Evangeline knew she was in Texas somewhere, but she didn’t know where. She’d been kept locked in this room; she knew this was a house of prostitution. She could hear the music and laughter downstairs, the sounds of coupling from other rooms.
“Well?” Maldita said. “Do you or don’t you?”
“I have never been with a man.”
“Nonsense. Your father told me you were a tramp.”
“Pardon me?
“That you had boys in your room left and right, strangers who passed by...”
“My father is a liar!”
Maldita frowned. “You are telling me you are a virgin, child?”
“Yes!”
“It is you who lie!”
“I am not like you or the other women here!” “I shall see if this is true.” With her fingers, Maldita made an inspection. She was surprised. “You are a virgin.”
Evangeline was trembling. “I told you...”
“Why would your father lie? Why would he sell you to me?”
“He is a mad man. He is not what he seems.” She took in a breath. “Will you let me go now?” she asked, hopefully.
Maldita raised her eyebrows. “Young girl, I do not know why your father did what he did, I do not know if he is a man of God as he said. Whatever his reasons do not matter anymore. I paid good money for you. You belong to me. You are my property. I have great plans for you.”
“I am a virgin, not a whore!” Evangeline protested. “I am pure,” she wept.
“Exactly,” Maldita said, “and some wealthy gentleman will pay a handsome price for the honor of deflowering you.”
* * *
The following is a rather sad affair concerning the captivity of the men and women at Colonel Jodzio’s silver mine. It is one that Judas Payne knew of, and observed, the memory of which (among other memories) would haunt him for all his days.
Among the men, there was a twenty-year-old fellow by the name of Maurice Blevins. He had an eighteen-year-old wife, Tammy Blevins, whom he’d known and loved since she was fourteen and he was sixteen, in more innocent days in a small Missouri town.
He was finally allowed a “conjugal visit” as Colonel Jodzio termed it, two hours alone with Tammy in a tent. They cried, they kissed, and they held each other like all the husbands and wives did. When he tried to make love to her, she could not. Tammy Blevins had had enough (or perhaps too much) sex, and she was reluctant to be with her husband now.
“I am unclean,” she said.
“You’ve been taken?” he asked.
She nodded, and cried.
He kissed away her tears and said, “I know it was not of
your own free will. You aren’t to blame. I forgive you, because you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You don’t hate me?” his wife said.
“NO!” Maurice Blevins couldn’t believe she’d say much a thing.
“You don’t find me filthy?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
Still, she could not bring herself to be with her husband.
Maurice Blevins could not sleep that night, ranting and raving about the injustice done to his woman, and how he would “chop off the dick” of every man who had touched her. While he kept some of the men from getting a good night’s rest, no one told him to shut up, and no one could fault his angry words of desired revenge. Every man here felt the same way, including Judas Payne.
Judas wondered how he would feel if Evangeline were on the other side of the mountain. The notion made his chest and gut hurt. He would be like Mr. Blevins.
The next day, in the mines, without warning or preamble, Maurice Blevins raised his shoved and charged at the Jodzioite guard, screaming, “THIS IS FOR YOU TAMMY!”
Of course, before he could hit the guard with the shovel, the guard shot him straight in the face, blowing most of that angry expression away into a mess of bone, blood, and brain.
Another guard came rushing in, hearing the gun fire. They both looked down at the corpse.
“I know his wife well,” the guard who shot him said, “she’s terribly in love with me, and is a screamer.”
“Oh her,” the other guard said, “and I thought she was in love with me!”
They laughed, slapping each other on the back.
“What he did,” Robert Kevin Scroggins said, “he did for love, and there’s nothing more noble than that.”
* * *
Doña Maldita made a festivity of the matter, and all the whores at this particular brothel in Dallas, Texas, seemed to be having fun. Evangeline Payne wasn’t having fun. This was a scene from Hell, and she started to believe that she had, in fact, died and been sent to Hell.
Men of all ages from Dallas, Austin, and Fort Worth came, as well as men from Mexico, who had received word of Maldita’s auction for the virginity of the finest white whore she had ever acquired. Many of these men were skeptical, until Evangeline was brought before them: in a see-through, flowing white silk dress. Every man gazed upon her in astonishment—and Evangeline simply wanted to disappear into nothingness.
Maldita began the bid at two hundred dollars. Two hundred dollars! Evangeline could not image such money, and why a man would pay such—
But they were all very rich.
And in the end, the price was six hundred and fifty, going to a ruddy-faced, three hundred pound gentleman from Fort Worth, who must have been fifty or sixty years old.
The other whores cheering, this man hoisted Evangeline onto his shoulders. She kicked and hit him.
“A feisty one!” the man laughed. “This will be fun.”
* * *
Just as quickly as they had been taken into slave labor, one day all the captives were liberated—and by one man.
This man rode in like a fallen angel from the dust clouds of a forgotten heaven. He rode a brown and white spotted horse, wore a brown leather overcoat and a wide-brimmed black preacher’s hat. He had a pistol in each hand, and four more tucked away in his belts, and two rifles on each side of his saddle, all Remington make.
