by Tonia Brown
Eventually, Mab stood and scraped the uneaten half of her meal back into the pot. Dermot returned to eating his portion with zeal. Stretch hung his head over his bowl with some measure of confusion and disappointment.
“You didn’t eat much,” Dermot said between bites.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” Mab said. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Married?” Stretch whispered. “She got married?”
“You swore you wouldn’t come back here,” Dermot said.
“And you,” Mab said, “swore you’d stop supplying that monster with ammunition.”
Dermot shrugged. “We both lied.”
“So we did.”
“Maribel?” Stretch said. “You never said nothing about getting married.”
Mab sighed heavily as she crossed back to the stool. “It was all so sudden. I met him when I started working for…” she paused here, as if trying carefully not to name her old employer, then finished with, “next thing I knew we were hitched.”
“Then how did he know?” Stretch said, nodding to Dermot.
“Because I pay the right people,” Dermot said. “Gold might not get me much out here, but back east it is still a god. In the right hands it affords me the luxury of the occasional newsprint.” He stood and shuffled over to the trunk at the foot of his bed. There he rummaged around inside until he pulled free a handful of cheap newsprint. He tossed the pages to Stretch. “If you wanted to hide the wedding, you shouldn’t have it all printed up in the social section of your local paper.”
Mab gave Dermot a cold, bitter, sickly sweet smile.
“I know him,” Stretch said, eyeing the paper. “That’s the man that came around asking about you. The greenhorn that took you away from here.” Stretch glanced up to her. “You married him? That skinny, ascot wearing sissy?”
Turning away, Mab nodded.
“Are you still…” Stretch’s words trailed off, the poor man unable to finish the question.
“No,” Mab said. “It was a mistake I quickly rectified.”
“And what about your precious new job?” Dermot asked.
Mab finally grinned, for real this time, that clever wit bleeding through the curved shape of her ruby lips. “What do you think brings me all the way back to Satan’s asshole?”
Dermot joined her grin with one of his own. “Good girl.”
Between the knowing smiles, I got the impression that this pair had shared more than just a few simple business transactions over the years. It was obvious they had a deep and complicated history that went beyond anything physical. I was certain Stretch knew nothing of it. He saw Dermot as competition because he himself was so infatuated with Mab. As an outsider, and perhaps because I watched many a physical relationship unfold in my last life, I saw Mab and Dermot’s relationship as something more complex. It had the surface feel of a May-December flirtation yet was striated with layers of familial respect and love. No, they might have joked about it but these two weren’t lovers, not even part time. They were far too involved for that.
“To business then,” Dermot said as he stood and emptied his plate into the garbage bin. “Who are ya after this time?”
“No one you would know,” Mab said.
“Has that ever stopped you from telling me?”
Mab cocked her head, but didn’t answer.
“Are you finally after him?” Dermot said over his shoulder.
“Not originally,” Mab said. She flicked her gaze my way for a moment. “However, plans have changed.”
“They always do.”
“He’s holding someone you’re after.”
“Several someones.”
Dermot raised an eyebrow. “Several?”
“He’s been busy.”
“I still can’t believe we are going after Dillon,” Stretch said.
“We aren’t going after him,” Mab said.
“Why not?” Dermot said. “Damn jackass needs going after.”
I stared hard at Mab, giving her a silent I told you so.
She either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She returned to her seat at the table. “We are looking for a few men in his care.”
“You mean in his capture,” Dermot corrected with a snort. “You planning on storming the castle?”
“We aren’t planning on storming anything.”
“Then what are you planning? Exactly?”
“Dermot,” she said, her voice heavy and sweet. Too sweet. “I didn’t get where I am today by improvising. I know what I am doing. Exactly. Why do you think I’m here?”
“To annoy the ever living shit out of me.”
“And?”
Dermot grunted. “How much you need?”
“Not much. We only have a few rounds between us, but I don’t want more than we can carry without burden. I can also use any supplies you can spare. We all could use our blades sharpened as well. Been a while since Stretch has had his worked on.”
“Hey now,” Stretch said. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my blade, thank you very much. Just hasn’t seen a proper scabbard in a while, is all.”
Dermot chuckled. “Man’s gotta rest his hilt where he can these days.”
“You’re telling me.”
“Knock it off,” Mab said. “I’m being perfectly serious.”
“So are we,” Dermot said. He sighed at Mab’s stern look. “Fine. Tell me what you want. I will tell you what you get.”
They shot numbers back and forth as Mab verbally ran through all of our weapons. Dermot was able to outfit most of our guns, and agreed to sharpen our blades come sunrise; a task he said should take no more than an hour considering how good a shape they were all in. This dickering lasted a twenty lively minutes. Then came the asking price. I cringed as I waited to see how much this was going to cost Mab. I didn’t have anything of value on my person, and I was sure Stretch had little on him. Mab must’ve had something to offer, else we wouldn’t have ended up here.
Boy oh boy, was I in for a surprise when I learned what that something was.
