by Andy Monk
He’d known her for such a short time, but he already couldn’t imagine being without her. That was what being in love felt like, he supposed.
Cece kept looking at that man Amos as he talked with Deputy Blane in the saloon’s doorway. She looked distracted and concerned, more interested in the stranger than his questions about her songs.
She loved music and had a voice God himself must have given her, he was being interested and attentive, showing her that he shared her passion, which was just one of a whole heap of reasons why they should be together, yet his words washed over her as she kept glancing over his shoulder.
Perhaps the Deputy was going to arrest him for something. He looked like the kind of man who must have done plenty of stuff that warranted being thrown in a cell for, maybe they’d string him up, though that was probably too much to hope for.
Whatever Blane wanted with him, he eventually turned away from the saloon and walked in silence with the Deputy across the square, towards the Mayor’s residence rather than the sheriff’s office though. Which was a pity.
“What that’s about?” Cece muttered as they watched the pair walk away.
“Dunno,” Sye replied, he hoped disinterestedly, “Perhaps he’s done something wrong, that’s usually why the law takes an interest in a man. Perhaps you should be careful of him.”
“I’m careful of all men,” Cece smiled. He wasn’t sure if she’d meant him as well, though he couldn’t see why she would.
She turned away and headed inside, Sye paused before following her as a thought struck him. Perhaps the Mayor wanted to warn the stranger off of Cece. He had seemed keen to help him after all. Sye didn’t know, but it never hurt to have friends in high places.
He shook the thought away, it didn’t matter, the only thing he wanted from the Mayor was his advice. He was a strange coot, but he’d been right about Cece. He had to be bold. He just hadn’t quite figured out just how to be bold yet.
“You were out riding?” He asked once they got inside.
“Yeah…”
“Why?”
She frowned and turned back to face him, “Why not?”
“There’s not much to see.”
“It’s very beautiful here Sye… maybe you don’t notice that because you grew up here. Where I come from there’s nothing…” she sighed and flicked her wrist towards the world outside the saloon “…like this.”
“You don’t have grass and cows where you come from?”
Cece laughed, which always seemed to make the blood rush from his head, “Yeah we have grass and cows, but here… it’s all different. Clean and unspoilt.”
“You should visit my cowshed, that might change your mind.”
Cece pulled a face, “Very tempting, but I gotta sing tonight.”
“Some other time... maybe?”
“To see your cowshed? Is that a euphemism?”
Sye chuckled. It sounded like something medical and he made a mental note to ask Dr Rudi if he got the chance.
“Well not exactly the cowshed. If you want to see the countryside I can show you. I know near every blade of grass round these parts.” That wasn’t technically true obviously, but given every blade of grass looked much like any other he didn’t think it was that far off the mark.
Cece pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. Sye’s heart sank; she was trying to think of a way of letting him down gently.
“Sure, why not,” she said with a quick shrug and a little toss of her head.
Sye felt like he might faint. Was this what happened when you were bold? He didn’t know as he’d never tried it before.
“When you free?”
“Tomorrow?” Sye asked hopefully.
“Ten o’clock, I’ll be at the livery finding a less lame horse…” she grinned and turned away “…sorry, but have to get changed for tonight. See you!”
He watched her hurry off up the stairs, his mouth still hanging open long after she’d disappeared from sight.
The Gunslinger
“I wasn’t sure whether you’d come,” the Mayor said, looking up from his book. However, the faint little smile that played across his face suggested he knew damn well that he’d come.
“Your man is very persuasive,” Amos nodded towards Blane, who had moved to stand a couple of discreet paces behind the Mayor.
“One of his many virtues…” the Mayor opened his palm and indicated the chair opposite, “…please, take a seat.”
The Mayor was sat at a small cast-iron table in the garden to the rear of his residence, a pitcher of iced lemonade before him. The Mayor poured a second glass and pushed it towards him.
“You look thirsty… I would offer something stronger, but I rarely partake of alcohol.”
“No free whiskey here then?”
The Mayor smiled, “The mere mortals do so like their little pleasures, and I’m happy to indulge a few small sins.”
Amos sipped his drink, it was cold enough to hurt his teeth, but otherwise pleasant enough.
The table sat upon a square of flagstones shaded under arches of honeysuckle and jasmine. Their scent rising with the setting of the sun to sweeten the air.
“A beautiful garden,” Amos said eventually when the Mayor continued to regard him in silence. He didn’t really know if it was or not, but assumed it was to his host’s taste
“Ah, a man who can appreciate the beauty of the world.”
“I’ve seen enough of it ugliness.”
“Of course, we all have, it is the way the world is, unfortunately… but without the ugliness would anything be truly beautiful?”
“If you’ve asked me here to discuss philosophy you may be disappointed. It is not really my speciality.”
“And what is your speciality?”
“Putting lead into flesh.”
The Mayor regarded him over the rim of his glass, “More useful than philosophy I suppose, in days like these at least.”
“The pay is better.”
