The Jessie James Archives

by Craig Gallant

  Maybe with a little time alone, he’d be able to calm himself down enough to talk some sense.

  *****

  Jesse stared at the small lamp on the little table in his room. The empty bourbon bottle lay on its side nearby, a glass upside down a little beyond. His dark eyes peered into the depths of the lamp, searching out the swirls of ruby highlights present in all RJ-1027 lighting. The flecks of color within the lamp’s illumination seemed to dance, suspended in the glow. He had lost track of time, slumping down at the table, mechanical arms folded before him, chin resting on the hard armor of his forearm.

  His mind had been running through the same familiar paths all night. He could not remember being as happy as he had been in Kansas City with Misty these past few months. But still the constant need to throw himself into the fire was always overpowering. And now, with the return of Bonney… Jesse had gotten so used to being at the top of the pile, he had forgotten what it was like struggling to get up there in the first place. He knew Bonney, Ringo, hell probably even folks like Carpathian and his little stooges, were struggling every day to make names for themselves.

  All Jesse had ever wanted, since he was a little boy back in Clay County was for folks to know his name. Sure, he had joined Frank fighting the Union because he believed in the Confederate cause, and because he had hated those treasonous jayhawkers with every fiber of his soul. The filthy bastards had strung up his stepfather trying to get to Frank, and when that failed they had whipped Jesse himself until his back had bled. Those scars were more than enough to drive him into joining his brother’s unit as soon as he was able. Even then, however, it was the lure of fame and notoriety that drove him to his wildest exploits.

  When he had first thought up the train job, to seize back the initiative from the law, to salvage the position and prominence of the renegades of the western territories in the face of the new weapons and power the European brought with him, he knew he had established his name in the histories for all time.

  But time was like a river, as the saying went, and she kept on flowing even after you docked your boat in the big city. With Carpathian, the Injuns, and now Grant flooding into the western territories, his greatest exploit seemed to be disappearing into the mists of history before he could really revel in the victory. Years had passed, he knew, but somehow it still seemed like only yesterday. And it seemed terribly unfair that folks were forgetting so soon. Without him and his train job, every one of them knucks, hard cases, thieves, and road agents would be dead by now, victims of the new law and the new weapons. The fact that most folks had forgotten that was the hardest thing to bear.

  That old frustration and the happiness he had found with Misty were crashing together in his mind over and over as he sat in the small, warm room with Ty’s words churning over and over again through his sluggish thoughts. The idea of Billy, the boy who had risen among the outlaw elite to be his foremost competition, spending time with Misty, the source of the greastest peace he could remember in many years, was plaguing his mind.

  Jesse shook his head and lurched up, pacing back and forth as he tried to focus his thoughts. Misty had been besotted with him since they had first met, and she had been nothing but devoted to him through their months together. They had spoken of his past many times. In all that time she had never mentioned Billy the Kid, or in fact anyone else within the outlaw brotherhood. Ty was almost certainly mistaken, despite his confident manner.

  The outlaw stopped at the window, grabbing the sill with both iron hands, and looked out into the streets. They were almost empty. Still, there were men and women, usually walking in couples or small groups, moving along on whatever business had them out so late. One large cargo wagon, a ghostly crimson glow flaring from beneath as its RJ-1027 engine sent fat red sparks sailing through the night, rumbled down the street, pausing for pedestrians trying to cross through its harsh white headlamps.

  Nothing in the street offered any insight, however, and Jesse sighed and returned to his pacing. The floor creaked beneath him, the heels of his boots cracking harshly in the silence of the night. Most of the lodgers staying in the other rooms of the Arcadia had gone to bed over an hour ago, and those that were not sleeping were quiet, only faint, muffled mutterings showing that they were awake. Jesse suddenly felt very much alone, and wondered where his brother might be. Frank had taken a room at another hotel, smaller than the Arcadia but much closer to the edge of town, right near where the Heavy Rail line ran out into the western plains.

