Ben followed the squad car carrying the would-be mugger all the way to the station. His attention, however, was on the conversation that had just taken place in the nail salon.
Sylvie and Taryn were upset he’d taken their weapons; that was fine, he normally had that reaction whenever they secured any kind of evidence, especially personal ones. He’d promised he’d see their stuff returned to them promptly, and he meant it. What had surprised him was the level of attachment he’d seen from the girls. It worried him.
And if I’m worried, then Anna and Mary have to be doubly so, he thought grimly. He couldn’t blame them. With the fact that they were appearing more and more often in the costumes from Nightshade’s damned circus and Sylvie’s fierce attachment to her Winchester (which, if half of what he heard from the range was true, was understandable for a trick-shooter) and the growing bonds between Taryn and hers, then that spelled a recipe for disaster.
I need to recommend a good shrink, he thought to himself. Someone that can see the girls and get their heads straightened out; perhaps a real deprogrammer that can set them straight and remove that bastard’s grip.
He feared, deep down, that his hold on the girls might already be too strong. He recalled vividly that girl who’d been kidnapped and turned; even after years of therapy and deprogramming, she’d turned right around and gone with the punk as soon as he’d been released, claiming she loved him. Last he heard of her, had been a cop from Tennessee contacting him for background information after she’d been caught streetwalking for her “love”.
Ben shook his head as he pulled into the parking lot. The girls had put up an impassioned defense of their rights to what they viewed as theirs, and Ben couldn’t blame them. He’d earned a few scars and mementos during his time in the desert, and he wouldn’t care to part with many of those either.
After filing the mental note to have Anne and Mary speak to a professional deprogrammer, he walked into his office thinking about the cause of all the commotion.
The man himself, he wasn’t particularly interested in. He seemed like the average muscle he’d seen before in dozens of gangs. What concerned him more was the odd-shaped tattoo the man was sporting. They were starting to appear on people he’d picked up for petty larcenies, like burglary and theft, but in almost pre-Riot numbers. This seemed like a new gang from out of town was trying to horn in on the locals, but where were the usual signs of gang violence? The fights with the people who considered this their home turf, the movement of black market goods? In other words, the normal signs that a new gang was trying to make its mark?
Something was off about the people as well. When committing the crimes, they were almost crazed, blood drunk. They could take hit after hit and throw his officers around like ragdolls and keep trying to escape with their prizes, but when captured they were meek and docile as lambs, submitting to every order or request they were placed under, declining any legal representation, and ignoring the defense lawyers that came to see them.
Who are these guys, and what are their motives? He asked himself.
Searches to find correlations on things that had been reported stolen or intercepted from these guys turned up no commonalities; large candles from Olga’s, white blankets from Fred, gasoline, massage oil, ropes, chains and chalk? It made no rhyme or sense to him, and he sat for hours in his office trying to make them go together.
When they refused to do so, he leaned back from his desk to rub his weary eyes. When he looked up, he started to realize that Sylvie and Taryn were just outside his office in the main waiting room, snoring lightly as they leaned against one another standing up! Beside them Mary and Anne were nodding heavily in their chairs while around them the quiet hum of his station continued unabated.
When they had gotten there, he didn’t know. Well, he knew what they were after, and he guiltily checked his clock to realize he’d been working all night again.
“I’ve got to stop doing that.” He muttered to himself. Looking out, he saw Officer McCallahan checking in the office. The state of her rumpled uniform and that of her partner next to her suggested they’d been there all night as well. In fact, he thought as he glanced about, it looked like nearly everyone had worked all night.
He felt touched by their dedication to the job, but he knew they needed to get some sleep. People’s perceptions were clearer after they had some rest.
He got up and left the office, stretching as he walked out to Mike’s desk. The Sergeant looked exhausted as he blearily clicked from file to file on his machine.
“Any luck, Mike?” he asked curiously.
