by Dan Dillard
CHAPTER 2
IT WAS NOT the greatest idea, stealing a work horse from a local farm in order to make his grand exit, but Jacob drank all night, then tried his damned best the next morning to ride it out of town. A mangy thing with no temperament for work or being ridden, the horse was uncooperative at best. Within a hundred yards, it tossed its rider. The animal punctuated the moment by snorting a hot blast of steamy breath at him and then clopped its way back home. Jacob dusted himself off and cursed the animal, cursed the morning, cursed the whole wicked land.
He picked up his bottle and pulled the cork. After walking several miles and finishing the whiskey, he finally saw another human being. A carriage traveling north along a merging road renewed his energy and he chased it down on foot…or at least attempted to. The driver tried to ignore him, giving the occasional pained glance over his shoulder.
“Sir!” Jacob shouted repeatedly.
Finally, the driver brought the carriage to a halt. He was a round man with a bulb of a nose, squinty eyes and jowls like a hound dog. He barked his words through tobacco stained teeth.
“What the bloody hell do you want?” he said, keeping one hand gripped on a whip normally used for the horse, but every so often for bandits and thieves.
Jacob leaned with one hand on the carriage and the other hand on his knee as he gasped for breath.
“I…need a… ride.”
The driver leaned over and took a look at Jacob, a man gasping for air who carried nothing on his person except for an empty bottle and even from a few feet away, smelled of booze.
“You got any money?” the driver said.
“Yes,” Jacob said.
He pulled a handful of coins from his left pocket and held them out. The coins in his right pocket were for something else.
“How far will this get me?” he said.
The driver frowned.
“Not far, lad. Where are you lookin’ to get to?”
“Anywhere.”
Jacob looked into the back of the carriage and it was his turn to frown. It was empty.
“Where exactly are you taking this monstrosity? It’s empty.”
“That it is, lad.”
“Then perhaps I could ride as far as your next pick up?”
The driver pinched scratched his chin and looked again at the handful of change.
“All right, then. I’ll take you as far as the next fork. There, I head east. You’ll want to stay on the road there goin’ north. There’s another village there. Folks lookin’ to get lost always seem to find their way to that place. You’ll fit right in.”
“It sounds delightful,” Jacob snarled.
He dumped the coins into the driver’s hand and took a seat in the back. The pain in his body from walking, from blisters, and from being dumped off of that blasted horse eased as he stretched out on the cushioned bench and dozed. A few hours later, the driver opened the door and prodded him with a cane.
“You. Wake up. Time to move on.”
Jacob nodded awake. He was still bleary-eyed from drinking that half bottle of whiskey.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m goin,” he said and slid out of the door onto the ground.
His feet complained, mostly the blisters.
The sun became a memory and the wind spun up as he passed through an area of farm houses. They led toward a small town which was wholly unfamiliar and there in the darkness, amongst a cluster of buildings was a pub known only to the locals as Corrigan’s. A rat scampered by his foot as he approached the door. In the alley next to the building, a man in rags was urinating. Strangely, it delighted him.
“Exactly what I need,” he announced.
A teenage boy passed by and stared at the stranger.
“You intend to talk to yourself, then?” he asked with a smirk.
“I intend to sit quietly and drink until I pass out. After that I don’t much care what happens,” Jacob said to him.
“Excellent,” said the bewildered boy.
Jacob thought if he were to wake up the next morning still in one piece, he might continue the practice until it up and killed him. His father had died a lonely drunk mourning the loss of his one true love. It ran in the family and seemed somehow poetic.
He walked inside and pulled the door shut. There were five stools at the bar, three of them empty. The one on the corner was secluded and dark and that would suit him just fine. The rest of the place yielded exactly what he expected, drunks and whores who catering to the drunks. The lot of them leered at him as he passed by, seeing only a working man with dark hair and dark eyes. He had the scars, hard hands and wore the clothes of a laborer which allowed him passage through the crowd, but he knew it didn’t guarantee his safety or acceptance. If he had to fight, so be it, and woe was any man who crossed him for he had nothing to lose that night.
