Page 5 of After 5
Toches took another bite and chewed the request along with his meal. “The Scot knows of a key Gian-Carlo’s been after for some time. Gian-Carlo’s offered him a deal. If he takes Mortas to find the key and satisfies the remaining details of the contract, Gian-Carlo will return his key.”
“Why do they want McGregor to get the key? Why don’t they go get it themselves?” Marco asked.
“He’s the only one who knows the location, and he’s not telling, only showing.” Toches took another spoonful of the stew.
“What happens after they get the key?” I asked.
“Gian-Carlo has a plan, not one I agree with. He’s going to induct your Scot into the Mafusos and give him his key back, if he does exactly what Gian-Carlo’s ordered.”
“What are the orders?” Marco asked.
Toches face dropped. “I’m not going to tell you the details. Now shoo. You promised.”
Huh. I wondered what these details involved.
A group of three men entered the tavern and were led upstairs by the woman who had waited on us earlier.
Toches pushed his empty mug away from him as the men brought a young woman down the flight of stairs. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Her hands were bound behind her back. Her amber eyes went wide as the patrons accused her of being a witch, and the men led her toward the exit.
Someone yelled, “Take her to the gallows!
The crowd emptied out of the tavern into the cobblestone streets.
A church bell tolled in the distance, and Toches slipped off his stool. “Showtime. Catch you two troublemakers on the flip side.”
We walked outside. The frightened young woman was in the clutches of a stout man who reminded me of a whiskey barrel.
Another man held a bible open in his long, slim hands and his mouth danced the doorknocker beard he sported as he ranted on about witches and sins.
The townspeople gathered around the bible man, cheering and showing their support. I categorized him under evil-eyed authoritative figure, right next to David Koresh.
“Take her to Proctor’s,” the people chorused. “The hanging tree!”
The young woman was loaded into a haycart and a mess of townspeople followed behind her as the cart rolled away.
Toches gave a crooked smile. “Think I’ll get a front row seat.”
He was a sick dude.
“Should we follow him?” I asked Marco. “We did promise to leave, but…” I glanced toward the unruly crowd.
He shrugged. “I guess.”
Marco and I followed Toches and the group of rabble-rousers toward the edge of town. Bits of hay floated off the cart as it rattled down the cobblestone road.
The entourage stopped at the edge of a hill. The people clustered together in front of a sturdy tree. A rope hung from one of its thick branches and swung gently in the summer breeze.
Proctor’s Ledge. I remembered reading about the area believed to be the site of the hangings of the famous witch trials. In my time, the small knoll stood uphill from a CVS and wasn’t anything spectacular. It was hard to imagine the scene before me, and now that I was here, my stomach turned.
The crowd watched as the young woman was unloaded from the cart. Straws of hay clung to her hair and clothes. The men pulled the stumbling woman toward the makeshift ladder she would stand on to end her life. Toches was, as promised, front and center. Marco and I stood watching the mob.
“We should help her,” I said.
“No,” Marco said firmly. “You know the rules. We watch from a distance. Toches hasn’t done anything to arrest him for, yet.”
The crowd’s jeers heightened, and I fought off a roil of nausea.
“Marco, we have to do something. We can’t let that innocent woman hang.”
