Smith's Monthly #12

by Smith, Dean Wesley

  Then the man turned and went back into his shack, cleaning, pretending to not look out the door.

  Truitt laughed.

  Jimmy was just glad that the barber wasn’t going to try to stop them. Jimmy stared at Benson, then at the gun in his hands. He really wanted to kill Benson. More than he had wanted to kill anything or anyone in his entire life.

  But he wouldn’t do it.

  He was still bothered by the man they had accidentally killed back on Goose Creek. Killing Benson would give him nightmares for the rest of his life.

  And besides that, it wasn’t the right thing to do.

  He shook his head, still staring at the heavy gun in his hands.

  “No, I’d be just like him if I killed him,” Jimmy said. “For whatever the reason.”

  Jimmy unloaded the revolver and then laid it on a rock beside the barbershop. Picking up another large rock, he smashed the gun over and over, feeling the anger toward Benson with every blow.

  The gun was shattered and bent and in pieces when he finally stopped.

  “No one is going to be killed by that gun again,” Jimmy said, panting at the work it had taken to destroy the gun.

  “There isn’t a big enough piece left to throw at anyone,” Truitt said, laughing.

  Jimmy turned back to see the rest of them all smiling at him. Along the street, a small crowd was gathering to watch.

  To Jimmy, it didn’t matter. Benson would never kill another person with that gun.

  Continued next month…

  A game of poker with aliens... never a good idea.

  Not that aliens cheat. Not that at all. They know how to win, and they want their winnings when they do win.

  No matter the condition of the winnings.

  WHO’S HOLDING DONNA NOW?

  IT WAS AN accident.

  Nothing more. A simple accident. I saw the entire thing.

  It was awful.

  My name is Jacob O’Grady. I own Sandy’s Restaurant and Lounge down on twelfth. It’s a pretty good-sized place with low, wood-beamed ceilings and more beer signs on the walls than should be allowed in one place. No windows, and a constant smell of lingering smoke.

  The polished oak bar had come out of an old saloon from downtown Boise I hear, but never took the time to trace it back. That bar was forty feet long and the center of the place.

  I bought the bar six years ago from Sandy’s wife after Sandy called some girl a whore. Turned out to be this big cowboy’s special girl. The big guy didn’t even waste time with Sandy.

  Five shots. All hit Sandy.

  That guy could shoot. Sort of impressive, actually.

  Now I never insult no one. Main rule number one.

  I have a lot of main rules. I got to just to stay alive.

  Donna was like Sandy. She didn’t learn so fast. Now it’s too late. Or at least I think it’s too late. I honestly don’t know for sure.

  Donna had long black hair, thick black eyebrows, and just a hint of a moustache along her upper lip. I thought she was good looking, with her long legs, model type figure, and real warm smile. I think the smile was why I hired her.

  I suppose I should have warned her right off. But about the time I hired her, I still didn’t really believe what was going on. And then after it got started, I was afraid to tell anyone.

  Hell, who would have believed me if I would have said that aliens dropped by my bar every night. I’d have been laughed right out of the neighborhood, if not locked up in a funny white suit.

  But I had aliens all right.

  Three of them.

  They looked human, at least on the surface. One seemed older than the other two, maybe in his fifties if he had been human. He had rough skin and dark, intense eyes.

  The other two looked to be mid-thirties, also dressed in normal human clothes for men of this area. Jeans, work shirts, work boots. One had a thick, dark moustache and the other had blonde hair.

  At first glance, a person couldn’t tell they were any different than the other loggers or rock miners that came in here. They dressed the same, drank the same kind of booze, and stayed off to themselves. Damn normal-like. But I could tell they were aliens. I just knew.

  I should have warned Donna.

  Hell, I didn’t know they were going to start playing poker. It fit right in, though, when I thought about it later.

  Any night in Sandy’s there’s at least three poker games going. There’s always the high stake in the back room, plus some pretty good smaller games going out in the main room.

  The three aliens watched the games real close for about two weeks, drinking just enough to make sure I didn’t toss them outside, but not drinking that much as to seem drunk. For all I knew, they couldn’t get drunk.

  Then one of them asked Donna for a deck.

  Tell the truth, I didn’t give it a second thought, even though by then I was pretty convinced they really were aliens, but their money was good and they sure didn’t cause any trouble.

  Donna gave them the cards. I remember real clearly because it was her second night and I had to show her where the decks of cards were stashed in the second drawer to the right of the cash register on the back bar.

  The aliens worked at learning poker for about the next four weeks, never letting anyone join in, just playing their own game over in a corner.

  Again, I didn’t much care since they paid for their drinks and tipped Donna well.

  They didn’t ask many questions, but they asked enough around the room that I could figure out they didn’t know much to start. But let me tell you, those three aliens were damn fast learners.

  Damn fast.

  Looking back, it’s funny how things just sort of build up. Even them aliens playing cards would have been fine if Donna hadn’t taken up with Cutbank Jones.

  Cutbank was an odd bird. Long, kind of wiry, and just mean as hell. His eyes were so cold black that it used to make people squirm when he looked across a poker table at them. What Donna saw in him, I don’t know. But one night I actually saw her make him smile. Amazing things do happen in Sandy’s.

