Anna saw them standing in the shadows and recognized the woman at once. Heidi Nelson leaned against a post and stared at the ceiling. Of course. Heidi was helping Ott. As though to prove this, she wore a brown working skirt and matching blouse. As morning's light spread through the stables, Anna spotted the tears running down her cheeks.
“You went to see him?” Anna asked.
The woman's expression changed from sad to mad in an instant. Her eyebrows narrowed and the left side of her mouth raised in contempt. “What is it to you, whore?”
“Whoa!” Smullen exclaimed. “Heidi, there's no need for that.”
“Do you think you're the only one who cares about him?” Anna felt her own anger coming on. “The only one who knew him before? What were the two of you? Lovers?”
“Never you mind! I—” Heidi broke off, then asked, “You knew him? That’s really true?”
Anna nodded curtly. “I did. It's probably not what you're thinking, though. You probably think I'd fuck anyone, don’t you? It was nothing like that. But I don't want the marshals, criminals, or anyone to get their hands on him, any more than you do.”
“Fuck you, Anna,” Heidi said, and Anna could tell the words tasted like bile in the woman’s mouth.
Ott placed a hand on Heidi’s shoulder. “You're distraught.”
“Get your hands off me.” Heidi roughly shrugged off his touch and stamped toward the street.
“You want to see him, I can help,” Anna called after her. “I don't care what you think of me or my work. You need to know that we're on the same side. Be my ally.”
Heidi whirled around, bits of hay sent flying by the breeze of her skirt, as though frightened of her. “I wouldn't—” She looked past Anna toward where Ott stood and paused. “All right. What's your big idea for seeing James?”
“We're going to talk with the mayor.”
Mayor Cooper had no authority over the U.S. marshals, and he told Anna and Heidi as much as they talked in his parlor. Anna caught Heidi gazing at her sideways, eyes squinted in mistrust, as though she was thinking, “You dumb whore. You're wasting my time.”
Yet, despite his lack of command over the lawmen, Anna convinced him that he might have influence. “You convinced Creed to have dinner with me last time. I’m sure they’ll listen to you now.”
They arrived by horseback at the station not long after noon, Anna on Espiritu, Heidi riding behind Cooper on his horse. As they approached, Anna realized she felt thirsty and famished. The day had turned unusually hot. One advantage of living in Santa Cruz, with its cozy position on the Monterey Bay, was a climate not unlike the Mediterranean. In summer, the sun warmed but rarely scorched, and in winter, rain fell regularly but it snowed only in the mountains.
This was one of those rare August days when just being outside, Anna’s dress would soon stick to her body and her head would itch with sweat. The thermometer near the front door of the marshal building showed the temperature at ninety-two degrees. She would have preferred lounging naked in her room with a book or filling her bathtub with cool water and sinking into it.
Mayor Cooper and Heidi seemed to feel the heat more, sweat trickling down their brows, Heidi’s cheeks sporting a shade of rose.
Up the steps, the door stood open, but Anna knocked anyway. She looked back at Center Street, where a few people had stopped to watch.
The man at the desk closed the ledger he'd been writing in and said, “Howdy Mayor. You're welcome to come in.”
“We'd like to talk to you outside if you don't mind, Marshal Peake,” Cooper said.
Peake adjusted his white, felt hat as a couple drops of sweat rolled from his temple, down his cheek, and into his graying beard. He stood and put his hands on his hips as if to emphasize that he had a pair of six shooters there.
“I've got seats in here for you,” he said, “and it's cooler. Not by much, but—”
“We're here to visit Marshal Creed,” Anna said loudly. Heidi had been looking behind them and as her gaze turned to Anna's, the madam met her eyes. Anna understood, without checking the road, that the crowd was growing.
Peake sighed and came toward the door, but stood a good ten feet from the porch. “I can't let anyone see him.”
“On whose authority?” the mayor asked.
“Head marshal, up in San Francisco. Creed's dangerous.”
