James Axler – Stoneface

“I don’t doubt that,” Ryan replied. “But you’ll board the last train West with me.”

Suddenly he felt the delicate, wispy brush of Hellstrom’s mind reaching out to touch, or to ensnare his. Ryan focused his thoughts on a single vivid image he visualized Hellstrom’s head exploding in a spray of blood, bone shards and brain matter. He concentrated on a vision of the white blazer turning red and wet, of that long, lean body flopping lifelessly to the floor.

He powered the image with a vicious conviction, packing it with a ruthless, unshakable certainty that the image would come true, and that he, Ryan, would be happy to arrange it.

Hellstrom leaned back in his chair with a jerk of his shoulders. His eyes opened wide, then they narrowed. “Get back, Fleur.”

“He’s just one man,” his warlord snapped.

“Tell her, Lars,” Ryan suggested. “Tell her what one man can do.”

“Goddamn you, Fleur,” Hellstrom said shrilly, fingers digging into the arms of his chair. “Back away from him!”

Fleur removed her hand from beneath her jacket and retreated reluctantly, glaring venomously at Ryan. Hellstrom glanced unhappily at the pair of pain-racked men sprawled on the floor, then back to Ryan.

“I underestimated you,” he said quietly. “Consider yourself lucky.”

“You’re the lucky one, Lars. Most people who have underestimated me are sitting on the knee of Father Death.”

Hellstrom eyed him for a long moment, then with a hand clap he threw back his head and laughed. “You’re a treasure, Cawdor. Yes, you truly are. Helskel needs a man like you.”

Ryan’s one eye squinted at him. “I think I’d rather have you replace the tires of my wag, and we’ll be on our way.”

Hellstrom laughed again. “Ah, well, that’s the rub, isn’t it? We need you, and you need tires. Can’t we help each other?”

Hellstrom grinned, and his face took on a cadaverous, skull-like aspect. “Because if you won’t let me help you, you and your people will die in a manner far less spectacular and far more agonizing than the late Zadfrak.”

Chapter Nine

Ryan kept the SIG-Sauer trained on Hellstrom, even when several sec. men entered the saloon. They hesitated, hands straying to blaster butts, eyes darting from Ryan to Hellstrom to Fleur.

The white-clad man waved to Dog and Suds. “Never mind our visitor. Please attend to our injured novitiates. Mr. Cawdor and I are merely discussing business.”

The sec squad collected the groaning, cursing, coughing men from the floor and carried them outside. When Ryan was sure they were gone, he said, “All right, Lars. Let’s discuss business. I’ll put my blaster away, providing you keep that warlord of yours on a short leash.”

Hellstrom nodded. “Very well, Cawdor. Pray, take a seat.”

Ryan tried tucking the SIG-Sauer back into its holster, but a leather seam had been split when Dog and Suds disarmed him. He stuck it in his cartridge belt and pulled a chair away from a table. Spinning the chair around, he thrust it between his legs and sat in a position where he could see the passage behind the jukebox, the saloon doors and Fleur all at the same time.

“Did you order our wag’s tires to be slashed?” he demanded.

Hellstrom nodded. “I picked up your anxiety over not having spares when I scanned you yesterday. It was a small fear, tucked away in a corner of your consciousness.”

“What about last night? You telepathically drew us to Zadfrak’s barbecue, didn’t you?”

“Excellent. I’d believed my influence was so subtle you would never detect it as intentional.”

“Why did you want us there?”

Hellstrom fluttered a pale hand through the air. “Varied reasons, actually. I wanted to test the strength of your spines, and I wanted to provide you with a glimpse of the unity of the Family.”

“And,” Ryan interjected, “to see if you could scare the shit out of us.”

Hellstrom smiled. “That, too. Did we succeed?”

Ryan grinned derisively. “Lars, in some places in Deathlands, we’ve participated in sing-alongs that made your little cookout look like a church service.”

The smile on Hellstrom’s lips faltered for a moment, but it returned. “Good. If you were easily distressed, we couldn’t use you.”