Leah wondered if the PPM would hide a blush. She focused on the story, trying to hold the structure in her mind, the moving parts that were Maribel and Frank and the bandits. But how did it all fit together? Her gut told her Maribel would play a bigger role in this story. She stood out too much to be just the doting sister.
“I made a deal with Ms. Sarah,” Maribel continued. “She needed to look like she had more girls on her roster, so I dress the part but if someone picks me, I fake like I’m sick. I was faking a fainting spell when your friend started in about the Williamsons.”
“Wouldn’t people notice eventually?” There’s more to her. But what? Leah thought, racking her brain for the right angle.
She shrugged. “Eventually. Ms. Sarah looked to be getting a bit nervous, but she didn’t want to lose Frank’s cooking. And the other girls are plenty nice to me, especially since I ain’t taking their money. And on account of me looking out for their little ones while they work.”
“That’s … a lot simpler, I guess. So what are you going to do when you get out to the coast?”
Maribel looked out to the sunset, like she was looking all the way to the coast, to her future. “Keep Frank out of trouble, run the parts of the restaurant he can’t be bothered with, assuming he can get the money together to give it a shot. Frank talks big, but he’s not the one for follow-through.”
Ding ding ding. That’s it. “But you are?” Leah said.
Maribel closed her eyes, wrapping an arm around the pillar. “’Fraid so.”
“How’s that?”
Maribel looked up at the darkening sky, clouds stretched thin in staggered lines.
Leah could swear she was right on the edge of something. King was agitated about Frank not stepping up, and something about Maribel couldn’t help but stand out—she wasn’t your average Western leading lady. She wasn’t a schoolmarm, wasn’t a prostitute. There had to be some “supportive sister” characters in the genre somewhere, but all of the narrative math added up to tell Leah that there was more going on here.
Leah repeated her question. “What do you mean by that, Maribel?”
It was probably her mind playing tricks on her, but Leah thought she could see frayed edges at the end of Maribel’s elbows and at her cheek. Just for a second, like a shadow passing overhead. But the feeling stuck once the visual irregularity faded. Leah already knew Maribel’s story was off, so what was this telling her?
“Is there something we should know, Maribel?”
“Shit.” Maribel looked Leah straight on, her eyes moist. Her instincts said to lean on the woman, to push a bit harder. Something would come of it. “If Frank goes out with your boss, the Marshal, he’s going to get himself killed, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Leah said. “The others in my posse, they’ve been doing this for a while. But they need Frank for their plan to work. If he steps up and then freezes again, he’s going to die, and maybe the rest of us with him.”
Maribel wiped the almost-tears from her eyes and stood up straight, taller than Leah had thought she really was.
“I love him like the sunset, but Frank’s no gunslinger. Never was, never will be. Juan wanted to be, but he never had the gift.”
“But you did?” Leah asked, connecting the dots. They said trust your instinct. Hope it doesn’t blow up in my face.
Maribel sighed.
Leah knew that sigh. That was the sigh of regret. It was the sigh she’d used when she questioned moving out to Baltimore, questioned her desire to do stand-up. It came up a lot, actually. “I had the skill,” Maribel said. “Just not the judgment.”
“How’s that?”
“Why don’t we go back inside. I don’t have it in me to tell this story more than once,” Maribel said, then without another word, walked back inside.
Leah turned on her heels and followed. And cue the revelation scene.
* * *
Leah watched as Maribel walked up to the table and looked King in the eyes.
“Y’all need to know something. My brother’s a lot of things. He’s kind, he’s funny, and he’s the best hand in the kitchen I ever met. But he’s no hero. You can’t take Frank out there to face those men. I ain’t going to stand by and watch another brother get gunned down.”
“Maribel, we don’t have to tell …” Frank said.
“I have to, Frank. We been running for too long.”
Maribel squeezed her brother’s hand. “He’s no fighter, Mr. King. He and Juan joined that posse so I wouldn’t have to.”
“Explain,” King said, fingers steepled, expression flat.
“Back home, I got into a whole passel of trouble. We lived in Wichita Falls, you see, home of Kid Cole. He was always strutting about town like he owned the place. He took a shining to my friend Sue-Anne, shot dead three other men who came calling on her. But Sue-Anne, she didn’t want nothing to do with Cole.
“So one morning, when he was standing on Sue-Anne’s porch again yellin’ at her to get out there and talk to him, I took Juan’s gun and went off to pick a fight. Put two in the air before he could shoot once. Shot him dead, I did. But the other bullet went wide.”
Maribel closed her eyes, looked down to her hands. “It ricocheted off a pole behind Kid Cole and hit Sue-Anne through the window. Struck her dead before she hit the ground. So there I was with two deaths on my hands and more guilt than justice.”
Frank squeezed Maribel’s hand as she sniffed back tears.
“Then it got worse. I knew Kid Cole had rich family, but no one told me he was the nephew of a circuit judge.”