The sandy-haired cop grimaced. “If you hadn’t found anything, then I certainly haven’t.” he said with a sigh. “I’ve been up and down these reports and forms from as far away as Cleveland, and still I got nothing on these guys. I’m fairly certain you’re right that they’re connected, but that odd tat isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“Huh.” Ben grunted. He nodded to the sleeping family. “How long have they been here?”
“They got in sometime around seven boss, looked mighty worn out. We would’a sent them straight in, but the kids wouldn’t stand for it. They said you were busy and they could wait. They fell asleep about eight, though.”
Ben nodded, a glance at the clock showed him it was now nine-thirty.
“Well, best get down to evidence then and see if we can release the spear and rifle yet.”
“The tests are done, boss.” McCallahan said quietly, coming to stand next to them. “The lab boys were up going through all the evidence on these burglaries.”
She hesitated, looking worried. “Chief, is it as bad as it seems?” she asked. “I mean,” she added hurriedly in response to his raised eyebrow. “Normally I wouldn’t worry about stuff like this—all the petty theft. It’s not really important things, although the purse is a new switch up for this crowd. But something feels really…wrong about it this time.” She spoke nervously, her eyes flicking to the centaurs and back.
Ben opened his mouth to disagree, but the hypocrisy of it stopped him. Normally he wouldn’t put in all-nighters on simple burglaries like this, normally because there were other more important cases to do.
I guess we all feel the tension here. Ben realized. Something is off on all these robberies, and we’re running scared. That’s got to stop.
“You’re right, it is bad.” Ben said normally, but quietly. “I don’t like thieves running wild in my town. But whoever or whatever is doing all this, will be stopped. We are going to stop them. But we can’t do that if we’re dead tired. As soon as we get the weapons back to Sylvie and Taryn, I want you all to go home and get some sleep. I’ll call John and Markle in on night shift to mind the store. They probably got more than enough sleep last night.”
There were mumbled protests and half-hearted assurances that they were fine, but Ben didn’t budge. He wouldn’t be responsible for his department falling asleep at the job!
By the time Taryn and Sylvie had woken up and were standing stretching, McCallahan had come back from evidence carrying the rifle and spear. She passed them back to the girls with a tired smile and motioned them to follow her.
“We’ve got some paperwork to fill out.” She said.
Sylvie and Taryn nodded. “All right.” They said in unison.
Ben watched them go, then laid a hand on Anne’s shoulder before she could follow her daughter.
“Mary, Anne, could I see you in my office, please?” he said quietly.
Anne glanced at where McCallahan was pulling out a thick sheaf of form paper, then nodded.
“All right Ben.” She said. “As long as it won’t take too long; Sylvie looks as if she’s going to need help with that paperwork. Taryn too.”
Mary nodded, but followed Ben as he led them to his office and shut the door behind him.
“I’ll keep this short.” He said, plopping down behind his desk. “I’d like to offer you help with your daughters.”
“Ben, you’ve already done more than enough, you don’t have to—“ Mary began nervously.
“It’s all right, Mary. Just let me finish.” Ben said with a smile. “Look, we’re all worried about them. After what they’ve been through we knew they’d need help, but we thought they were strong enough to handle it. They certainly acted like nothing was wrong, but this incident with the gun and spear, the wearing of those clothes, the performances both of them keep putting on…I just don’t think they’ve let go of the circus in the best way.”
“What do you want us to do then?” Anne asked, not hotly, Ben noted, and he thought she agreed with him.
“I know a guy who works as a deprogrammer; someone who specializes in straightening out those who have been turned by their kidnappers.” He added at Mary’s blank look. “He did some work for my old department back in the day, and I’m sure he’s still active. I could do my best to get him here and have him look at the girls. He might be able to get them back to normal.”
Mary snorted.
“All right, maybe not human.” Ben said testily. “But back to the way they were before Nightshade got his meat hooks in them.”
Anne looked thoughtful, glancing back behind her.
“I’m not sure even he will be able to help her.” Anne said at last. “At least, in letting go of that gun. Greg said he’s never seen a shooter like her in the world. She’s using her abilities, giving lessons and demonstrations and the like.”
