Storming

Thirty-Five

THE TOP OF Hitch’s head felt about like a hard-boiled egg someone had smashed in with a spoon. That didn’t do much to make him hungry for the two sunny-side-ups staring at him from his plate. He hunched over the counter at Dan and Rosie’s Cafe on Main Street and cradled his mug of lukewarm coffee.

What he needed at the moment was a plan. Any plan. Even a stupid one would do—so long as it didn’t involve Jael finding that consarned pendant and turning herself over to Zlo. He growled.

Dan stood in front of him, rubbing silverware on an already damp towel. “Too runny?” he asked.

Hitch glanced up. “They’re fine. Just fine.” They weren’t really fine; they were just cheap. What he truly wanted this morning was a steak—rare and bloody. Something he could stab with a knife and then chomp with his teeth and rip into pieces.

Stabbing, chomping, and ripping. Those were about the only things that’d make him feel better right now. If he could stab, chomp, and rip that dirty no-account Rawliv Zlo, why, that’d be even peachier.

He tilted back the rest of his coffee, ignoring the pain in his head, then thunked the empty mug back onto the counter. Some little part of him wanted it to crack. Mug or countertop, didn’t much matter which.

Dan grabbed the mug. “Now, what was that for?”

A spark of penitence bounced through him. He reached to run a hand through his hair, then caught himself before he could make his headache worse. “Nothing. Sorry.”

Dan eyed him. “Where’re your friends?” He put the mug out of reach on the sill of the window that offered a peek into the back kitchen. Judging by the sizzle, his wife was frying hash browns.

“Out guarding the plane.” And each other, with any luck. “I had to come in for a couple jugs of gas.”

Behind Hitch, a chair squeaked. “We heard there was some trouble out there last night,” said old Lou Parker. He and Scottie Shepherd had been sitting at their table by the boarded-up broken window when Hitch came in.

“You heard right,” Hitch said.

“Well, what’re you going to do about it?” Scottie asked.

“What makes you think I’m going to be able to do anything about it?”

“You seem to always be right there in the thick of it, don’t you? Don’t tell me you’re giving up.”

Why not? He’d sure like to about now. He picked up his fork. At the moment, plans seemed to be in short supply around here. So what did that leave? He stabbed the congealed yolk, and the soft yellow bled all over the whites.

After last night, what was there left to plan with? Zlo had left them with only one or two airworthy planes and maybe half a dozen salvageable ones. Hitch could take the Jenny out and fly around for days without coming anywhere near Schturming, even with Jael’s pains acting as a divining rod.

A fists-in-the-face fight he could deal with. That’s what he had stayed for. But slow and strategic wasn’t his strength. Right now, the only thing he was good for around here was a whole lot of nothing. The wanderlust in the soles of his feet was starting to itch like crazy.

Maybe he should get out after all. Pack up Earl, Jael, and Taos and fly right through that storm and out of the valley. The storm couldn’t be more than a couple miles wide at the very most. He could fly through that. Then they’d be out. The town wouldn’t be a speck worse off than it was right now—and then maybe this crushing weight would lift from his chest. Free again.

Or not.

If he left his family right now, he’d never be free. He thumped the fork onto the countertop so hard his plate rattled. An answering thump of pain echoed through his head.

Dan gave him a narrow look.

“Well?” Scottie prompted from behind.

He swiveled on his stool and glared at the skinny old man. “Well, what? You got an idea, spit it out. Because right now I’d do about anything to end this.”

Bill Campbell’s broad shoulders filled the open doorway. “Is that so?”

Save for Rosie scraping a spatula through her hash browns in back, the cafe went still.

Campbell pulled out the toothpick he was sucking and entered. He looked at Lou and Scottie. “You’ll pardon me, boys, for turning you out into the damp air, but I’d like a word with our prodigal pilot here.”

Ah, gravy. Hitch resisted hurling his fork—or, shoot, the whole plate of eggs—straight at Campbell’s head. Of all the things he did not need this morning, Campbell was way up there at the top of the list.

He glowered. “What do you want?”

While Lou and Scottie grabbed their hats and filtered out, muttering to each other, Campbell took a stool next to Hitch’s.

He looked at Dan. “You too, if you don’t mind, Holloway. Go on in the back there and give Rosie a hand with them dishes.” He dropped a nickel onto the counter and turned the pewter coffee pot so he could grip the handle. “I’ll help myself.”

Dan gave a reluctant nod, flipped his towel over his shoulder, and pushed through the swinging door into the back.

