To Catch a Copperhead Read online

  “I think I see one. He’s heading towards the Tammany Hotel,” I said.

  “I can’t see…” she started but I pulled a spyglass from my belt and handed it to her. She opened it and moved it up to her eye. She took a moment but then said, “Yes. He is one of them.”

  The crosshairs in the scope never waived as I asked, “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” she said and then jumped when my rifle popped. The silencer did its job and kept the sound of the shell’s report to a minimum but the muffled pop still spooked her. She pulled the spyglass back to her eye and looked. “You missed.”

  “Just wait for it, little bird,” I whispered and continued to watch through the scope.

  The shot had been long but hit exactly where I’d intended. Instead of striking the man, it passed through the wooden tote and shattered the vial of Greek fire within. He’d felt the impact and pulled the box up to his chest and held it tightly as he began a final sprint toward the hotel. The volatile mixture gushed out and was immediately soaked into the cotton padding and leached into the thin wood of the box itself. Some leaked through the box’s loose seam and was absorbed into the man’s jacket. It only took seconds for the reaction to occur. The cotton interior burst into flames that were so hot and brilliant that the thin wood couldn’t resist. The box exploded in the man’s arms, igniting his jacket and instantly cooking the flesh on his hands, neck and face.

  He dropped the box and ran forward, but his clothing was already engulfed. He staggered and then fell to the cobblestones. Arms and legs flailed from the ball of fire that his torso had become.

  I heard Emma’s sharp inhale and then she turned toward me in a panic. “You have to do something. He’s on fire!”

  “Yes he is,” I replied in a flat voice and glanced over into her wide and pleading eyes. “How many people would he have burnt alive in the hotel? Do you think he’d have had any measure of remorse?”

  “Shoot him! Please, put him out of his misery. You can’t be that cruel. It doesn’t matter what he’d have done, you’ve got to be the better person. Please!” She screamed.

  The words stung because I would have let him burn. I wanted him to suffer but she had a point. Were my sadistic needs making me as evil as he was? I placed the crosshairs on where I thought his head should be and pulled the trigger. A split second later, his limbs jerked for the last time and dropped down onto the scorched cobblestones.

  I looked over and asked, “Better?”

  “I… I think so,” she stammered. “You killed him. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “No, I don’t let it,” I lied and holstered the rifle. “We’ve got to move if we’re going to stop any more of these bastards.”

  -3-

  Causalities of War

  We got to the street and headed north. Most folks in the area had rushed to the aid of the now-deceased Copperhead, so we were able to move quickly without drawing attention. Emma, for her part, did as I asked and when I waved, she ducked into the shadows with me.

  “I’ve read stories about you. They said you are a heartless killer,” she whispered with a hint of disappointment in her tone. “I see that they were right.”

  “Killer?” I stopped and turned. She almost walked into me, so I leaned close and added, “Yes, I kill and I do it without remorse. But know this. I only kill those men who have it coming.”

  “To protect the whores?” Her words tore into me and anger grew within my core.

  “Damn right to protect the women of this neighborhood,” I spat out and turned to continue walking. When I heard her footfalls behind me, I continued. “Someone like you wouldn’t understand. You grew up in a decent house with parents who gave you everything you needed.”

  “Not everything. There were plenty of times I didn’t have meals or decent clothing…”

  I spun and stopped her. “You complain because you think your father is playing around with some tart behind your mother’s back. Still, he works and keeps up his household, doesn’t he? My father sold me to a brothel when I was ten for enough coins to buy a bottle of rum. I had to grow up doing things that I can never purge from my memories. I was beaten regularly by men who got their kicks inflicting pain… hearing women scream and suffer.”

  Her stunned expression was priceless. I wanted her to understand why I did this. Deep inside, I wanted her to suffer as well. She wasn’t a girl of privilege, but still, she’d never been raped and beaten to within an inch of her life. She could never know the horrors and the reasons why I needed to protect the girl who’d not escaped the streets yet.

  “There are men who are aggressive and forceful in a carnal manner but only to a point. I have no issues with that. I think men should be, but when a woman is forced? When she is hit, slapped, or kicked then he has gone too far.” I started walking again. She moved up beside me, matching my stride.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “I’m sorry that…”

  “Spare me your pity,” I said. After a few moments of awkward silence, I added, “Two years ago, I was beaten so badly that I spent weeks in the hospital recovering. I was told that my organs were ruined and that I may never be able to have a child. A nurse took me into her home after I was well enough to leave and helped me escape from the brothel where I’d been nothing more than a slave. Now, I’m returning the favor and using my skills to give the women of the streets a chance.”

  “By killing the men you think are harmful?”

  “I never kill unless I see them strike or harm someone,” I said and motioned her to a dark corner.

  A group of men walked past us and never realized that we stood hidden in the shadows. One young man bragged loudly about his conquest of a girl named Betty. He laughingly commented on having to backhand the bitch to get her to lay still. My hand instinctively reached back to the butt of my rifle when he spoke of demanding his money back afterwards and how she’d cried as he slapped her until the coins were returned. Emma’s elbow poked my arm and reminded me that we had a more pressing issue to deal with.

