Killing Mr. Sunday

by Bill Brooks

  these weeds.”

  He stayed there squatting on his heels until they

  called him that they were leaving and if he wanted to

  ride he better come on and reluctantly that’s what he

  did because he didn’t know what else to do. He

  climbed on the back of the big horse behind Zack and

  went with them thinking about the woman.

  He’d never been a part of anything like that before

  and he never wanted to be again and the only way he

  wouldn’t was to come up with a plan to shuck them

  and go on his own.

  The land lay ahead of them as empty as a poor

  man’s pockets.

  26

  The kids played on the schoolhouse floor with

  wooden tops, April and May and the Swede boy.

  The Swede boy looked like any other kid, except that

  he wasn’t. Soon enough Jake knew he’d have to take

  him down to the orphanage in Bismarck, probably as

  early as the next day.

  Jake had stopped by to tell Clara what he’d done

  with her father.

  “You put yourself at risk,” she said.

  “No risk to me, less to you if he’s not here. Less to

  the children.”

  “I’ve asked Mrs. Merriweather to stop and look

  after them after supper,” she said. “Her sons are in

  my classroom.”

  He took Clara aside and said, “I saw a stranger

  ride into town earlier.”

  “Do you think it might be someone who’s come

  here for my father?”

  “He didn’t look like a drifter or that he got here by

  accident. But I could be wrong.”

  “But he could just be someone passing through?”

  “Maybe. I just want you to be on the alert. I’ll

  check him out.”

  The children began to quarrel over one of the

  tops—whose turn it was to spin. She told April to

  share with the Swede boy whose lower lip stuck out

  in a pout.

  “I’ll come and take him off your hands tomor-

  row,” Jake said as she walked him to the door.

  She looked back at the boy, they both did.

  “You know if I could I’d . . .”

  “I know,” he said. “He’s not your responsibility.

  Nobody would expect you to take him on. He’ll be

  fine once he gets down there and settled in.”

  She didn’t know what to say, neither of them did.

  “I’ll come round later, after supper, and walk you

  over to Doc’s to see your father,” he said.

  She closed the door behind him but felt his pres-

  ence still linger there in the room. He was not a man

  given to small talk, nor to flights of fancy. Most seri-

  ous, she thought, as she went in and began fixing sup-

  per. The sort of man a woman could depend on if

  such a woman existed who needed such a man. She

  sure as hell didn’t. One man in her life was one too

  many right now, she told herself.

  She thought about that one man, her husband,

  Monroe Fallon. Funny, but she had a hard time pic-

  turing what he looked like even though it had only

  been a few weeks since she’d left him. She wondered

  if it was wrong of her not to feel sorry for him, not to

  feel some sense of guilt for abandoning him? But it

  was he who had abandoned her—had left her in favor

  of whiskey and whores and before all that, in favor of

  killing Indians. Monroe was simply a man who

  couldn’t live in peaceful existence with himself or

  anyone else.

  The boy came into the kitchen and stood there

  looking at her.

  “What is it?” she said.

  He seemed transfixed.

  She bent so that she could be at eye level with him.

  “Are you okay?”

  He shook his head, then began to cry. He could not

  say what it was he felt.

  Damn it all to hell, she thought, as she hugged

  him to her.

  Jake went round to the Three Aces, the only saloon

  currently operating in the town. The other, Skinny

  Dick’s place, was still closed and boarded-up since the

  murders. Someone would eventually come along and

  buy it and open it up again. There never seemed to be

  enough places for a man to drink, to buy himself a

  woman, or get in a card game. But right now Ellis

  Kansas’s place had the market cornered on the pleasure

  business and if a stranger came into town and wanted

  any bought pleasures, he’d find it at the Three Aces.

  Ellis and his bartender Curly Beyers were tending

  bar. They were having trouble keeping up the place

  was so full.

  Jake found a spot at the end of the bar and waited

  until Ellis came over.

  “How’s tricks, Marshal?” Ellis said, pouring a shot

  glass of his better whiskey without having been asked

  to. Jake thought about it a second before tossing it

  back and setting the empty glass down again.

  “You see a long-haired stranger drift in here ear-

  lier?”

  “He’s up the stairs with Baby Doe.”

  “Which one is she?”

  “One who looks like she ought to still be in school

  doing her multiplication tables.”

  “Should she?”

  “No. I don’t hire ’em that young. She just looks

  young—a rare trait in the whore business and one

  that will earn her quite a bit of money for a time—

  until she starts looking her true age.”

  Ellis poured Jake another drink. Jake didn’t take it

  up right away. Instead, he set a dollar on the bar.

  “No, it’s on the house to the law,” Ellis said.

  “Something I learned to appreciate back in Liberal

  when I operated a house there.”

