Frank looked through the amber liquid in his glass and thought again of his brother. Jesse had been happier with this new dancehall girl than he had been in a long time, but Frank knew his younger brother would be itching to move on eventually, and when he did that, the closer the two had grown, the harder it would be for him to leave. It would be infinitely harder on the girl, though, to have been left by the legendary Jesse James. He had broken hearts across the western territories, and this girl just seemed too sweet to let his randy little brother wreck her life.
Somewhere upstairs a door closed with a firm bang. Frank could tell that he was the only man at the table who had heard, and as he turned to see who was coming down, he lost the thread of the conversation around the table. As soon as he saw the boots thumping slowly down the stairs he could tell that it was his brother. What was more, however, he could tell that something was wrong.
Jesse walked down the stairs like a man in a fog. As his head came into view Frank’s frown deepened at the pallor of his brother’s skin and the empty look in his eyes. Ever since Jesse had slinked back into town after that Missouri City job yesterday, he had not been acting like his old, confident self.
Jesse took the steps slowly as if he were carrying a massive weight on his shoulders. Each step jarred his entire body, sending his listless arms swinging aimlessly. His face, an empty mask that seemed to radiate a dangerous mix of loss and hatred, was downcast, eyes staring into nothingness.
Frank was shocked to see his brother so diminished. He knew the men saw his brother as an indomitable force of nature; his wry grin and his glinting eyes were known across the territories. He also knew how fragile a legend could be. The wrong person seeing the shuffling wreck moving down the stairs could well damage his reputation for years to come. Frank knew how important his brother’s reputation was to him.
The older man looked sharply around the table, saw that the rest of the boys still had not noticed Jesse, and rose to intercept his brother. Jesse was moving faster than it appeared, however, and when Frank stopped him, they were close enough to the table that Jesse could make out the general point of the conversation. Frank turned to look at them, realized what they were saying, and cursed under his breath.
“I’m just sayin’, Billy’s one hell of a curly wolf and no mistake. That boy shows up on the street, you know he means business.” Chase’s voice was pitched low, even unaware of Jesse’s presence. But not low enough.
“Sure ‘nuff. D’you guys hear what he did to those deaders of Carpathians awhile back?” Gage’s eyes were alight with the fire of a storyteller with a good tale to tell. “Ripped one of ‘em’s jaw right off, and rammed a note into its mouth, blamin’ the whole thing on ole’ Jesse!”
The men snickered, but came up short as they realized that Jesse was standing not far away, his brother’s hand on one shoulder. The men stopped laughing and turned in their seats to look at their leader. Frank could tell that all three were shocked at what they saw.
Jesse’s face was slack with grief and shock. Deep within his eyes, a flicker of the old flame ignited as Gage’s words registered. Those eyes snapped from man to man around the table as he ignored his brother’s hand. The light within guttered and rose as if his mind were engaged in an intense inner battle. Frank could only imagine what sorts of things had happened upstairs to push his brother so close to the edge. The calm, cold outlaw, with a reputation as wide as the territories and frightening as death, looked like he had been run over by a freight wagon. That fire was coming back again, however, and it was burning hotter than ever.
“That one was a hoot, Gage.” The smile twisting Jesse’s thin lips did not reach his fiery eyes, and the boys around the table sat back, looking at each other sideways.
“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Jesse.” Gage’s smile was hesitant.
“Nah, ‘course not, Gage.” The ghastly smile was still in place, the eyes still flat, as Jesse grabbed a chair by its back, spun it around, and sat down backwards with a mocking tilt to his eyebrow. “An’ that was a ripper, that note in the ole animation’s brainpan. Had Carpathian lookin’ to wind me up but good, ‘till I could convince him it wasn’t me. I think we lost, what, five guys, cuz o’ that note, Frank?” Jesse’s eyes stayed firmly on the three men at the table as he addressed Frank, who had walked up behind him.
“Yeah, Jesse. ‘Bout that.” Frank’s voice was cautious.
“Yeah. Five o’ my boys, all up the spout cuz o’ that little joke. You guys twig to that? Five o’ my guys, bleedin’ out into the dust, all ripped up with RJ-1027 fire, ‘r worse, at the hands of the Doc’s animations, afore I could convince him it wasn’t us had done for that entire column in the woods.”