“I’ve heard a little bit of that.” Ben admitted. “But really, how much could she be making that would justify…”
“Ben, her last session of eight lessons netted her almost two thousand dollars.” Anne broke in.
“And that was because she refused to charge more than two hundred dollars a lesson. Before she did, she was making almost fifteen thousand a day!”
Ben gaped at her, his mind gone blank.
Mary just shook her head. “It’s hard to believe, I know, but I got off the phone the other day with Mark, the track coach? He desperately wants Taryn to come teach the students javelin throwing and her spear-fighting, we spent almost an hour going over what she did on the track field. Taryn hasn’t told me yet,” she added at Anne’s interested look, “But I think she’s going to take the job. She wanted to talk to Sylvie yesterday before we were interrupted, and I think it was about that, or your daughter’s disappearances.”
“WHAT?!” Anne shrieked.
Mary backed up under the sudden intense scrutiny of Ben and Anne.
“It’s just something I picked up from Taryn.” She said defensively. “Not that Taryn would tell me anything, you know how tight those two are! But she has been tailing Sylvie for a while now, and getting angrier about how she keeps disappearing every two weeks or so, generally on a Thursday.”
Anne looked astonished, then leapt from her chair. Ben sensed a confrontation brewing, and leaped up.
“Anne, stop.” He commanded. “Listen to me, something is going on here that we don’t have an idea on. Let’s try and figure this out.”
“We’ll figure it out all right, when I get the truth out of her!” Anne said furiously. “She can’t disappear like that, not without telling someone.”
“Hang on.” Ben said. “Look, when she first got back, you and Greg were so busy that Sylvie found herself pretty much on her own, right?”
“That’s not true!” Anne objected. “You had constant patrols going past our house and Mary’s! When they weren’t there we had updates from the neighbors! There wasn’t a moment the girls weren’t watched!”
“Did you ever tell them that?” Ben asked quietly. “If you didn’t, then chances are Sylvie started to feel pretty damn lonely, and thought she was on her own as for taking care of things.”
Anne looked stubbornly out of the glass window at where Sylvie and Taryn were looking back at them. Everyone had obviously heard Anne’s shout, but nothing else. Ben waved everyone back to work irritably, and McCallahan pulled the girls’ attention back to the papers in front of them.
“Anne, I promise you, we’ll get to the bottom of this.” Ben promised. “But we’re going to have to do it carefully, or we’ll risk driving her away from us.”
The red-haired lawyer breathed hard through her nose, looking ready to eat nails. At last she collapsed in her chair with a whoosh of air.
“Okay.” She said. “What do you want me to do?”
“Wait.” Ben said. “I’ll get a hold of my friend, and we’ll see about scheduling some professional help for them. Okay? In the meantime, I’ll have a couple of my officers tail Sylvie for a bit, perhaps see what she’s up to. All right?”
Anne looked mutinous, but nodded. Mary did so much quicker, though she spared a sympathetic glance for her friend.
“All right. It looks like most of the paperwork is done.” Ben said, seeing McCallahan pass the weapons over the desk to the girls. They immediately checked their weapons with such care and familiarity as to make his old Marine Drill instructors proud. “We should get back out there.”
They immediately got up and left his office. Sylvie looked up from her inspection and asked, “Mom, are you all right?”
“Just fine, sweetie.” Anne’s voice sounded less than convincing to Ben, and he glanced at her, seeing the strain in his friend.
“All right.” Sylvie looked confused and concerned, but decided to play it cool. Quickly and professionally, the girls slid their weapons into their sheaths.
The motion drew Ben’s mind to the video log of the confrontation. He couldn’t believe how fast she’d drawn the rifle from its holster, and he thought it might be the time to test his theory that the video log had suffered a malfunction. Plus, it could give everyone the chance to get on the same page, he thought. A plan was starting to form in his mind.
