"You know what to do," said Eli.
"Cover your head with it before they hang you?" the young black woman snarled.
"Bitter tongue ma'am and probably the truth. For now though, I'd welcome any donations you'd care to part with. Of course you can keep your gun ma'am," he said to the young woman. "I'm faithful to Lou-Anne here," he added with a nod to his scattergun.
Slowly, the passengers dropped bills, loose pennies and some jewelry into the bag. The city dandy put in a respectable bill fold, but Eli saw the vest pocket watch and chain as well as the leather satchel pressed tightly against his bosom. Eli caught the man's gaze. Creased and covered with a small coat of trail dirt, the dandy looked like a milk-skinned, black-haired rabbit a hundred miles out of place. The dandy tightened his grip around his worn satchel.
"The watch in your pocket," Eli ordered, "and that fancy pouch you seem peculiar with, drop them in the bag."
"H-here," the dandy stuttered. He pulled the gold-plated watch from his breast pocket. "Take the watch, but not this!" he begged, nodding to the satchel.
Eli leveled Lou-Anne straight at the nervous man who flinched and stumbled backwards.
"I...L-look, look," the dandy stuttered, fumbling with the satchel's brass latch. He opened the flap, revealing a mess of crumpled, yellow papers and a thin black ledger. "There's nothing in here you'd want. I gave you my valuables. This here is just numbers that don't concern you."
That last comment burned a hole straight through Eli's patience. He had no charity for stupidity, especially when someone else assumed it of him. He brought Lou-Anne straight up, near into the dandy's face. The young black woman quickly stepped between the two men.
"Don't kill him," she said. She turned to the dandy. "Mr. Jacob, right? Please, this ain't necessary. This ain't worth your life."
"NO!" Jacob cried. "If he takes it, I'm as good as dead!"
"Good as dead ain't like being dead Jacob. Give him want he wants, or we'll be sharing your grave."
Jacob shook his head emphatically, almost panicked. The young woman sighed and with a quick right hook, knocked Jacob on his ass. She pried the satchel from his stunned grip and tossed it Eli.
"Well," Eli remarked with a grin "we've got a gunslinger and a pugilist. Good to have you on this side of Lou-Anne, ma'am."
"You got what you want," she said with a sneer. "Why don't you git?"
"If you'd be so kind as to toss me that sack, I'll be on my way." Eli grabbed the tossed bag and turned to the driver. "And you best make like ol' Jehu. If you're lucky enough, you'll make it to the next town before that storm hits."
Eli turned his horse and trotted around the bend, his scattergun steady on the group. The elderly couple was helping Jacob off the ground, but he was crying out for his satchel. Eli could still hear him after he cleared the bend and spurred Sam into full gallop.
***
Eli always said hot water and a stout brush were the best curative for any ache ailing the body. He said the same of strong bitters and stronger women, but right now, this bath was all the healing he needed from the rain chill afflicting his bones. The loot money and gold watch were under the mattress, but he'd already hidden the satchel and jewelry elsewhere. The satchel didn't have much more than yellow papers and a thin black ledger. He'd already figured it wouldn't amount to much, but he half took it out of spite.
Sam was warm in the stable, out of the mean-spirited storm that had overtaken the pair during the last hour of their flight. The storm spewed its fury unabated, like a one-eyed preacher full of piss and Hellfire. No other mischief came of the weather, but the high winds and gunfire rain was punishment enough for one evening.
Eli was surprised he didn't overshoot this tiny outpost during the downpour. Carverstown, North Dakota was a small trading settlement that never outgrew its britches. It was large enough to hold a trader's outpost, Annie Green's Saloon and a small number of other businesses, but it was too far south of Iron Dragon rails to survive long. Folks hadn't even bothered repairing the burnt down church on the edge of town. Instead, they slowly moved away, leaving a booming town for spooks.
Eli didn't mind the lodgings. Annie Green was an accommodating woman to draw him a bath this late at the night and she didn't even bother him with prying questions. From the grunts and groans he heard from other rooms, Eli figured she treasured prying questions even less than he did. She attended her own business, and Eli suspected what sort of affair that was.