Anna laughed. “Name one instance when he harmed someone who wasn't a criminal. Robberies, brawls, even murders. They've decreased since he arrived. By what law do you think you're holding him prisoner?”
Peake glared at her. “He died. He was buried.”
“He's alive now. Isn't he still a marshal?”
Cheers erupted from the crowd. A glance showed Anna at least ten more people there than before, a few with their children. Toward the back, she spotted El Tiburón, whom she remembered from when he visited Amber Doves for a meal about a month back. Something struck her as odd. She hadn't thought about him in a while but seeing him tickled at the back of her mind.
“That's what we must ascertain,” Peake replied. His lips seemed to move of their own accord when he closed his mouth, as though he wanted to say more.
Anna couldn't know if he didn't say it, but the more religious folks in Santa Cruz had been saying that Creed was possessed of the devil. Nonsense, the same bile they spewed about women in her line of work. Science had brought her father back from the dead, not sorcery.
“Do you know who this is?” Anna asked, glancing at Heidi.
“Sure. She wanted to see him earlier, and now she's here with you. Not much of a surprise.”
“She didn't come to me, or to the mayor,” said Anna. “She doesn't approve of what I do, thinks it's perverse and that the girls who work for me should all be tending house for individual men. Do you think that James Creed is evil, Heidi?”
Heidi's eyes had welled up, but she said with a steady voice, “No, I do not. Next to my late husband, he's the noblest man I've ever known.”
“Who was your husband?” Anna asked.
Heidi swallowed and a few tears went down her cheeks. “Marshal Bennett Nelson.”
Peake’s eyes widened.
Heidi went on, “Ben and James worked together back when we all lived in Texas. They were partners and the best of friends. Eventually, I married Ben, but before that, James and I had been... close.”
Though Anna had guessed this might be the case, the confirmation surprised her. Heidi and James Creed had been a couple. Why had they not stayed together? Whatever the reason, Anna finally understood why Heidi seemed just as upset over Creed's death as her husband's.
Heidi spoke quietly enough that few on the street would be able to hear her, but Anna suddenly felt closer to her. Could she get Heidi to accept her as well?
Anna turned to the marshal. “Are you really not going to let her see him?”
“I can't—” Peake began when booing erupted from the crowd. This was exactly why Anna had wanted to talk outside, and why Peake had tried to get them into the office. Public opinion was powerful in Santa Cruz, and most of the people, even many at first afraid of him, had come to see Creed as a hero.
“All right, but just her,” Peake said.
Heidi responded, “No, Anna's with me.”
This was probably just Heidi's way of thanking Anna, but the young madam felt deeply grateful. She didn't believe in signs but hoped that it meant progress for them both.
Creed stood from the bed, surprised to see the women enter the cell block. As he started to smile, Orange strode in, crossed his arms, and leaned against the bars of the opposite cell. A moderate amount of light slanted through the barred windows behind him, lending Orange the look of a ghoul.
Anna glared at the elder marshal, but Orange simply watched Creed. Heidi frowned, shoulders slumped forward as though uncomfortable.
Fortunately for the trio, Marshal Peake was at the thick door, key still in the lock, and he turned to his subordinate. “What are a couple of women
going to do?”
“I'm here for their protection,” Orange answered.
Creed knew that was an excuse, but Peake answered, “It's their own damn fault if they get hurt. Come on out here and let's talk to the mayor.”
The moment Orange slammed the door, Heidi rushed to the bars and reached a hand in.
“How are you, James? Are they feeding you well? That slab of a bed doesn't look too comfortable—”
“I'm Okay, and I’ve slept on worse. I was worried about you.”
Heidi’s tight lips and anxious eyes told Creed that his answer didn’t satisfy her. He had a feeling she’d looked at him that way a time or two when they had been a couple.
“I'm Okay, too,” she said. “I’m staying with Ott Smullen, the stableman, and his daughter. What do they plan for you?”
“They say a trial for engaging in vigilantism.”
“What you’ve done is no worse than acting as a bounty hunter,” Heidi said.
Anna stepped up to the bars. “I’d say it’s nobler by far.”
