by Mae Berry
“It’s fine. He’s fine. Jist tryin’ to get outta work.” Rucker turns back to the path. “Pick up your bucket, boy, and git back in line.” The new guard looks like he wants to say something, but Rucker shoots him a glare and the guard closes his mouth. “Listen here. This slacker needs to learn how things work.” Rucker spins around glarin’ at all of us. He turns back to the sobbing boy and gits down in his face. “You will do yer work,” spit comes outta his mouth and hits the boy’s face, “without complainin’. You do jist like the others. Fill yer bucket, carry it up to the horse trough, dump it and make another trip ‘til the trough is full. Got that?” Rucker is foaming at the mouth now. The newbie sobs then nods his head. “I kain’t hear no rocks rattlin’, boy. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir,” the boy whispers.
“What’s that?” Rucker howls.
“Yes sir!” The boy is holding back tears. None of us is looking at him.
“Alrighty then. Back to it ya’ll. Break time over.” Rucker makes a waving motion with his hand and we all fall back in line. He leads us off whistling all cheerful like. The boy hops after us on one leg. None of us dare give him a hand. Rucker’d turn on anyone of us. It’d be vicious.
I lose count of the trips. Rucker makes sure the newbie do every one of ‘em until the second time the kid passes out. There’s no waking him. No matter how many buckets of icy river water Rucker has us throw on him.
Ventz is on duty the next day. He takes one look at the newbie and moves him to the hospital. Word is he’s trying to find out what happened. No one is talking though. Not even the kid, he learned real quick like. Still, there may be a way. If anyone can make Rucker pay, it be Ventz.
Bates
February 6, 1878
Missouri State Penitentiary
Kain’t tell if my eyes ‘re open or shut. Black. Darkness. Surrounds me. I shiver. Been frigid raw for days or is it months? The odor from the slop bucket never completely overpowers the gray stink of wet rock. The walls breathe it out. It rolls across my face, an icy hand. Squeezin’ tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe. It strangles out everything and goes deep, gasping in my chest. It’s filled it with nothing but wispy darkness. I startle as I hear rustlin’ beside me. My heart races, spots peppering the blackness. My thoughts come slow and stupid. Then I realize it was just my arm moving through the hay. My limbs have a restless life of their own. They move without my permission. I try grabbing at thoughts but they don’t obey me neither. They’re as wispy and pressing as the air. In the dead silence they come at me swirling around, like blurred photographs, focusing for an instant then disappearing. The images ghost on top of each other. I can’t make sense of ‘em. Me standing with my pa’s arm around me, but underneath the image, a scene of my pa dead, half his head shot off an’ blood everywhere. My brother Lewis jumps off the bank of the creek, smiling at me, and over top of that is him lying on a riverbank black and bloated. My ma smiles at me and underneath her face—a skeleton. Jist kain’t tell what’s what. Everyone looks peaceful. Content. Even the dead ones. It’s as if everything is well. I’m peaceful looking at ‘em. Like coming in weary from travel and finally gettin’ to rest. Everything is set to right. I drift through for hours or is it years? The voice is part of my scenes. Until it breaks through the fog lashing at my scenes. Driving them away.
“I ain’t comin’ in there to git ya. If’n you want out, come on, else I’ll jist leave your sorry self there.” My mind blinks, don’t want to let go. Something inside pulls on me. I roll to my knees and try to stand. My legs are too weak to hold me. Somethin’ inside says to get moving, so I crawl toward the voice, toward the open door, toward the light. Somethin’ inside says it’s time. The guard laughs at my efforts then takes a big noisy sniff. “You miss the slop bucket jailbird? You sure stink.” The light blinds my eyes as if looking into the sun at midday, but the guard holds a lantern so that can’t be right. He shoves me toward the stairs. Something inside takes hold a me, stiffens my spine. Gotta climb to get outta the dungeon. The dungeon— the word comes floating through my mind. My foot slips off the first step. My hands try to grab hold. The guard snarls and grabs me under the arm, yanking me. My brain spins tryin’ to make sense of things. Finally, something inside asks.
“How long?” My voice sounds scratchy, my throat full of sawdust. The guard lets out a nasty chuckle.
