Tilting at Windmills (Claire Lance)

by Geonn Cannon

  Lance eyed the four. She could use it to bank in number fifteen and sink it. She'd have to do it just right to make sure the four didn't follow it in, though. She bent over the rail and lined up the shot. She had just threaded the cue through her fingers when the swinging door slapped open. She didn't jump; she kept the cue still and lifted her eyes to the door to see who had made the grand entrance.

  A disheveled man stormed through the door and went directly to the bar. Gwen had jumped at the sound of the door and stood frozen behind the bar, mouth open and book trembling in her hands. The man was unshaven, his curly hair forming a wild halo around his head. He wore dirty, ripped jeans and an old sweatshirt with a hood that flapped against his shoulders as he walked. His sneakers pounded the wooden floor and he stopped a few feet away from the bar. He was turned slightly, the pool tables out of his line of vision.

  Lance forgot about her game and slowly straightened. The guy didn't look like a pool player, at least not one she could hustle, but he had her undivided attention. It was an old habit, something she couldn't turn off even if she wanted to. The man reeked of danger and threat, and Gwen was obviously not capable of coping with him. She moved closer to the wall to make herself even more invisible.

  The man's voice was hollow and trembling when he finally spoke. "Hey, bitch, where are they? Huh? Are they hiding back there like little pussies?" The last word was shouted at a door behind the bar marked Employees Only.

  Gwen's eyes were wide, her mouth opening and closing like a beached fish as she struggled to speak. "Boris. You—"

  He lifted up his sweatshirt enough to yank a gun from his belt. Gwen gasped and her face went pale. He thrust the gun toward her. "I want my money! I want my cut, and I want..." He ran his tongue over his lips and his eyes swept from Gwen to the door as if he couldn't decide which to watch. "I want twice. Okay? I earned it. He screwed me, Gwen! You know that! Give me my money. I earned it!"

  Lance's instincts took over as soon as she saw the gun. As much as she wanted to fade into the woodwork, she couldn't turn a blind eye. She slowly stretched out and plucked the cue ball from the pool table. She let the pool cue slide down in her other hand until she was holding it by the narrow tip. She flipped the stick around so that the weighted end was on top, like an extremely narrow baseball bat. Knowing her clumping boots would make too much noise, she slid her feet across the floor as she tightened her grip on the makeshift weapons.

  Gwen was too focused on the man with the gun to notice Lance's approach. The man with the gun—Boris, apparently—was too focused on his rant to notice anything else in the room. He brought his free hand up and rubbed his eyes, and then barked at Gwen again. "Give it to me! I know he keeps it here somewhere. Where? Under the bar?" He made a move as if to climb over the bar, which was far enough for Lance's taste.

  "Hey, asshole," she said.

  Obviously having thought the room was empty, he spun at the sound of her voice. Before he could bring the gun around, Lance threw the cue ball at his head. It connected with his eyebrow with a solid "thock!" He wailed and careened backward, his free hand going to cup his wounded eye. Lance closed the distance between them with a single step. She brought the pool cue up and down in a smooth arc. It came down between the wrist and elbow of his gun hand. He howled as his fingers twitched and he dropped the weapon to the floor.

  Lance used her whole body to bring the cue around again. She hit him in the stomach and he doubled over. The third blow was to the back of his knees, dropping him to the ground. She kicked the gun aside with her boot and then planted her heel on his hand. Flipping the cue in her hands, bringing the narrow end to the top again, she pressed the chalked tip against his throat with enough pressure to let him know how far she could go.

  "Walk away, Boris," she said.

  He swallowed, and the cue poked painfully deeper into his windpipe. He flicked bloodshot eyes toward the bar, then nodded as best he could. Lance stepped back, moving her foot from his hand. He scrambled to his feet and she watched him consider picking up the gun. He looked at the cue in her hand and backed away, keeping his eyes on her as he said to Gwen, "I'll get my money. You can count on that, bitch." He slammed into the swinging door and disappeared into the Texas sun.

