“Last year there were two gunfights, a stage collapsed, there were two knife fights, a drowning, and the Indians attacked.”
“God, why are the Indians always so mad?” she wondered.
“I don’t know.”
“I mean, we’re basically splitting this country fifty-fifty with them.”
“They’re just selfish.”
They made their way deeper into the fairgrounds, where more barkers could be heard shouting over one another, each doing his best to compete for the attentions of the passersby.
“Sir! Sir and madam! May I divert your attention over here for a moment!” The weathered-looking peddler at the small kiosk appeared to be selling all manner of tonics, elixirs, powders, and salves. His eyes widened with eager delight as he registered Albert and Anna’s approach. He instantly set about arranging a display of his finest samples on the table in front of him. “Welcome, welcome! Can I interest you in a miracle cure? Only the finest healing tonics and elixirs procured from the farthest corners of the globe!” He presented Albert with a small green bottle.
Albert read the label. “Ogden’s Celebrated Stomach Bitters.” He looked up at the peddler. “Can I … can I just ask—celebrated by whom? Who’s celebrating stomach bitters?”
Anna took the bottle and turned it around to read the back. “God, look at the ingredients,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Alcohol, cocaine, morphine, mercury with chalk—what the hell is mercury with chalk?”
“Science!” The peddler grinned with a theatrical flourish.
Albert continued reading the ingredients. “And red flannel. Red flannel? There’s shirt in here?”
“Pieces of shirt,” the peddler said with enthusiasm.
“Okay, thank you.” Albert handed the bottle back to him, offering a polite smile as he and Anna stepped away.
The peddler desperately grabbed another bottle, holding it up as he called after them. “Would you care to try some Parker’s Liquid Beef Tonic?”
Albert sighed. “You’d think these guys would know everybody’s caught on to the fact that it’s all just booze with fancier labels and—” He stopped in his tracks. “Oh, God.”
“What?” asked Anna.
“That’s them.”
Just ahead, strolling arm in arm and looking like bliss incarnate, were Louise and Foy. She sipped a glass of lemonade with a look of utter contentment on her face, as Foy whispered something in her ear. She turned and graced the moustachier with a smile so adoring that Albert’s heart plunged suicidally from his chest into the pit of his stomach. To make matters worse, there was no way to pass the two of them without being noticed.
Albert frantically grabbed Anna’s elbow. “Shit, here they come! Quick, let’s pretend you just said something funny.” Albert had already burst into loud, uproarious laughter before he realized he’d fucked up. “Wait, no—shit! You pretend I just said something funny!”
Anna grinned at him. “Come on, introduce me,” she said, taking his arm and pulling him forward.
“No!” he whispered frantically. “No, no, no, no—”
But by then it was too late. Anna waved enthusiastically at the two young lovers. “Hi, there,” she said. “Foy and Louise, right?”
“That’s right,” Foy said, his usual cocky confidence mixed with an air of amused curiosity.
There was an awkward pause as Anna turned her smile back to Albert. He knew he had no choice but to play along. “Uh, this is Anna,” he said nervously. “She’s, uh …”
“I’m his girlfriend,” Anna finished for him.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Albert said, reluctantly taking the cue. “The new GF. Big-time.”
“Lot of sexual activity with us,” Anna offered.
“Y-yeah,” Albert stuttered, shooting her a what-the-fuck glance. He turned his focus back to Foy and Louise, trying to roll with the cards Anna had dealt him. “Nonstop. I … I practically live inside her. So … y’know, if you ever want to write me a letter, you have to address it c/o Anna’s Vagina.”
Louise’s expression clearly indicated she’d already had enough. She clutched Foy’s arm tighter. “Sweetie, why don’t we go see the freak tent,” she said.
“Hey, we were just about to try the shooting gallery,” Anna piped in. “Wanna join?”
“Wait, what?” Albert turned to her with an expression of mild panic. The last thing he needed was for Louise to be reminded of how useless he was with a gun.
Anna smiled at Albert. “Come on, it’ll be fun,” she said with enthusiasm.