“Quite,” he sipped his drink and put it down before adjusting the cuff of his shirt beneath the cream linen jacket he wore.
Careful, fastidious, meticulous.
“I feel I should apologise,” the Mayor continued once his cuff was to his liking, “I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot last night. Mrs McCrea can be quite bothersome.”
“She’s scared.”
“She owes me a lot of money, she’s entitled to be. Still, screaming insults outside my front door was… excessively unpleasant.”
“I’m sorry she troubled your sensibilities, though if you were trying to force me to work in a whorehouse I might be tempted to swear at you too.”
“If I wanted her to work in the whorehouse she’d be on her back earning me dimes right now,” the Mayor replied, a coldness creeping into his voice, “I’ve given her three months to pay the debt off by more agreeable means, or return the goods her husband procured on my credit. A more generous settlement than many would offer.”
“Just why was her husband buying prospecting gear?”
“I didn’t invite you here to interrogate me.”
“I didn’t think you did, but as I’m here…”
“You thought you’d help the merry widow out a little more?”
“If you can cast any light on the matter then Mrs McCrea could recover the goods and return them. Which would be a more… agreeable solution for all parties?”
“Of course it would. And if I could I would, but as I explained to dear Molly I can’t. I don’t know what her husband wanted the provisions for. He didn’t tell me.”
Amos nodded and pursed his lips, “Are you in the habit of lending men money without asking what they want it for?”
“You’re interrogating me again.”
“Yep.”
The Mayor smiled, “If a man thinks he has discovered gold, he tends to keep that fact to himself. Tom McCrea asked for money, he was a trusted employee and I was paying him well enough for him to repay the money,
plus a little interest, in a reasonable amount of time. It wasn’t my fault he went and fell off of his horse.”
Molly thinks otherwise.
Amos was about to ask exactly what Tom had done for the Mayor, but he held up his hand before he could get the question out.
“I’m delighted you’re helping Mrs McCrea. Truly, but I didn’t ask you here to discuss that matter. My time is somewhat limited; after all, I’m a very busy man.”
“I can see that,” Amos glanced at the book, which was old and leather bound, sitting in front of the Mayor.
The Mayor smiled thinly, “Tell me Mr Amos, how good are you?”
“Good at what?”
“Gun work.”
Amos let his eye flick towards Blane’s impassive face and back to the Mayor, “I could kill you both in the blink of an eye.”
“That’s quite a boast; Mr Blane is a very accomplished gunslinger himself.”
“I’m better.”
“I do so love a confident man!” The Mayor clapped his hands together and beamed, “would you care to demonstrate?”
“Wouldn’t you object to me killing one of your employees?”
“Terribly. However, I was thinking of a more inanimate target,” he rose to his feet and ushered Amos to follow him out onto the lawn, Blane sauntered along behind them.
The lawn was immaculate, as smooth and flat as a silk carpet. A dozen paces away from the table the Mayor pulled an apple from his pocket, “Think you can hit this?”
Amos nodded.
“Very well, on the count of three I will toss the apple in the air and we will see,” he stared at Amos when he remained motionless, “are you going to draw your weapon?”
“I can draw and shoot in one. No need for a count either, just throw it when you’re ready.”
“Very well,” the Mayor shrugged, his eye never leaving Amos as he turned sideways and held out his arm. In turn, Amos rested his hand on the butt of his revolver.
Amos didn’t stare at the apple, but the Mayor, he could usually get a sense of a man, what he was thinking, what he was going to do. It allowed him to react almost before someone had even acted. It was a talent he didn’t understand, but it had kept him alive for years, long after he had stopped even wanting to be alive.
Everyone was slightly different, but similar enough for him to anticipate, but the Mayor… it was like standing in the mouth of a vast cave, he could feel the size of the space before him and knew it was immense, but he could see nothing of its dimensions or what was inside, other than something was lurking there, something that was hungry and malevolent; something that was watching him with curious eyes. Something that was screaming.
The Mayor threw the apple in the air.
It had only cleared his head by a couple of feet when Amos’ gun boomed and the apple exploded, showering the Mayor in pulp.
“Sorry about the suit.”
“Impressive,” the Mayor muttered, flicking pieces of apple off his shoulder.
Amos holstered his gun despite the nagging sense that he should have blown the Mayor’s head off while he’d had the opportunity.
“Thanks,” Amos shrugged, normally he would have taken the apple much quicker, but the Mayor was harder to read than most men. There was no need to tell the Mayor that though.
“You really do have a gift – are you so accurate when it comes to men?”
“They tend to be a bigger target.”
“True, but fruit rarely shoots back,”
“Neither do the men I kill.”
The Mayor nodded and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, “I am always on the lookout for talented men, these are dangerous times, the world is full of renegades, bandits and assorted scum. My deputies help keep them away from Hawker’s Drift, good steady work, lots of perks. Excellent prospects. Interested?”
“I’ve never really seen myself as a payroll kind of man. I’m more interested in short term contracts.”
“I can be very flexible in my terms, exceedingly generous too. Whatever you desire in fact. Ask any of my employees?”