“We had to get away from the judge,” Frank said. “So we packed up and left.”
“Figured if I dressed up all feminine-like, we could lie low and make it to the coast, far out of the judge’s jurisdiction.”
“But you can’t,” Leah said. “Someone needs to stand up to the Williamsons. It should be you.”
“Did you see the Williamsons?” King asked Maribel.
Another nod.
“How bad are they?” Shirin asked.
“One-on-one, I could do for Matt. But there’s five of them. And after Sue-Anne, I swore I wouldn’t touch another gun ’til the day I die.”
“We’re talking about your brother’s killers,” Leah said.
“And I want them dead as surely as you do. But if I pick that gun up, I’m saying that what I did to Sue-Anne didn’t matter.”
“The way I hear it, you took up the gun to do something she couldn’t do for herself,” Shirin said. “Your brother can’t take up the gun, but you can. Let us help you put your brother’s spirit to rest, and you might find that the ghost of Sue-Anne is put to rest, too.”
“Here’s what we’ll do, then,” King said. “You get to square off with Matt and the gang when they come back, say your piece, and then we put the lot of them in the dirt. And when it’s done, you and Frank get the bounty on the Williamson gang. That should get you to the coast with enough left over to get you started on that restaurant.”
King opened his hands, his body language open, approachable. “What happened to Sue-Anne—that was Cole’s doin’, not yours. Would Sue-Anne want you to just stand by, knowing you could have done something to help this town? A town that can’t save itself? You made a terrible mistake and you’re living with it. But you’re never going to make one like that again, are you? You’re going to be better.”
And that was why he was the boss.
Frank squeezed his sister’s hands. “Don’t do it. We can lie low, put the money together somehow, get out of here once things blow over.”
Maribel wrapped her shaking brother up in her arms, hands running through his hair. She looked King dead in the eyes. “I ain’t going to leave this town until I’ve put those men what killed my brother in pine boxes.”
Leah said, “You got yourself a hero. Now don’t make me regret it.”
Roman joined in, “You already know how to shoot. And you know what you’re fighting for. B
ut if you want to kick the dust off, I reckon we’ve got about a half-hour of light left between twilight and the torches.”
“That’s a fine excuse to get out of doing the dishes,” Frank added.
King scooted out his chair and stood. “Lee and I will handle those.”
The dinner party broke up, each to their next task.
Leah shot King a look, hoping to mean “Look at that! I did something!”
His response was hard to read. Guy was made of poker face. But Leah knew she’d done good. She could boast later.
* * *
After sunset, the group reassembled in the saloon, again claiming the corner booth. Maribel changed and joined them, far more comfortable in spats and a collared shirt than in a working girl’s frills and lace. Frank stayed upstairs, wanting no part in Maribel getting herself killed, so he said.
Shirin rolled out a piece of paper and took charcoal to it, drawing out a map of the town.
“Where’d they come in from, last time?” Shirin asked.
Maribel tapped the paper on the east end of the street. “They came in this way. The Douglas ranch saw them first, sent Joey to ride into town and warn folks. Frank, Juan, and the sheriff’s posse met them here,” she said, pointing to the bank.
“Got it,” Shirin said. “In that case, our best spots are here, on the roof of the bank, the church bell tower here, and the roof of the saloon.”
“Ain’t no way onto the roof of the saloon unless you got a ladder,” Maribel said.
“We’ll find one,” Shirin said. “If not, Roman here’s a fair climber.” Roman nodded, showing the hint of a grin.
“Or we make it simple. Shirin can set up in the bell tower with the long rifle, the rest of us will be on the ground with you,” King said to Maribel.
The woman considered the map. “Five of us, five of them. The sheriff winged at least one of ’em last time, so we’ve got that on them, too,” Maribel said. “You keep the others busy, and I’ll do for Matt Williamson just fine.”
“We’ll have your back,” King said.
“Why not set up an ambush?” Leah asked. “Take them out as they’re coming in?”
“I want to see the light go out of those bastards what killed Juan,” Maribel said.
King didn’t challenge her. Leah filed the question away for later.
Chapter Five: High Eleven-Thirty-Ish
Leah woke to oppressively loud knocking on the door. She fumbled about the room in a haze. Dimensional jet lag had kept her up for hours, and when she did sleep, it was poorly.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving at the door, holding her other hand up to her eyes to block out the morning sun that cut through the window.
Ms. Sarah and the saloon had put the team up for the night. Her room was small and sparse, but really all she needed was a place to pass out. Though in creaky retrospect, maybe a nicer bed would have helped.
The washing facilities made her miss camping trips with the family, which was saying something. After her cold sponge bath, she made her way down to the kitchen. Frank manned the stove, grilling and frying and looking far more comfortable wearing an apron than she wagered he would wearing a bandolier.
The rest of the team was already assembled, looking like the Western version of firefighters sitting and waiting for the call. King had shaved, Roman had not.
Shirin pulled up a chair. “Good morning, kiddo. Coffee?”