Louise’s gaze moved up and down Anna’s body. “Y’know, I actually have that same dress,” she remarked coolly.
In contrast, the tone of Anna’s response was warm and genuine. “Oh, you do?”
“Yeah, I wore it to the fair two years ago. Good for you for trying to bring it back.”
“Well, it just seems to me that only a complete moron would throw away a perfectly good thing.” She shot Albert a sly wink that made him feel suddenly, strangely protected and looked after. She turned her attention back to Foy. “Now. how ’bout that shooting gallery, huh?”
“I’m game,” said Foy. “And I say we make things interesting. A nickel a target.”
“That’s, uh—that’s a little rich for my blood,” Albert objected. “How ’bout a penny?”
“What’s the matter, Albert?” Foy sneered. “Is business ba-a-a-a-a-a-ad?” He laughed at his own joke. “Very well, then, a penny it is. Good Lord, Albert, you’re such a sheepskate.”
This time, Louise laughed with him.
“Louise, get ready to shear me on!” A big, mustachioed guffaw.
“I really love your humor,” Louise whispered sweetly to Foy.
Before Albert could drop to the ground and shrivel up like a dying insect, Anna took his arm again. “Then let’s get to it, huh?” She smiled, pulling Albert toward the booth.
He whispered furiously into her ear. “What the hell are you doing? I suck balls at the shooting gallery!”
“Relax, it’ll be fine,” she said, giving his hand a little squeeze.
They stepped up to the booth, where Foy paid the vendor. True to character, he tossed Albert a smirk that seemed to say, I’ll take care of this. I know money’s tight for you. The vendor handed Foy a gun. Foy reached into his pocket, took out a small tin of wax, and smoothed the tips of his moustache with preening, peacockian flair. The vendor pulled a lever, and the targets popped up. There were twelve of them, each one depicting the same caricature of a bug-eyed black slave in tattered overalls, posed as if on the run. Jesus Christ, Albert thought, what the hell’s wrong with rabbits or ducks? The targets appeared and disappeared at random intervals and with aggressive speed. Foy aimed his weapon and fired six times, emptying the chamber. Six targets went down.
“Six hits!” the vendor called out. “Quite a marksman!”
The crackle of applause filled the air from the small group of spectators who had gathered close by. Foy smugly handed Albert the gun. “This should be amusing,” the moustachier chuckled.
Albert took the pistol and raised it with obvious reluctance. Why the fuck would Anna do this to me?
He fired six times. Not a single target went down. The crowd laughed derisively as he lowered his head, trying to avoid eye contact with anybody. In his peripheral vision, standing among a cluster of townsfolk, was the twelve-year-old girl with whom he’d had the awkward dinner date.
Another girl about the same age turned and whispered to her, loudly enough for Albert to hear, “Didn’t you date that guy?”
“Yeah, but it didn’t go so well.”
“What was the problem?”
“Eh, he was kind of a loser. Plus it just sorta felt like I was dating my dad.”
“Wait, aren’t you dating your dad now?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s that going?”
“It’s going good.”
Foy folded his arms and stared at Albert with triumphant arroga
nce. “Looks like that’s six cents you owe me, sheepherder.”
Albert glumly fished in his pocket for the six cents that would be meaningless to Foy but that Albert would sorely miss. He counted the pennies and held them out in his palm.
But, to his surprise, Anna intercepted the money with a quick swipe. “Hang on a second,” she said, giving Foy an odd smile. “You wanna make this more interesting?”
Foy folded his arms with smug curiosity and waited for her to continue.
“If I can shoot all twelve targets on Albert’s behalf, you owe him a dollar,” she said. “If I can’t, he owes you a dollar.”
Albert’s head whipped around to face her with alarm. He most certainly did not have a dollar to squander on such an uncertain endeavor.
“Whoa, hang on—” he began, but the crowd was already catching the fever. They began to holler with excitement. “A dollar?!” “I’ve never seen a dollar!” “Nobody has a dollar!” “Let us see the dollar!”