Jacob Kane stood, weathered and sure of himself in the dim light flickering from each table’s oil lamp. He considered a night of whoring; that might take his mind off of Caitlin if the liquor didn’t work. But first he needed a drink and was ready for that hazy escape from reality. He took off his tattered wool coat and hung it from the back of his stool.
“A pint of your best,” he said quietly.
The elderly man tending the bar, stout and scruffy, had a bald head with white hair around the tops of his ears. Suspenders held up his pants. Corrigan, Jacob presumed and slammed some coins on the bar.
“The best, ‘e says?”
The bartender looked to the other patrons and smiled showing a lack of teeth. Then he picked up a glass mug and wiped it with a dingy threadbare rag.
“Lad, I’ve got whiskey ‘n I‘ve got ale. It’s all shite an’ you can take your pick.”
This brought a low rumble of laughter from the rest, at least those who could still hold their eyes open. Others laughed because there was laughter and then pounded their mugs on the old plank tables.
“Hold your bloody horses,” Corrigan said. “I’ll fill your mugs when you fill my pockets.”
“I’ve got something to fill your pockets, old man,” a greasy character said from the back.
He stood and pointed his rather large ass in Corrigan’s direction, patting it with a thick hand. Another round of hearty laughter filled the room. Corrigan waved them off with a “Bah!”
Jacob stared at the wood planks on the floor. Three knotholes in each, he noticed. His eyes then moved to the coins he had laid down. He picked up half of them.
“I pay less for shite,” he said and chuckled.
The laughter died out and at that moment, he wished the whole diseased clump of them a bloody violent death.
“Make it whiskey, then,” Jacob said.
The old man poured a rather thin amount into a semi-clean mug and slid it down the knotty wooden counter. Jacob noticed his obvious distaste but figured as long as the money kept flowing, so would the booze. He took a swig and turned his stool to face the crowd which had dwindled. No one looked back. Jacob noticed similar mugs were full to sloshing over where his was more of a sample.
The men ranged in age, and all of them groped and passed around the same three women. Those three women appeared to be working for the baldest and fattest of them all. One by one, Bald-and-Fat beckoned each of the three ladies. They obliged, sitting on his lap only so he could insult them. Then he’d shove them back into the fray, each time aimed at another potential customer.
“Go earn me some grub!” he shouted along with other witty anecdotes. The rest of the time he sat quietly in the corner, chewed a cigar and drummed his chubby fingers on the tabletop.
Of the three women, only one approached attractive. The other two were like gorillas, haggard with torn clothes and foul teeth rotted by a lifestyle he could only imagine. Jacob was so engrossed in his drink that he didn’t notice one of the gorillas was slinking her way in his direction. She had clumpy hair like Medusa’s snakes and her face looked to be held together with greasepaint. Her stride was clumsied by alcohol, steadied by practic
e.
“Love,” she said placing a hand on his chest, “can I call you Love?”
Every word was warped by liquor. Before Jacob could open his mouth to let her know it was his greatest desire that she piss off, she spoke again.
“Tell ya what, I’ll call you Love…an’ you can call me Love. That way there won’t be ennythin’ to sort out later on.”
Her teeth were the picture of neglect. She smelled of cheap perfume and the stale sweat of the last man who’d paid for her. Her clothes looked as if they hadn't been changed in at least two days and she was utterly pickled. Still, it wasn’t until she belched that all thoughts of paying for sex left him.
“Doesn’t talk much do ya?” she said.
He took another drink and turned to look away, but she bobbed and weaved back into his field of view. She wrinkled her face up and widened her eyes in an attempt to focus, and then she raised an eyebrow.
“Hoo! He’s a big boy, too. P’raps you could buy me a drink and then later I'll let you show me just 'ow big y’ are?”
Over her shoulder he saw the fat bald man leering at him with a sweaty, devilish grin, money on his mind.
“Ma’am if I were to buy you a drink, would you leave me alone?”
He waved Corrigan over and laid some coins on the bar.
She leaned into his ear and breathed her nasty air on him.
“Make it two and I'll forget I ever met ya.”