  Jesse heard a scraping at the door as a key went into the lock, and without thought one of his pistols was in his hand, pointed rigidly at the door. Whoever was on the other side was having a hard time with the knob, and the outlaw sidled slowly towards the bed in case he found a sudden, overwhelming need for cover. When the door swung open, however, it was only Misty standing there, a look of frustration on her pretty face.

  The girl looked up and her deep jade eyes widened as she stared down the bore of Jesse’s massive pistol. He immediately lowered the weapon, but the damage to the poor girl’s calm had already been done.

  “Jesse, are you okay?” She bent down to pick up her key from the floor where she had dropped it, and eased into the room carrying a couple of bags with her. “Were you expectin’ someone a little more intimidatin’, maybe?”

  Jesse was caught on the verge of two reactions. He wanted to scoop her up right then and there; she looked so pretty and so vulnerable, but Ty’s words, and the image of Billy the Kid’s smug face, kept rising in his mind. He stood there, pistol lowered but still out, arms heavy, hanging at his side. He knew the bourbon had not helped his situation any, but could not, for the life of him, clear his head of its fog.

  Misty put the bags down on the little table and turned gracefully, her hands on her slender hips. “Why did you leave the show early, Jesse? To come up here and get full as a tick all on your own?” Her tone was light but her face was pursed in disappointment.

  Jesse gaped at her for a moment, his mind running in too many directions at once. He stood there mute, staring at her with dull eyes, swaying slightly as she sat down at the table, pulling pins from her elaborately piled hair. “I swear, Jesse, if you don’t put that gun away I’m going to slap you.” He could see, in the mirror in front of the table, that annoyance was giving way to anger and disappointment.

  Jesse looked down at the pistol in his metal hand as if seeing it for the first time. He looked up at the back of her head, tilted as she washed the makeup from her face. She looked at him through the mirror and her eyes tightened. “Jesse, put the gun away.”

  Almost without thinking about it, the gun rose, and then softly slid into the holster. After he took his hand off the butt, however, he stopped moving again, staring at Misty’s back. The girl was now combing through her honey brown hair with an ivory-handled brush he had given her. He stared at the brush, watching as the crimson-tinged light reflected softly from its curved surface.

  Sensing him standing there motionless, Misty eventually stopped brushing and swiveled around daintily in the chair. She stared up at him, one eyebrow quirked, and asked, “Jesse, is there somethin’ on your mind?”

  He stared at her face: that beautiful face that had captivated him for so long. He could not remember the last time a woman had kept him in thrall this way. The long, wavy hair that swept down her neck, the big green eyes, the soft, clear skin; she was truly a beauty by any measure. Something in his chest seemed to crack slightly, and he blurted what had been plaguing his mind.

  “You been with William Bonney?” It came out harsher than he had intended, the tone accusatory, but he straightened his shoulders and raised his chin as if daring her to take offense.

  Misty sat staring at him in blank confusion for a moment before her head tilted to one side and she said, “are you drunk, Jesse?”

  Jesse shook his head and snapped around on his heel, pacing once again. He had taken that first dreadful step; it was too late now to go back.


  “Answer the question, Misty. You been with the Kid?” He could not look at her.

  Misty stood slowly, hands on hips, and stared at him incredulously. It was clear she was caught between rage and laughter. “Jesse, are you jealous?”

  He continued to pace. “Tell me, Misty. I need to know.”

  “Jesse, was I the first girl you were ever with?” Her tone was flat and uncompromising, and it stopped his pacing in its tracks.

  He turned to her, his look comically confused. “’Course not.”

  She nodded and gave him an arch look. “An’ did I at any time give you the impression I was a pure ‘n pristine unplucked flower when we first met?”

  He smirked despite himself. “Ah, no, you didn’t… “

  She nodded firmly. “There you go.”

  The shadow returned immediately to his face at her tone of dismissal. “Now, hold on, Misty. Billy the damned Kid?”

  She put up a hand. “Din’t we just agree it don’t matter?”

  He shook his head. “No, we didn’t. The Kid?”

