by Andy Monk
It might just have been a couple of hands from one of the ranches further to the west of Hawker’s Drift heading into town for the night. It might have been, but he didn’t think so.
He could feel the spiders scurrying behind his eyes again...
*
“Having trouble keeping up?”
Cece had pulled her mount to the side of the road after she’d gotten a couple of hundred yards in front. Amos was mildly surprised she’d stopped to wait for him. He supposed it showed she trusted him, not that such a thing mattered to him very much.
“You shouldn’t push that horse…” Amos growled and dismounted in one smooth movement.
“Problem?” Cece asked, looking down at him.
“Maybe.”
Amos gently patted her horse’s rear as he walked around the animal to examine her left hind leg. It wasn’t the one that was about to go lame, but it afforded him a view back along the road.
The horse shuffled slightly as he made a show of running his hand up and down her leg. He crouched on his haunches. The two riders were still too far away to make out clearly, but he was pretty sure they were wearing long canvas coats, just like the deputies back in Hawker’s Drift.
He eased himself back up and tried not to wince at the sound of his knees cracking again. Just how old was he now?
He took off his hat and glanced up at Cece, but she was staring out towards the horizon; banners of grey cloud were sweeping in from the north and their shadows darkened swathes of rippling wind-tossed grass.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Cece whispered, “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere quite like it.”
“Don’t travel much, huh?” Amos returned to his own horse and took a long slow swig from his canteen. He wiped the mouth on his sleeve and offered it to Cece, but she shook her head and continued to watch the cloud shadows.
Amos took a good while to fix the stopper back securely, his eyes continually flicking between the canteen and the two riders. They’d stopped in the middle of the road. Watching them.
“Is this old thing likely to die on me?” Cece asked.
“You mean me or the horse?”
Cece smiled and slowly wheeled her mount round as Amos heaved himself back into the saddle.
“As I’m not planning to ride you home, the horse is of more concern.”
“Same advice as before; don’t ride her hard… unless you have to.”
She raised an eyebrow as they continued along the road once more, “Oh don’t worry about those two, they’ve been following me all day. If they were going to do anything they would have done it by now.”
Amos nodded, the girl was no fool.
“Town deputies?”
“Think so.”
“Any idea why they’re following you?”
Cece shrugged, “Maybe they want an autograph.”
Amos glanced at her, he wasn’t entirely sure what the remark meant, but although she’d said it flippantly it didn’t fool him. She was trying to hide her fear, the fact that she was being followed scared her… and yet she’d remained out here on the grass alone. He had no idea what she’d been doing, but he was damn sure it wasn’t drawing clouds.
“Strange little town, don’t you think?”
“Town seems normal enough,” Amos shrugged, “just the people who are odd.”
“Like the Mayor?”
“Example number one…”
Cece laughed, “Everybody seems… I dunno… reluctant to talk about him.”
“Yeah, I noticed that. Never anything bad anyways.”
“A politician that nobody bad mouths…”
“Like you said, it’s a strange little town.”
Cece nodded back towards the two riders behind them, “You think the Mayor sent them?”
“He runs the town… besides he has history.”
“History?”
“You’re not the only woman in town his men are keeping an eye on.”
“You think I shouldn’t go?”
Amos shrugged, “What do I know?”
“Probably not much, but you’re an outsider, like me, so at least your opinion is honest.”
“He’s the big man in town, probably best not to offend him unless you’re planning to leave soon.”
Cece narrowed her eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun as she looked out over the dancing grass, “No… I think I’ll be here for a little while.”
“Go sing for him then…” when Cece glanced across at him he added “…but keep that knife up your sleeve. Just in case…”
*
The shadows were long and soft by the time they trotted back into Pioneer Square. Amos noticed their other shadows had faded away once they had reached the town limits. He would have been back in town much earlier if he’d been riding alone, but Cece’s half lame old nag had dictated the pace. He should have left her to it, but her company was bearable and he was curious as to why the Mayor was having her followed too.
Curiosity had, after all, always been one of his biggest failings.
After they had stabled their horses, Amos explained to the protesting stable boy that Cece’s horse was good for little more than glue and that she should have a mount that was less likely to die on her the next time she went out riding.
“I think you scared him,” Cece noted with a fleeting grin after they’d emerged back into the square.
“He’s a smart lad then…”
“Thanks for your help.”
Amos shrugged as they crossed the square. He seemed to be developing a habit for helping women, which was a thought that returned Molly to his mind. She would be expecting him tonight he supposed.
Perhaps he would camp out on the grass for the next few nights as he searched the surrounding plains. It would be more efficient that way, he told himself, and it would make it much harder for her to try and kiss him as well.
There were a few men drinking outside the saloon, enjoying the warmth of the sun’s farewell. They were mainly involved in spinning yarns or staring into their beer in the way men tended to do. Two, however, were watching them intently.
“Your friend is waiting for you,” Amos noted, without looking at Cece.
“Friend?”
“The young farmer.”
