by Andy Monk
She wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but decided it was best not to burn all her bridges just yet. He still might be useful somehow.
If they hang Amos.
She pushed the thought away, leant forward and pecked Furnedge on the cheek and hurried up to her front door before he could grab too large a handful of her ass.
He waved enthusiastically at her and she kept her warmest smile on until the door was safely closed and latched behind her.
She slowly slid down the door and sat with her back against it, hands over her mouth.
They were going to string Amos up, she was sure of it; the Mayor had somehow framed him. Like Tom, he wanted him out of the way. Furnedge would be no help and half the town looked on her as some kind of accomplice in the assault on Emily Godbold.
She had to help Amos get out, not only because she liked him and was certain he’d never hurt that girl, but because if she didn’t she would be left with only two choices, both of which were equally unpalatable.
Become a whore or become Mrs Furnedge…
The Deputy
The man, Amos, was stretched out on the cot, one booted foot hooked over the other, and his hat drawn down over his eyes.
He didn’t look particularly concerned, which Blane couldn’t understand given his circumstances. Perhaps it was just bravado, some men did things like that to mask their fear, either that or the man had faith in the local justice system, but that seemed unlikely to Blane. Amos hadn’t struck him as a fool.
There were three cells in the basement of the Sheriff’s office. Save for the occasional drunk they were usually empty; there was surprisingly little crime in the town. They’d put Amos in the furthest of the three, the Sheriff wanted him to stew for a few hours before questioning him, which was a waste of time in Blane’s opinion. Not that Shenan ever asked his opinion on anything.
A small crowd had gathered outside as soon as they’d arrested Amos and it had grown steadily since. They were eager for the hanging and, as far as he could see, there was little to be gained by keeping them waiting longer than necessary.
Blane was picking at a bag of sunflower seeds, methodically cracking one at a time between his teeth, leaning back against the brick wall of the corridor outside the cell. He was supposed to be watching the prisoner to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid, like hanging himself without permission Blane supposed, but Amos appeared to be dozing lightly, with no more care than a man with too big a dinner in his belly.
Amos didn’t appear to be much of a talker, he’d said little since they’d hauled him out of Jack’s, no squeals of outrage, no protestations of innocence, no threats, no tantrums. Little entertainment in other words.
Generally Blane preferred people who didn’t talk a lot; they tended not to expect much from him in return. He’d never understood the infernal need to chatter that afflicted so many people; incessant yacking, endless jawing, lots of noise, but little meaning. Small talk they called it. Pointless talk he called it.
Blane didn’t like to talk unless there was some purpose to it, like when he wanted to buy a drink, order dinner or scare someone shitless. A few well-chosen words whispered in the ear could be very rewarding, but mostly he kept his mouth shut and wished the rest of the world could figure out how to do the same. The conversations he had in his own head were far more entertaining than almost anything he could have with another human being, though he was smart enough to know that most human beings would be horrified by the things he discussed in his head, so he kept them to himself until there was somebody in need of being frightened.
He cracked another sunflower seed and continued to stare at Amos, wondering if there was anything he could say to scare the tall, quiet man. People usually scared pretty easily before they died, in his experience. He liked it when people begged before they died, it was one of the few things in life that actually excited him, he doubted Amos was the begging kind, though anyone could blub when they felt a coarse noose being tightened around their necks.
The sound of raised voices came floating down the corridor, Blane paused, a sunflower seed on his lips, listening. Perhaps he should go and see what was happening; Amos was proving poor sport after all. Shenan had told him to stay down here; however Blane knew it had little to do with making sure Amos didn’t do anything stupid. Shenan didn’t like him much and preferred to keep him out of his sight when he could. Shenan was scared of him. It was the only thing about the fat old fool he liked. Shenan would beg, he was sure, he’d beg loud and sweet.
Blane had considered killing him several times, he was pretty sure he’d be Sheriff then. The Mayor liked him. He knew Blane was a man who could be trusted to do what he was told and take care of business. But the Mayor wanted Shenan to carry on as Sheriff and Blane didn’t think there was a way he could kill the old man without the Mayor knowing he was behind it. He’d been in town long enough to know the Mayor was nobody’s fool.
He liked the idea of being Sheriff, it wasn’t something he thought he’d ever have aspired to, being a lawman, but he found he’d rather taken to it since he’d turned up in Hawker’s Drift. He’d only planned to spend a few weeks in town, just long enough to find someone interesting and amusing to kill before moving on. That was what he’d done since he was sixteen and had run away from home after raping his cousin, something that he’d come to bitterly regret.
He should have killed the bitch afterwards and dumped her body down the old mine shaft at the end of Henderson’s Road.
Still, he’d been young and he’d learned from his mistake while drifting from town to town in search of the dark thrills that were the only things that ever made his heart beat faster.
That’s what he’d expected in Hawker’s Drift. He’d arrived one January morning, the air almost too cold to breathe and the land coated so deep in frost that it looked like everything in the town would snap in half if you pulled it hard enough and the ground crackled under foot. He’d shared the stage into town with a mother and daughter who’d spent the journey shivering under a blanket together and trying not to notice the way he looked at them. Over the long rattling hours, he’d developed quite a fancy to rape and kill them both.