His smile widened as his eyes grew flatter. “Guys just like you, Gage… ‘n you, Chase.”
“Jesse, honest, we was just talkin’. Frank was with us!” Fear had seeped into Gage’s voice now, his courage failing him in the continued pressure of Jesse’s blank stare.
“Gage, you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.”Jesse leaned back, one arm still wrapped around the chair back as he took his hat off in a grand gesture. “You was jus’ talkin’. I get it.”
Jesse stood and turned back to Frank. “Frank, I need you to go get the Youngers. We’re headin’ out o’ town now. We got a meetin’ out in Diablo Canyon, an’ we better get a wiggle on afore were late.”
All four other men stared at Jesse for a second. “Jesse,” Frank leaned in to speak low in his brother’s ear. “It’s after midnight. Most o’ the boys’ll be unconscious, this time o’ night. Maybe we can wait till first light, anyway—“
Jesse cut his brother off with a chopping motion that set the inner workings of his arm buzzing and purring. “We ain’t waitin’, Frank, we’re leavin’. An’ anyone who can’t drag their sorry asses out o’ their bunks can damn well stay here an’ wait for the law.”
All three of the other men were standing now as well, and Gage coughed. “Jesse, it’s really late, an’—”
Not even Frank, who had been watching for something like this, saw the gun leap from its holster, or any more than a rushing blur as the armored arm snapped out, hyper-velocity pistol filling the metal fist, and angular barrel pressing up against Gage’s forehead.
“Word one, an’ it’ll be your last, boy.” The false smile was gone, and only the hard, dark eyes remained to communicate what was going on in the outlaw’s mind. Frank had seen that look once or twice, but not more than that, and it had never ended happily for anyone.
Gage backed away, his hands raised to either side of his head, his mouth slack.
“Jesse, I think maybe,” Frank began, his own hands upraised to fend off any aggression thrown his way. Jesse’s pistol wavered slightly in his direction, but settled back on Gage’s forehead. “Jesse, I think maybe you wanna put the smokewagon down, an’ have a seat? This seems to be somethin’ we should all be talkin’ about, rather than you throwin’ yer weight aroun’ when somethin’s got you all riled up.”
Again the hand moved faster than anyone could follow, this time to flip the pistol around so Jesse was holding it by the barrel and then bringing the heavy gun down onto the table with an echoing crack. The sleepy bartender snapped awake, looking around blearily as he reached beneath the bar for a weapon. The rest of the men and women jerked upright at the sound, but Frank noticed that they made no move towards their weapons. They just watched the famous outlaw from the corners of their eyes.
“You dictatin’ actions to me, Frank? You wanna be leadin’ this gang?” He glared over his shoulder at his older brother. “You sick o’ followin’ your little brother? Time to reach for the brass ring on your own?”
“’Course not, Jesse.” Frank raised his hands a bit higher, trying to find a neutral expression for his worried face. “Gang’s yours, Jesse. Always has been, always will be. You make the call, I’ll back your play, same as always.”
“Same as Missouri City?” Jesse sneered, and Frank felt a
pang of guilt, his eyes flickering towards the black-draped bottle.
“Missouri City was a mistake, Jesse. You knew it. I couldn’t of—“
“It was a mistake, I know that.” Jesse spat at him. “I went off half-cocked, and drug some good boys with me.” He nodded at the bottle. “An’ yeah, some of ‘em didn’t come back. An’ that’s been eatin’ at me since we rode back into town. But you know what, Frank? If you had been there, if you’d o’ just ridden along anyway? You might’a saved those men, Frank, just by bein’ there.” His empty hand jerked towards the bottle. “You and that damned rifle Sophie might’a saved ‘em, and you might’a saved those people down in Missouri City, too.”
The pistol whirled around, almost as if by magic, and he slashed it back into its holster with a slap. “So, when you start thinkin’ you’re gonna start tellin’ me what to do, or where to go, or when, I want you to think about that, okay?”