He stormed in when the work shifts were over. As the men left the mines, he entered the camp, firing his pistols. He was an excellent shot, never missing, killing the Jodzioites one by one with bullets straight in the middle of the eyes, or directly in their chests.
The Jodzioites from the other side rushed over to help in the battle, only to meet death.
All the men, tired from the day’s work, watched in confusion.
The women ran over, worried about their husbands, hearing the sounds of battle.
Then it all stopped. There was a frightening silence. The man was still on his horse, unharmed, rifle now drawn, the fifteen Jodzioites dead.
“Be faithful until death,” the man said in a loud, hollow voice, “and I will give you the crown of life.” He paused. “Revelations, Chapter Two, Verse Ten.”
“Malachi Brood.” This came from Jodzio, who stood among his fallen men. He was unarmed, except for his saber.
The horseman smiled. “Charles K. Jodzio.” He raised his rifle to the air. “Those who hate me without a cause are more than the hairs of my head; they are mighty who would destroy me, being my enemies wrongfully; though I have stolen nothing, I still must restore it. Psalms 69, Verse 4.”
“The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood,” Jodzio said.
“Acts Two-Twenty,” the man on the horse said, nodding.
“You have killed my men, Brood.”
“They were good men, but not good enough.”
“Why are you here?”
“I was hired,” the man said. “Why else would I be here?”
“Who hired you to kill my men?” Jodzio said. “And are you going to kill me?”
“I was hired to kill no one, my old friend. I was hired to find a girl. The daughter of a wealthy Missouri businessman. It is my understanding she is here. It is my job to take her back to her father. I would not be able to do so if any of your men were alive.”
“And me?”
“You may go if you wish. I’m here for the girl.”
“I cannot allow this,” Jodzio said.
“Then you shall die,” the horseman said.
“It would be easy for you to kill me,” the Colonel said. “You have that Remington, all I have is my sword. Could you, without your guns, fight me like a man?”
The horseman put his rifle away, and jumped off his horse. He placed his pistols on the ground.
“I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness. Psalms 84, Verse 10. I offer you this, Colonel: I shall fight you with my bare hands, and you can have your rapier. The odds are in your favor.”
Jodzio didn’t waste a moment. He cried out and charged at the man, but the man easily parried any attempts of being stabbed or sliced by Jodzio’s blade. Every man and woman in the camp watched with enthralled attention. Quietly, and quickly unnoticed, the Negro and Chinese foremen left the scene, and fled the area, knowing their time here was through, and dangerous to stay.
Jodzio was sweating, breathing hard, exhausted with each lunge at the man in the coat and hat; the man was just to quick for him. Jodzio was exhausted after fifteen minutes.
“Give up, Charles,” the man said, “while you still have your life.”
“You have been a thorn in my side before,” Jodzio said, “and now you have destroyed my operation and my plans! I will kill you—yes, this is what I shall do. Let me kill you.”
“When it is my time to die, God will call for me. Today is not that day, old friend.”
“Lunatic! You’re not even a real preacher!”
Jodzio went after him again, but this time the man grabbed Jodzio’s wrist, pulled it up, along with the sword, and drove the end of the sword into Jodzio’s stomach.
The man took the sword away.
Jodzio fell to his knees, his belly ripped open and bleeding.
The women became like a pack of furious, starving animals. In union, they howled and attacked Jodzio with their fists and feet, and then with rocks. What was left of the Colonel was a bloody pulp.
The men simply watched, many horrified by what their wives had become. But they watched in relish.
When the women were done, and stepped back in shame, their hands and faces covered in Jodzio’s blood, the man spoke:
“My name is Father Malachi Brood. I am a man who is hired for certain difficult tasks. Who here is Tamara Blevins?”
A girl stepped forward, confused, and said, “I am Tammy Blevins, Mister.”
“I have been sent by your father, a one Mr. Bernard Blevins.”
The girl wept. “Father....”
“When he heard that you didn’t reach Santa Fe, nor any of the others in your group, he feared the worse. He thought it was Indians. I was referred to him. I said if you were alive, I would find you. It has taken me almost a month. But I have found you. And now I will take you back to your father, if you wish.”
“If only you had been here a week sooner,” she said, crying for her husband.
“The way of the wicked is like darkness,” Father Malachi Brood said, looking away. “But the path of the just is like the shining sun. Proverbs...Four...18 and 19.”
* * *
It took a while for everyone in the camp to realize they were now free. They wanted to thank Brood, they wanted to shake and kiss his hand, give over the keys to their hearts and souls. This was not Brood’s concern. He took one of the Jodzioites’ horses, placed Tammy Blevins and her scant belongings on this horse, mounted his own steed, and rode off east, back to Missouri.
Now that they were all free, these people didn’t know what to do. Some wanted to continue to Santa Fe, others wanted to return home.
Judas Payne had no idea what he would do. He had no home to go back to, and he had no path to follow. He simply watched Malachi Brood ride off, wishing he was just like the man.
