James Axler – Way of the Wolf

The younger boy slithered through all on his own, joining Jak a heartbeat later.

“Hey, they’re getting away!”

Looking back into the lantern-lit room, Jak saw the three tattooed men rush to the window. They almost got into a fight with the other men. One of them unlimbered his side arm.

Jak tapped Dean’s shoulder and they stepped into the darkness, out of the line of fire.

“Guess they’re pretty serious about finding us,” Dean said.

Jak nodded. “Probably got Kirkland’s blessing. Mebbe heard left inn by ourselves, thought those coldhearts could take and question us. Then blame them we get chilled.”

“Nobody would have believed that.”

Jak nodded. “Yeah. But Kirkland not know that.” He listened to the men yelling behind them, realizing it had to have been the others in the washroom, not the men trying to track them. “Hurry.” He led Dean into the shadows. It would be better if they didn’t have to kill anybody.

At least, not where the bodies would be left out in the open.

Chapter Seven

Hand lettering made the small sign look elegant. J.B. stood outside the building looking up at it after pulling the bell cord: Tinker Phillips and Sons Gun Repair and Gun Sales Straight and True Guaranteed.

Wheelgun and .45 semiautomatic images framed the announcement. Rifle images bridged the distance along the sides of the sign.

The building was compact, consisting of a single story and running back about four times in length what it was in width. White paint looked well kept, and small panes of frosted glass covered the windows and the door openings. Even in the low lantern light coming from the street, the Armorer could see the shadows of iron bars just on the other side of the glass.

The door opened softly, not drawing back much. Close-cropped blond hair hung over a pair of sky blue eyes that regarded J.B. in frank disapproval. For a moment the Armorer thought he was looking at a young man, then he saw the face had a maturity to it in spite of the fact there was no beard growth.

“Can I help you?” the girl asked. Her tone was cold, and there was no friendliness in her at all.

“Name’s J. B. Dix.” He tipped his fedora. Then replaced it. “I saw your sign. Noticed some light against the glass from inside. Thought mebbe you hadn’t entirely shut down the business for the day.” He felt an itch over his chest, like the ones he got when somebody laid gun sights over him. Riding with the Trader, traveling with Ryan, he’d learned to put great faith in such feelings. He shifted a little, taking up a stance that would make his torso less of a target.

“You’re one of those people Kirkland put out the word on. The outlanders.”

“Yeah.” J.B. felt a little uncomfortable staring into the girl’s blue eyes. He wished Mildred had come with him instead of staying at the hotel. But she’d been excited about the prospect of a hot bath. J.B. could never understand that. Cleanliness was next to godliness. Even the Trader used to say that every now and then. But the first thing the Armorer held to was being well armed. “I could come back mebbe tomorrow if this isn’t a good time.”

The girl shook her head. “Wouldn’t want a friend of Kirkland’s to run the risk of doing without something we could provide.” But her eyes said she was lying. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll see that you get it if we got it. I’ll pass it through the drop box to you.” A long box built into the side of the fortified wall pushed out partially, revealing the empty depths inside.

“Let him in,” a man’s gruff voice commanded from somewhere inside the building.

“Don’t know that would be a good idea,” the girl protested quietly, her eyes never leaving J.B.’s.

“Anna, you heard what I said.”

“Yes, sir.” She shifted her attention to the locks holding the door closed.

“Appreciate it.” J.B. waited for her to finish unlocking all the latches and chains. He turned to the deputy standing in the shadows on the other side of the street. “You want to come in, too?”