“Oh, Sye? I doubt he’s waiting for me.”
Now Amos did look at her, her cheeks had flushed ever so slightly. Yes, she knew what he meant.
As they mounted the steps to the saloon’s boardwalk, Sye doffed his hat, smiled broadly at Cece at the same time his eyes flicked over Amos.
Cece returned his smile and introduced Amos, explaining that he’d helped her with her lame horse out on the grass.
Sye had given him a curt nod before spluttering a volley of questions about what she’d be singing tonight. Amos considered himself dismissed and bid them a good evening. He was tired and hungry; he hadn’t slept well at Molly’s for several reasons, only one of which had been the hardness of the floor. He just wanted to grab some food and sleep.
Hopefully it would be a quiet night for the girls working upstairs.
Cece flashed him a smile and said she’d see him soon, which was something that seemed to unsettle both Sye and him.
He was about to push open the saloon’s doors when the second man who’d been watching them intently stepped in front of him.
“Come with me,” Blane said, folding his hands in front of his lap as if concerned Amos might be thinking of kneeing him in the balls. Which would have been quite astute of him.
“I’m sorry.”
“I said, come with me,” Blane repeated, his voice a low emotionless monotone.
“I meant I’m sorry, I’m not coming with you.”
Blane frowned, slightly and momentarily as if bemused by the reply.
“Why won’t you come with me?”
“I’m tired and hungry – so unless I’ve done something arrestable, which I’m pretty sure I haven’t, I’m going to eat and sleep.
/>
“I’m not arresting you,”
“Good,” Amos moved to step around the deputy.
“The Mayor wishes to see you,” Blane moved in unison to block him off.
“And why should I want to see him, rather than my bed?”
Blane produced a hint of a smile, just a cold little twist of the mouth, but a smile nevertheless.
“He wants to make you an offer…”
The Widow
Molly watched Amos as he paused outside her front gate, looking back and forth before heading up towards Main Street. She resisted the urge to follow him. Instead, she pressed her face against the window. There was no sign of Blane or any of the town’s other long-coated law enforcement dickhounds.
She hurried through the house and peered out of the kitchen window. There was a narrow lane that ran behind the house, but it was empty.
Had Amos scared them off?
Molly stared at his coffee mug sitting alone at the bottom of the shallow glazed stone sink. She wrapped her fingers around it, before springing them open and turning hurriedly away. She was being stupid. Again.
She returned to the front door, made sure it was locked and trudged upstairs and crawling back into bed after kicking off her shoes and pants.
Her head was throbbing gently. She couldn’t remember how many times she’d decided to quit drinking. Probably every single morning she’d woken up with a lousy head and a queasy stomach; which added up to a lot of broken promises over the years.
She could hear the occasional passing voice from the street, but other than Bruno, Mrs Firth’s beloved cross-breed hound (part wolfhound, part rancid old cheese), howling at nothing in particular, there was little to disturb the peace other than her own thoughts.
There were numerous things she could be doing, some of them might even have been useful, but given her recent track record staying in bed for the day was probably the best idea. It was far harder to make either a complete fool of yourself or a bad situation even worse if you just pulled the sheets over your head and told the world to go fuck itself.
Besides, perhaps Amos would appear in the evening loaded down with dynamite, guns, mules and the rest of the shit her husband had bought for no obvious reason. It wasn’t very likely, but if he managed it she would be extremely grateful. She’d give him a big wet kiss no matter how much he protested.
She turned on to her belly and pushed her face into the pillows; they smelt faintly of sweat. Laundry hadn’t been one of her main concerns since Tom died, especially as she’d planned to have taken the first stage out of town and leave the old sheets for someone else to worry about.
Molly spent a few minutes trying to figure out what had happened with Amos the night before, but soon drifted off into a fitful doze pursued by long-coated men with dead slack faces.
*
Knuckles were rapping on the coffin lid as they tried to bang it down on top of her.
Molly sat bolt upright, the sheets were soaked with sweat and her heart was pounding. She took a deep breath and shook long unkempt hair from her eyes. Blane had been putting her into a coffin, his usually cold expressionless face contorted with glee as he forced her down, pushing her face against the silk-lining, all the while telling her to be a good girl in Bert-Bert’s raspy pant as other hands pressed the coffin lid in place and the darkness engulfed her.
“Shit… I gotta get out this town,” Molly muttered, pushing her hair back.
She jumped as the knocking sound came again, even though she knew, this time, it was just someone rapping on her front door.
She wrapped her arms around her knees and remained seated on the bed. The coffin had just been a nightmare, but whoever was banging her front door was real.
What if it was Blane come to fetch her? Perhaps the Mayor had decided he didn’t want to give her three months to pay Tom’s debts after all, some men could be a bit touchy about a woman standing outside their home screaming every obscenity imaginable at the front door.
Were they here to drag her off to the whorehouse?
She took a deep breath. Whoever it was she didn’t want to see them. The knocking came again – they didn’t seem to be buying the idea that she wasn’t in. Maybe they’d checked in the saloon already.