“Say Sylvie.” He stopped them from leaving. “Look, it’s still fairly early, and most my people will be knocking off here pretty quick. Why don’t we go up to the range and you can show us your skills. I’ve heard a bit about them and I can say I find them hard to believe.
Sylvie smiled broadly. “Chief, prepare to eat your words, sir!” she added at her mom’s frown.
“All right, we’ll see!” Ben laughed. “I’ll meet you up there in a little bit. I’ve got to turn things over down here and get some stuff straightened out. Then I’ll head up.”
Taryn shrugged. “You’ll probably beat us.” She pointed out.
“Probably.” Ben shrugged. “You going to show us your javelin skills?”
“That and perhaps a bit more.” Taryn said with a slow, secret smile that she shared with Sylvie.
She looked at her mom and bent over to whisper in her ear. Mary looked startled before breaking into a grin of her own, though Ben detected an undercurrent of sadness and fear in it. He wondered what had been said.
They left, and Ben started the difficult process of sending his overworked staff home, calling in the night shift crew to handle the incoming (they seemed to be expecting the call, and assured him that they would be able to handle anything that would come up. Yes, yes, they would call if they came across anything they couldn’t handle).
Trusting that everything would be taken care of, he locked up his office, waited ten minutes or so for the night shift to come in, made sure the last of his people went home, then left the building himself.
It had taken thirty minutes for everything to play out, and Ben drove straight to the range. Along the way, he passed Anne and Mary riding the girls. To Ben’s surprise, he saw that Mary had donned her buckskin costume to match her daughter, and wore a cowboy hat on top of her head. She actually looked like she belonged in the outfit, which Ben found incredible. He waved as his car passed and they waved back.
At Alfred’s, he found the parking lot all but overfilled with vehicles and he cursed when he realized he could spend an hour or more waiting for a spot to open up or be forced to hike a fair distance.
To his relief, he spotted a spot behind a Lance camper and trailer parked along the curb and slid his car in there. He turned off the engine and walked inside, noting the bustling crowds milling about as he searched for the proprietor.
Spotting the man, he cut his way through the crowd until he reached him.
“Hey Alfred. Busy day today.” He remarked, slapping him on the shoulder.
“Ben! Long time no see, buddy! How’s it going these days?” Alfred smiled at seeing his sometime hunting partner.
“Not too bad. Missed a white tail buck the last time I was out, no clean shot. You?”
“Nothing this year.” Alfred said with a half-grimace. “Mostly because I haven’t been able to leave the range so far. It’s simply been too busy.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” Ben commented dryly.
“Yeah, well mine isn’t the only business that’s booming.” Alfred pointed out.
“Who are those guys?” Ben asked, frowning at a group of casually dressed men standing at the firing lanes. They were firing a variety of rifles and pistols, doing everything from firing at the hip to trying to hit the most distant targets on the range.
“Professionals.” Alfred said, idly eying them. “They’re here to try and challenge Sylvie. Not that I think any of them stand a chance against her. She’s a natural with that rifle, to the point of unbelievability.”
“So I’ve heard.” Ben grimaced. “I’m actually hear to see the truth of that rumor. I trust you’ve heard what happened yesterday?”
“Of course!” Alfred rolled his eyes. “It happened in the parlor of the biggest gossip in the Northern Hemisphere after all. Natalie heard about it and filled me in last night. We were all pulling for her. Glad to see that she didn’t have any problems.”
“Problems are plenty.” Ben growled. “Have you seen the attachment to those weapons the girls have? It’s not healthy, Al.”
“I know they have a strong one.” Alfred admitted. “But I didn’t realize how bad until Nat repeated their little speech. Can’t say as I blame them though, seeing what they can do with their weapons. You’ll be a convert to their way of thinking when you see it.”
Ben snorted. “I’ve seen sharpshooters before.” Ben informed him icily. “They’ve shot farther then I have, killed some pretty tough targets in Iraq, but I’ve not seen anyone that can do half of what I hear.”