Frank knew the argument was not a fair one, and knew that Jesse’s own guilt was a major source of the anger and frustration being thrown his way, but something had happened upstairs to bring this all to a head, and things did not look like they were going to be easy to defuse, now that he had his dander up.
“There’s some fair words, there, Jesse, and that’s the honest truth.” Frank tried to strike a reasonable tone, but he saw that he had lost before he had begun as Jesse’s eyes flared again.
“Nothin’ you’re gonna say is gonna matter, Frank!” Jesse’s mouth was twisted into a snarl. “You’re right! You wanna hear me scream it? Wake up half this bug hill? You’re right! Frank James is right!” A mechanical arm lashed out, latched ahold of Frank’s vest, and pulled him close. “You’re right, Frank,” Jesse whispered. “The law is comin’. They’re comin’ because we sat on our asses here too long, an’ their comin’ because of what we did down the river, and when they get here, they’ll be loaded for bear.”
One metal thumb jerked towards the stairs and for a moment Frank thought Jesse was going to choke on his words, but he twisted his neck, never breaking eye contact, and spat, “Ain’t nothin’ holdin’ us here, we got the law bearin’ down on us from God knows where, an’ we got us an appointment out in the hills we’re gonna be hard pressed to meet if we don’t leave soon.”
Frank looked from his brother to the three men, none of them willing to speak, Gage nearly drowning in his own sweat. Frank looked back to Jesse and lowered his hands. “What is it you want us to do, Jesse? You just say the word, an’ we’re there.”
The tension in Jesse’s face eased slightly, although the anger and the pain still burned in his eyes. He nodded. “I – We, need to leave. We need to round up as many as we can, an’ we need to leave here tonight.” He tapped Frank on the chest with the back of one heavy hand. “You’re right. They’ll be comin’, an’ I’ve had an itch between my shoulder blades since ridin’ out o’ Missouri City.” His eyes flicked up the stairs. “An’ I just wanna go, Frank. I just wanna get out of Kansas City, hit the trail again, and leave this damned manure pile behind.”
Frank gave an answering nod. “Okay, boys, you heard ‘em. Roust up as many as you can, an’ have ‘em meet us all on the edge of town, where the tracks run out west. I’ll get Cole an’ them, an’ we’ll be gone in less than an hour. That sit right with you, Jesse?”
The three men nodded and walked towards the door, casting backward glances at their shaken boss. Gage could not stop rubbing the center of his forehead, a wary look in his eyes.
Jesse collapsed back into another seat, right way around this time, and Frank sat down next to him. “Thank you, Frank. I really gotta get out of this burg, ‘r my head feels like it’s gonna explode.”
Frank nodded. “Um, Jesse,” he did not know how to proceed, but knew that he must. “Your plunder… is it upstairs still?”
Jesse looked at his older brother, eyes haunted again, face pale but blank. “Yeah, Frank. It is.”
Frank looked at the stairs and then back to his brother. “An’ you can’t go up an’ get it?”
Jesse looked down at the table, his hands lifting up to fold before him with studied calm. “No, Frank. I don’t think I can.”
Frank nodded. “An’ it prob’ly wouldn’t do for me or one of the boys to go fetch it?”
Jesse shook his head in silence.
Frank looked around, then pushed away from the table. “I’ll be right back.” He moved towards the bar, casting a couple looks over his shoulder to see his brother still slumped there, exhausted. The rest of the men were gone, and the other folks in the room studiously avoided looking at Jesse.
At the bar, Frank made a quick inquiry about the old lady that worked most nights, and then turned to wait, back resting against the rough wood, while the bar tender went to drag the poor woman out of bed. Frank could feel the exhaustion of the day pressing down on him and did not relish the thought of riding out into the dark of the night like common thieves. The thought brought a smile to his face, however.
When the old woman dragged herself out from a small back room Frank apologized and passed her a coin, asking if she would be willing to do him a favor.
Frank waited by the bar while the old woman went upstairs, keeping an eye on his brother’s stooped, still form. When she returned, lugging Jesse’s worn leather bags, duster draped over one arm, and horrified, accusatory heat burning in her eyes, Frank gave her another coin and a shrug, pulling the things away from her. Something told him he did not want to hear anything she might have said. If there had been a dead body up there she would have already raised a stir, but from the look on her face, what was up there could not have been much better.