Over the steady drumming of rain, Eli heard movement in the corridor; two people were whispering. It sounded conspiratorial, and Eli was still twitchy about the robbery earlier that day. He got out of the tub, spilling a small mess of water on the floor. Shamelessly naked, he drew Lou-Anne from her bed, hushed out the lantern and dripped his wet way to the door. He heard shuffling outside, moving away from him. He opened the door a crack; it was Annie Green escorting a woman to a room at the end of the dark corridor.
The newcomer was weathered, with long, wet black hair, chiseled features set below a scowling pair of grass-thin brows and the figure of a woman familiar with hard days. Her slacks and duster were soaked with a few extra pounds of rain and she carried a Winchester rifle the same way self-righteous church folk carried their bibles. Eli couldn't make out her eyes before she stepped into the room, but they seemed peculiar. He wasn't sure how.
Annie, a good touch heavier and a dog's life older than Eli, finished with her new guest and turned around quicker than Eli could shut his door. Call it intuition or just plain luck, but she caught Eli staring. She looked stunned, then frightened and angry. Eli suspected he just broke her personal Commandment, but she said nothing as she hurried past him. With a sigh, he shut his door and went back to his regimen of hot water and a strong brush.
***
A cloud of murmurs had worked their way through the walls and stirred Eli from slumber. The saloon was busy for a morning, even with the furious storm. Taking the time to shave, wash up and dress, he made his way into the corridor, turned and hit a mess of bar gals and clients. They were staring over the second-floor railing into the saloon below.
Annie's was a two-story building with a benzinery occupying the first floor and the hotel/brothel residing on the second floor. The bar (a polished oak train with brass runners) sat left of the double-doors, and faced a set of iron-frame stairs. The second floor corridor was L-shaped. It ran open to the saloon along the back wall, turned right, and vanished into a closed corridor.
Five men and women filled the saloon itself. They assembled around a man sitting at the bar, asking him questions and looking generally dismayed. Eli guessed the townsfolk were bored with the storm and braved it for some entertainment at Annie's. The gentleman drinking at the bar, however, didn't look local with his black stove-pipe hat, embroidered black vest and overcoat. He sported a thick handlebar crawler and wore his long brown hair frontier-style. Eli couldn't see any weapons, but he suspected the man was well-armed. In any case, he looked suitably wet.
Eli leaned over to the nearest girl. "Who's that?" he whispered.
"That's a U.S. Marshal," she said without glancing at Eli.
Eli's heart skipped a beat, then decided to skip a few more.
"Said his name's Bollace. He's lookin' for"a murderer in these parts. Maybe even here," she added with breathless excitement.
"Y'sure?" Eli asked, decidedly worried.
The saloon girl nodded absentmindedly. Her companion, a farmer old enough to be her father, added with a toothless grin, "Yep! He said murderer alright. Seems some road agent bushwhacked a stagecoach some hours west of here. Slaughtered the passengers, he did, then stole their earnings."
Eli bit his tongue hard. Anything he wanted to say would have sounded queer or troubled. "How many folk?" he finally asked. His throat felt tight, and it didn't help none that his heart was trying to push its way through.
"The stagecoach Charlie and his shotgun," the saloon girl recounted, "two women, a city dandy and an elderly
couple. That stagecoach stopped through here from Fargo yesterday. Spoke to the two women. They were gunslingers; real nice folk."
Eli nodded weakly and stared at the Marshal. Bollace finished his drink and pushed away from the bar; people cleared him a twister's path. He turned and addressed the crowd with a gravel-choked voice.
"Your attention folks," Marshal Bollace demanded. The room quieted down. "I'm U.S. Marshal Edward Bollace and I'm currently tracking down a killer. As you already know, somebody bushwhacked a Concord stagecoach four hours west of here, murdering eight people in cold blood yesterday Is there anyone who came into town recently?"
Eli noticed the saloon girl throw him a quick sideways glance, but to his surprise, she said nothing. He didn't want to move, especially when he'd be the only man bolting from the crowd. Folks, however, stayed quiet, if uncomfortably so.
Annie Green stepped out from a door behind the bar, breaking the silence. She wore a green tea gown with ballooned upper sleeves. Her corset pushed everything Mexico-bound back north, accentuating an already voluptuous bosom. Her pale face and blond hair framed a pair of strong brown eyes that never wavered.