  Lance bent down and picked up the discarded gun. It was a beauty of a piece—a polished silver pistol with a long, blocky barrel and a black grip on the butt. She walked across the barroom and picked up the cue ball where it had eventually ended up against the base of one of the tables. There was a smear of blood across the middle of the ball. She put it on the bar next to the pool stick and looked at Gwen. "Sorry about that."

  "You saved my life," Gwen said.

  Lance shook her head, uncomfortable. She looked down at the gun. "He was probably just a junkie. He wouldn't have—"

  She was cut off by Gwen screaming. Lance didn't hesitate; she dropped into a crouch and moved to her right as the mirror behind the bar exploded in a shower of shards. Lance turned to see Boris racking his shotgun for another shot. There was no time to think, no other option. She lifted the gun she had taken from him and fired once.

  Boris' head jerked back as he fell against the door frame, bounced off, and twisted to land face-up on the floor. His shotgun landed across his chest, gripped tightly in both hands.

  In the overwhelming silence that followed, Lance could hear the half panting, half sobbing noises coming from Gwen. Lance rose and walked to Boris' body to make sure he was definitely dead. The bullet had entered just over his left eyebrow, opposite the wound she had made with the cue ball. This time, he wasn't going to get up.

  Finally catching up with the situation, her heart was pounding. The gun was shaking slightly, and Lance realized that her entire arm was starting to tremble. She tightened her muscles and the tremors ceased. She had killed before, but had never planned to do it again. Her first thought was the attention this incident was sure to bring. The quiet, deserted town was certain to get very crowded, very soon. She closed her eyes and waited for her body to calm. She did it in quadrants: first quieting the storm inside her head, steadying her shoulders, relaxing her fingers. She took a deep breath through her nose and released it through slightly parted lips, then opened her eyes.

  Once again calm, Lance checked the pistol's ammunition—something she should have done as soon as she picked it up—and saw there were three bullets left. She carefully took the shotgun from Boris' cooling hands and looked at Gwen. "You're going to have a hell of a mess to clean up."

  "I don't care," Gwen said. Her voice was tight, her eyes still wide in her pale face as she eyed the dead body across the room. "Oh my God, did you kill him? He was...I thought he was...I'm so lucky you showed up. I—"

  The Employees Only door behind the bar finally slammed open. Gwen gasped, "Oh, shit," as three men swarmed into the bar. All three were armed with handguns, all of which were aimed at Lance's chest.

  Lance slowly raised her hands, acknowledging she was outnumbered and not stupid enough to try and fight the odds. She let the trigger guard of the pistol hook on her thumb so she couldn't possibly fire it. She twisted her hand on the rifle so it was clear she was holding the barrel, not the butt. Her heart, so carefully returned to a normal rhythm, began to pound against her ribs again. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Just her luck that her car would break down outside of the last town still living in the Wild fucking West.

  "Put the guns down now, please," one of the men said. His voice was unnaturally calm, a disturbing counterpoint to the hardness of his eyes.

  Lance knew he wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger, so she nodded that she would comply. "Okay. Putting the guns down." She motioned at the bar with her head and stretched both arms out to put the weapons next to the cash register. "Let's not do anything stupid, fellas."

  Gwen reached out and touched the arm of the man who had spoken. His broad chest and shoulders stretched the seams of a shirt bought two sizes too small for the very purpose of showing off his bu
ild. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing thickly haired arms. He had a thick red beard and curly red hair that was thinning slightly on top. His blue eyes were hard, emotionless, as he examined the stranger standing before him. "She saved my life, Roy. Please."

  Roy's eyes stayed locked on Lance, but he lowered his weapon. The other two men followed suit a second later. Roy finally peeled his eyes off Lance and looked down at Gwen, putting one arm around her trembling shoulders. "Are you all right? What happened?"

  "I'm fine," Gwen said. "Thanks to her. This is Claire Lance. Claire, this is my husband, Roy Morse."

  One of the men who had appeared with Roy moved around the bar to look at the corpse. He grunted. "Fucking hell, Roy; it was Boris Younger."

