Support Your Local Deputy: A Cotton Pickens Western

by W. , Johnstone, William

  Well, I was right, but it wasn’t an hour into the night before there was a racket in the hall, and then some thundering on my door.

  I yawned, lit a lamp, and padded to the door. I sleep buck-ass naked in the summer, and thought maybe I’d better get into something, so I hiked up my britches, and then opened up. Sure enough, there was Heliotrope Pike, beet red, breathing fumes, and looking ready to kill. A man behind him held a kerosene lamp.

  “Where is it?” he asked.

  “You got some trouble?”

  “The harness. You’ve got it.”

  “The harness?”

  “Cut the crap, Pickens. Where is it?”

  “Locked up tight, and it stays there until I cut it loose.”

  Pike was backed by a pair of bruisers, roustabouts for his show, maybe the very men I was looking for. They were big, and they all simply pushed into my room.

  “You’ll unlock, or we’ll unlock,” Pike said. “Your choice.”

  “You threatening a law officer?” I asked.

  “You going to unlock or not?”

  “You owe me the names of four abductors, and whoever cranked up that abduction. Did you do it?”

  “The keys, Pickens.”

  “You do it, Pike? You put these roustabouts on horses, and got a cart to carry the twins, and went and grabbed them for your show, knowing you could get away with it?”

  “The keys. Or do we have to force the issue?”

  I heard a commotion in the hall, and pretty soon Belle was floating up the stairs in her robe, a light in hand.

  “You’re disturbing my boarders,” she said. “You git.”

  They ignored her.

  I thought I saw some opportunity in it. With a little luck, I’d put these three in the other cell, but it’d take some doing.

  “It’s all right, Belle. This here’s Mr. Pike, and he says someone’s made off with his harness. So I’ll get dressed and we’ll see.”

  “You in trouble, Cotton?” she asked. I knew she sometimes carried her little .32-caliber five-shot lady revolver in her robe pocket, and I didn’t want her messing with these bruisers.

  “These here are nice carny folks, Belle. They’re fixing to leave town, and mislaid some harness somewheres. I’m going to get my shirt and boots, and we’ll go see what needs doing. Someone doesn’t want them pulling out.”

  She eyed me skeptically. “Horse pucky,” she said, but didn’t pull her peashooter out.

  Pike, he just glared. He sure was looking pouty. He was up a tree. He got caught trying to duck out at midnight, and probably didn’t suppose I could tell a breast collar from a surcingle. Or that I’d go after his harness at all. Most people, they want to immobilize an outfit, they go after the livestock.

  I got busy yanking pants up and stabbing toes in boots, all the while finding out what I could.

  “When did you fellers come up missing?” I asked.

  Pike just stared. “Pickens, cut the baloney,” he said. “You got it and you’re going to deliver it.”

  “Well, I’ll trade it for the names of them fellers broke the law around here.”

  I collected my ancient Stetson and started to collect my scattergun, but Pike, he just shakes his head slowly. “I think not,” he said.

  Both of them roustabouts had their hands hidden, and I didn’t want to mess with that.

  So we rattled down the wooden stairs, waking up boarders, and Belle let us pass. Pretty quick we were in a quiet night, and walking toward the jail. I was surprised to find Rusty waiting at the door. He sure had a sense of trouble, and was quietly waiting for trouble to come, mainly in the form of Pike and two big roustabouts.

  Rusty, he didn’t say a thing, and I knew what we were about to do, and so did he. He opened the office door, and we pushed in, and he headed for a kerosene lamp, scratched a lucifer, and lit the place.

  “Now, Pike, what is it you’re looking for?” Rusty asked.

  There was no harness visible in there. The dark, barred jail door loomed, and behind it two cells, and the farther one had the goods in it. There were a couple of shotguns and rifles in a wall rack, and a mess of papers, and some dodgers, and a few chairs, and my battered desk, all in shifting shadow as the flame wavered.

  “You satisfied, Pike?” I asked.