  She huffed angrily and turned back to the table. “Forget it, Jesse. I was never with Billy the Kid, I’ve never even met Billy the Kid. I wouldn’t know Billy the Kid if he walked into this room right now and shot you. Satisfied?”

  He found himself once again staring at the back of her head, at a total loss for words. “But… but you said… “

  She did not turn around. “I said we weren’t neither of us virgins, is what I said, Jesse. An’ you agreed. So it don’t matter if I was with Billy the Kid or not. I’m just sayin’, I wasn’t.”

  His confusion deepened. He felt like a child lost in unfamiliar territory. “But why din’t you just say—“

  She clapped the brush down on the table. “Because it don’t matter none, Jesse! And we both agreed it didn’t.” She stopped moving for a moment, still and silent, and then spun to meet his searching gaze. “Why’re you suddenly so concerned about Billy the Kid, Jesse?”

  He shrugged, feeling even more like a boy caught in some foolish act. “Ty was talkin’—“

  “Ty?” Her voice rose, an angry note rumbling beneath its usually soft tones. “That little pie eater from Missouri City? That little cretin? What the hell do you care what that little offish tick has to say?”

  Jesse struggled to convey to Misty the confused jumble of emotions he was feeling, about his place in the world, his feelings for her, and his fear of sliding into insignificance. The thoughts and images swirled in his foggy brain, but the words would not come. Over all of the images, William Bonney’s face rose like a mountain looming over a darkened landscape.

  “Jesse, what does it matter what that worm of a boy had to say? Some jailbird-in-waiting mouths off about me, an’ your first thought is against me?” She stood up, her back straight and her shoulders back, and looked him directly in the eye. “Jesse, if you don’t trust me, why am I even here?”

  He shook his head, emotions rising up to engulf him. But now over everything was the fear of losing her. He reached out with his mechanical hands, and tried to ignore the slight flinch she gave before making the conscious decision not to pull away. Was it the fight, or was it the damned arms that she was flinching from?

  “Babe, you know I trust you.” He muttered the words, and even in his own ears they sounded weak. “It’s just the boys, you know. An’ damned William Bonney always comin’ up.” He tried to pat her hair, but at that she pulled away.

  “No, Jesse. You gotta put Bonney, and Ty, and whoever else has gotten into your head aside, now, before you’re touchin’ me again.” She leaned towards him, her eyes earnest. “I ain’t never lied to you, Jesse James, I ain’t never jabbed you in the neck over nothin’, and I ain’t never walked out with anyone behind your back. An’ I never would.”

  He looked into her eyes and everything else seemed to fade away. He felt safe. His head started to shake back and forth. “Baby, baby, I’m so sorry.” He held a hand out but did not take hers until she offered it. “You’re right, Misty. Completely right. This was all me, babe. It weren’t you, it weren’t even Billy or Ty or any of the other guys.”

  She slowly allowed him to pull her into his arms, burying her head in the crook of his neck. “This is real, Misty. I know. I’m sorry. I’m gonna make it up to you, I promise. I’m gonna—“

  He held her out at arm’s length so he could look at her, drink in her beauty, and the returning warmth of her eyes. There was nothing there now but trust and love. The suspicion, the anger, and the frustration were all gone. He felt answering emotions rising up within him as well.

  “Next time, Jesse James, you better just trust me, or —“

  When his arm lurched back he did not understand what was happening, but when it slashed across his body, the armored hand taking Misty full in the face, he staggered back in horrified disbelief. She flew backwards, spiraling hard into the wooden floor. Jesse stopped, arms out-flung as if to keep his balance. He stared at her in complete shock. He had no recollection of reaching out with his arm. He looked down at the offending limb. There were no feedback pads on the back of his mechanical hands, so he had felt nothing but the jolt up his arm upon contact, but there was a garish splash of blood across the armored plate. Far too much blood, he thought as he stared.

  A whimper from the ground brought him back to the stuffy little garret, and he rushed towards the huddled shape in the corner. Misty was crouched down as if expecting another blow, one shaking hand raised up over her head to defend herself. Her face was pressed against the wall, cradled in the other hand, and her shoulders shook with terrified, silent sobs.