The old whore looked at the barkeep and rolled her eyes. He put down a shot of shite whiskey and she scooped it up. Then she whirled around and almost toppled over. Jacob looked back at the knotholes on the floor. A moment later, he heard Bald-and-Fat shouting something at her followed by the drunken cackle of a woman beaten down by her situation.
The front door creaked opened and allowed the evening’s chilly breeze to cool the place. The oil lamp on the bar flickered, almost going out, then straightened up, reaching again for the top of its glass chimney. Jacob was glad for the gust which aired out the stink. He didn’t look up but grumbled knowing the only empty seat was next to him. He tipped his drink, watching the last of its golden contents run down the inside of the glass.
“One more here,” he said.
He hoped the person who had just entered was there to join friends but heard no greeting, only footsteps getting closer, stopping, and then the sound of the barstool being pulled back and scraping against the floorboards.
“I’ll have whatever my friend here is having,” the man said.
There was a familiar twinge to his voice. Jacob looked up. Tall, thin, with dark hair brushed straight back and held in place by some sort of tonic or grease. The man’s face looked familiar, as wise as a grandfather appears to a young child. His dress was immaculate down to the leather gloves and somewhat polished shoes. He looked out of place. Any visitor to that hole was enroute to something better; else they had just given up. This gentleman appeared to have come from something better, and had perhaps gotten lost. Jacob’s interest in the stranger lasted only a moment and then he continued his staring contest with the wall beyond the counter, his drinking contest with his liver.
“Mus’ be a bloody full moon out for us to have two strangers in one night, eh?” Corrigan asked.
He rubbed his forehead with the back of one wrist, wiped another mug until it was somewhat clean and then filled both with whiskey and set them down in front of the two men. Jacob set more coins on the counter and the stranger matched it before taking a sip and rolling it around on his tongue. He coughed politely into his gloved fist.
“That is quite awful, isn’t it?” he said.
Jacob looked sideways at the stranger and saw him smiling. His movements were as fluid and graceful as a dancer. Jacob cocked half a smile back at the sentiment. His plan to be anonymous had now failed twice.
“I apologize if I am intruding. I assumed since you were alone, either you wanted it that way, or perhaps were new in town like me. I had hoped it was the latter?”
Only because the stranger seemed familiar did Jacob bother with a response. He’d rather have smashed his mug into the man’s face until it filled with blood and brains. Then he could dare anyone else to speak to him. He replied anyway.
“No offense meant, sir. My quarrel tonight is with life itself and it is my intention to continue the argument alone.”
He hoped that might ward the man off but the words succeeded only in piquing the stranger’s interest. His neighbor smiled as if an idea had sprung in his head. He took a small taste from his mug, wincing once again at its flavor.
“How very fascinating,” the stranger said and sat up tall.
Jacob looked at the stranger and noticed he wasn’t looking at Jacob, but past him. He turned to see what had roused the man’s attention. Another prostitute approached. It was the younger, attractive one. That was too kind, he thought. Perhaps least repulsive was more accurate. He lips were thin and her brown eyes had dark circles underneath. The dress she wore was filthy, low-cut and showed a lack of womanly curves. She was thin as a post and as flat as a board. Her hair was tied up in a thick bun with strings hanging in front of her ears.
She walked with shy caution, an endearing quality that didn’t look practiced. Jacob sensed her fear of Mr. Bald-and-Fat. He felt sorry for her and wanted to put her out of her misery by choking the hog of a man who was her keeper. The stranger in the next stool looked more inquisitive.
“Hello, dear,” he said, “may I buy you a drink or are you here for my young friend?” His words flowed like liquid silver.
“A drink would be lovely, sir,” the young woman replied.
She answered the old man’s first question, but never took her eyes from Jacob. She could've been as young as fifteen but her eyes were much wiser, experienced. They were dark eyes and Jacob imagined a lovely, youthful face underneath the grime. Her expressions were rehearsed and sad…beaten into her by the pig in the corner. Worse, too, he imagined.
“Have a seat, then, miss. I believe there is one left,” he said and she falsified a laugh.