  After the first few days, Cutbank came to think he owned Donna. About the only time she got away from him was while she worked. And even then, more times than not, Cutbank would be sitting in on one of the poker games and keeping an eye on her. He never let her get far from sight.

  I meant to ask her one night if she needed help avoiding him, but just never got around to it before the night of the big game. I should have, I really should have. Regrets now in hindsight.

  The big game started at about nine. The older of the three aliens got up and moved over to a table where Slim, Raymond, Cutbank, and Freddy were playing and bold-like asked if he could sit in.

  No one seemed to mind, so after a few hands the other two aliens came over and joined the table, making it seven players.

  All of them had the buy-in plus a little, and all seemed to play well, if not mechanical.

  Eventually, Jones and Steven joined in when the high stakes game in the backroom got a little slow.

  The entire thing made me nervous, but what the hell could I do about it? They were just customers, so I kept my mouth shut and made sure everyone had a drink when they wanted one.

  Donna did the serving and the aliens tipped her well.

  Cutbank treated her like trash. That not only annoyed me, but most of the men in the game. Donna was well liked. She just had that kind of smile.

  For the first few hours, the game went fine and I was beginning to think the evening might just end up being a good one.

  Cutbank held his own at the table. He might have been a nasty ass to Donna, but he could play a mean game of seven-card stud.

  Both Raymond and Freddy had tapped out and left, with most of their money sitting in front of the three aliens.

  An hour later, Slim was gone and not long after that, both Jones and Steven.

  That left only Cutbank on one side of the table and the three aliens on the other. Except
for a few chips in front of Cutbank, the aliens had it all. And that galled the hell out of Cutbank. I could tell.

  So could the few customers remaining in Sandy’s.

  The hand that started the problem was the hand that Cutbank drew into a straight, King high.

  Two of the aliens folded right off, but the older one held on, betting twice what Cutbank had left in front of him, smiling all the time.

  The rules in a game in Sandy’s is that if you didn’t have the money to cover the bet, you lost the hand.

  At that point, I never saw a man get so red. For a minute I thought Cutbank was going to jump right across the table at the alien guy. But he didn’t.

  Being the good player that he was, he first studied his hand, then laid his cards face down in front of him, pushed what was left of his money into the center of the table, and then asked the alien if he could have a moment to cover the rest of his bet.

  Standard game policy in Sandy’s.

  The alien nodded and laid his hand face down on the table in front of him and scooted his chair back.

  Again standard action. I had to admit, the alien had learned all the rules.

  Cutbank nodded, his face still red, and then turned and scanned the bar. Not a soul there that would loan him a penny, let along the amount needed to cover the alien’s bet.

  His gaze stopped on Donna. She was standing beside the bar in the waitress station and she squirmed like a worm pinned to a hook.

  Cutbank’s eyes sort of lit up and he stood quickly and moved over to her.

  I knew before he got there that it wouldn’t do no good. Donna had had a good night, tip wise and all, but she didn’t have anywhere near enough to cover his bet.

  And it didn’t take Cutbank long to find out.

  She said she didn’t have enough, but he could have what she did have. He called her something crude and then told her to get out of his way. He grabbed her drink tray and ripped open her money carrier. Maybe twenty bucks in there, plus change. Then he grabbed her and searched her pockets quick-like.

  She was smart enough at that moment not to fight him. I’m sure he’d have beat her something awful if she had. Of course, none of the rest of us in Sandy’s would have allowed that to happen.

  She didn’t have the money. As soon as Cutbank realized that, he tossed her roughly against the bar and then slammed his hand against the wall, cussing up a blue streak.

  Right at that point, I really didn’t blame him for being angry. Hell, I would have been with a hand like his and no money. But then I would have calmed down enough to throw in my hand and walk away.

  Most men would.

  But not Cutbank.

  He went to three of the men in the bar, threatening them if they didn’t help him. None of them had enough. He even glanced my way once but then thought better of it. He knew that he might threaten me out of the money tonight, but if he did, he’d never be welcome back in here again.

  In a place like Sandy’s, there are unwritten rules of the house. Break a rule and every other customer turns into my enforcer.

  Cutbank liked Sandy’s too much to go doing that.

  But it turned out he didn’t like Donna that much. He was across the room threatening old man Craig when he turned and saw Donna and the rest of the bar watching him. It was right at that moment that I knew he came up with the idea.

  Quickly, he stormed back across the bar and grabbed Donna by the arm and dragged her off into the alcove near the bathroom. From where I was behind the bar I could see Cutbank talking and Donna shaking her head no. Once she tried to pull away from him, but he held her tight.

  At that point, if she’d started putting up a fuss, three or four of us would have jumped in. But she didn’t.

  After a long minute of Cutbank talking real soft but intense at her, Donna’s shoulders slumped and she nodded. Then she kept right on nodding. Satisfied, Cutbank pulled her over to the table and sat back down in his chair, leaving her standing beside him.

  He smiled real snakelike at the alien and then announced that the other half of his bet would be Donna.