  It became a moment of calculation. Rusty was armed. The roustabouts no doubt had some weapons. Pike, he wore his midway clothing, a suit, collarless shirt, and bowler. His hands were not in his pockets. He eyed the room, all its shadowy corners, eyed the barred jail door, and eyed the blackness beyond, knowing where the collars were, but also knowing there would be big trouble if he pushed. Someone had to open the jail door, and open the cell door, and not get trapped in there. And Pike didn’t want to shoot a sheriff and deputy if he could help it. Or get shot by me and Rusty.

  I watched the gas leak from him.

  “We bought that act from a medicine show in Laramie,” he said. “I wish I had a receipt but I don’t. It’s all handshake in the business. That was the Zimmer outfit, that came through ahead of us. These gals, they were pleased to join a real carny, not a medicine show. Those are hard shows. They wear people out and go broke. So we got two grateful women for our freak show tent.”

  I said nothing. He knew how to get his harness back.

  “This company. We stick together,” he said. “It’s a hard life, being a carny, always on the road, no home to go to, and all we’ve got is each other. It’s us against the world, sometimes. These fellows behind me, they’d give their life for me if I asked them. I’d do the same for them. So whatever we do, we’re all together. You can’t just throw a few of us in the jail; we’re in on everything. You want that? Collect every one of us and put us in those cells, and maybe you’d have what you want. There’s no such thing as a few of us taking the rap.”

  Me, I said nothing. I didn’t budge. I wanted the masked men who’d abducted them Ukrainian twins, and that’s how it was going to end.

  He eyed me and knew that, without my saying a word. Silence sometimes says ten times more than a lot of talk. His carny show was coming to an end, right then and there. He had no choice. It was doomed if he admitted he had abducted them Siamese twins to put into his show and it was doomed if I refused to give him his harness. I wasn’t budging.

  He stared glumly into the lamp that was throwing wavering light into the sheriff office.

  “Wake up the judge,” he said. “I want my harness back. You’ve stolen my property.”

  He was on to something. Earwig was the only man in Puma County who might get his harness returned to him—if he was lucky.

  “His name is Hanging Judge Earwig,” I said, “and he usually cranks up his justice court at ten in the morning, after everyone’s sobered up proper.”

  “I want him now.”

  “He’s likely to dismiss your complaint if you pester him. He sure likes his shut-eye.”

  “Now,” Pike said. He plainly thought he had found a lever to pull. “In spite of his name,” he added.

  “His name ain’t got anything to do with his behavior. He got that because of his equipment. He’s got low-hanging fruit.”

  “Now,” said Pike, and I nodded.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Hanging Judge Earwig stood in the dark doorway, wearing a white nightshirt and a tasseled cap. A big Colt Dragoon revolver poked menacingly at us. We stood on his porch, a bull’s-eye lantern lighting us as Earwig studied his visitors.

  “Court’s in session,” he said.

  “Not in the courtroom?” Pike asked.

  “Right now. And whoever got me out of bed is going to lose.”

  “Your lordship, we both did,” I said.

  Earwig studied me, and studied Pike, a large smile building. “I like that,” he said. “All right, you there, with the carnival, you start this circus.”

  “Heliotrope Pike at your service, sir.”

  “Where did you get a name like that?”

  “My mot
her was a florist.”

  “You look purple enough to qualify. All right, what’s the complaint?”

  “The sheriff here has stolen our harness. He has the breast collars locked in his cell room and won’t release them. We are done here and wish to leave.”

  “Is that true, sheriff?”

  “You bet your ass, your majesty.”

  “You are holding this company of law-abiding and honorable carny folk hostage? May I inquire why?”

  “They have stolen goods, sir. They abducted two Ukrainian women, Siamese twins, off a stagecoach in Puma County, and put them in the carnival as a freak show. I am detaining the show until they tell me who in their company stole the women, so I may bring them before your court on charges of abduction and involuntary servitude.”

  “That sure is a mouthful, Pickens. You just want to bust a few carny people, right?”

  “Justice, sir. They have stolen people and put them in bondage.”

  “That sounds a lot like my wife, sheriff. She’s got me hogtied and stuck. Do these Siamese twins object to being in the show?”