Instead, he’d found the Mayor, who’d offered him something better.
Still eating sunflower seeds Blane ambled back upstairs, Amos wasn’t going anywhere and he was curious to see what the fuss was about.
He found the Sheriff perched upon the edge of his desk trying to look authoritative while the McCrea woman shouted at him. She had quite the talent for it. Blane glanced at Vasquez, who was sitting in the corner, shotgun across his lap, leering openly at the woman, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“We got the wrong man,” Vasquez grinned, “apparently…”
The only other deputy in the office was Royce, who was leaning on the counter, scribbling in a ledger. Royce liked to record things. He was meticulous in his dullness.
“Where’s everybody else?” Blane asked.
“Outside,” Royce muttered, not looking up, “there’s quite a crowd, and they’re in a bad mood.”
“They think we got the wrong man too?”
Vasquez laughed. Blane liked Vasquez, as much as he liked anyone at least. He was a man who could take care of business too.
Blane sauntered over to the open door of Shenan’s office and leant on the frame as he watched the Sheriff getting chewed out. The fat old fuck hated it when he came and loitered outside his office, looking in, but saying nothing, so he did it as often as possible.
She was working up quite a froth and all Shenan could do in reply was turn progressively redder. The fool should just slap the bitch and throw her out. Too soft by half, he didn’t know why the Mayor wanted to keep him on, but the Mayor was smarter than he was so he let it be. There weren’t many people Blane considered to be smarter than him, but the Mayor was one clever cookie. One of the many lessons Blane had learned whilst drifting along the road was that a fellow, particularly a tricky strange fel
low like him, should know his limitations if he wanted to keep out of trouble, not to mention out of a noose.
So he didn’t try to second guess the Mayor, or think he could be cleverer than him, or try to play him for a fool. Tom McCrea had tried that and look where that had gotten him. Blane suppressed a smirk.
He liked to keep his emotions on the inside, he didn’t understand why so many people were happy to go around with their thoughts and feelings plastered all over their dumb gurning little faces. Why tell the world what was going on inside you? Admittedly most people probably didn’t have the same kind of shit going on inside their heads as he did. Well, not as much anyway.
The smart fellows, like him and the Mayor, kept the world guessing about what was ticking away deep inside the meat. The Mayor didn’t keep his face blank like Blane did, but nobody could tell what he was really thinking and feeling, he wore a mask just the same as Blane, maybe it was a wilier mask than Blane’s, one that moved and pulled expressions and made fools think they knew what might be going on his head, while Blane’s was just a piece of painted lifeless wood, but they did the same thing.
They hid their monsters from the world.
The Sheriff
His head had started to throb.
Molly McCrea was in full flight and Blane was loitering outside his office. Again. He was trying to focus on what Molly was saying, or rather shouting, but his eyes kept being drawn back towards Blane, who was eating sunflower seeds and spitting the husks onto the floor. Like everything else he did it was mechanical, methodical and slightly creepy; a de-husking automaton spewing out shredded husks at precise intervals determined by some clockwork mechanism hidden from view.
He thought about telling Blane to use the waste paper bin. He thought about telling Blane to go take a flying fuck at the moon too, but he’d respond to either suggestion with an equally blank look and carry on doing whatever he felt like, and it would probably just antagonise Molly more. Which would make his headache even worse.
“Molly…” he sighed and held up a hand as he retreated behind his desk and slumped back into his chair.
“I’m sorry…” she blinked “…are we on first name terms now?”
“You’re not helping the situation.”
“The situation you caused by arresting an innocent man! You know you’ve got a fuckin’ lynch mob out there don’t you?”
“Yes I do… Mrs McCrea, that’s why my men are outside, they’ll be no lynchings in my town.”
Blane spat another husk onto the floor.
Shenan glowered at the man. Was he smirking? No, of course not, that would suggest something went on behind those cold empty eyes of his.
“Well, I nearly got lynched coming in here!”
“People get very emotional when incidents like this happen and most people are aware of your association with the accused.”
“So I get spat at when I walk down the street?”
“If you want to make a complaint I’ll get one of my boys to-”
“No I don’t want you to get one of your boys; I want you to let Amos go.”
“He is accused of a very serious crime – and even if he is innocent and I let him go he’d probably be beaten to a pulp before he got halfway across Pioneer Square.”
Another husk hit the floor.
“So you just gonna keep him locked here then are you?”
“Until I get to the bottom of things, yes.”
“Well, he didn’t hurt that girl.”
“And how do you know that Mrs McCrea?”
“Because the night she got attacked Amos was with me” She leaned in slightly towards him before adding, “All. Night. Long.”
Shenan stared up at her, standing over his desk, hands on her hips, almost daring him to ask her more. God, he wished he was still young enough to spend a whole night with Molly McCrea.
He sighed deeply.