  One night with Donna.

  Let me tell you that caused a stir in the bar.

  I wanted to object, but then remembered Sandy and how he had ended up and my main rule of not getting in the middle of something not my business.

  Donna might work for me, but she had made herself Cutbank’s woman and anything she did on her own time was her business. If she wanted help, all she had to do was ask and everyone in the bar would jump to help.

  But she was just standing there, so no one moved.

  The alien was as surprised as the rest of the room. He glanced up at Donna and then back at Cutbank. Then he asked Cutbank to repeat what he had just said.

  Cutbank did.

  Then the alien did what any self-respecting man would do in that kind of poker game. He looked up at Donna and asked her if she agreed.

  Right about then, I guess Donna had another chance to get out. If she’d have said no, not a person in the bar would have let her leave with Cutbank. She hesitated, but it wasn’t a long hesitation before she said it was all right with her. Whatever Cutbank wanted.

  The alien nodded and told Cutbank he accepted his call. Then the alien turned over his down cards.

  Full house, queens over sevens.

  Donna turned almost white as Cutbank slammed his cards into the pile of money and told the alien to deal the cards.

  As the older alien pulled the money and the cards toward him, he asked just what Cutbank intended to wager.

  Cutbank indicated Donna and again the alien looked up at Donna for her confirmation.

  Donna nodded real slow.

  Real slow.

  All three aliens nodded in agreement and then they spent the next half minute or so discussing what a night with Donna was worth on the poker table.

  I could tell that Cutbank was getting a little crazy right at that point. His voice was higher, his gestures quick and angry. I wanted to stop the game, close the bar and just go home and take a hot shower to wash off the stink of men like Cutbank and the women who let themselves be used. But another one of the unwritten rules of Sandy’s was that no one ever interrupted a game. What went on in a game was between the men in the game and no one else.

  So I stayed behind the bar and wiped out the same glass ten times.

  The next hand was even sadder.

  Cutbank again had a damn good hand. This time he had the full house, kings over sixes. Any respectable player would bet damn near the limit on that hand in seven-card stud.

  Only this time, Donna was the limit.

  The older alien that held the marker for one night with Donna dropped out early, but the other two stayed in. One of the aliens had four sevens.

  Unbelievable hand.

  Enough to make anyone crazy.

  And that’s what it did to Cutbank. Again he slammed his cards and his fist down on the table. Now his face was red and I could see clearly that he was sweating.

  Donna looked as if she might faint.

  But somehow Cutbank held his composure long enough to indicate another hand.

  And once again Cutbank had a good hand. Three queens.

  The two aliens who already owned nights with Donna dropped out when it came time to push forward their money. But the one with the moustache stayed in.

  The alien had a straight, ten high.

  That was all Cutbank could take.

  He took one long look at the alien’s cards, his face getting redder and redder, then slammed himself back and away from the table while reaching inside his coat. He yelled something about cheating and the next instant a forty-five was in his hand and swinging up at the aliens.

  He never had a chance.

  Quick as anything I have ever seen, all three aliens had small devices in their hands aimed at Cutbank.

  The little guns (or whatever they were) looked like pocket calculators and made high-pitched whining sounds.


  Cutbank staggered back under the blows of whatever the three aliens where aiming at him. His forty-five went off, the sound of the shot echoing around and around the room.

  His shot, knocked off line by the aliens fire, hit Donna square in the chest sending her flying backwards into a table and then crashing sideways onto the wood floor.

  Cutbank ended up slumped against the bathroom wall, very dead, but without a mark on him.

  The alien with the moustache went quickly to inspect Cutbank while the other two and the rest of us gathered around Donna.

  She too was obviously dead. Her pretty face was contorted into an expression of surprise. Blood formed a large pool under her, soaking her clothes, and giving the room a sick, copper smell that seemed to overwhelm the always-present smoke smell.

  Quickly, the older alien said something in a language that sounded something like Spanish and Chinese rolled into one. The one with a moustache picked up Cutbank’s forty-five and pocketed it while the blonde alien man attached a small box to Donna’s arm.

  I objected, telling them that they shouldn’t touch anything until the police arrived. Murder was a serious thing, even if it was self-defense.

  The older alien just shrugged.

  He said that they had each won a night with Donna and they were going to take their winnings. I was going to object a little more strenuously, but suddenly I caught a glimpse of one of those little calculator guns they had used on Cutbank and I thought better of it.

  I guess everyone in the place at that moment thought better of it, because no one jumped in and tried to stop them.

  Donna’s body just sort of floated up off the ground until it was about waist high and then hovered there until the older alien expertly used Donna’s foot to push her ahead of him out the front door while the blonde alien held the door open.

  The one with the moustache followed and then the blonde alien just sort of nodded to the room and pulled the door closed behind all four of them.

  Right at that moment, you could have heard a baby cry clear across town.

  There were nine of us left and not a one said anything.

  Finally, after I turned around and saw the big red puddle of blood and Cutbank very dead against the wall, I broke the silence by telling someone to please call the police while I made myself, and whoever else wanted one, a drink.