“You’ll see.” Alfred said seriously. “She can pull things off with that rifle I’ve never dreamed it could do.”
“It’s a fine rifle.” Ben allowed. “But it’s too old, I think. I couldn’t recognize it when I looked at it.”
“Well, it’s model number is old, though the rifle itself is brand-new. I’ll say one thing about that bastard, he didn’t scrimp on the gun. He got Sylvie a Winchester 1886 Sporting Rifle with about a thirty-six inch barrel on it. It’s chambered to accept modern ammunition in about the forty-five caliber range, but simply by swapping out the barrel, she could probably put a fifty on it.”
Ben frowned. “Thirty-six is an odd size.” He commented.
“That’s the thing about the 1886.” Alfred explained. “It was one of the rifles that came out of the factory with custom barrels. They made about a little under a quarter of a million of them, if memory serves.”
Ben frowned, impressed again by his friend’s knowledge. But he knew he was wrong this time.
“I guess I will see, Al. But I have to tell you, even if she is as good as you say, I still think she should give up her rifle.”
“WHAT!” Al cried, turning a shocked expression on him.
“Al, consider what those girls went through. It’s not healthy for them to keep dwelling on it. If they’d just stuck with the gun, then I might consider it okay. But they’re going around back in their costumes they were forced to wear, they have a near fanatical attachment to their weapons, and they are starting to drift back into show business…Al, it’s got all the hallmarks of a successful programming of those kids, and I’m worried they might start wanting to go back to Nightshade.”
“That’ll never happen.” Al said confidently.
“I would have said the same thing about Clarissa when I saw her.” Ben said quietly, ignoring the startled, curious look Al threw him.
“C’mon Ben.” Al said. “We know them. They’ll be fine, regardless of what you’re afraid of. You’ll see.”
Ben’s reply was drowned by the clamor of the crowd as they rushed to the entrances. Ben and Al craned their necks to see what had attracted the attention. Ben knew they shouldn’t have bothered; the disturbance was caused by the arrival of Sylvie and Taryn. He could see them standing quite a bit above the crowd. When he got a good look at them, he threw a glanc at Al as if to say, “I told you so!”
The girls were dressed in their buckskin, but they’d added their makeup to the affair; Taryn’s skin looked much darker than before, and her hide and face was daubed with white paint in native symbology, accented by her headband and feather. Sylvie didn’t have the symbols, but she wore makeup as well, looking rough and rugged as she smiled and waved at the crowd. Ben swore under his breath when he saw Mary wearing a full costume as well. Where had she gotten that? He seemed to remember something about her getting hit with a stone in South America that gave her the ability to walk again, while giving her a costume to match her daughter. This must be it, he realized, although cut more like the cowboy style of Sylvie then the Native American dress that Taryn wore.
The only one that stood out amongst them was Anne. She wore the same clothes from this morning, and she appeared to be self-conscious of the difference.
Ben made his way through the crowd to where the group stood surrounded by their adoring fans, Al in tow.
“What do you girls think you are doing?” he asked, struggling to keep his tone even and light.
Sylvie answered before anyone else could. “Putting on a show for the public!” she shouted. The crowd roared in hungry anticipation. Ben noticed the edges starting to fray as people ran to get good seats; in minutes the pressure lessened considerably around them and Sylvie leaned closer.
“I know what your thinking, Chief, and it’s not like that.” She murmured quietly. “This is for someone special.”
“What do you mean?” Ben demanded.
“You’ll see here in…actually, right about now.” Sylvie amended, looking back at the entrance.
Ben leaned around her and saw another centaur, and realized Josh had come. To the best of Ben’s knowledge, this was the boy’s first time here, and he searched the crowd a moment before spotting Sylvie; Ben watched curiously as Taryn ducked as low to the ground as possible and hid behind her friend while her mom slid off her back, grinning widely.
“Hey Sylvie.” Josh said, coming up to them. Ben began to see what was going to happen, and felt a little better. Just a little.
