Page 78 of Dark Sky

Soledad chinned toward the drinks on the cabinet. “‘Ain’t no laws when you’re drinking Claws.’”

Both women laughed at that. Wagy got the impression the phrase had been used quite a number of times between the three of them before they showed up and came in through the back door.

“This is Zenda,” Soledad said, pointing the neck of his beer bottle toward the blond woman. Then the other: “That’s Cyndy. They’re passing through, just like us. They’re on their way to protest the killing of buffalo that wander out of Yellowstone Park into Montana.”

“Bison,” Zenda corrected.

“That’s Cyndy with twoy’s,” Cyndy said.

“Like he’s going to have to spell your name in a blog post or something,” Soledad chided. Cyndy didn’t look amused at the sarcasm.

As the two women pulled thin cans from the packaging, Wagy made a face and addressed Soledad. “Where in the hell have you been? I’ve been here bleeding out for hours with no way to get help. You took the car, and it’s not like I can call an Uber out here.”

“Why didn’t you call or text?”

“The maniac crushed my cell phone, and the landline here doesn’t work.”

Soledad shrugged. He was nothing if not cool and uncaring, Wagy thought.

“I thought you’d be happy I brought us some company,” Soledad said. “Zenda and Cyndy like to party. Or so they said.”

“Not with that one,” Cyndy said to Soledad after gesturing toward Wagy on the couch. “He’s a train wreck.”

“I’m hurt bad,” Wagy said, suddenly serious. “I’m in a really bad way. I’m in no shape for a party.” Then, to Soledad: “Where have you been?”

Soledad sat down on the coffee table in front of Wagy andstared at him, then sipped his beer. Wagy couldn’t tell if Soledad was disappointed or angry with him, or simply oblivious to the situation. He was a hard man to read.

One thing Wagy had learned about Soledad was the falconer’s utter disregard toward life and death. The man was totally amoral. Wagy had witnessed Soledad kill living things like pigeons and prairie dogs to feed to his captured raptors. There wasn’t even a flinch. There was no difference between Soledad twisting the cap off a beer bottle or the head off a pigeon. He’d seen Soledad hold a bunny up by the neck and punch it so hard in the face it died instantly. He’d also observed as Soledad “culled” weak or injured falcons by lopping their heads off with a scythe he’d found in the barn.

Soledad had the same attitude when it came to human life, which was disconcerting. Wagy didn’t think much about the welfare of other people either, especially the one percent. But Soledad was in an entirely different category.

Although Wagy had heard stories, he hadn’t been sure he believed them until that driver in the luxury car shot by them on Interstate 25 on their way up from Colorado to Wyoming. The Mercedes SUV was a mile ahead of them when it swerved suddenly to avoid a herd of pronghorn antelope and it rolled two and a half times into the sagebrush on the right side of the highway and finally came to a stop upside down on its roof in a cloud of dust.

Soledad was driving, and he stopped at the scene of the crash. There was no other traffic on the road at the time. The middle-aged woman behind the wheel was injured but alive,and she hung suspended upside down by the seat belt she wore. Her arms were pinned tight to her sides beneath the belt. Wagy saw her turn her head and watch them climb out of their Suburban and walk toward her.

“Help me,” she begged. “Cut me down. Please help me.”

Soledad said, “Who haveyouever helped, rich lady?”

Then he bent down and reached through the smashed-out driver’s-side window with both hands. He told her, “I could cover your mouth and nose so you can’t breathe and no one would ever be the wiser.”

Her eyes got wide and she struggled, but she couldn’t wriggle free from the strap.

Soledad chuckled and left her hanging there.

—

It wasn’t a successful day on the cliff when the snow rolled in,” Soledad said. “I had to pack it in early, and then I went to a little town called Winchester to drown my sorrows. That’s where I met Cyndy and Zenda and we got to know each other. Time got away from me until they kicked us out when the bar closed.

“So,” Soledad said, “tell me how he got the jump on you.”

Wagy sighed. “He snuck up on me from behind and pinned my foot to the floor with a pitchfork.”

“Were you fried?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Describe him.”

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