“Long enough to make you think twice ‘bout crossin’ Rucker again, I ‘spect.” My swirling thoughts come together in an instant. Somethin’ inside breathing new life into them. Rucker. Huh, someone’s gotta pay.
Bates
February 7, 1878
Missouri State Penitentiary
I’m back working the next day. I spot Rucker just once from a distance. He shot me a nasty smile. Can’t figure how he knew I talked to Ventz, but I’d be a fool to think this be the end. And he’s the one with the power. The one that can make me pay. Over and over.
I take a bundle of leathers to the shoe shop fer Ventz. He shoulda gone with me, but he’s a lazy cuss. I know he’ll pat me down once I git back so I don’t bother to pick up extra stuff. ‘Sides, two weeks in the dungeon is enough. I shiver and it has nothin’ to do with the bitter day. Tiny snowflakes drift down, dotting my coat. The guards lit a brazier in the work yard. I head toward it thinking I might warm my hands. My joints creak, can’t get warm.
I walk pass the saddle tree equipment shed and the door creaks open. I look. The padlock ain’t on the door. Huh. Sheds are supposed to be secure. Open only if a guard is there. I pause at the doorway and listen. There’s a faint snoring sound. I push the door and peer around. Inside it’s dim. I hear a loud snort. Then I see him. Rucker is asleep under a trestle table on a pile of old rags, the lock by his feet. I move in real quiet and stand over him. It’s strange that folks will put down a mad dog, but not a man that acts like one. Tain’t right. Some men jist don’t deserve to be called men. They be nothing but animals running around makin’ trouble for decent folks. God ain’t got no use fer ‘em. Someone needs to take care of things. A niggling roars through my belly. I stand back as somethin’ inside me bends an’ picks up the padlock. I keep my eyes on Rucker the whole way as I back outta the shed with nary a sound. I pause in the doorway before shutting the door. Yes sir, ain’t nobody gonna miss a mad dog. Someone’s gotta pay.
Chapter 15
April 22, 1891
Kansas City, Missouri
Stop by the office, pick up Sam and on to see Father Seamus for updates. Leaving for Kearney tomorrow was pushing his time, but it was worth it, otherwise, they needed to wait until Monday. Finn bounded up the courthouse steps. He shook his head, what to do with Miss Lawton? Sam? She proved her worth repeatedly; still she was infuriating. Infuriating and confusing. For him.
Finn heard voices before he reached the office door, Brownlee and the recruit Thompson. Typical, Brownlee’s nasal voice overpowered the kid, cutting him off, talking over him. Finn had a moment of sympathy. There was a reason they paired the newbies with Brownlee, no one else wanted to work with the pompous… He opened the door.
“No one is that lucky. No one.” Thompson stood at Brownlee’s desk hands braced on top. Brownlee leaned in his chair, ankles crossed, feet propped on his desk. “His lackeys must get warned.” Thompson’s voice rose in pitch at the smirk on Brownlee’s face. “Someone is leaking info. Someone who knows—”
“Pah-lease,” Brownlee rolled his eyes lacing his fingers on top of his head, “I remember when I was young and idealistic, seeing phantom conspiracies in every corner.” He shook his head.
“But if Pendergast is behind—”
Brownlee’s feet slammed to the floor. “Well, well. Look what rolled in the door. Finally decided to check in Finnley?”
Finn glanced at them and headed to his desk.
Brownlee followed. “Case making progress?”
Finn gave a tight nod.
“How’s your… partner?”
The smirk on B
rownlee’s face confirmed his suspicions, Brownlee was behind Sam Lawton’s involvement with the case.
Irritation rolled in Finn’s chest but he gave Brownlee a big grin. “Actually, I’ve never worked with better.” Slight exaggeration. Maybe. He took a perverse satisfaction in Brownlee’s open mouth and incredulous stare. Until his face changed to a leer.
He winked at Finn. “I bet she is. Investigating, huh?”
Finn clenched his fist but kept his face passive. A Herculean task. Scum like Brownlee fed on the emotions of others and he refused to give him ammunition. “Anything new around here?” Finn kept his tone light.