“Where’s Ta-HAR-HAR-In!” Josh gasped, taking a step backwards, his eyes wide and staring.
Taryn had popped up from behind Sylvie with a big grin on her face.
“Ki-yah!” she laughed, drawing and holding her spear aloft, the blade glinting in the sun.
“Pale-face horse-boy seem to lose tongue!” she giggled.
Ben didn’t want to think about how much insult she’d just done to the tribal folk, and nervously glanced around to make sure no one overheard them.
“Girls, don’t you think doing the accent” he started nervously.
“Tar, you look…amazing doesn’t even cover it.” Josh said over the top of him in awe.
Taryn giggled, blushing darker under her fake tan.
Ben shook his head, muttering under his breath about teens and hormones. To break the tension, he pointed at Sylvie’s gun. “You ready to use that thing?” he asked.
“Ready and waitin’ chief!” Sylvie declared.
They made their way to the range while overhead the announcement that “Sure Shot Sylvie and Wild Taryn” were about to shoot echoed loudly over the grounds. Ben cocked an eye at Mary.
“Wild Taryn?” he asked.
“Wasn’t too comfortable with Free Spirit.” Taryn piped up. “I’m barely one sixteenth Cherokee, if that. So, I’m afraid I didn’t feel right taking an Native American name. Not to wild about Wild Taryn, either. Gotta come up with something else.” She frowned, obviously thinking.
Ben shrugged, wondering if he should send a ticket to his friend on a first class instant flight.
They made their way out to the booths and Sylvie opted for the one on the farthest left. Ben stood nearby, watching as she expertly checked her rifle again before loading it quickly. Alfred made his way out with close to six boxes—about twelve-hundred rounds.
“I couldn’t…” Sylvie protested.
“Don’t worry about it.” Al said. “Ben here’s got the tab.” He grinned at Ben who glared at him.
“Tell you what.” Ben growled playfully. “If Sylvie here is as good as everyone claims, I’ll pay the tab. But, if she isn’t, and one of these professionals can beat her, then Al here pays the tab for both parties.”
“Now I don’t think…” Mary said nervously.
“Your on, buddy.” Al grinned. “Who’d you have in mind to face Sylvie?”
Ben glanced around, looking at the professionals that had stopped their trials and ambled over to see the shooting. Having heard the wager, a couple stepped forward with cocky grins. Ben’s eyes tracked to an older fellow who sported two colt pistols and a modern rifle he recognized as a Colt & Saur, a solid sporting rifle. He also spotted several Colt logos and rightly assumed he would be their representative.
Ben pointed. “Him.” He declared.
Alfred motioned for the man to join them.
“Hello stranger. You heard the challenge?”
“Yep.” The man said briskly. “Sure did. Sounds like fun. What’s the rules?” His manner suggested he was intense and focused, but he spared a friendly smile for Sylvie.
“First three boxes counts for speed. Shoot as fast as you can and accurate as you can. Winner is determined by who stops first and with the least number of rounds outside the shadow. Second part is trick shots. Show the abilities to your max, within the limits of safety. Don’t be careless and show what you can do.” He glanced at the rifle. “Would you like to change weapons before we begin?” he asked. “That piece isn’t really designed for speed shooting.”
“Oh, I think I can manage.” The man said with a slight smile.
Alfred shrugged. “All right. Will the contestants please enter the starting line and load their rifles.” He announced.
Sylvie leaned over before they left and extended her hand. “Good luck, mister…?”
“Barnaby.” The man said as he clasped her hand. “Just call me Barnaby, miss! And best of luck to you.”
They entered the line and Ben and Al took their places off to the side. Taryn held the stopwatch.
“GO!” Al shouted.