  “One does and one doesn’t.”

  Earwig’s eyes lit up. I could see he was getting entertained, and rousting him out of his slumbers was proving to be a delight to him.

  “So one wants to be in the show? And one objects? Then my solution is to slice them in two and let them go their separate ways.”

  Earwig, he was suddenly shifting around on his bare feet, enjoying this more than any decent man should. He turned to Pike:

  “Where’d you get the women?”

  “We bought the act in Laramie, handshake deal, don’t remember who owned it.”

  “Bought the act, did you?”

  Earwig’s big dragoon revolver drifted around until it was pointed at Pike’s heaving bosom.

  “Well, sir, that’s how it is in my business. Acts are bought and sold. I wanted the Siamese twins; a sensation in any freak show. So I didn’t mind shelling out.”

  “Horse pucky, Pike. Pure baloney. You are incapable of telling the truth to save your life.”

  He waved the dragoon around, until it ended up pointing at Pike’s moustache.

  “We paid too much for the act; a hundred dollars, and haven’t gotten it back,” Pike said, wheezing slightly.

  Earwig turned to me. “So you stole his harness. Does the office of sheriff give you the right to steal citizens’ property?”

  “Well, my ma used to say that people love property more than life.”

  Earwig looked pained. He lifted his tasseled cap and set it back down, frowning. “All right,” he said, “I will render a verdict.”

  He eyed us, looking for signs of rebellion, but me and Pike, we smiled sweetly at His Honor.

  Earwig turned suddenly on me, and stabbed a finger my way: “You, sheriff, have stolen this man’s property and denied him his liberty. Upon conclusion of this session of court, you will promptly return the harness and will not impede his departure. And I am fining you ten dollars for theft, and five dollars for court costs.”

  Youch. That was a large piece of my monthly pay. But then Earwig turned to Pike, and stabbed a finger at him. “I’m fining you ten dollars for lying to the court. And you will leave the women here. You will not take them, not even if they wish to go with you. If they were abducted, whether by you or the fantasy abductors you claim to have paid, they will no longer be part of your show.”

  “But Your Honor, our profit depends on the freak show.”

  “Ten dollars fine for protesting my verdict. That’s cheaper than hanging you. And five in court costs. Now bring the women here, and when I have them in my parlor, the sheriff will be instructed to release your harness.”

  Pike clapped a hand to his forehead, stricken by ill fortune. Even so, he instructed his two roustabouts to fetch the Ukrainian twins.

  “And their baggage,” Earwig added.

  It took a while. The night breezes toyed with

  Earwig’s nightshirt. Pike stood there, in his bowler, looking solemn and staring at the moon.

  The dragoon Colt never wavered. It rested in Earwig’s hand, a handy bailiff, imposing the majesty of the court on the litigants.

  A woman’s voice rose out of the dark bowels of the house.

  “Judge? Where are you? You come keep me warm.”

  “I’m doing justice, Mabel.”

  “Well, when you’re done, you come do justice to me, my snookum-diddler.”

  “I will rise to the occasion, my little dill pickle,” Earwig said. “Just wait there, and don’t pant like a dog.”

  “I’m your tiddlywinks,” she said.

  In time, the roustabouts showed up with the women, caterwauling about being deprived of their beauty sleep, the two wrapped in a single white robe. Rusty, he lifted his Stetson in admiration. The roustabouts had two big duffel bags full of the women’s stuff.

  “This is an outrage,” Pike said. “You’re stealing my property.”

  “That’s another five dollars,” Earwig said. He turned to me. “All right; I have the contraband in hand. You shall go to the jail and release your contraband and return it to Mr. Pike forthwith. And leave the fines in my charity jar in my chamber.”

  “I sure hate to let them get away with abduction, Your Honor.”

  “Five dollars, Pickens. The court has spoken.” This here was turning into a depression, if not a recession. So I backed off. Me and Rusty and Pike and his roustabouts headed for the jail, and once inside that dark place, I unlocked the jail door by the light of the lamp, and then unlocked the cell with the harness heaped in it.