"How d'you know your murderer didn't hightail it to Colm?" Annie asked. Her voice carried a hint of defiance. "From what you said," she continued "the stagecoach was closer to them."
"And you are, ma'am?" the annoyed Marshal asked.
"Annie Green, proprietress of this fine establishment."
"I've never met anything fine about a whorehouse madame, and I've already checked Colm. They, at least, have a sheriff, but from what I understand, you're the closest thing this town has to an authority. Sad! I ask again, who are your most recent guests."
Casually, Annie shook her head and squinted, feigning thoughtful. "Nobody," she finally responded. "Nobody came in yesterday or the day before."
Eli knew it was an out and out lie, and so did Bollace by the way he straightened up. He said nothing, however, but looked around. Nobody moved or said anything. Nobody met his gaze.
"Very well, Miss Green," Bollace remarked, "if you'd accommodate me with a room, I'll be leaving as soon as the storm departs."
Another fib thought Eli. Bollace didn't seem like the type to give up so easily. Annie knew it as well, but she surrendered Bollace a candy-box smile instead, walked around the bar and offered him an escorting hand. He took it, if somewhat hesitantly, and followed her as she made her way to the stairs.
Eli decided a casual retreat would be best now. Most of the clients figured the same and drifted back to their rooms, half-dragging their curious partners behind. Eli turned tail, but walked smack into a face full of attitude. Last-night's visitor, the mysterious woman, was behind him and blocking his escape. Her lips were thin, and rarely fooled into a smile, but her black hair, all clean and brushed, spilled out like raven's wings. Eli, however, couldn't stop staring at her eyes. One was misty-green, that part was normal. The other was all green. It took Eli a stunned moment to realize a ball of jade filled her right socket (probably related to the thin scar across her right brow and cheek).
Eli waited for an apology or for her to sidestep, but the woman didn't back down or move. She scrutinized him, looking deep in his eyes like a knife looking to make a fresh wound. Eli in turn was ready to stand his ground, but he could hear Bollace coming up the stairs with Annie. He wanted to be gone when they arrived. To his surprise, however, the woman glanced over Eli's shoulder and spun around. She headed back to her room. Seems she didn't favor Bollace anymore than he did. Eli followed suit.
***
Annie's Saloon was the heart of Carverstown, though Eli doubted she was the kind of woman to throw ice-cream socials. With a storm hampering life, the handful of people left in town dawdled about the saloon, sharing drinks, stories, and whispers over the recent excitement. Eli, bored with the four walls of his room, made his way to the bar. Marshal Bollace was nowhere to be seen, and Eli figured he'd look suspicious hiding when everyone knew where he was anyway. Sure enough, his arrival drew glances, whispers and foolish fingers from folks who insisted on talking with their hands. Still, nobody confronted him.
Eli leaned against the oak bar and rested one foot on the brass runner. Annie, who was cleaning glasses, threw him a glance like a penny to a beggar, then went back to her chores. Eli leaned over the bar and whispered "How much?" before settling back.
"For a girl or a bottle?" Annie asked.
"For the lie. What'd you think I owe you for that lie you paid Bollace?"
"That favor was on the house," she replied indifferently.
"Unless you're spreadin' the good word," Eli chuckled, "nobody hands out charity in a saloon."
Annie stared at Eli with a none-too-tolerant scowl. "It's free because I don't want your money," she finally hissed under earshot. "It's got blood on it. I don't take blood money."
"If you believe that then why not turn me over to the law?" Eli asked cautiously.
"I got my reasons," she shot back and turned around to clean glasses.
Eli wasn't ready to end the conversation that easily. "Everybody's got reasons; they're called excuses. You lied to the Marshal, and that wasn't no act of charity. What're you protectin'?"
Annie kept her back turned, but Eli suspected he struck a nerve by the way she squared her shoulders. There was a pause; she was taking too long to answer.
"I did it for my customers," Annie finally returned in a controlled voice. "They got their secrets, Lord I know, but I betray you and they might get it in their heads I'll turn on them next."