In all his life, Ben never forgot the next few minutes. No words came to him to describe the magic he saw in front of his own eyes, no explanations to deny the evidence he witnessed. The two gunslingers fired shot after shot downrange faster than he’d seen automatics spraying. The rifles bucked yet were expertly adjusted by their masters, so every round hit within a two-inch space on the expert’s, and less than an inch on Sylvie’s, at a hundred yards. Their reloads bent reality, snapping down, reloading, and snapping back up to take more shots. Sylvie’s magazine gave her an edge in burst fire, but the expert loaded his single-shot in less then a second each time. Sylvie managed hers in 3.7865 seconds for ten rounds. Then they started trick shooting, performing mind-bending shots, from ricochets to long-shots, blind rounds to mirror shots in the reflection of Ben’s pocketknife! Barnaby was the best Ben had seen, but Sylvie still outperformed him at every turn.
When the contestants had halted and the echoes of the rounds had died, people clapped and cheered wildly at the impressive display they’d seen before them.
“Young lady, you’re the best shooter I’ve ever seen.” The man declared.
“The same goes for you, Mister Barnaby.” Sylvie grinned. “I’ve never had stiffer competition. I actually thought you’d beat me in the time run.” She admitted.
“Nearly did.” The man said with a twinkle. “But you’re grouping is tighter than mine, which counted a lot your way, and I still had only six thousandth of a second on you.”
“Well Ben?” Al turned to him with a grin. “What do you say now?”
Ben remembered to close his mouth and shook his head. “Well Al, looks like I owe you a lot for the ammunition.” He admitted.
“Shows you for betting against her!” Anne snickered.
“Hah!” Barnaby laughed. “I guess so!”
“Well, young lady, where are you going next?” Al asked curiously while Taryn passed over the stopwatch and talked quietly to Josh.
“Well, I was thinking about going to Mike’s Gunsmith shop.” Sylvie admitted. “I’d like to pick up a couple of pistols and see what I can do with them.”
“Pistols?” Barnaby asked, turning from the business of picking up the spent brass. “Well, young lady, I think I might be able to help you with that.”
Sylvie frowned. “What do you mean, Mister Barnaby?” she asked.
“Well, young lady, the company I represent would love to have you endorse their firearms; in exchange, I’m sure we could get you a pair of pistols. What kind were you looking for?”
“Something like a derringer, I suppose.” Anne started to say, but Sylvie overrode her.
“Mom, I want a pair of Colt Peacemakers in the .45 caliber range.” She said. “They’d match my rifle perfectly.”
“I think we might manage something.” Barnaby said with a smile while Ben watched Anne roll her eyes and sigh theatrically.
“But on that subject,” Barnaby continued. “I’d really like a chance to examine your rifle.”
Sylvie blinked, but slowly placed the weapon in Barnaby’s hands. He took the piece solemnly and began to examine it, while a crowd of the other representatives and curious onlookers formed about them.
“Hmm, this appears to be a model 1886 Sporting Rifle. The half-octagonal and half circular barrel is right. It’s a bit unusual in its length, about thirty-six inches overall, and chambered for the .45–70. The trigger guard is a bit tight here, I assume that’s personal preference?”
“That’s right.” Sylvie said respectfully.
“Thought so. Now, the etching on the barrel and metal surfaces is a work of art,” Barnaby said admiringly, “Never seen one so distinct, but a fairly typical old-west pattern, though more generally seen on presentation models. I like the workmanship. Hmm, something strange here. The stock is Red Walnut?”
“I’m not sure.” Sylvie admitted. “I was never told where the rifle came from, or what it’s stock was.”
“No issues, dear. It’s simply a very good wood for rifle stocks, very sturdy though I’m not sure this is what the stock is made of.” He tapped it and listened to the solid knock, held it up to the light to examine the grain better, and drew the point of a tester over it.
“Well!” he cried in surprise. “I’ll be…it’s ironwood! Desert ironwood! I’ve never seen a stock made out ironwood before!”
Around them there were murmurs of surprise that echoed through the crowd.
“What’s the matter?” Ben asked. “What does that mean?”