“And what were you doing all night long?”
“We were fucking. What do you think we were doing?” She glanced at Blane in the doorway, “Spitting sunflower seeds at each other?”
“Molly… Mrs McCrea, Emily Godbold has said quite clearly that… your friend raped her. She was very certain it was him.”
Molly planted her hands on the edge of his desk and leaned forward, “Did she name him?”
“Yes,” he was trying not to lean back in his chair despite the way Molly loomed over him.
“How the fuck does she even know who he is? Amos has hardly been in town five minutes?”
“Well, that was long enough for you two to become… acquainted.”
“He certainly didn’t rape me, he’s not the type,” she looked pointedly at Blane, “I can usually tell the kind that would.”
Blane didn’t break stride from his seed processing and another husk was duly spat out onto the floor.
“Are you sure he was with you?” Shenan asked once Molly’s attention had returned to him.
Just how did Emily know his name?
“Of course I’m sure. Contrary to what the half-witted gossips in this town might say, I don’t sleep with that many men.”
“If you’re lying it’s a serious matter.”
“I’m not lying. Ask Amos,”
“I intend to,” he rose to his feet and tried not to groan with the effort. Damn he was tired. A little farm, a rocking chair, pumpkins and not having to deal with shit like this anymore. Was that really too much to ask?
“You haven’t even questioned him yet?” Molly’s face creased in astonishment as she straightened up.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
He was being interrogated in his own office. How had his life ended up sucking so much?
“Mrs McCrea, don’t presume to tell me how to do my job, just like I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to… do whatever it is you do!”
She stood her ground and glowered at him. He straightened up and looked her in the eye. She was very pretty, irritating, but pretty. A little farm, a rocking chair, pumpkins and… well that would be a nice retirement.
Sorry Elena…
“Ok, tell you what, we’ll both go down and see what he’s got to say about your night together. And if it turns out you’re lying then you will be spending the night together. Right in the next cell.”
Shenan swivelled and walked to the door, not waiting to see if Molly was following him. Blane was still in the doorway littering his office floor with damn chewed up sunflower husks.
“Should we search her?” Blane asked, making no move to get out of the way, his voice its usual flat, expressionless monotone.
“Search her?”
“She could have something to help him escape.”
“I think between us we should have enough to keep this wild-eyed desperado in check. Don’t you Mr Blane?”
Blane said nothing, his dark sludge-grey eyes unblinking. Instead, he spat a sunflower husk on the Sheriff’s boot.
His headache was definitely getting worse.
The Gunsmith
The crowd had been building ever since the Sheriff had marched Amos out of the saloon and across Pioneer Square. A fair few had followed them as far as the boardwalk outside the Sheriff’s office.
They’d been told to go home and half a dozen deputies had strung themselves along the boardwalk to emphasis the point no one was going any further.
John X had watched from his doorway for a while. He guessed what was going on, and he had a pretty good idea why it was happening too.
Damn fool.
He quite liked Amos, in his own quiet way he seemed a decent man. Well, as decent as a man who made a living from his guns could be. He’d tried to warn him, but some men refused to listen. He supposed the next time he saw him he’d have a rope around his neck.
He’d hoped the crowd would dissipate after a while, there was going to be little to see till the hanging after all, but as soon as a few men began to wander back to the saloon to retrieve their abandoned drinks, o
thers appeared to take their place, dribbling out of Main Street as news of the arrest spread. The tongues of gossips were quicker than a swallow’s wings.
After an hour or so Ash Godbold arrived and became the focus of the crowd. Kate wasn’t with him thankfully. He’d been expecting Ash to come knocking on his door ever since he’d heard about the attack on Emily, but she must have decided to keep quiet about where she’d been whilst her daughter was being raped.
John X sat outside his shop and stared at the crowd churning around Ash. He tried to figure out why he felt vaguely guilty about the whole sorry business. It wasn’t his fault, he’d known nothing about what was going to happen; he was just having some fun.
It had no more to do with him than, he suspected, it did poor Amos.
Monty Jack, a man who rarely missed a money making opportunity, had sent Sonny out with a hand cart of beer to flog to the crowd. That would help things along nicely, John X thought, with a little shake of his head.
How long it would be before people started haggling over the best spots to watch the hanging?
He let his eyes drift over the crowd and stared at the saloon. Maybe it was time to move on. He’d turned a blind eye to a lot of things because he was safe here. Besides, if he did stay then sooner or later he would have to confront his past. Strange that the thing that had brought him here in the first place was the thing he was now hiding from…
“There is something about tragedy that brings out the very worst in human nature, don’t you think?”
John X had lived in Hawker’s Drift long enough to know the Mayor had a habit of appearing unexpectedly if you stopped looking at a particular spot for long enough. It still made him jump all the same.
“It depends on the individual…” John X replied after a moment, letting his eyes slide away from the Mayor, who was leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe of his store.
“Some are worse than others I suppose,” the Mayor conceded with a sniff.
“And I suppose you’re here to appeal to their better natures?”
The Mayor just smiled.