“A bounty hunter requires a license, and a deputy requires the permission of a marshal.” Creed grasped the bars and Heidi put her hands over his.
“Does it?” Heidi asked.
“I think you’re still legally a marshal,” said Anna.
“Not if Washington says I’m not. Maybe they want to take all this machinery off, see how it works. It can't be good.”
“And how did you get this way? You never said—”
Creed cut Heidi off. “Anna, if they take me away, no one will go after the underground.”
Anna reached into a pocket hidden in her dress and produced a sheet of paper and a pencil. Creed noticed with wry amusement that it was a wanted poster, for him. Anna sat cross-legged on the floor with the paper next to her and began to write.
“What are you doing?” Heidi whispered. Creed watched Heidi with a mixture of admiration and worry. He had to show her that he trusted Anna, at least a little.
Anna folded the paper in thirds then half, poster-side showing, and handed it to Creed through the bars. He slipped it into the back pocket of his denim trousers.
“D…” Anna swallowed and pointed at Creed’s right arm. “What happened there? Cantrell’s steely?”
Creed's thick coat had lessened the damage from the hound’s jaw, but the arm of his shirt showed punctures ringed with blood. Had he been a normal man, he would have bled much more. “Yes. They tried to ambush me. I got the drop on Cantrell, but his steely attacked.”
The wooden door opened without so much as the jingle of a key. Might the marshals have been listening in?
“Time's up,” Peake said.
Heidi stepped even closer and whispered. “Can I do anything to help?”
Creed nodded toward Anna.
Later that night, a figure moved down the Santa Cruz street, unsure how she had arrived. The air blew warm against her bare skin. Her thoughts keep returning to an uncomfortable table where she lay with arms strapped to her sides, knees and ankles held flat against it. At times, the straps had tingled. In these brief musings, she sometimes saw men, and at other times, no one. She flinched at a memory of one shadowy man pressing something cold into the right side of her head, then sharp pain like nails.
She moseyed along wondering where to find her home and recalled tall building. A saloon? And near it, stables. To her hazy mind, it seemed safe. The woman stopped walking and touched the cool, oblong thing attached to her head.
“Hey there, you all right? You need some help?” A man's voice. Men brought pleasure and pain. Dropping her hand to her side, she looked left at the one approaching her from outside a saloon. Was she home? No, not the saloon she wanted.
The stranger was a cowboy of middling height, young and clean-shaven. A threat, or an ally? Could he take her to the tall saloon she remembered? When she opened her mouth to speak, to say hello, to ask who he was, words stuck behind her tongue.
The wind blew again, colder, and she understood she wore nothing. On the table, a blanket had covered her from knees to neck. She noted the fact of her nudity and looked back at the man, who gazed into her eyes.
“Hey, you look like you need help. I've got a saddle blanket right here on my horse.” He gestured toward the building with his hat, where a dappled mare stood, hitched to the post. “You need it to cover up, it's all yours.”
She turned her head to the left, letting him get a glimpse of whatever was attached to her head. The man stepped back a pace, then another. “You know what? I think you're going to be fine.” He backed away and she watched him until he turned and rushed back into the saloon.
That youngster didn’t seem familiar to her, but a flicker of memory came of another man who did. A cruel man, but not from the bad place with the straps and the table. No, not that place, but another just as dreadful.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Edward Hartgraul looked at his cards and considered raising the ante on his turn. Though he held a terrible hand, a pair of twos, along with a three, a six, and a queen, he found Luis and his ranch hand rarely saw through his bluffs. The Plowshares saloon was small and didn’t have as many fancy ladies as The House of Amber Doves. About the size of a couple’s bedroom, it had a small bar and two round tables. The men sat at the one farthest from the door.
Midnight had passed, and the last john of the evening had stepped out an hour earlier with the tip of his hat. Hartgraul placed his hand face down, then took a knife sitting on the table to his right and a crimson apple from the fruit bowl beside it. He sliced it into quarters and bit into one, the sweetness filling his mouth.