“Well, son.” Campbell righted one of the upside-down mugs from the back edge of the counter and filled it. “Hear we had some trouble last night.”

“Seems everybody’s heard.”

“Well, here’s the thing.” He took two long swallows. Then he set the mug on the counter and leaned back on his elbow. “You and me, Hitch, we haven’t always seen eye to eye. But I’m not about to let that jumped-up mercenary, or whatever he thinks he is, come in here and hold this town for ransom.”

Swell. Save the town from Zlo and give it back to Campbell. Out of the fire and back into the frying pan.

“Listen to me.” Campbell’s voice deepened. “When I went up there the other day, Zlo offered me a deal.”

The hairs on the back of Hitch’s neck rose.

“Said if I’d help him get this pendant thing he wants, he’d give me a quarter of the ransom.”

Hitch shoved back his plate and stood. “Why tell me? If you think I’m going to help you help him, you’re crazy.”

“I’m telling you because I want no part of it. I’ll tell you something else. I don’t want him just chased out of this valley. I want him brought down. I want him and every one of those mother’s sons up there in my jail. And I want you to help me.”

“Why me?”

Campbell’s mouth tweaked in that almost-smile. “Because you and me, we’re friendly, Hitch. And because I hear you’re about the only one left who’s got a plane that’ll fly.”

“And I suppose you’ve got a plan to go along with my plane?”

“We’ll figure that out. Right now, I’m here to get something straight between us. Whatever you do to bring down Zlo, when you’re done, I want that big ship of his in my custody.”

“You mean you want it for yourself.” He couldn’t entirely say which was worse: Livingstone using it to own the skies, or Campbell getting his hooks in it and using it to cement his ownership of this town.

Campbell shrugged a shoulder. “Who else around here has got a right to protect it and make sure it’s used properly?”

Hitch snorted. “You’re the last person I’d want to have it.”

“You quit with your beefing, get your head on straight, and do this for me—and it could be we might finally be able to call it even between the two of us.”

“I’ve heard that one before.”

But his mind couldn’t help turning it over anyway. Chances were good Campbell would actually uphold the deal this time. He wanted Schturming brought down bad enough for that. Hitch ground his teeth.

Find Schturming, bring it down, and let Campbell take care of it once it was on the ground. Then he could get out, back to life as he knew it, back to the barnstorming circuit. If Campbell took over Schturming, Jael wasn’t going to have anything to go back to, so maybe he could talk her into joining the troupe for real. Maybe it was time to explore whatever it was that was happening between them.

Why not help Campbell and let Campbell help him? It’d sure solve everything.

Campbell was going to be in power here whether Hitch stayed or not. In fact, when it came down to it, Campbell’d probably take Schturming whether Hitch put his plane at his disposal or not.

But help Bill Campbell? His throat tightened. Whether Campbell ended up getting his claws into Schturming or not wasn’t the point—particularly since he almost certainly would. The point was that Hitch’s promise to Jael about getting her home would be a fat lot of worthless if he handed that home over to Campbell as soon as it touched ground.

He looked Campbell in the eye. “Can’t do it.” He turned to go.

Campbell let him get halfway across the room. “Why don’t you get yourself on back here.”

Two more strides and he’d be out the door.

“I told you the benefits if you do this right. Now I’m going to tell you the drawbacks if you don’t.”

In the doorway, Hitch stopped and looked back. He shouldn’t have, but he did. Because Campbell had always had it in his power to wield a lot of drawbacks.

Campbell sipped his coffee. “That little gal of yours? Don’t think I don’t know exactly who she is. She could end up going straight back to Mr. Zlo. Your mechanic pal might end up breaking his other arm.” He set the mug on the counter, and swiveled all the way around on his seat. “And you can bet my deputy’s going to have to find himself a new job.”

The anger, simmering in Hitch’s belly all morning, finally came to a boil. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Griff.”

“Not yet, it don’t.”

Hitch shoved a chair aside and stalked back across the room. “I should have beat in your stinking head a long time ago.”

“That ain’t going to win you this fight.” Campbell unfolded himself from the stool and stood. “You think you came home, Hitch. But you’re on my ground. Don’t go raising no ruckus you can’t finish.”

Hitch kept coming. “You’re wrong. You don’t own this town, no matter how much you like to think people need you.”

“I own you, son. That’s all you need to worry about.”

Campbell had to be closing in on seventy, but he still looked like he could take a beating without buckling—and give it right back with twice the force.

He eyed Hitch. “You always were a fool, Hitch, but don’t do something you’re going to regret. You’re on my side on this one, even if maybe you can’t see it. You take one swing at me, and whether it connects or not, I’ll break you right in two, along with everyone you care about.”