  Roy's jaw tightened and he moved away from Gwen's side. "Is he dead, Hadley?"

  "As a doornail," Hadley replied. "Nailed him in the head.

  Roy seemed to consider that and then looked at Lance. "Nice shooting."

  Lance stared at him for a moment, wondering where his concern for his wife had been five minutes earlier. She shrugged and kept an eye on Roy and his boys until the guns disappeared into their belts. As long as the focus was off of her, and the guns were all safely stowed, she wasn't in danger. But she wasn't going to forget they were there, just within reach.

  Roy stepped forward and extended his hand across the bar. When Lance didn't immediately take it, he raised an eyebrow. "Where I come from, if someone saves your wife, you shake that person's hand."

  Lance reached out and took Roy's hand. She squeezed it, not hard enough to be a challenge but enough that he would know she wasn't a pushover.

  He grunted slightly in acknowledgement and withdrew his hand. "Like Gwendolyn said, my name is Roy Morse. The man behind you is Garrett Hadley, and this is Kevin Keating."

  Lance examined both men. Keating looked like a boxer gone to seed, his eyelids heavy and his light hair buzzed close to the scalp while his cheeks were rough with stubble. His shirt was rumpled and as unwashed as his dark skin seemed to be, and the man reeked of alcohol.

  Hadley, on the other hand, was the picture of haute couture. His shirt was buttoned to the throat, despite his not wearing a tie. It appeared to be the only clean shirt in the room, and was tucked into the waistband of his trousers. He stood ramrod straight, shoulders back, and his thick black hair was combed away from his face. There were traces of gray at his temples, but it added an air of dignity. His lips were pressed tightly together, his eyes locked firmly on Lance. She felt like she was on display and he was deciding whether or not to let her live.

  "Nice to make your acquaintance, gentlemen," she said, just to break the silence.

  "It's lucky that you just happened to be here. Right time, right place?" Hadley asked.

  "My car broke down about six miles out," she said. "This was the first place I came across with running water. By the way, I probably owe you a pool cue."

  Roy picked up the cue that she had laid across the bar. He swung it, and Lance noticed Gwen cringing away from the motion, despite the fact he hadn't gotten anywhere near her. Lance kept her eyes on Gwen as Roy swung the cue again. This time, a weak spot along the center cracked and the cue broke in half, leaving him holding the blunt bottom. He looked down at the tip lying at his feet, looked at the sharp spike left behind, and then looked at Lance. For a moment, Lance thought that he was going to run her through with the pointed remnant, and she prepared to defend herself.

  But then his lips spread in a wide smile, splitting his beard, and he began to laugh. Hadley and Keating eventually joined in, albeit uneasily. Finally, he dropped the remains of the ruined cue and said, "You aren't buying me a cue. Necessary expenditure. And you're not buying any more drinks. You save my wife, you drink on the house."

  "Much obliged."

  "Gar," Roy said, nodding his chin at the body on the floor, "you and Kay get that garbage out of my bar. Clean it the hell up." He squeezed Gwen's shoulder and kissed her hard. She put her hand on his chest, not trying to push him back but not caressing him, either. When he pulled away, he looked at Lance. "Were you planning to go anywhere?"

  Lance was still standing where she had stopped when the three men came barreling in. Now she felt like she was center-stage in some bizarre theatre troupe. "Depends on what you mean."

  "Did you have a destination in mind when you set out, or would you be willing to stay here in Saxe for a spell?" Roy said.

  "Doing what?"

  "Protection." He put an arm around Gwen. "I obviously can't watch her all hours. It'll be nice to have someone I can trust keeping an eye on her."

  Lance hesitated, looking at Gwen. She was still pale and refused to look up from the floor. It was as if she thought looking up would invite flashbacks to what had just happened. Roy didn't seem concerned about how pale she looked, or the fact that her lower lip was still trembling. Lance ignored Roy and addressed herself to Gwen. "Do you have a lot you need to be protected from, Mrs. Morse?"

  Gwen shrugged one thin shoulder and pressed tighter against Roy's side.