He smiled warmly and helped her to her chair as if she was a young child. Then he ordered three drinks. Jacob grabbed his gloved hand.
“I prefer to pay my own way…sir,” he said in a growl.
He was never one to be indebted, not even for a drink, and was leery of this man's motives.
“I mean no disrespect, only that I have come upon a bit of luck this evening, and being a traveler, I had no one to share it with. So now I find a fellow traveler and a lovely young woman. I assure you, you are not in my debt…I only thought it right to propose a toast.”
He looked at the girl with kind eyes, then to Jacob for approval.
“If you would, indulge an old man?” he said.
His argument was simple and persuasive. Jacob relaxed and nodded in agreement. The gentleman then extended a gloved hand and introduced himself.
“Thurgood Harrison. Call me ‘Old Harry’, everyone does.”
Jacob shook his hand and went to his drink without speaking.
“Thank you, Harry,” said the young woman. “My name is Lizbeth, good to meet you.”
She touched her fingertips to his thigh and smiled as she slid them across his knee. Then she sipped her drink. The old man stopped her fingers with a gloved hand.
“That will be unnecessary, Miss Lizbeth. As I said, this is a celebration, not a solicitation. I am only here for the company and conversation. But perhaps my friend here…”
Jacob rolled his head around his neck attempting to unseat the stress which sat on his shoulders.
“I'm not your friend, Mr. Harrison,” he replied sternly and then shifted his gaze to the woman, “and no thank you miss, I'm only here to get lost.”
She frowned, risking a nervous glance over his shoulder toward the fat, bald man. Baldy was practically drooling at the prospect of two customers with one lady. Especially, Jacob imagined, one of which was dressed like a Duke. Harry set his fa
ce and looked at Jacob with a smirk. Then he issued a challenge.
“I'm afraid I'm a bit hard of hearing, sir. Would you be so kind as to repeat yourself?”
“I said we aren’t friends. I don’t know you.”
He’d have preferred no confrontation, only drunkenness, but Jacob was ready if necessary to be rude, to be violent. That was the third time he'd been pestered and his patience was thin.
“Oh, you'll come around. Everyone does,” Harry said. “I have loads of friends.”
An easy smile spread across his face. He turned to the girl and stroked a lock of her hair between gloved fingers. Then his focus went back to Jacob.
“Why is it, that a healthy young man would deny the advances of such a lovely woman? Could it be that he is already married?”
Jacob eyed him, a snarl curling his lip. Harry continued.
“I see no ring. Maybe you’re here to forget a woman…or perhaps you have been forgotten?”
He grinned and waited for Jacob’s response, goading him into the conversation with silence. Jacob grunted trying to steer clear of it. He didn’t like the game.
“In my experience, she would make the ideal companion. What’s better than a warm body to take the mind off of cold thoughts which are dancing through it? Certainly this woman could help you shed some of life’s tragedies.”
He looked back at the girl who enjoyed his innuendo. Her arousal was obvious. The conversation and proper speech of the well-dressed man flushed her cheeks. Perhaps this Harry was right, Jacob thought. The young girl’s eyes gleamed green, and her smile showed straight, white teeth and full lips. A fresh, clean face to which he could wake up surrounded by long ringlet curls that dangled down to her long, sensuous neck. She took the last swallow of alcohol from her glass and Old Harry ordered another round. He then corrected her wandering fingers once again.
She stared at Jacob as if the old stranger was silent and invisible and took a sip from the newly filled glass as she rose from her stool. Walking slowly past Harry, she reached out and touched the old man's face, caressing his cheek for a brief moment. The touch caused her to recoil and she gave him an uneasy glance.
Harry nodded at her with a smile and egged her on with his eyes. She made her way in front of Jacob while unbuttoning the first and then second buttons on her blouse. Large, firm breasts pressed outward, caught only by the fabric of her clothes. Now that she had Jacob’s full attention, she pulled the fabric aside and revealing a young ample breast and its erect nipple. She then grabbed his hand, placed it on her bare chest and looked into his eyes with animal lust.
