Churchill sat in the loft above the saloon turning a pirated coin over again in his hand as he studied the cards before him. The music of the band slurred as its players became intoxicated. Churchill took a drag on his cigarette boasting in the contentment of his security.
Dripping wet with the late night rain, a shadow entered into the saloon. The band stopped playing and patrons stopped drinking, the saloon girls froze in their tracks.
The man pulled back his hood with a devilish smile on his face. "Please, continue playing." The band slowly began to pick up again as Kincaid turned his attention to the stairs. A quick glance at the loft met his eyes with Churchill. The two stared at each other and Churchill knew that he knew.
"If you'll pardon me gentlemen," he said getting up from the table. He pocketed his coin but left all his other winnings on the table. He met Kincaid in a side room that he used for sleeping after hours. The red haired man was slicking back his wet locks in a clouded mirror above a barrel.
Churchill slammed the door, closing out the sounds of the busy saloon. "What are you doing here, Keller? Or should I say Wendigo?"
Kincaid faced the proprietor. "Didn't the Devil tell you? I've come to make widows."
Churchill scoffed. "What are you doing in Virginia, this is my territory?"
Kincaid touched the stumble on his face then turned away from the mirror. "I'm not here to steal your business, Churchill. You're the go to mercenary in these parts. I'm just a messenger boy."
Churchill frowned. "What are you after?"
"I just want to ask a few questions." He sat down on the barrel.
"Well I don't have time for your games," Churchill said. "I have a business to run. Unlike you I actually have a real job."
Kincaid smirked. "I know what you did in Kentucky," he said and Churchill stopped in his tracks. "There was a man there, went by Hatchet Bill; also a mercenary." He rubbed under his lip which was twisted in a grin. "But that's not the only skill he had. He could decipher codes...pre Civil War codes. He's dead now, Churchill and your work was all over it."
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Churchill shouted.
"How big of a cut did the old man promise you for betraying me? Fifty percent...forty?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
Kincaid stood up. "You're a lousy liar and a blazing fool! You think I couldn't figure you out? What was the next step...kill me?"
"You're obsessed with this treasure." He went over to a table and poured himself a glass of rum which he shot down. "What do you want from me?"
"The truth?" Kincaid licked his lips. "I wanted to kill you. I thought about taking you from here to Great Dismal Swamp. Chaining you up and drowning you in it. But I lost the willpower for man slaying tonight."
Churchill filled another glass. "Lucky me." Smiling, he brought it to his lips then sputtered. He gurgled. The glass dropped to the floor and rolled on the rug as he rubbed his neck. Stumbling back he leaned on the tabled as he gasped for air. "I...I..." He looked at Kincaid who wasn't at all surprised by the change come over him.
"Come now, Churchill, take yourself in hand. You've always been a drinking man." He picked up the glass and refilled it. "There we are." He presented it to him.
Churchill slapped it away. "What have you done?"
"Nothing sinister." Kincaid looked him in the eye.
YOU ARE READING
Fairchild's 7 Daughters-The 12: Book One
Historical Fiction-Old Ghosts Die Hard- Mr. Fairchild has always been an honest man, so no one can understand why he and his family are suddenly driven from their house. Without a word of objection the family settles in a little house beneath the pines. But each Satu...