  Once they were past us, we moved back out onto the street and headed to the next hotel.

  “What were you going to do back there? Shoot the man in the back?” Emma quipped but I could hear the sarcasm. “You talk about men being bullies because of their size and strength, but couldn’t the same be said of you? Are you just a bully with a gun who kills to satisfy some personal need?”

  I didn’t answer because I didn’t know. For two years, I’d been on the rooftops or in the shadows. I’d been alone and had avoided letting anyone know about me. As frustrating as Emma was, I realized that I’d been more open with her than I’d ever been with anyone. My past wasn’t something I talked about. In fact, I’d never spoken to anyone I rescued or helped until that night.

  What would I have done to that man? It bothered me that I didn’t know. It bothered me that my first instinct had been to kill without proof of guilt. Her words bothered me on a deep level that I didn’t want to admit to having. Had I become as dark and sinister as the thug who’d beaten me? He’d shown no compassion or concern for my life and I saw that I’d had no concerns for the lives of the men who’d been in my crosshairs.

  “I don’t have time for this. We’ve got to move.”

  We rounded a corner and came upon a scene of chaos. Whiffs of smoke belched from a few lower windows and the front doors of a hotel. In addition, dozens of people, many in nightclothes, were streaming out of the building. Calls of ‘Fire!’ echoed through the streets.

  Through the mess of running and panicking people, Emma grabbed my arm and pointed at one man. I immediately knew he must be a Copperhead since his expression wasn’t of fear or concern but one of satisfaction.

  “He’s one of them,” she belted out as I reached for my rifle. She grabbed my arm and added, “You can’t shoot him. Not out here in the open where everyone will see you.”

  I glanced at her in annoyance and sprinted away. He charged down the street in our
direction, so I wove through the light crowd that’d gather and appeared in front of him before he realized I was there. His speed as well as my own only added to the power of the punch. His head snapped back and his feet and legs flew out from under him.

  He hit the ground and I dropped on him, slamming my fist into his face again. His nose crunched and blood gushed out and covered his mouth and chin. He wouldn’t get up anytime soon. A measure of rope was pulled from a pouch on my belt. The thick twine was twisted and tied around his wrist, then strung down to his ankles and bound around them as well. By the time I was done, he was thoroughly hogtied.

  A small crowd had begun to form around us and it made my skin crawl. I worked at night for a reason, so that I wasn’t seen, yet here I was, the center of attention. Emma came to my rescue, grabbed my arm and helped me to my feet once the Copperhead was securely tied up.

  “I need someone to fetch a copper,” she shouted. “This man is a saboteur. He and his companions are Copperheads and they’re setting fires to the hotels of our city. Anne and I have to stop them but I need you all to hold him here until the police arrive.”

  “Anne? Assassin Anne?” someone asked.

  I grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her away from the crowd. After a few steps, we dashed off in a full sprint and escaped the calls for us to stop. We wove through the crowd and heard the clanging of fire bells. Once a block away from the scene, we slowed.

  “Thank you,” she huffed in between breaths. “For not killing him.”

  The block-long run had been nothing for me since I routinely ran for miles each evening. But for Emma, it’d been an ordeal. She’d already covered more ground in the past hour than she probably walked during the course of a regular day. I couldn’t fault her with being winded.

  “The Royale is two blocks away. If we hurry, we may be able to catch the bastards in the act, before they can unleash their firestorm.”

  She picked up her pace and nodded. In between deep breaths, she asked, “What about the other places?”

  “If they are already there,” I replied, “which I suspect they are, then it’s too late to stop them. At least the Royale is close enough that we may have a chance to stop them or catch them as they leave.”

  “But the people…”

  “Causalities of war,” I said and looked over at her. “I don’t mean that to sound callous but it’s true. These men are committing an act of war. All we can do is be happy that we were able to stop the ones we have.”

  “Only one,” she whispered.

  “No, not one. The three men who attacked you had a case, so that’s one target safe. The one who went up in flames is two. We didn’t stop the last one, but we did capture him so he’ll never be able to do anything against our city again,” I said and waited. It took a moment before she responded with a nod. “Alright, can you run? We’ve got ground to cover if we’re gonna make it.”

  Again, she nodded and we dashed towards the Royale.

  -4-

  Encounter at the Royale

  It was after ten o’clock when we reached the doors of the Royale. The bleak hotel stood several stories, just another building amongst the many on the block. A handful of people walked the streets at this hour but none gave notice to our final sprint up the stairs and into the doorway.

  Darkness hid much of the lobby. Only a lantern that hung behind the counter burned and shed enough light to illuminate the sparse furnishings and the three men inside. The body of a man lay sprawled out beside the counter. His head rested in a pool of blackness that could only have been his own blood.

  A wooden tote sat on the counter, open with a man’s hand hovering over it. The Copperhead stared at me, frozen in place and unsure if I was a threat. His gaze locked first on the butt of my rifle as it protruded over my shoulder and then dropped to my hands. He moved fast and I drew my pistols. Before he could get a word out, a round from both weapons tore into his chest. In a blur, he fell back against the counter and slid to the floor.