My first clue should’ve been how uncomfortable the entire process made Stretch. The more the pair dickered, the more Stretch squirmed. The two also never mentioned the price during the haggling. Mab would ask for amounts and Dermot would counteroffer, yet neither said how much these things would cost. Or rather what they would cost.
“Is that all?” Dermot said when they reached the end of their dealings.
“I think so,” Mab said. “As for payment, I’ve got—”
“You know what I want,” Dermot said over her.
Mab repressed a laugh. “Are you sure? I brought sugar.”
“Don’t want sugar. What I want is sweeter than that.” He bore his teeth in truly lecherous grin.
She smirked and nodded. “I suppose it is.”
I got it then. His asking payment was Mab herself.
“And that’s my cue to talk a walk,” Stretch said and got to his feet. “Come on Dixie.” He tapped the bedside and Dixie leapt into his arms.
Mab’s smile grew wider as she placed her hands on her ample hips. “You never change your tune, do you?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Dermot winked at her. He stood and made his way toward the bed. “I’m sure I got some new notes in me.”
“Sam,” Stretch said, holding open the door behind him. “Come on. You don’t want to be here for this.”
“Why not?” Mab said. “You might learn a thing or two.”
I blushed a bit at the thought. Mab had no idea how much I could teach her about the ways of the bedroom. Still, this was getting a bit personal for my tastes. I joined Stretch by getting to my feet and shuffling toward the door.
And a good thing too, because Mab had began to loosen her bodice as I passed by her.
“Same arrangemen
t?” she said.
“Not this time,” Dermot said. “I don’t want it from you. I want it from her.”
This stopped me cold in my tracks. Stretch twisted about in the doorway, his eyes meeting mine in worried shock. He gritted his teeth. We stood there for a few heartbeats, staring at one another, not know what to do or say.
“You heard me right,” Dermot finally said. “Young lady.”
I turned slowly on my heel to face him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You might fool the average idiot out there, but you don’t fool me. I knew you was a gal the moment I heard you speak.”
Mab closed her eyes with a tired sigh. “I told you to keep your mouth shut.”
“You know I’m not a boy,” I said. It wasn’t a question. There was no doubt in his words. He knew. He knew and he wanted payment from me.
Dermot nodded, the leer never leaving his eyes. “Of course I know. And if you want what you came after, you’ll give me what I want.”
“You must be kidding,” Stretch said.
“I never joke about business, sir,” Dermot said.
“You can’t do this,” Stretch said. He held his hands out to Mab. “Mab? Do something.”
“It’s not up to her,” Dermot said. He pointed to me. “It’s up to that little filly. I hope you say yes because it’s been a while since I’ve heard such a pretty voice.”
Mab snapped a surprised look at Dermot. “Now hold on just a minute—”
“I’ll do it,” I said over her.
Everyone stopped arguing and looked to me.
“I’ll do it,” I repeated.
“Of course you will,” Dermot said.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Mab said.
No, I certainly didn’t want to bed the old man to get our supplies. But I also didn’t want to go to Iron Station empty handed. We needed to gather our power if we were to lay waste to Dillon’s empire and rescue my mentor. If that meant some sacrifice on my part, I was willing to make it. No matter the cost. After all, hadn’t he traded his life for mine?
“I am,” I said.
“I wasn’t asking you,” Mab said.
“I am,” Dermot said, his eyes never leaving mine. “I bet you sing like an angel.”
I won’t lie, my skin crawled at those words. A thick gorge rose into my throat, and it took everything I had to swallow it back. I wouldn’t sing for him. I might do what was needed, but if he thought for one second I would take any pleasure in it, he was fooling himself.
“Fine,” Mab said. Dejected and pouting, she took her seat at the stool again and crossed her arms. “Let’s see how she does.”
“You can’t let her do this,” Stretch said. “She’s just a kid.”
“Shut up, Stretch,” Mab said. She showed no signs of leaving.
I was unsure if she was serious about watching or just mad at being pushed aside for a younger woman.
Stretch put Dixie on the floor and stormed across the room. “Mab, I can’t stand here and let her—”
“Then sit down,” Dermot said. “But for Pete’s sake, shut your trap. You’re putting me off my mood.” The older man patted the bed again. “Come on, girly. Let’s get started. It’s getting late enough as it is. The old gray stallion ain’t what he used to be.” He went to the trunk and began to rummage inside of the thing again.
I sat on the bed. A cold, familiar darkness welled up inside of me as I tried to cut myself off from my body. Just as I did in the bordello so long ago. A heavy weight dropped onto the bed beside of me, no doubt Dermot making himself comfortable. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.
“Mab,” Stretch whined.
Mab lost her pout and looked to Stretch with a genuine soft concern. She reached up and stroked his long face. “Hon, will you calm down and have a seat?”
Something in her expression must’ve touched him, because he did as asked without another word parking himself at her feet. I found myself in possession of an impromptu audience.
“I, um, I’m not sure I can do this with folks watching,” I said.