“Are you sure there's nothing that I can do for you?” she asked.
Jacob felt a warm stirring in his pants and squeezed his fingers around the woman’s breast. Old Corrigan watched with a toothless grin.
“Praise the very stars,” he said. “I might go give the missus a little surprise.”
Jacob felt her heart pounding and her warm skin was pleasing to his workman’s hands. He closed his eyes and saw Caitlin. Saw her sweetness, her unmatched beauty, her smile, her father. Furious, he pulled free. The venom in his words snapped Lizbeth from her erotic trance.
“I'm certain there is little you wouldn't do to line that man's pockets. I pity you and mourn the loss of your innocence, however, I will not put money in his hands and I will not lie with a diseased whore.”
His temper flared as he shoved her away. The fat man with the bald head stood and waddled hastily toward the bar.
“What’s your problem, lad?” he spat.
Old Harry intercepted him, quick as lightning, peeling off one black leather glove in the process. He placed an index finger in the center of the pig's forehead. Then he lowered his gaze and looked Bald-and-Fat in the eyes.
“There is nothing here which requires your assistance,” he said.
The pig looked as if he had lost his thoughts. His mouth hung agape for a moment, and then he returned to his seat in the corner and mumbled. Young Lizbeth watched in silent amazement. To Corrigan’s delight her breast was still exposed. She was upset rather than pleased and finally gathered herself before making a hasty exit through the back door. Bald-and-fat took no notice. Jacob saw. He saw the thin lips and brown eyes again, the small breast and dirty hair.
“What is in this foul liquid?” he asked under his breath.
“Now then,” Harry said ignoring the incident , “is that what this is all about?”
He had Jacob’s attention.
“I am truly sorry for your loss, young man. Let me apologize, sincerely this time, for my intrusion.”
Jacob felt a gentle pat on his back and knew it was intended to comfort him even though it had not. He wanted the bottle and he had a pocket full of money to insure his vessel would stay full. After wrestling with the idea for a moment, he gave his name.
“Kane's my name, Jacob Kane.”
Harry smiled pleasantly. He turned his head and then body to face the man and tried again.
“Mr. Kane, then. Or may I call you Jake? It seems appropriate.”
Jacob will do just fine. I don’t like nicknames. The sort of things one calls a dog. I am Caitlin Delaney. Please call me Caitlin.
“She's not gone, not in that way. She is merely…engaged to another.”
His eyes began to leak a bit. It was the first time he had said the words out loud and it hurt. Harry mouthed the word “oh”.
“In that case perhaps I could provide a listening ear or a drinking partner? I have quite a lot of experience in both areas.”
He sipped from his glass.
“What I seek is not to be bothered, but I can see this is not the place,” Jacob hissed.
“Fair enough,” Harry said.
Jacob tried on an unconvincing smile and then finished his whiskey, beginning to feel the comfortable fuzziness swim back into his head. He placed more money on the table. Harry looked at Corrigan and beckoned.
“Good sir,” he said and placed his hand on Jacob’s coins.
Jacob groaned and started to protest, but Harry held up one of his gloved hands.
“Surely there’s something better in the house than the swill you have in that cask? I assure you that money is not an object,” Harry said.
He leaned over the bar as if trying to see underneath the counter and then looked back to the proprietor with an all-knowing glance.
“Perhaps there?” Harry said.
Old Corrigan smiled proving again he couldn’t chew butter. He looked about, assuring the other patrons were otherwise occupied and then leaned on the par.
“I do. As a matter of fact, I have a couple bottles saved up for the odd special occasion,” he said and scratched his hairless head. “Nuthin’ special normally happens in this place, but you two have already doubled my income for the week, and that calls for celebration.”
He leaned down with a groan and opened a small chest. Inside were two bottles of aged whiskey, full to their brims. Corrigan pulled the cork from one and let it breathe a moment. Then he poured three slugs and took the first belt for himself. Holding the glass to his lips, he poured the contents into his mouth, no teeth to look out for. Finally, he swallowed, closed his eyes and breathed deeply to finish it off.
“Glorious,” he said, “enjoy it gents! First one’s on me.”