Brownlee’s disappointment shifted to studied nonchalance. He dropped to a chair. “Went by the mayor’s office.” He extended a hand and examined it.
“Oh?” Finn forced the word out between clenched teeth.
“Yep,” Brownlee pulled out a pocket knife and began paring his nails. “Gave him an update on the missing boy.” Finn’s eyes bugged out. “Told him you were close. Real close. Boy should be home soon.” Finn’s heart rate sped. Brownlee returned the knife to his pocket. “Don’t worry. I made sure you got the credit. Made sure he knows precisely who is working the case. Who is solely responsible.”
“Anything else?” Finn ground his back teeth.
“No, glad to help you out.” Brownlee slapped his palms on his thighs and rose. “Oh, almost forgot. Mayor said he wants an update by the end of the week. Seems the man’s wife is insistent he gets this resolved quickly.” Brownlee rapped his knuckles on Finn’s desk. “I assured him you’d be there.” He walked off whistling.
Finn let out a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Great. Just great.
✽✽✽
The street was still empty. He was late. Not surprising. What she didn’t understand, though, is why in blue blazes she insisted on meeting him here? At Hattie’s house? He said he needed to go by the office and then was off to talk to someone about the case. Naturally, she insisted on accompanying him. She prayed to a God she largely neglected that he showed up before Hattie. What had she been thinking? Fatigue, that’s it.
The return trip from Jefferson City took a long time. Delays and a loose coupling hurt. Still, unlike the trip to Jeff City, on the way back the marshal was a sociable companion. They talked, told jokes and laughed. He listened and asked questions, appeared interested in what she said, and was sincere. With her job she could spot feigned enthusiasm from a distance. Finn was different.
Sure, at first he didn’t want her around and there was the whole “a woman’s brain is not capable” thing. But, he apologized. They got along, figured each other out. Also, that almost something at the penitentiary? Had he intended to… kiss her? Sam brushed her fingertips over her smiling lips. She wasn’t qualified to judge but a strange warmth spread through her chest. She shook her head. Get a hold of yourself, a man like that had a different lady friend in every town and she had no intention of joining their ranks. Not that he asked, or even implied he wanted her too. They were colleagues in pursuit of a fiend. He was just being friendly, fostering a good working relationship. She sighed. He was late, very late.
Finally, his long-legged stride rounded the corner. Sam smiled and waved until she saw his face. The crease between his eyebrows was so deep she’d lose a finger in it and if his lips pressed any tighter he’d turn coal into diamonds.
She skipped down the steps, grabbed his elbow and turned him back the way he’d come.
“Nice house.” His icy tone was enough to freeze beer.
“It’s not mine, it’s Hattie’s.”
“Hattie?”
“My mother, remember?” She trotted to match his pace.
“If I’d known private investigating paid so well, I’d never joined the marshals.” His sarcasm was thick.
Heat raced to her cheeks as anger clawed her chest. “You are in a sour mood. I should have met you there. Saved you the trip.” She removed her hand from his arm and slowed to a comfortable walk. Next time she would request a shorter partner.
Finn continued on a pace then stopped. He removed his cap, ran his fingers through his hair and turned to look at her. “Look. Nothing personal, just a bad day at the office.”
“After only a few minutes? Something about the case?”
“No. Yes. It isn’t important.” He walked a couple of steps.
Sam stood on the walk, arms crossed, foot tapping. “If it concerns the case, tell me.”
Finn let out a low growl. “It. Does. Not. Concern. You.” He ground his teeth, eyes seething.
“Fine. Let’s move on.” She continued walking. “When we get to Kearney,” she felt his eyes on her, “we should contact Mr. Phelps, the man from the prison report? He has no reason to hide information. Gittin’s family might. Who knows, a family member could be hiding him. It wouldn’t be the first time a relative helped a felon.” She walked a few more steps before she realized he didn’t. She turned, eyebrows raised.
He stood arms crossed, the furrow between his eyebrows deeper. “And all this time I was thinkin’ I’m the one in charge. You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to at least act like I know what I’m doing.” He glared. “Maybe pretend I am doing my job. It might jist help when we go to other agencies. Your constant badgering and takin’ the lead doesn’t sit well with them or me.”