“Oh, go and fuck a big fat duck…” Molly muttered, before rolling her eyes, pulling herself out of bed and creeping over to the window. She pulled back the curtains a fraction, but whoever it was must have been standing right up against the door as she couldn’t see anybody from that angle.
The knocking came again.
She shook her head and made her way downstairs, she was still wearing an old crumpled shirt; her legs were bare, but she couldn’t be bothered to pull anything else on. If they were going to drag her off to the whorehouse, she might as well go half-naked anyway.
“Ok! I’m coming already!” She yelled as she made her way down the stairs to the sound of more frantic knocking.
“Please be Amos…” she mumbled as she finally got to the door, unlocked it and threw it open.
“Mr Furnedge,” she said, trying to sound neither disappointed nor relieved.
“Mrs McCrea! I came as soon as I heard!”
Without waiting for an invitation the lawyer breezed past her, his little leather briefcase swinging agitatedly in time to his scurrying stride.
“It won’t do, it just won’t do at all!” He said, his usually slitty little eyes were wide behind his thick spectacles.
Oh fuck, is the Mayor suing me for slander as well now…
Why on earth had she let rip at him in public? Apart from it feeling bloody good of course.
“Come, come, we must discuss this at once!” Furnedge insisted, beckoning her into her own home with a flick of his wrist before disappearing into the drawing room.
Molly stared out into the bright sunny street and wished Amos was there with a couple of horses, but Baker’s Street was quite deserted. She supposed she should be thankful there wasn’t a crowd, she was probably providing the best free entertainment in town at the moment.
Fighting down the urge to bolt out of the house, Molly closed the door and followed Furnedge into the drawing room, where the little man was inspecting himself in the mirror above the fireplace.
“Mr Furnedge?”
Still patting down his thin greased back hair he spun around and stared at her, “My dear!” he finally gulped, “you’re quite… undressed…”
The shirt she wore was one of Tom’s cast offs, old, shapeless and almost long enough to reach her knees. It wasn’t what Molly considered alluring; although the way Furnedge’s Adam’s apple was bouncing up and down it seemed the lawyer thought differently.
She hoped he wasn’t going to pass out.
“I’m sorry,” she ran a distracted hand down the shirt to make sure everything was buttoned up, “I was asleep… I can get changed.”
“No! No need to go to any trouble for me… this is your home after all.” Furnedge deposited himself into one of the fireside chairs before pulling out a white handkerchief and dabbing it across his brow.
“How can I help you Mr Furnedge?”
“Help? Oh… of course. I came once the news reached me. I must say it is an absolute scandal. An outrage!”
Molly stared glumly at the lawyer, had he actually burst into her home to give her a lecture about moral standards. For fuck's sake, she hadn’t even slept with the guy!
“Is this really any of your business?” Molly crossed the room and sat down opposite Furnedge, she got the feeling he was staring at her legs. If she was going to get a ticking off she didn’t see why she had to be ogled at the same time.
“Why of course. As your lawyer… and as your friend… the Mayor’s conduct is quite, quite despicable. Something must be done Mrs McCrea; something most indubitably must be done!”
Molly looked at him and tried not to frown, “The Mayor?”
“I have only just learned of his… proposal. That he should stoop so low,”
Furnedge spluttered and put his handkerchief back to work. He was sweating profusely Molly noticed.
“Oh that…”
“You are taking it all very calmly Mrs McCrea. A most admirable attitude I must say.”
“I wasn’t quite so calm yesterday,” Molly muttered, “how did you hear about the Mayor’s… proposal?”
“I was with the Mayor’s man Symmons this morning, just some papers to be signed by the Mayor, council business, very yawn-yawn, but the wheels must turn. Anyway, Symmons, a most disagreeable fellow I have to say, just between the two of us of course…”
“Of course.”
“He divulged to me the… method of restitution the Mayor has in mind if you cannot resolve the debt owed to him. Frankly Mrs McCrea, I was horrified.”
“I was none too pleased myself,” Molly said evenly.
“It cannot be allowed to happen; I will intervene on your behalf with the Mayor… if you would like me to?”
Molly leaned forward, “Do you think you could change his mind?”
“I’ve always found the Mayor to be a most reasonable and fair man. I cannot imagine where this has come from, expecting a young woman of your quality to demean herself in so base a manner simply to settle a debt? The man quite simply cannot be himself. I’m sure I can reason with him.”
Molly blinked and tried not to smile, not entirely convinced she’d heard the lawyer correctly.
“You’d talk to the Mayor? For me?”
“Of course… if you would like me to? I doubt I can get him to write off your debt, not all of it anyway, but I’m sure we can come up with something more… befitting? The thought of you in such a place…” Furnedge actually seemed to shudder, “…it is just too horrid!”
“That would be… very kind Mr Furnedge,” she’d never particularly liked the little lawyer, and she had assumed he thought no more of her than the rest of the town did. Perhaps she had misjudged him; he certainly didn’t need to go out of his way to help her.