  “I’d just as soon not be beholden to you,” Jake

  said. “No offense.”

  “None taken. How about a woman?”

  “That on the house, too?”

  “Why not?”

  “And in turn you expect what?”

  “Just uphold the law, is all, same as with anyone

  else. Some places a man sets up an operation the law

  ignores, figures any trouble comes his way, he de-

  serves it. Other places, the law likes their cut. I don’t

  mind the latter, it’s the former that troubles me. A sa-

  loon ain’t much different than a hardware or mercan-

  tile the way I figure it. Run honest, it’s just the

  same.”

  “You think I wouldn’t treat you like everyone else

  unless I go on the take?”

  The gambler looked at the lawman, offered a

  somewhat embarrassed smile.

  “No, I think you would. Just that past experience

  has taught me to be ready to grease the wheel to keep

  it from falling off.”

  “You hear anything from Baby Doe about that long

  hair you think I should know, you’ll pass it along,

  right?” Jake said, then threw back the other whiskey

  and walked out.

  The evening wind was cold and it shook itself

  down inside a man’s clothes like icy hands searching

  for his poke. I best buy a new coat, Jake told himself,

  and crossed the street and w
ent up the other side to

  Otis Dollar’s mercantile.

  Otis was leaning palms down atop the counter

  looking glum. He looked up when Jake came in.

  “Evening, Marshal.”

  “Otis.”

  “Was about to close up.”

  “How’s Martha doing?”

  Otis’s eyes were still black and blue and he had a

  hard time talking too long at one time.

  “She’s resting. I don’t know how to thank you . . .

  and Trueblood,” Otis added.

  “No thanks necessary. How are you doing?”

  “Got headaches.”

  “Go to the pharmacy and get some aspirin pow-

  ders, stir a teaspoon in with a glass of water and take

  it every four hours, it should help.”

  “Appreciate the advice.”

  “You want me to look in on Martha?”

  “No. She’s sleeping, I’d hate to disturb her.”

  “I’ll swing round tomorrow and check on her.

  Right now I’d like to buy a new coat.”

  Otis took him over to a shelf with coats folded on it.

  “What would you recommend having lived on

  winters on these prairies?”

  “Nothing is certain,” Otis said. “I mean they ain’t

  made a coat I know of that can keep the winter off a

  man completely, but the best I carry is one of these

  mackinaws.” Jake found one that looked like it fit.

  Otis said he might want to go up a size in case he

  wanted to wear a sweater under it.

  “She can get so cold on these prairies she’ll freeze

  the spit in your mouth,” Otis said. “Besides you’ll want

  it loose enough to get to your gun in case you need to.”

  Otis helped him on with a size larger—a nice heavy

  wool double-breasted plaid. It had some weight to it.

  “How’s that feel?”

  “Peaches,” Jake said.

  “You’ll want gloves to go along with it.”

  “Pick me out a pair, Mr. Dollar.”

  “You been out to Karen Sunflower’s place lately,

  Marshal?”

  “A few days back.”

  “How was she?”

  Jake shrugged.

  “Seemed her usual self.”

  “Oh,” Otis said.

  “Toussaint’s out visiting her,” Jake added. Otis

  nodded.

  “None of my business, Mr. Dollar, but I think he

  plans on getting back together with her.”

  Jake saw how Otis flinched over the news, watched

  as he picked out a pair of wool gloves and set them on

  the counter. “That it, Marshal?”

  “That will do.”

  Otis toted the bill.

  Jake put the gloves in the pocket of his new coat

  and went out again. The sun set early that time of

  year and already the sky was growing the color of

  rust. He figured Clara had probably left the school-

  house by now and had gone back to her place. He

  planned on swinging by and taking her to see

  William Sunday. He wasn’t at all sure why he felt

  such an investment in her, or the gunfighter. Except,

  he told himself, turning up the collar, it was his town

  and it paid him to be in charge of what went on in his

  town.

  His town. It sounded funny.

  He saw then as he started up the street again Fan-

  nie coming out of her new hat shop. She saw him, too.

  “Evening, Mr. Horn,” she said, the tone of her

  voice almost as icy as the air. Jake knew she was still

  disappointed in him for not pursuing a relationship

  with her earlier that summer.

  “Evening, Fannie. How goes the business?”

  She shrugged and drew her capote around her

  shoulders a little tighter, as though his presence made

  her more chilled.

  “Business is fine. I was just on my way to meet Will

  for supper.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, whether or not

  she was trying to get a rise out of him, make him jeal-

  ous that she was seeing Will Bird now. It didn’t trou-

  ble him.

  “Well, enjoy your meal,” Jake said and touched the

  brim of his hat, then walked on. He could practically

  feel her eyes staring holes in his back.