Sam shut her eyes before he could see how much his words hurt. Fool. She was a fool for thinking this man was different. “Marshal,” she drawled, “your antiquated notions about women’s roles boarders on… on egotism.”
Finn’s jaw dropped. “Ego… wait. Wait one min—”
“E-go-tism,” she enunciated, “the practice of thinking about oneself excessively because of an undue sense of self-importance.”
“I know what it means,” he clenched his fists, “Self-importance? Seriously?”
She ignored the heat in his gaze and brushed her hands together. If only wiping off his attitude was as easy as dirt. She took a deep breath. “You are, in a word, vain. Your concern is on appearances. Not anything of substance. I hoped you were different. I hoped you saw past that to what is important.”
A hiss came from between Finn’s teeth. “Glad to find out waat ye truly believe. Ye comin’ or staying?”
“It’s about the case, I am coming.”
He nodded and set off once again. She followed, but he kept his pace to one she could match.
✽✽✽
A street car ride later and the two were in the West Bottoms. The late morning crowds jostled and jeered. Finn glanced at the blasted woman at his side. The one that didn’t amount to a molehill but brought a mountain of aggravation. A strong gust of wind blew the odor from the stockyard their way. Miss Lawton, okay, Sam reached for her handkerchief. Finn scrubbed at his hair. If this partnership continued much longer, he’d be bald. He relaxed his tense shoulders. None of this was her fault.
“Lassie, I need to apologize.”
“Again,” She continued walking, a hankie pressed to her nose.
“Aye again,” Finn sighed. “I had upsetting news and I let my frustration out on you. I’m sorry.”
“News about what?” She looked at him over her hankie.
“This case has a connection back to the mayor, and he’s interested in seeing it solved.”
“Oh?” She titled her head to the side.
“Aye. One of my… colleagues told the mayor we were close.”
She stopped and frowned. “Is that colleague trying to get you in trouble?”
He shrugged. It was uncanny how she saw right to the way of things. “Aye.”
“Well, then. I suppose we need to solve the case. Quickly.”
He laughed. “Succinct as always.”
She eyed him.
“What? I know a big word or two.” He grinned.
The crowds thinned as they continued into the heart of the bottoms. Finn studied her. She was a plucky thing. A firecracker in a pint jar as ma would say.
She studied his face. “Actually, I found it easier to work if potential employers don’t think of me as a woman. It’s easier for them to dismiss my… femininity if I use a man’s name.” She shrugged.
Finn’s jaw dropped. Not likely. How any man with a pulse couldn’t see her as a woman was beyond him. A very feminine woman. He cleared his throat.
“Yes… well, that was… good thinkin’.” They walked in silence for several minutes.
“Tell me… Finn,” Would his name ever roll naturally off her lips? “Can you tell me who are we going to speak with?”
He broke into a big grin. “Aye, lassie, we’re goin’ to meet a priest.”
Sam stopped. “A priest?”
“Aye, Father Seamus has a finger in everythin’. If anyone has new information on the boy, it’ll be him.” He tugged her arm.
A few blocks later Finn stopped and turned. He swore he heard his name. His eyes locked on a stocky man dressed in shirt sleeves and a vest pushing through the crowd.
“Finn lad! Wait up. Finn-O.” The man jogged around two men with a hand cart and stopped in front of them. His round face was covered by a huge grin as he stepped up to them.
“Danny boy!” The men pounded each other’s back.
“How be ye? Haven’t seen ye ‘round.” Daniel’s eyes twinkled as he looked from Finn to Sam. “I say, Finn-o, who is the juicy lady?”
Finn grinned and turned to her. “Sam, this is Daniel Kelly, me best friend.” He slapped Daniel on the chest. “And this,” he nodded his head, “is Samantha Lawton, Daniel. She is helpin’ me on a case.”
“No, no,” Daniel clasped his hands over his heart, “de lady is too juicy ter be workin’ for the likes of you.” Sam looked at Finn eyes wide as Daniel shoved Finn aside with his hip and grabbed her hand holding it between both of his.