  Pike, he just glowered. “I never forget,” he said. “It’s not over.”

  The roustabouts, they collected armfuls of harness and headed out, and when they returned they had half a dozen more carny people with them, and in short order they carted away every bit of harness we had dumped in there. They’d sort it out, harness the outfit, and ride away, probably before dawn. It sure ticked me off, them people not getting tried for abduction. But maybe there was a little good in Earwig’s justice. The Siamese twins, they were still here and free to choose their future if they could ever agree. And Rusty, he was sort of smiling to beat the band.

  We finally got them carny people out of the sheriff office, and it wasn’t far from dawn. That’s when the twins showed up, looking a little put out, each of them dragging a duffel bag full of her stuff. They came along on the street, like a wide ghost, looking real forlorn. They sure weren’t welcome at Hanging Judge Earwig’s home, not with his wife demanding immediate snooky-wooky, or whatever. So there they were.

  “Well, Rusty, my ma always says when opportunity knocks, you got to open the door,” I said.

  “Ladies,” he said, “come into my parlor.”

  They weren’t taking it kindly, and dragged their duffel up the stone steps and into the sheriff office. In fact, Anna looked like she was about to collapse, if not cry her heart out. They were homeless.

  “Maybe Belle could work out something,” I said.

  “Belle, hell,” Rusty said. “They’re mine now.”

  He helped them wrestle their duffel bags and got them into the office, where the single lamp still threw buttery light over the gloom.

  Anna, she was crying. Natasha, she looked better for the wear, and kept eyeing Rusty as if he’d solve their problems.

  “You got any ideas?” I asked Rusty.

  “Yeah, you get out of here and let me talk to them,” Rusty said.

  “I gotta stay and protect their virtue,” I said.

  Rusty, he just rolled his eyes and glared. I’d stopped him in his tracks.

  About then the carny show pulled out. We heard the clatter of a lot of hooves, and then a dark parade in the deep of the night, the roustabouts either walking beside the wagons, or driving them from seats up top. The Pike Brothers Carnival was leaving Doubtful, and maybe it was good riddance.

  The Siamese twins, they rushed to the door and watched
the moonlit parade, and heard the hollow clop of hooves muffled by night breezes. Anna was crying. Great tears slid down her cheeks. Natasha watched silently, and I knew that a terrible gulf now divided the two women locked into one body. I felt real sorry for them. I’d never given any thought to the pain and grief people called freaks endured, every moment of every day. It was not just that people gawked at them; it was that their lives, their hopes, their wills, were twisted and tied down. They lived lives without any hope, or hopes so small that they seemed pathetic compared to the hopes the rest of us have.

  Maybe Anna didn’t mind being stared at, being the center of attention on a tawdry little tent-stage. But Natasha, she had come to a different view of her fate, and was filled with the dream of marriage to Rusty—somehow, some way, some place. The carnival slid out of town, its clopping and clatter gone, and then both the Siamese twins began weeping, there in my office, their shared misery for once overwhelming the pain of having to cope with each other, when they each harbored a different dream.

  And I had nothing to offer them but an empty jail cell with a cot so narrow they couldn’t lie on it, joined as they were. It was a pretty sorry mess, I thought. We’d rescued them from a tawdry life in which thousands of strangers would gawk and jeer at them. But what could they do now? At least in the carny, they were fed and clothed and sheltered, and befriended, too.

  “You haven’t got much English, but maybe you’ll follow me. I’m putting you in my room at Belle’s Boarding House. The little bed in there, it’s wide enough. Can you walk a couple of blocks?”

  Natasha nodded.

  “Rusty, you bring their duffel, and I’ll help them. They got some stairs to work up.”

  We started slowly up Wyoming Street. I saw false dawn beginning to crack the darkness in the north-east. The gals, they weren’t much for walking, trying to get four legs working together, but they’d had long practice. We got to Belle’s about when there was a thin blue line of light riding the skin of the earth, and got them upstairs, into my little cubicle, a few minutes later. There was a little bed, a dresser, a window showing some light, a washbasin and pitcher, and a few hooks on the walls.