From the moment Hitch had opened his eyes this morning, his fists had been itching for a fight. In Zlo’s stead, Campbell’d have to do. Yeah, Hitch would probably end up in as bad a shape as Campbell would. Yeah, Campbell would maybe take him apart afterward. But where did this end if not here?

Small footsteps clattered up the sidewalk outside.

Campbell looked past Hitch to the door. “Well, now, youngster.” He turned back to Hitch. The hardness in his eyes put the lie to his friendly tone. “I reckon that’s just in time.”

Hitch took one more step, everything in him urging him on. Get to Campbell. Crack his face open. Have done for good and all.

But the sound of the panting behind him made him look back.

Walter ran into the cafe and grabbed Hitch’s hand. His face was streaked red, from running or maybe from crying. He looked up at Hitch, eyes huge, the pupils little specks. His breath came so hard, he was practically wheezing. He yanked on Hitch, trying to pull him away.

Hitch attempted to free his arm. “You need to go home, kid.”

Walter shook his head and pulled harder.

Still watching Walter, Campbell jutted his chin at him. “I know some other folks who might benefit if you don’t get your head on straight. So what’ll it be?”

Hitch clenched his fists, the tendons in his arms straining hard enough to hurt.

And then he backed down. Because what else could he do?

“We’re going to finish this talk later,” he said. “Sheriff.”

“You keep blaming me, son. But you’re the one who got yourself into this.”

And that, right there, was the gospel truth.

Hitch let Walter drag him to the door.

Once they were on the sidewalk, he got his arm free and shrugged his leather jacket back up onto his shoulder. “I’m in no mood for games right now. You and I both know you’re not supposed to be around me anyway. So run home.”

Walter shook his head hard and grabbed again at Hitch’s arm. Hitch tried to shake him off, but Walter stuck out his hind end and dug in his heels.

“C’mon.” Hitch yanked his sleeve free. “If something’s the matter, go talk to your dad for a change. I got my own problems right now.” He took two steps, then stopped and looked back. “Where’s Taos? I thought he was with you last night.”

Tears welled in Walter’s eyes.

Uh-oh. This was bad. Something painful inside of him rolled over. That dog had been with him longer than Earl.

“What happened?” He walked back to face the boy. “Where is he?”

Walter stared at the sidewalk and shrugged.

“Just tell me.”

Walter darted his face back up, as if he’d been slapped.

Totally, entirely, absolutely the wrong thing to say. Hitch had almost forgot the kid couldn’t—_wouldn’t_—talk. He exhaled hard.

Walter opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. His lower lip trembled. “Zlo—took Taos.”

“What?” The word burst out before he really had time to think about it.

That snake Zlo had his dog.

And Walter had just said something.

Why was this happening now, with Hitch? This should be happening with Nan and Byron. They were the ones who had waited forever for Walter to start talking again. They’d know what to say, pat him on the back, make a big deal out of him.

Hitch’s head pounded pain all the way down his spine. “What happened?”

Walter sucked in a shaky breath. He wasn’t crying, but he was mighty close to it. “I—” His voice was tinny, unused.

Hitch was no good with kids, especially crying kids. “Come on now. Don’t cry. Just tell me what happened. Where’d you see Zlo?”

“Out—by—the—Bluff.” Every word was a gasp. “With his ship. It’s broken.”

Electricity zinged across Hitch’s skin. “The ship’s out by the Bluff?” He looked instinctively across town, even though the buildings blocked the view from here. He seized Walter’s shoulder. “You’re sure?”

“But they… saw me.”

A deep growl welled in Hitch’s throat. This was a lead, a solid lead. The first in days. If he could get out there in time, he could finish what he’d started the other day: bring the ship down and get his people and himself out of here before Campbell could rain down any more threats. And then he could put this whole big mess behind him. Coming home had been a mistake. He wouldn’t make it again.

But only if he could get out to the Bluff in time.

He released Walter. “I got to go.”

Shoulders slumped, the boy looked up at Hitch. His tears finally slid free. “I’m sorry about Taos.” Then he turned and ran.

Hitch barely held back a groan as he watched him go.

He’d been too rough on the kid. He’d spoken too harshly, been too impatient. After all, Walter had come to fess up. And Zlo’s taking Taos probably hadn’t been Walter’s fault to begin with.

He should go after him and tell him it was all right.

It wasn’t all right. But what else were you supposed to tell a kid who was breaking his heart over a dog?

Except he couldn’t, not right now. Schturming came first.