  “Honey, I’m so sorry!” Jesse reached out towards the cowering woman. “Baby, I don’t—“

  “Stay away.” Her voice was muffled and slurred, but the stone beneath it was unmistakable. She slowly curled around herself to bring her head up and around, her mouth and nose hidden behind her raised hand. Her other hand, still shaking, was brandished before her as if it were a weapon, one finger wagging towards him. “Don’t you come near me, you monster.”

  He stopped, the words twisting in his gut. “But, Misty, please—“

  “Get. Away.” The fire in her eyes froze him in his tracks. She gingerly pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly as she rose. Her finger was still raised like a talisman, the only thing holding a ferocious beast at bay. The fear in her eyes was harder to bear than any burning anger.

  “I want you to leave. I want you to leave an’ I don’ want you to come back.” She was now standing, her back pressed to the wall, one hand still pushed to her face.

  He shook his head, not believing how swiftly things had turned. “Misty, please. It wasn’t me, it was –“

  “Stop talking!” she screamed the words, closing her eyes to the pain it obviously caused her. “I don’ wanna hear another word, Jesse, I jus’ want you to leave, and never come back again’. I seen those other girls, let men hit ‘em, an’ that ain’t ever gonna be me.” The finger now pointed towards the door. “Leave.”

  Jesse felt completely empty. He felt exhausted, as if he had gone the full three rounds with a raging bull. He stood there, his arms hanging limp at his sides, staring at the woman he would have done anything for.

  He looked more closely and his eyes widened to see the extent of the damage hidden by her upraised hand. That hand was now soaked in blood, and he could see torn flesh behind. Her eyes were blazing even as tears poured from them, fear and fury mingling in their jade depths.

  Jesse took a halting step backwards, and then another. He could not take his eyes from the wreckage of Misty’s cheek. He could see her strength failing her, could see the sick anguish rising in her eyes as the shock began to subside and the pain truly made itself felt. And his heart took another blow as he realized that, despite his immediate impulse, he was the last man on earth who could comfort her now.

  His back came up against the door behind him and he stopped. He had to force himself to move sideways,
his hand reaching out behind him for the knob. He searched for some words, something he could say that would make her feel better. He could not salvage this for himself, he could see that now. Whether it had been a bitter remnant of his emotional pique or his damned arms acting all on their own, all of the trust that she had held for him was gone. Between his thoughtless accusations and this last, fateful blow, he could feel any ties between them severing forever. Still, there was a desperate need in him to bring her even a shred of comfort.

  But nothing came to his mind.

  “I’m sorry, Misty.” He shook his head, bitterly feeling failure of his own mind. “I’m so sorry.”

  She stiffened, standing straighter again, and her hand reached out to jab that finger at him one last time. “Out.” She said it in a flat voice that carried a finality he knew he would never forget.

  Jesse bowed his head, slipped out the door, and muttered “I loved you,” in a broken voice as the door closed softly behind him.

  The sound of her suddenly released sobs made him feel worse than he had ever felt in his life.

  *****

  Frank sat in the Arcadia enjoying the peace and quiet. The men around him were all old timers with the James and Younger gang, men he knew he could trust to watch his back, because they had been there too many times to count. Ty and the rest of the shavetails Jesse had been bringing into the group lately were absent. Probably past their bedtimes, he thought with a slight smirk.

  The bottle at his elbow leached the smile away again, however, and he grasped it by the black fabric tied around the neck. He and the men with him were drinking to the three old hands that had fallen with Jesse at Missouri City, the bottle bought with coin from that job for this express purpose. Frank shook his head sadly. He knew that Jesse had not so much as said some words for the fallen men, and after waiting all day, Frank had taken it upon himself to arrange for this late night drink. They were chasing some coins around the table too, of course. But then, the boys who would not be coming down for breakfast again would never have begrudged them a little poker at a time like this.