  Lance looked out the front door of the bar. The truth was, she didn't have anywhere she needed to be. She was stuck in Saxe, Texas for as long as it took for her car to be fixed. If she was stranded, she might as well get paid for the inconvenience. She looked at Gwen and decided that maybe the little bartender would need someone there when the reality sank in about what had just happened. Lance looked at Roy again and discovered his eyes hadn't wavered from her. She feigned nonchalance. "What the hell, I'll stick around a while." She looked at Hadley and Keating. "Who knows? It might even be fun."

  Chapter Two

  Zombie-like, Gwen walked over to the jukebox and turned it off. In the ensuing, eerie silence, Roy turned to Hadley and Keating, and repeated, "Get rid of Boris." He returned to the office without a second glance at Gwen, who was standing motionless next to the jukebox and watching as the men wrapped Boris in a tablecloth. When Lance realized no one else was going to care for the shell-shocked woman, she picked up two bottles of beer off the bar, walked over, and put her other hand on Gwen's shoulder. Gwen looked up as if seeing her for the first time and let Lance guide her to a table.

  Lance picked a table far from the dirty work and seated Gwen so that her back was to the door. As Lance sat, she caught Hadley's eye over Gwen's shoulder. He was basically supervising while Keating did the heavy lifting, and he was making sure to keep an eye on her. She was the only variable left standing, and Lance knew he wasn't convinced she was one of the good guys. It was only natural; she wasn't convinced he was one of the good guys, either. She let Hadley be the one to break the stare and then focused on Gwen.

  Lance opened the beers and placed one in front of Gwen. The blonde took it, took a sip on autopilot, and stared blindly at the table. Hadley returned with Keating, having stowed the body somewhere outside for the time being, and went behind the bar. They found a broom and dustpan and began to clean up the shattered mirror.

  As she watched them work, Lance wondered about the local cops. The last thing she wanted was the local sheriff sniffing around, but she had to wonder why calling the cops had never even come up. Keating had taken away Boris' shotgun, but left the pistol behind. Lance stared at it, gleaming next to the cash register.

  She glanced at Hadley and Keating, busy with the clean-up detail, and made a decision. Everyone in this bar, excluding Gwen, had proven they were comfortable wielding weapons. She wasn't going to be unarmed if she could help it. She stood up, crossed to the bar and picked it up, then tucked it into her belt. She was back at the table before Hadley or Keating turned around. She flipped the tail of her jacket over the butt of the gun as she picked up her bottle.

  Lance stared at Gwen for a moment and then said, "Are you sure you're okay?"

  Gwen's eyes were haunted, but she managed a nod. She turned and seemed to suddenly realize who it was sitting next to her. "Oh, Lance. If you hadn't been here..."

  Lance didn't say anything. She k
new full well what would have happened if she hadn't been there.

  Hadley went into the office and left the door open. Lance heard another door open and saw the bright glow of sunlight reflected against the far wall. Obviously the room had a back exit, just in case. In case of what, Lance wasn't certain. But the sheer amount of weaponry in the building did nothing to ease her mind.

  When Hadley returned, he was carrying a large piece of plywood with both hands. Handing it to Keating, he muttered instructions to cover the broken mirror. He picked up the bloodstained cue ball off the bar and looked at the empty space where the pistol had been. He didn't look at Lance, just wiped off the ball with a napkin and carried it back to the pool table. Lance watched his back as he crossed the room.

  She was still suspicious about their initial delay in reacting to the ruckus. Even if they had somehow not heard Boris shouting, a shotgun had been fired, the mirror that shared a wall with the office had been shattered, and then a pistol had gone off. What on earth would have caused three men to wait forty-five seconds, even a full minute, before they came in to see what was going on? If Lance hadn't been there, Boris would have had ample time to get the cash box and leave unseen.

  Hadley threw the bloodstained napkin onto the bar and turned to lock eyes with Lance. He posed his next words to Gwen, though. "Tell your husband we're going to go take care of Boris."

  "Okay," Gwen said quietly.