The old woman muttered something to the bartender, who turned back to Frank. “There’s a broken mirror, cost more’n a dollar to replace.”
Frank shook his head and handed over another coin before turning away. He moved through the room holding the heavy bags high. He needed to get Jesse up and moving before he went searching for the Youngers. Another duty he was not much relishing in a night that had really just gone all to hell in a matter of moments.
Chapter 8
“So you’re telling me he’s gone.” Courtright’s voice was even, but there was something in his eye that set the bartender back a step.
“Yeah, skedaddled in the night. He’d been paid up through the end o’ the month, so weren’t no reason’ to make ‘em stay.” The man’s voice shook slightly, but his eyes darkened as he continued. “Shame what happened to the girl, though.”
Loveless rested on the bar, leaning towards the shaken man. “The girl? What happened to the girl?”
The bartender shook his head. “He roughed her up somethin’ fierce, miss. Struck her in the face with one of those arms o’ his. There were folks, told me I shouldn’t o’ let no outlaw freak like him board here. But din’t seem too bad to me, you know? And he was so personable. There’s folks tell he’s like a Robin Hood outa the old stories, right?” The man’s face darkened again. “’Cept he was pretty tight with his coin, if you want the truth. And ‘course, when he run off, he left that poor girl from the Occidental all beat up. The missus, she had to go up and get his stuff, and she found the girl sobbin’ her heart out on the floor.”
“He hit her?” Loveless could not believe the urbane man she had spoken with the day before could have beaten a defenseless woman. Then again, talking to him it was easy to forget that he was a known criminal with an impressive trail of bodies behind him. If the army found out she had been within arm’s reach of him and not taken him into custody, there could very well be hell to pay.
“I’m not sure what else he could o’ done, miss. My missus, she said the girl was bleedin’ like a stuck pig all over the floor.” His look soured even more. “The mirror was broke into a thousand tiny pieces too. Took my idiot boy most of the day to clean it up.”
Courtright turned away from the bar, leaning against it. He rolled his head towards Lucinda with a fixed smile. “So, there goes our only le
ad in this latrine trench of a town. And he managed to assault an innocent girl on the way out, too. The president will not look kindly upon the results of our latest outing.”
Lucinda snorted. “Since when do you care about the wellbeing of some fast trick from the territories? No one in Washington is going to care about Miss Misty Mimms either, so you can quit your carrying on over the poor innocent and her blood and tears.”
Courtright smiled and turned back to look out over the saloon’s common room. “Well, fair enough. But that doesn’t change the fact that James was our only lead on Carpathian, and he’s gone.”
“He’s not the only one who’s gone, Henry. His brother left his room, none of the Youngers are in town, and none of the locals that had been taking up with Jesse have been seen all day. The entire gang’s cleared out. And it can’t have been because he roughed up some dancehall girl.” She was still facing the bar, looking at her hands as her fingers tapped softly on the scarred wood. “There must be a reason they all left in the middle of the night like that.”
“They’re corn cracking road agents, Luce. Ripping out in the middle of the night is sort of central to who they are.” He threw an elbow up on the bar and turned to face his partner. “The real question is what we do next? I don’t relish the idea of going back east empty-handed. The president won’t like it. And it’s not going to make us look like very good agents if we let this country rube hightail it out of town in the night, taking our only leads with him.”
She could only nod, her eyes unfocused. “I didn’t get any sense yesterday that he was planning on leaving.”
Courtright leaned towards his partner, his face wrinkling slightly in concern. “Luce, where’s your head? You need to get back in the game before we find ourselves taken out of things completely. Half the towns along the Missouri are sporting Carpathian Industries generators and tech. The lunatic is strengthening his hold over the whole region and stretching eastward every year. If we can’t pinpoint his position for a major strike, he’ll own the west before Grant can push through with the army and take care of things.” He shook his head. “If I didn’t know you for the ice cold bruja you are, I’d swear that filthy cowboy got into your head.” He sneered slightly, “or someplace lower.”
The Jessie James Archives Page 16