  The other two reacted quickly, one dove behind the counter and the other charged at me. I swung my pistols in his direction but he’d closed the distance faster than I’d thought possible. A large hand swatted the pistol in my right hand so hard that I lost my grip and the weapon flew out of reach. Still, my other hand held fast to a pistol and I fired it point blank into his torso. He jerked to the side and grunted in pain, but grabbed my wrist and twisted hard enough to loosen my grip on the weapon.

  Pain shot through my arm and I suddenly feared that I might hear the sounds of bones snapping. I tried to pull away but his hand was just too strong. He wore a devilish smile, punctuated by blackened teeth. His gaze moved to the pistol and his fingers squeezed harder. The pressure increased to the breaking point and I couldn’t stand it any longer. My fingers opened and the gun tumbled to the floor.

  When he looked into my eyes, his smile faded. He’d been distracted enough by my struggle not to notice that my empty hand now held my Bowie knife. Its blade shimmered as it flashed in front of him and ripped into his stomach. He flinched from the pain and I twisted the hilt for added measure. He released my hand and I pushed myself away from him, drawing the knife out of him in the process. I didn’t see the quick jab his fist made but I felt its impact on my face. The room seemed to light up for a split second before the pain set in. A second punch hit as well but I ducked and avoided the third.

  I slashed upwards and dug a deep gash across his chest. He pulled back and I took advantage of the space between us. With a quick twist, I kicked out to the side and put my boot in his stomach. He grunted from the pain of the kick but also from the impact of my foot on the pistol and knife wounds. He staggered back and I lunged forward. The knife slammed into his chest as we collided. He stumbled over and fell on his back with me riding him down. The force of our fall caused me to push the blade even deeper into him.

  “Anne!” Emma screamed.

  I glanced to her and followed her gaze to the third man who charged at me. I leapt to my feet but the brute was on already on me. Hands the size of Christmas hams grabbed my arms and with surprising strength threw me across the room, headfirst into a wall.

  Dazed, I tried to stand but his fist slammed into my stomach. My body seemed to wrap itself around his hand as he pushed me back against the wall. He punched me again and again, until my body felt numb. Thick fingers wrapped around my neck and squeezed until no air could enter my lungs.

  “Now li’l kitten, Youse gone and killed two of me friends. I think I’ll be taking it out on….” His slurred voice hesitated as he rolled my head back and forth and studied me. “Wait a tick… I knows you.”

  Shadows covered much of his face but the voice struck a nerve. I knew him as well. I knew the feel of his hands slapping me, punching me, and holding me down. I couldn’t see his face through the shadows but I knew he was smiling. He’d found me, found his favorite play toy, the girl who’d been his punching bag on those drunken nights when he’d had the money to pay his way into the brothel that my father had sold me to.

  My heart froze and fear set in. The memories of his brutality flooded my head and I couldn’t stop the wave of emotions. Tears streaked down my cheeks as I tugged at his hand, nails digging into his flesh but still I couldn’t get air to my lungs. Death didn’t scare me, but I couldn’t die like this, not by his hands.

  “Let her go!” Emma screamed and punched him in the head.

  He released me long enough to backhand her. I heard the smack and then the thud as she hit the floor. Fury boiled up and replaced the fear. He’d hurt my friend. As irritating as she may be, Emma was under my protection. I lifted one foot and planted it against the wall and then pushed away as hard as I could. The force caused him to stumble back a couple of steps.

  In a flash, my hand grabbed the butt of my rifle, spun it over my shoulder so that the barrel was mere inches from him and pulled the trigger. The bullet blasted though his chest and sprayed the floor behind him with his blood. Before he
could register what had happened, I’d cocked, chambered another round and fired it into him, an inch above the first hole. As he staggered back, I brought the weapon to head level and fired the last shot into his forehead.

  “Bitch….”

  The word was barely audible as he fell to the side and lay still. Once certain that he and the others were down for good, I moved to Emma’s side. She sat up, her hands rubbing her right cheek where the brute had hit her.

  “Are you alright?” I asked and watched her nod. “Thank you.”

  “For what? All I managed to do was get smacked like a schoolgirl,” she quipped.

  “You got his attention long enough to give me a chance.”

  A low moan from the second man caught our attention. His hand moved to the knife that still stuck out of his chest. We stepped over and knelt beside him.

  “How many more Copperheads are there?” I asked. When he didn’t answer, I leaned closer and repeated the question.

  “Don’t know. Our group—meeting at Ryan’s Pub—after fires set,” he stammered.

  I toyed with killing him and ending his suffering, but we could hear footsteps coming down the stairs. The ruckus we’d made from fighting and the gunplay had no doubt roused most of the sleeping patrons, if not all of them.

  “Grab the tote,” I said to Emma as I located my pistols. I returned to him and wrapped my fingers around the hilt of the knife. “This is going to hurt.”

  He nodded and I jerked the blade free. He moaned softly and whispered, “Finish the job.”

  I looked at Emma who had walked up beside me, tote in hand. She looked down at the dying man with profound sadness, then her gaze moved to me. With a slight nod, she gave her approval to his request. I stood and pointed the pistol at his head as she turned away.