"Nahl That ain't it," Eli mused. Annie spun around, hands on her hips, ready for a fight. Eli, however, wasn't frightened off so easily. He knew she wouldn't start a fight, not when she was protecting something, so he pushed some more. "Murderers and deviants ain't ridin' the same horse Annie. You ain't protectin' me for your customers. You lied for somethin' else...or was it somebody else?" Eli smiled with a dawning realization. "You're protectin' me cuz I came in on the same night as that gal upstairs. You're protectin' that one-eyed jade."
Annie said nothing, but her eyes lost their poison; she was looking to retreat. Eli pressed the issue before she could scamper off.
"You're scared of her." Eli added in a menacing whisper. "Who is she?"
"Ain't your concern," Annie hissed back.
"I think it is. What? Did she kill those stagecoach folk?"
Annie looked confused for a moment, which in turn bewildered Eli. He quickly realized he said the wrong thing and cursed himself for not knowing when to stop. It was Annie's turn to take the upper hand.
"If you're so innocent," she asked with no small measure of malice, "then why didn't you say something to Bollace earlier? When you saw him coming up the stairs, you bolted like a rabbit crossing paths with a chuck wagon. I saw you. So did Bollace."
Eli pushed away from the bar and stared defiantly at Annie. "I'll go talk to Bollace right now," he lied. "I ain't got nothin' to hide. I never murdered anyone."
"Son," Annie said with a moon-wide smile, "don't go for show when you ain't got the talent."
***
The growing storm hid the profanity spilling from Eli's lips as he shouldered his way through the curtains of rain. Annie had Eli roped like a bull, and if she decided to drop a pretty word to Bollace, Eli would be decorating the nearest tree.
With a huff, Eli pushed through the stable doors across from Annie's saloon. The smell of damp hay and wet droppings filled the air like a foul concoction, but Eli was too set in his thoughts to notice. The stable was small with ten stalls and a hay loft adorning the shadowy interior. Sam was there, all restless and eager, along with four other beasts.
Eli studied them carefully. He dismissed the mule as a local boy, and the old but sturdy Appaloosa as a saloon patron's work horse. The silky brown quarter horse, however, looked too rich for local blood. By the fresh pile of hay in its stall and the droplets clinging to its muscled body, Eli reckoned it was the Marshal's steed. It looked tired,
probably from running the storm that very morning.
Moving past the quarter horse, Eli came to the last stall. Its tenant, a golden-hued Palomino, stared at him with saucer-wide eyes. Satisfied, Eli nodded a greeting to the white-maned mare that he figured belonged to One-Eyed Jade; it was the only other mount as dry and well-rested as Sam.
Eli studied the Palomino while mulling over stray thoughts. Somebody had slaughtered the passengers on a stagecoach he robbed earlier. Now a Marshal was in town, looking for the responsible parties, and Eli had a sinking feeling that everything was about to go Hell bound. He could leave Carverstown, but running was like 'fessin' up to the crime and Eli didn't want 'murderer' branded on his reputation. Unfortunately, nobody would believe him innocent either. The law wasn't about truth, it was about convenience, and right now, that was Eli's middle name. That meant he'd have to solve this little dilemma on his own.
Now Eli had two options. He could figure the real murderer was not in Carverstown-in which case Eli was as good as guilty—or the murderer was in town like he was. He chose the latter because it made his head hurt less. With that said, Eli's thoughts drifted back to One-Eyed Jade, the woman who arrived after him last night. Annie was frightened of her, a seemingly hard enterprise to accomplish. Jade was also avoiding the Marshal. Both women hid something in common.
The only other newcomer was the Marshal, and Eli found it peculiar that Bollace happened upon the ambushed stagecoach so quickly. Eli, however, also believed that life would never get done without coincidences. So he ignored Bollace for the moment, and went back to ol' Jade. This in turn brought him back to her Palomino, and her saddle which hung from the stall wall.
Keeping his eyes on the golden mare, Eli opened the gate and slipped inside. They may look perpetually startled, but Palomino's were intelligent enough to be loyal. Eli calmed her down with strokes to her neck. He moved towards the saddle, patting the mare with his right hand while fishing around the saddlebags with his left. Nothing; they were empty, just like Eli suspected.
Deadlands: For a Few Dead Guys More Page 9