They each took a taste and responded in kind, glad to be rid of the piss he’d been serving. Jacob finished straight away and motioned for another, leaving money on the counter.
“Now, with that settled, we can get back to the task at hand,” said Harry. “Do you wish to win her back?”
“Her father would put a stop to that.”
“What a load of shite. If she loves you, she loves you,” Corrigan interjected.
Harry gave the barkeep a surprised look, then a nod.
“I must agree, Jacob. This is not for him to decide.”
“Oh, he’s decided. Right or not, and then he went and married her off.”
/> Harry made a pitiful face and Jacob went on.
“I wanted to do the noble thing and ask permission for her hand. He slammed his bloody door in my face. Bastard.”
Old Harry listened intently providing the appropriate nods and facial expressions as required. He took off his gloves and coat and settled in to the seat looking like a doctor with a patient or a priest listening to one of his flock.
“I could’ve killed him where he stood. How can a father give away his daughter as if she were some prize?”
The fire in his eyes along with angry words seemed to please the old man.
“She is content with the arrangement … giving herself away? For the comfort of money, I presume?” Harry winked at Corrigan who rolled his eyes. “Not so different than young Lizbeth,” he said.
The observation struck a nerve causing Jacob’s rage to build.
“Watch your tongue, old man, lest I cut it out. She knows nothing of the likes of these vermin.” His eyes burned with hatred as he gave his warning. “I will not tolerate your assumptions no matter how wise you claim to be. You don’t know my Caitlin.”
Thurgood Harrison nodded, but he did not back down.
“I know women, sir. None are naïve as they look. I would bet it is you who is naïve.”
Jacob looked up. Before he could speak or act, Old Harry held up a hand and closed his eyes, a gesture meant to calm his lovesick friend.
“I’ll make no further judgments. You are correct. I do not know this woman.”
Jacob growled and closed his fist around a fresh glass of booze. Harry watched him with disapproval.
“If you love her, fight for her, Mr. Kane. Make your feelings known and if she truly loves you as you claim, I wager she will choose you.”
“Wager, eh?”
The alcohol fog had rolled in.
“Call it a friendly bet amongst friends,” said Harry. “If she loves you, she will choose you. But how will she know? Take what is rightfully yours, Jacob Kane, or you shall always regret it.”
His eyes glowed as he spoke the words and pierced into Jacob’s drunken gaze.
“You’re so certain?” Jacob slurred.
At that moment it made perfect sense. He loved her. He knew she loved him. Her father nor her betrothed would stand in his way.
No one will stand in my way.
“I can practically guarantee it,” Harry said and leaned close, keeping Jacob’s eyes locked.
Jacob raised an eyebrow and looked to one possible future. In it, he stood next to Caitlin and they made an unstoppable pair. He looked back to Harry who watched with great interest and smiled when he saw the gleam in Jacob’s eye.
“Will you do whatever is necessary to win her affection?” Harry asked.
Jacob stared blankly for a moment, sorting through the whiskey. He loved her.
I love her.
“I love her,” he said.
“Would you die for her?” asked the stranger.
His lips curled into an evil toothy grin.
“Absolutely. I would give my life for her.”
“Would you take a life for her?” Harry asked.
Corrigan swallowed hard. Jacob’s grin grew wider still.
“Yes. I would,” he said.
Harry reached a naked hand out to the young man.
“I was hoping you’d say that. So you’ll take my wager? ”
Jacob Kane looked down at the hand extended in front of him and offered an intoxicated smile in return. Then he grabbed it and shook it firmly thus sealing the deal.
“Why not, eh?” he said.
Harry’s grip was firm and engulfing, almost painful. His smile was menacing. Immediately Jacob sobered, withdrew from the touch of Harry’s skin and almost fell off the stool. The old man laughed a hearty laugh and put his gloves back on. Jacob’s stomach lurched and he knew he was going to be ill. He made his way hastily toward the back door.
“Some folks jus’ can’t ‘andle the good stuff, eh?” Corrigan said with a chuckle.
Harry nodded and took his final drink.