Foy, however, never shifted his gaze away from Anna. “Well, now, that is interesting.” He smirked. “All right, then. It’s a bet. Do your best … ma’am.” The last word was heavily greased with derision. He handed her the pistol, and she turned back to the vendor.
“May I have a second gun, please?” she asked. The vendor hesitated briefly, then handed her a second pistol. She held one in each hand as she aimed up at the targets. “Oh, one more thing,” she said. “Can that machine go any faster?”
“Well, yeah, you can play double or triple speed, but that’s—”
“Fastest speed you got,” she said.
He nodded reluctantly and turned a metal crank on the underside of the gallery. For the first time since the beginning of the afternoon’s encounter, Foy did not look entirely sure of himself. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and just a touch of what looked to Albert like fear, though he could not be sure.
During the initial two salvos, the targets had appeared and disappeared at a rapid-fire pace. But it was downright leisurely compared to what was happening now. No sooner had the little cartoon black guys popped up than they were gone again. The whole gallery looked to be one continuous blur of motion, too fast for the human eye to register.
Anna hit every target.
The vendor looked stunned. The boisterous crowd had gone utterly silent. Anna shot Albert a secret little smile that came and went as quickly as the gallery targets, then casually set down her guns.
Albert became aware that his jaw was hanging wide open. “Holy shit,” he whispered to no one in particular.
“That’ll be one dollar,” Anna said. It was now her turn to flash a smug grin at Foy, who looked properly humiliated. He reached into his coat pocket with a scowl and removed a crisp one-dollar note. The crowd went into an uproar.
“There it is!” “Dear God, look at it!” “It’s beautiful!” One father scolded his young son, “Take your hat off! That’s a dollar bill!”
Clearly looking to salvage at least one finger of the upper hand, Foy turned his attention back to Albert.
“Well, well. A man who lets his girlfriend do his shooting for him. Isn’t that a fine how-do-you-do.” The crowd tittered but without enough gaiety for Foy to feel redeemed. He repeated himself with more volume. “I say, isn’t that a fine how-do-you-do!” The crowd dutifully upped their laughter in response.
Albert glared, feeling a worm of anger gnawing at his insides, but he could not for the life of him come up with a topper. “That’s not funny,” was his flaccid response. “You’re not funny.”
Foy put an arm around Louise’s slender waist. “Your ex-boyfriend doesn’t seem to have a sense of humor,” he said. “I can see why you dumped him.”
Albert had never been timid about expressing feelings of displeasure, but he did have a relatively long fuse. Foy had lit that fuse the first day Albert saw him walk out of the moustachery locked arm in arm with Louise. The pompous bastard had stolen the one true love of Albert’s life, and the fuse had been growing shorter day by day since then.
It had finally reached the powder keg.
Albert lurched forward, putting himself two inches from Foy’s face. “You wanna back up that attitude, asshole?”
Unaffected by the burst of hostility, Foy’s expression turned to one of gleeful disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
“Never been more serious in my life. Pistols. You and me.”
“You wouldn’t have a prayer, kiddo.”
“Tomorrow. 8 A.M. sharp.”
A crooked smile oozed across Foy’s face. “All right. Challenge accepted.”
Anna, who had been silently observing the exchange between the two men, suddenly spoke up. “Ooh, gosh, y’know, tomorrow’s bad for me, and I really wanna be there. How about one week from today? That work for you, Albert?”
There was a pointed weight to the way she said his name that sliced a tiny notch into his tenacity. “Yeah, sure,” he said.
“One week,” Foy affirmed. “Come on, Louise. I’ll buy you some sugared butter shavings.” He planted a kiss on her lips—that was clearly more of a theatrical flaunt for Albert’s benefit than an expression of affection for Louise—then took her hand and led her off into the crowd.
Albert let out an exhale that could have inflated a rubber boat.
“Oh, fuck,” he exclaimed, throwing his head back and covering his face with his palms.
“Wow,” Anna said with raised eyebrows and a hint of a smile.
“What … the hell … did I just do?!”
“You challenged Foy to a gunfight.”
The old Albert had returned. Whatever impassioned forces had taken control of his body and mind a few moments before were now long gone.