“Ironwood of any sort is rarely used in stocks, or projects.” Barnaby explained. “Because it’s so hard to work with. It’s hardness is phenomenal, the woody version of steel, if you will. This stock will survive a lot of pounding before it shows any sign of wear. It’s also fairly rare, as the tree itself isn’t very populous. It requires special permits to harvest, and the wood in any amount is extremely expensive.”
Sylvie shook her head again. “The amount of money that man sunk in us…” she muttered.
Barnaby glanced over at her, then shook his head as if remembering who he was talking to.
“Well, let’s just say I’m very impressed with this rifle, Miss Mathison. I’ve never come across one so unique, and you use it to its maximum potential, that’s for sure.”
Barnaby handed the rifle back and Sylvie slipped it into the sheath on her back. “Thank you.” She said politely.
“Now, shall we get on to business?” Barnaby asked.
“Not yet, sir. I’d like to watch Taryn.” Sylvie said quietly. “I think you’d like to as well.”
“Ah, okay!” Barnaby said with a smile.
Everyone hurried back to their seats, and with a little jostling everyone soon got ready.
Taryn stepped up to the line, dressed in her full war regalia and casually resting her spear next to her, surveying the distance to target. With a nod to Sylvie, she began her routine by hurling the spear a hundred and twelve yards into the bullseye of a plywood target. Charging downrange she snatched it out and rushed back to the line, spinning the wood through a series of offensive and defensive moves without pause between forms. Fluid like the sea, the spear shone in silver fire as it spun and worked. Coming back to the start, she didn’t slow or hesitate, but instead turned back and charged the targets. She’d gone a handful of steps, maybe twelve yards, before she hurled the spear again. Once more its point found the exact center of the target, and Taryn pulled it out before racing back as fast as she could. Drawing up short in front of the crowd, she reared once and waved, then cantered over to Sylvie with a huge grin on her face. Passing Josh, she pulled him down for a kiss and left him standing with a coy smile on her face, and utter disbelief and hunger on his!
Ben couldn’t believe the performance that he’d just witnessed. It didn’t seem possible that these girls had done what they just did. It was extraordinary! It was phenomenal! It was unbelievable!
As the shock wore off, however, the old fears started to surface once more. He could see now why they would want to keep their weapons; with displays like that, they could rake in the cash in any city, town or hamlet in the country. But what about the costumes? They were genuine buckskin clothing (and top of the line quality as well), but couldn’t it be a sign that they’d succumbed to Nightshade?
I should have called him weeks ago, he thought to himself.
With that thought, he walked up to Mary and Anne, bidding them good-bye, and left while the girls were talking to Barnaby and a stranger Ben hadn’t met before. He paused a moment to study the man talking to Taryn.
He was tall, maybe five-eleven, and carried a solid two-hundred and fifty pounds on his powerful frame. His skin was bronzed and tough. He was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, but arrowheads, feathers, and other jewelry adorned his neck and clothes. Ben had the suspicion that he would be an actual Native American, but to which tribe was beyond him. He debated whether or not he should go over there, but realized that this would be a conversation between Taryn and the man, and he’d best stay out of it.
With a sigh, he continued out to his car, wondering what he should say to his friend when he called. As he piled in, a message came over the radio, asking for him.
“Base, this is car one-two, Gardner here.” Ben barked.
“Chief, this is Base. We’ve got another robbery with those tattooed fellows in market street. Shots fired, and officer Mike is down. Repeat, officer Mike is down.” The dispatcher said dispassionately, though Ben could hear the tension in his voice.
“I’m on my way.” Ben shouted. He punched on the siren which let out an earsplitting wail while he punched the accelerator to the floor boards. The tires spun a moment before catching on the asphalt, hurling the car forward. He shot out of the driveway and onto the main road, hurtling towards Market Street while Ben inwardly swore he would see the entire group behind bars for this, while a rising tide of concern and fear for Mike and his family flooded him. Mike was his right-hand man, and should have gone home, dammit! Why was he at Market Street? He sent up a silent prayer as he drove for all he was worth.
In the bright sunshine, his siren joined the growing chorus of wails headed towards town.