“Sam,” Mab said. “You’ll do just fine.”
“So, what songs to you know?” Dermot said.
When I looked back to him, he held literally the last thing I expected to see. A battered fiddle lay tucked under his chin. The sight of it brought a smile to my face as I put together the pieces.
I bet you sing like an angel, he had said.
“You want me to sing?” I said
“What else would I want?” Dermot said, and gave me a sly wink.
He just wanted to hear a woman’s singing voice. A sound he found sweeter than sugar. All at once I was even more self-conscious than before. Through unfortunate circumstances, I was intimately familiar with intimacy. Yet singing? I had little experience with such things.
“But I thought…” I started, though I couldn’t speak the entire idea.
“What?” Dermot said, lowering his fiddle to eye me. “That I am a dirty old man? I’ll have you know I’m almost eighty years old. I can’t pass water without a troubling effort, darlin’. I couldn’t take advantage of you in that manner even if I wanted to. ”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Mab said. “He is a dirty old man. He just also happens to play a mean fiddle.”
“And I also happen to enjoy the accompaniment of a partner when playing.”
During this discourse, Stretch stared once again open mouthed at Mab. “Why did you let me think… you know, that other thing?”
“I never let you think anything,” Mab said, then chuckled a bit. “You had your mind made up about me and Dermot a long time ago. I just never bothered to correct you.”
“But why?”
Mab shrugged and laughed again.
Before Stretch could protest further, Dermot ran through a few notes on his fiddle. Up and down the scales he went, pausing to tune his instrument whenever he hit a sour note.
“Mr. Dermot?” I said.
“Just Dermot,” he said.
“Right. Dermot? I’m afraid to disappoint you, but, well, sir, I can’t sing.”
He kept on tuning his fiddle as he talked. “Course you can. Everyone can sing. You can talk, can’t ya?”
I nodded.
“Then you can sing,” he said.
“I meant I can’t sing well,” I said.
“Good thing I ain’t asking you to sing well. I am asking you to sing strong. Sing loud. Sing proud.” He ran his bow over his fiddle, producing a sweet set of notes. “There, she’s ready. Are you?”
I swallowed hard.
Dermot began to play a tune. In moments I recognized it as “Amazing Grace,” one of Mr. Theo’s favorite hymns. I closed my eyes and sung for him, tentatively at first, then stronger and stronger as I the lyrics came rushing back to me. Dermot played three verses worth, though I knew at least two more from hearing Mr. Theo sing it so much. After the strains of the last verse faded into the air, I opened my eyes to find everyone staring at me in something like disbelief.
“What?” I said.
“It’s seems you’re a liar in many ways,” Dermot said. “You said you couldn’t sing.”
“That was amazing,” Stretch said in a soft whisper.
“Was it?” I said.
“It most certainly was,” Mab said. “Well done.”
Dermot beamed at me like a single star in a night sky. “I knew you’d sing like an angel.” He raised his fiddle to his chin. “Ready for another?”
“I can try,” I said.
The song he played next couldn’t have been more foreign to me if he had made it up as he went along. I was sure he knew it as a true tune, yet I had no idea what words matched the music. I hummed and thought, neither of which did any good. I didn’t recognize it. I was about to say a
s much when, to my surprise and delight, Mab began to sing.
She sang most beautifully, and far better than I.
Her sweet voice spun a ballad; a sad tale of a young maid, no older than I, that forsook her family in favor of a rakish rogue who went by the name Black Jack Davey. She abandoned her husband, her finery, and lastly her own blue eyed baby to follow this man. And how was she rewarded? With the love of this man who had stolen her now cold heart. It hardly seemed like a fitting ending for such horrid betrayal. I was left to wonder if there wasn’t more to the story, just as there were more versus of the hymn I had just sung.
The music faded again as Dermot lowered the fiddle and flexed his gnarled hands.
“Hey, Derm,” Mab said. “Sam wants to know about your mural.”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Does she now?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “It’s beautiful. I want to know all about it.”
Stretch groaned. “And here I was enjoying the signing.”
“We’ll get back to that soon enough,” Dermot said. “I need a bit of a break anyways. Been a while since I played for anyone but Dixie.”
The little dog yipped at the sound of her name.
We talked for a while about the metal panels that lined the walls. Dermot spun a fairly interesting yarn about the artwork. What brought it about. The process involved. The hours poured into a masterpiece that so few would see.
“It’s beautiful,” I said again.
“Sure it is,” Stretch said. “Can we get back to the music now?”
Dermot didn’t wait for Mab or my approval before he started up again. Mab once again took the lead, singing some cheerful and thankfully repetitive little song about whiskey I also didn’t know. It didn’t take me long to pick up the chorus, and the rhythm of the words. Soon I was able to weave my voice into Mab’s and it didn’t sound half bad. We sang three more like that as Dermot stuck to peppier, repetitive tunes.
The older man was nearly out of breath the second time he lowered his fiddle.
“That’s me out for a while,” he said. “You two can keep going. Don’t stop on my account.”