Luis Mierdino looked sternly at his hand and scratched his shaven chin. Though his turn, he spent at least a half a minute staring at his cards, then at Hartgraul, then back to his cards. The pimp held back a chuckle. Whenever he thought of Luis's surname, he was never far from a laugh. Little shit. A strange name for such a stern man. No one would have put up with him if he were just a farm worker, but he owned Rancho de Mierdino which supplied milk, beef, and fertilizer to much of Santa Cruz. He had given nonsense advice to Hartgraul on many occasions before the big daddy of Plowshares finally told him to shut the fuck up and mind his own business.
Rico, sitting to Hartgraul's right, was a short ranch hand, maybe one of Luis's cousins, who came only for poker.
“Make your move, Luis,” said Hartgraul. “The fuck is taking you so long?”
“Maybe I'm waiting for your mom to come here and blow me.”
Rico sniggered, and not for the first time Hartgraul wondered exactly how much English the little man spoke.
Footsteps thumped up the stairs outside but sounded like bare feet, not boots. If it was a paying customer, Hartgraul didn't care what he wore, but when the stranger stepped in, dread filled his gut.
The pale, naked woman planted a foot in the saloon and glanced around, her curly black hair frazzled, her tits sagging, but her muscles showing shadows of definition. The scents of body odor and decay drifted in. A cold metal lump on her head reflected the light of the Tesla bulb above.
Hartgraul stood and staggered back, his chair hitting the floor. Another one, like Creed? His breath caught just as when Creed had thrown him into the wall. The woman looked straight at Hartgraul. He knew and hated that face. Her skin had gone albino-white, bluish at the tips of her fingers and nose.
“Margarita Fullerton...” In his youth Hartgraul had prided himself on being a fast draw, and he practiced with a revolver every day when he lived in Boston. Even in his fright, he whipped his gun from its holster.
Rico finally glanced at Fullerton and scrambled back, fumbling for his own sidearm, while Mierdino stared at her with mouth agape.
Fullerton squatted then sprung across the table and slammed into Hartgraul with such impact that a board cracked when he hit the floor. He struggled to breathe as coins scattered and cards flew.
As though he weighed no more than a small child, Fullerton lifted Hartgraul
from under the arms and threw him against the wall. The crash sent pain through his head and neck. As he slid down Fullerton raked her fingernails across his face causing rows of searing pain.
Two gunshots banged and Fullerton's shoulders lurched one way, then the other. With a shriek, she spun and lunged for Rico. Hartgraul wanted to close his eyes but they refused even to blink. Fullerton's form covered most of Rico's as she seemed to slap him. As he fell she wheeled on Luis. She now held Rico's gun and shot the ranch owner twice in the belly.
Hartgraul breathed as best he could, wheezing as panic consumed him. He tried to call for help but life suddenly felt like a waking nightmare. He'd lost command of his voice and body.
Fullerton sat over Hartgraul. He still held his gun tightly, but when he tried to turn it toward her his hand moved as though buried deep in sand. In other circumstances, this would have been an intimate position indeed, her crotch pressing against his pants.
Without looking, she grabbed the knife before it could teeter off the table and held it to his throat.
She looked him over with a smile. Her teeth were clean, straight, and yellowish white, those of a woman of means who took good care of herself. Hartgraul wheezed faster.
“You like this, Eddie?” Fullerton's voice was like ice crackling as it melts. She pulled the knife back and sliced.
At last his hands reacted. He dropped the gun and they went to his throat as if he could hold in the blood now pumping between his fingers.
Purple flowed into his peripheral vision on the right: his wife’s dress. Nancy flew down the stairs and in a moment grabbed Fullerton, arms embracing the monstrous woman, but the former madam of Amber Doves pivoted and buried the blade, up to the hilt, in Nancy's solar plexus.
Hartgraul's loyal spouse shrieked, and the sound hit him harder than anything that had gone before. Fullerton ripped the knife free and threw it across the room, then walked out the open door, but Hartgraul could only stare at his Nancy as her breathing stopped.
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