“Oh, Jesus,” he said, panic creeping into his voice. “I fuckin’ snapped! I didn’t even know what I was saying!”
“It’s interesting,” said Anna. “Did you see the look on Louise’s face?”
“No, what do you mean?”
“She was alert. Aroused. She was impressed.”
“She was?” He sounded a shred calmer.
“Yeah, she was. You had a fire in your belly for a second there, pal. And I bet you never showed her that side of you before.”
He grew flustered again. “I don’t have that side! I honestly don’t know what the fuck just happened!”
“Well, you definitely got her attention. You beat that guy in a gunfight, and I bet she thinks twice about dumping you.”
“You … you think so?”
“Yup.”
“Wait a second, no! Anna, this is insane! I can’t be in a gunfight! What am I, Clinch Leatherwood here? I’ll get killed—”
She whirled to face Albert with a look of intensity that he had never seen from her. “Why would you say that?”
For a moment he was at a loss for words. Her entire aura of serene self-possession had blown away in an instant, and he had no idea why. For lack of an explanation, he chose to simply answer her question. “Because he’s the most vicious gunfighter in the territory. Which I am not!”
“No, you’re definitely not Clinch Leatherwood.” The flash of tension vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and she was all Anna once more. “And don’t worry. That week I bought you is enough time for me to teach you how to shoot.”
Albert suddenly realized that the biggest question of the day remained unasked. “Yeah, and that’s another thing—how the hell can you shoot like that? Who the hell are you?”
She fixed him with a sincere gaze. “My father was a gunmaker. I’ve been firing guns since I could walk.” It was a plausible enough explanation. But before he could inquire further, she took him by the arm and led him back toward the hitching posts. “Come on, sheepboy, we’ve got work to do.”
The sun beat down on them with ruthless oppression as they rode toward Albert’s farm.
Albert stared down at the pinkish burned skin on his arms and thought, What a terrible thing it is to be outdoors. If you covered yourself, you
baked in the heat. If you uncovered yourself, you fried in the sun. It didn’t seem to bother Anna, however.
Nothing ever seemed to bother Anna.
Albert regarded his new friend with a fresh curiosity. Who was this unflappable, nerveless woman who possessed a wisdom far beyond her years and could shoot like Wyatt Earp? He had developed a quick, comfortable bond with her over the last few days—enough to share all the private details of his fragile emotional state—but, in reality, he knew very little about her … and he had the distinct sense that there was more to tell than he had been privy to.
As they approached the farm, the sheep began to baa excitedly. As usual, they were everywhere but inside the corral. One was even sitting on the front porch as if it owned the place and was waiting for somebody to serve it a mint julep. Albert sighed and ignored the problem for the moment. As Anna had requested, he went inside the barn and fetched an armload of rusty tin cans.
She gave him a reassuring wink and arranged them equidistant from one another along the top of the fence. She handed the pistol to Albert. “Okay, go ahead.”
He grimaced. “I don’t know what you’re expecting, but I’m—”
“I’m not expecting anything, I’m just observing. Go ahead. Don’t be nervous, there’s nobody watching but me.”
Albert reluctantly raised the pistol and closed one eye, aiming it as best he knew how. He emptied every bullet in the chamber but did not hit a single can. Even the fence itself was undamaged.
Ten reloads and ten more attempts did not change a thing. Finally he slumped to the ground in despair. “This is never gonna work,” he groaned.
“Yes, it is. Will you just trust me? It’ll work, and Louise is gonna come running back to you.”
Albert turned to her and stared. Never in his life had he met such an enigma. “Hey,” he said, “why are you being so nice to me?”
She laughed. “What’s wrong with being nice?”
“Nothing, nothing, but, I mean, you show up outta nowhere, you’re this complete anomaly in my world of terribleness out here—Anna, you must have a million better things to do.”
“What, I can’t make a new friend? When I met you, you looked like you could use one.” Her expression was almost coy. She really is quite beautiful, Albert observed. But he still wanted answers.
Seth MacFarlane's a Million Ways to Die in the West Page 8