  He walked over to Clara’s. Light the color of but-

  ter filled the windows of the little rented house. He

  felt drawn to it. It seemed like a warm and natural

  place to be on a cold night. He knocked on the door

  and Clara answered.

  “I’m waiting still on Mrs. Merriweather,” she said

  apologetically.

  “You want me to wait out here?”

  “No, of course not, come in.” The children were

  still sitting at the supper table eating cookies. Three

  faces watched as he entered the room. The boy espe-

  cially drew his attention: that sad narrow face with

  those big eyes resting under the cut-straight-across

  nearly white hair. Jake figured the boy sensed his time

  in this place was short, that soon he’d be taken some-

  where else, somewhere there were strangers and he’d

  have to figure everything out all over again.

  Clara offered him coffee and he accepted. They

  kept their talk to a minimum until Mrs. Merri-

  weather arrived with her two boys in tow, apologiz-

  ing for running late.

  William Sunday was sitting in Doc Willis’s rocker

  when they arrived. He had a quilt resting across his

  lap, pistols ready under it. The room was dark, cold.

  Jake lighted lamps, started a fire in the fireplace.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” he said and went back

  outside and stood there in the dark, the sky littered

  with stars. He could feel the old bullet wounds

  protesting the cold in the night air; like razor blades.

  He was still thinking about the stranger.

  Fallon Monroe sat up in the whore’s narrow bed. The

  room was warm and odorous with the scent of per-

  fume, sweat, and sex. She stood with her back to him

  washing between her legs.

  “That could wait until I was gone,” he said, not

  liking that she turned immediately to practical mat-

  ters as soon as he expelled his lust.

  “Can’t wait,” Baby Doe said. “Don’t want to end

  up with no bastard kid.”

  “You talk rough for such a young gal.”

  “I ain’t as young as I look.”

  “Still . . .”

  Then she dropped the shift and it fell down past

  her knees and she went to a side table and shook some

  pills from a bottle and poured herself a glass of

  whiskey and downed them.

  “You sick?” he asked.

  “No. Healthy as a horse and aim to stay that way,”

  she said straddling an old piano stool that was in the

  room instead of a chair.

  He looked her over good.

  “You want to go again?” she said. “Cost you ten

  more dollars.”

  He could see the cocaine pills already working in

  her eyes.

  “No,” he said. “I got me a regular woman.”

  “Wife?”

  “Yeah, a wife.”

  “Maybe I’ll meet me a man someday with lots of

  money,” she sa
id.

  Then there was a knock at the door, a soft hesitant

  knock and she came off the stool and answered it. A

  Chinese girl entered the room and the two women

  embraced and Fallon watched them from the bed and

  then he watched as they kissed each other on the

  mouth and he thought, goddamn.

  They whispered to each other. He didn’t care.

  “You could have us both,” Baby Doe said. “But it

  will cost you three times as much.”

  “Why three times when there are only two of

  you?”

  The Chinese girl didn’t seem to have a tongue, or

  she couldn’t understand the lingo.

  “Don’t know,” Baby Doe said. “That’s just what

  Ellis says we got to charge when there’s two of us.”

  “No,” he said. “I’ve had my fill. Time I get on.”

  She gave the Chinese girl some of the pills and

  some of the whiskey to wash them down. It made him

  uncomfortable—the way they were so familiar with

  each other, the way they acted, like nothing mattered

  to them.

  He got out of bed as they got on it and put on his

  clothes and watched them the whole time, but by now

  they were only paying attention to each other, as

  though he didn’t exist and he didn’t care for it much

  at all and quickly put on his coat and hat and left and

  went downstairs and ordered himself a whiskey.

  “You enjoy yourself up there with Baby Doe?” El-

  lis asked.

  “I think she likes women a whole lot more than

  any man,” he said tossing the whiskey back.

  “She took care of you though, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, real well.”

  Ellis Kansas smiled.

  “You new in town, ain’t you? You just drifting

  through?”

  “Truth is, I’m looking for someone,” Monroe said.

  “Who might that be?”

  “A woman named Clara Fallon. You know her?”

  Ellis Kansas shrugged, remembering the interest

  of the marshal in this man, knew, too, who Clara

  Fallon was.

  “No. Don’t know of anyone by that name.”

  “She has a couple of kids with her.”

  “I’m somewhat new here myself,” he said. “You

  might ask Marshal Horn.”

  “Marshal Horn, huh? Where might I find him?”

  “Keeps an office up the street.”

  Fallon set the glass down and walked out.

  27

  The Stone Brothers made the town well after

  midnight.

  “My ass is so sore it feels like I been busting rocks

  with it,” Zack said; he’d been riding double with