ali . . . well, you know what I mean. I wouldn't think bein' kicked around the
orphanage yard improved his disposition any."
Bobo got up to his feet, brushing off his pant legs. "It's not really up to him. I'n'I am not
bein' sure there's much of 'him' there to care one way or another."
"So what can you do with him?"
"Frank was a gunslinger," LeVeux replied. "Maybe not the best, but he hit what he was aiming
for. That's what his loa be good for. If I'n'I can direct it properly, channel it into a s
ix-shooter . . . we'll be havin' a weapon to reckon with. I think that's what Frank would
have wanted."
Katie stepped forward and considered the shrunken sphere on the table before her. After a moment,
she nodded. "Sounds good. I'll leave you to it."
Frank watched his leader go, closing the door behind her. He still couldn't speak or hear.
He couldn't even look up when Katie had stood over him. The angle was all wrong, as if he was
resting sideways on a table. What the hell was going on?
He could do nothing but look on as LeVeux pulled a small vial out of a coat pocket and started
to pour a trail of black powder around whatever it was Frank was resting on. The gunslinger had
never trusted hucksters, but LeVeux was a reliable Confederate man. Maybe this was all part of
the ritual they were going to use to bring him back.
Frank would just have to wait and see.
© Alderac Entertainment Group, 2001