If I ever become anything, Judas thought, I will be like him. No one in the camp realized, either, that with all the silver that had been collected, they were rich.
Robert Kevin Scroggins had not seen his wife in six weeks. He went to hug her. She did not return his hug. He felt it when his body was close to hers—she had changed since their last encounter.
Her stomach was slightly protruding. Not much, but it was noticeable.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I’m with child,” she said, plainly.
“I...”
“One day I had no idea, then the next day...this,” she said.
“I,” Scroggins said again.
“Yes, it is his,” Mary Jo said, looking at the meat that was once Colonel Charles K. Jodzio. “He was so proud of himself, the bastard. He wanted a son, of course, like any wretched man.”
Robert was shaking; he said, “You told me you had not been defiled!”
“I hadn’t, not by his men. Only by him.” She sounded so cold, so matter-of-fact.
“How could you let him?!?” Robert cried.
Others hushed, drawn to the scene. The women looked down in shame. None of them were pregnant, but they could have been.
“Did I have a choice?” Mary Jo said. “He would have killed you.”
He slapped her.
The women all gasped.
Mary Jo did not cry. Cheek red with the imprint of his hand, she glared at her husband.
“I did it for you,” she said.
“Whore,” he said. “You are no wife of mine. You are as good as dead.” He turned, and walked away.
Judas said, “Robert, no—”
Robert Kevin Scroggins waved Judas away, and went into the tent where they had all been sleeping these past months.
Mary Jo Scroggins walked to the body of one of the Jodzioites and picked a pistol up. Before anyone could stop her, she placed the gun between her breasts and put a bullet into her broken heart.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sheriff Paul Lish would wonder what his life would’ve been like had Evangeline Payne not suddenly, mysteriously, disappeared. The possibilities of different lives, different worlds, would haunt him at night and cause him to get little sleep. He would think about this during the day, too—he would tell himself: “It simply ain’t fair.” What could he do? He couldn’t go up against Tyburn’s preacher, the good citizens would turn against him and come election time, he wouldn’t have a job. And that just would not do. Paul Lish was a man of the law, and without the law he’d have no life, he might as well just put a bullet into his brain.
* * *
Evangeline would sometimes think about the Sheriff and the probability of being his wife. In the beginning, when strange men would do to do her what they paid for, she would close her eyes and pretend she was with Paul Lish. After a while she couldn’t maintain this fantasy; the men she fucked were large and hairy and stank and didn’t treat her nicely, not the way she knew Paul Lish would’ve been kind to her. What happened in the bedroom with the whorehouse “clients” was not lovemaking, this much she was certain. Each day, she grew to hate men and their horrid desires. Six days a week, she went to bed with anywhere from five to twentyfive men a day. Maldita’s clients really liked her, too—she was new, she was young, she was fresh, and she was pretty. That’s what she heard an awful lot: “I cain’t believe how prettah you is, missy.” These men may have been mesmerized by whatever beauty she possessed, but they didn’t treat her like a delicate flower once in the bed. Evangeline seemed to attract the attention of those fellows with odd peccadilloes—they liked to slap her across the face or on her rear end while having sex; they liked to pull her hair or bite her on the neck; they liked to put their members or bottles of whiskey inside the place where she defalcated, and that always hurt or made her bleed. “You must learn to like it,” Maldita always told her, “or do a damn good job pretending,” but Evangeline Payne vowed to never enjoy anything that happened in the whorehouse, even if it was “normal making love” and the men would whisp
er, “I love you, girl” into her ear while they did to her what they paid money for.
Twice, Evangeline knew she was with child and, of course, she had no idea who the father was. She was both disgusted and delighted by the notion of giving birth. Doña Maldita knew a “doctor”—an old man who was once a Confederate medical officer—who would take care of the whores if they became pregnant.
Evangeline was given laudanum and the baby bloodily removed. These situations always angered Maldita, because her whores would be out of commission for several days to a week after.
“Make sure they do not shoot their seed inside of you,” Maldita told Evangeline.
“I tell them not to, but sometimes they just do it. They say
they forget.”
“Then when you know they are about to shoot, push yourself
away from them. Every day you can’t work is a day I lose money.
Do you understand the implications of that, young woman?” Evangeline nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
* * *
As for Judas Payne, the young man wandered about the western part of the nation as men did in those days, living, as they say, “hand-to-mouth” and moving about like a wraith; after a year, he eventually found himself in the small town of Bell, Arizona, working his daylight hours as a copper miner. His skills as a slave laborer for Jodzio and his men earned him a quick position, but any man, he knew, could break his back digging into the earth.
He had no idea how he got there, but there he was, and this was his life, if one could call it a life.
He was making money, but he wasn’t very good at keeping it, and that didn’t seem to matter. Many best plans would go to hell with drink and women; money was lost at the card tables; men who put their earnings in the bank were never sure how safe it would be, as the bank was robbed at least once a month and no one ever seemed to be caught or the money retrieved (there was rumor that the robbers were working with the government and the heisted dollars going back to Washington).
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