Diego rolled his shoulders as he removed his coat, placing it on the hangar by the door. Ruby told her side of the story, or rather what she was okay with Diego knowing. He cocked an eyebrow at the thought of what transpired in Blackwater. He remembered a few Pinkertons riding into town offering slum bosses money for any information. Diego knew of an Irishman who took the money and fed them some story that wasted their time, the same agents came back and beat the poor bastard in front of everyone in the street. These guys were legit, not the type Claude or even Angelo Bronte could pay to fuck off. If these were the same detective types that were after Ruby's outfit, Diego figured they must've made quite the mess.
Walking back over towards Ruby, who took a spot looking out of the window, Diego was able to get a real good look at her. Dios mio, the lady was beauty personified, with the type of mouth to make a big city gambler like him swoon all the way back to Saint Denis. She looked back at him and met his eyes and he paused for a moment before smiling at her and taking a few more step, "Never managed to forget about that night in Blackwater, myself." he smiled and began to move in slowly, the only noise being the bustle from the street outside.
Suddenly, a shriek like a million glass needles cut through the Valentine hum. Diego blinked and looked out of the window and into the street. A wagon was slowly being pulled into town, the two horses that drove it forward had their reigns gripped by mutilated, dismembered arms. In the saddle sat whatever dry innards that managed not to slip off on the ride in. The coach itself was covered in arrows, like a porcupine on wheels. On the top of the coach, a mutilated corpse, unrecognizable without the skin of its face, spread out like DiVinci's Vitruvian Man. What a blood curdling scream it was. A man approached the stage door and opened it. Out fell the corpses of the passengers, bloodied and contorted.
Diego took the cigarette he was about to light out of his mouth, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He had seen plenty of blood, guts and death in the alleys and streets of Saint Denis, but the level of unexplainable carnage previously inexperienced was enough to dumbfound the man, even for just a second, he leaned forward, damn near pressing against the glass window.
"What the... fuck?" was all he could muster. In the distance, another shriek was heard, and on the opposite end of the street, a fire suddenly broke out behind the sheriff’s building. Something was coming, something evil.