Like Tom McCrea?
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not planning on sticking around here long.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that…” Amos felt something come rolling out from the depths of the cave, the first clear sense of the man he had picked up on. The Mayor felt relieved.
“Besides I already have a job, once that’s done I’ll be moving on.”
“A job?”
“Yeah,” Amos smiled, “not my usual line of work, but I like to try my hand at different things from time to time, but when it’s done I’ll be on my way.”
“And what exactly is this job, if you don’t mind me asking? I’m curious to know who can offer better terms than me in Hawker’s Drift?”
“It’s no secret Mr Mayor, I’m working for Molly McCrea and I’ll be in town until I’ve kept her out of the whorehouse…”
He touched his hat before turning his back on the two men.
“I’ll see myself out…”
The Widow
“Ma’am,” Amos said, taking off his hat as she opened the door.
“Hey, Mr Mysterio.”
“Mysterio isn’t my name.”
“And mine isn’t ma’am,” she stepped aside and beckoned him in.
“I just stopped by to let you know what I found,” he said, making no move to enter the house.
“I know what you found… jack shit,” she sighed and cocked her head to one side; “if I promise not to throw myself at you will you come in?”
Amos didn’t look convinced, so she reached out and yanked him towards the door. She’d decided he was a man who had trouble taking a hint. Or he really did think she was a sex-crazed vixen out to corrupt him, either way she had no intention of discussing her predicament in the doorway.
As enthusiastically as a bullock being led into an abattoir Amos trudged down the hallway, sitting down by the fire only when she told him she didn’t want to get a cricked neck looking up at him.
“No dynamite, huh?”
Amos shook his head, “Not so far, but I’ll go out again tomorrow… there’s a lot of land to cover, so I might spend a few nights sleeping out… wastes a lot of time coming back and forth to town.”
“I don’t have a great deal of money, but you must let me give you something for your time.”
Amos waved her down, “I don’t want your money.”
You don’t want my money and you don’t want to fuck me, so what the hell do you want?
Molly decided it best to rephrase her thought slightly.
“So why are you doing this?”
“I’m not really sure to be honest…”
“That’s reassuring,” Molly said, though she was pretty sure it was a lie. Men didn’t go to this much trouble without a good reason, not in her experience anyway.
“I just wanted to let you know I might not be around for a few days, I wouldn’t want you to think I’d run out on you.”
“Thanks,” she smiled and nodded her head, “be careful out there, huh? People have a tendency to fall off their horse round here.”
“I can look after myself.”
Molly sat back in her chair, “It might not be necessary, Mr Furnedge called today, he said the Mayor was being outrageous and said he would speak to him on my behalf.”
“Furnedge?”
“He’s the town’s lawyer. I’m not entirely sure I can trust him though.”
“Why?”
“He’s the town’s lawyer.”
“Other than his choice of profession?”
“He’s a creepy little fuck ass who undresses me with his slitty little eyes every time he comes near me.”
“You don’t like him much then?”
Molly blew out her cheeks and pushed her hair back. She really should get round to washing it sometime soon.
“I dunno, maybe I’ve misjudged him, he seemed genuine enough this morning, all spit and f
ury about the Mayor. So he can’t be all bad.”
“I saw the Mayor this evening.”
Molly felt her eyebrows rise, “You did?”
“Well, rather he saw me. His man, Blane, was waiting for me when I got back to the saloon.”
“What did he want?”
“Offered me a job.”
“A job? Doing what?”
“Town deputy, I think.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He appreciates my talent, and I suppose it would save on manpower watching you.”
Molly flashed him a tight-pressed smile, “Haven’t seen the dickhounds today, not that I’ve been out. I almost feel neglected. Did you take the job?”
“I’m fussy about who I work for, besides I told him I already had a job.”
“Doing what?”
“Keeping you out of the whorehouse.”
“How’d he take that?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think he’s used to being turned down.”
“The pay would be better, especially if you insist on working for free.”
“Your terms are preferable… and so are the bonuses,” Amos added quietly, meeting her eye before quickly looking away.
Fuck. Was that some cack-handed attempt at flirting?
“The only bonus I can offer you is some cold leftover meatloaf. However, I did make it with my own fair hand…” Molly grinned at him before adding “…which is probably why it tastes shit.”
“Sounds better than anything the Mayor could offer me.”
*
Amos did not so much eat the meatloaf as savage it, venomously driving his fork into it before working off great chunks to shovel into his mouth in such quick succession that Molly feared he might add yet another problem to her list of woes by choking to death on her kitchen floor.
Molly sat opposite him, cradling a mug of coffee. She’d eaten earlier and really couldn’t stomach any more of that shit. She’d had to let Annie, the girl who’d come in to clean and cook for Tom and her, go, she couldn’t afford to keep her on without any money coming in, so she’d had to revert to her own cooking, which seldom rose above awful. Tom had always said her cooking tasted far better when he was blind drunk; rude ungrateful fucker that he was.