“Please yes now,” Leah said, her brain not done spooling up. She’d taken exactly one 8 a.m. class in college, a chem lab the school didn’t offer any other time. If it’d been at eleven, she was sure she’d have gotten an A. Instead, she swallowed her C+ and moved on, glad that the science requirements for a theater degree were minimal.
Shirin handed her a tin cup of coffee. She didn’t bother sniffing, and went straight to pouring the java down her gullet. It was thick, and fairly pungent, but it did the job of ripping off a layer of her fatigue like it was a waxing. Painful, but over in a moment.
Maribel walked into the room, holding her own tin of coffee. In pants and without a bustier, she moved like a ranging big cat. Ready to pounce in a moment.
“Today’s the day, then,” Maribel said. “Ms. Sarah’s got the word out that we’ll be waiting for the Williamsons. I figure they’ll show by noon. Everything set on your end?”
King set down his coffee. “All ready. Atlas Jane’s got enough shells to take on an army.”
Maribel leaned in, and Leah did her best at concealing her eavesdropping. Luckily, Leah was excellent at being nosy.
“Anything happens to me, you get my brother out of town. Get him somewhere so he can be the fancy chef he was supposed to be.”
“It’ll be done,” King said. “But don’t worry. I’ve been at this for a very long time, as have my posse.” King raised his voice back to normal conversational levels. “Aside from Lee here. He’s new, and we haven’t decided if he’s going to run off or if he’ll be running circles around me within a year. He’s already a champion eavesdropper.”
Leah’s cheeks went hot. She leaned back in her chair, facing King. “Can you blame me? If I’m going to walk into a firefight, I’d like to know what I’m getting into.”
“That’s fair,” Maribel said. “Walking into a fight blind is a great way to end up with a permanent view of the inside of a pine box.”
Roman raised his cup to toast.
“Okay, grub’s up!” Frank said, moving with enthusiastic precision, doling out sausage, eggs, and hash from his skillet. “Sorry I can’t do anything more—limited materials and all. I picked up a gumbo recipe back home before we left, and I’ve been dying to try it out.” Frank stopped, a chill passing over him. “I mean, I wanted to try it. But the general store here doesn’t get none of that sort of thing. I ain’t seen a shrimp or saltwater fish in weeks.”
“It’s wonderful,” Shirin said. “Thank you for the breakfast.”
“I just wish I could be of more use than frying up eggs. Maribel here’s the real deal.”
“When we get to the coast,” Maribel said, “it’s your picky palate and steady hands that’ll be making us rich. I figure we can get to owning three restaurants by next winter, we play our cards right.”
Leah saluted with her coffee tin. “That’s what I like to hear. What will you call your restaurant, Frank?” she asked, hoping to distract the siblings from the coming danger. Hell, herself, too.
The cook moved between the stove and tables without pausing, his face bright.
“Oh, that’s been the hardest part. I want to cook so many different styles of food, so it’d need to be something not so specific to one cuisine.”
“What about The Globe Café?” Leah suggested.
Frank stopped and cocked his head to the side, then resumed serving. “The Globe Café. Not bad. Better than Maribel’s idea.”
Leah turned, expecting the answer.
Maribel shrugged. “I think Little Brother’s Bistro is a great name.”
“But I’m older than you,” Frank said.
“You get to be the older brother when you make us our fortune. Until then …”
Frank slid hash and eggs onto Leah’s plate. She raised a hand as he approached with the sausage. “I don’t eat meat, sorry.”
Vegetarianism was a thing then, right? She hoped that cover would play in Western World. Traditional Western heroes were always steak-and-eggs types.
Shirin elbowed Leah. Maybe she should have been “not very hungry” instead.
The older Genrenaut covered for her. “Lee here got the runs last time he had meat on the road.”
“Ah, that’s a shame,” Frank said. “I promise, this meat’s plenty fresh, and well-cooked.”
Roman offered up his cleared plate. “I’ll take the kid’s share if he’s too lily-livered.”
Frank dished out the sausage to Roman and came back with more hash, which Leah accepted with her most gracious smile.
“Get your breakfast down quick
,” King said. “We need to get ourselves into place. Frank, maybe you could wrap up some of those sausages for us in case the Williamsons make us wait?”
“Sure thing. But they won’t be as good when they’re cold.”
“I’d rather be on time with cold sausages than late and dead with a full stomach.”
“Sign me up for death by full stomach,” Roman said. “In another forty years or so.”
“You keep eating like that, your heart won’t give you forty years.” Shirin pointed to the plate full of second helping, slathered in grease.
“Yes, Mother,” Roman said, making a face.
* * *
Shirin’s earpieces had been tested, retested, and were in perfect working order. Leah had never seen a radio that small, not one that wasn’t limited to Bluetooth networks. And they would be way outside Bluetooth range, especially with Shirin in the tower.
“Some places, we can get away with tech. Other worlds, we have to be inconspicuous,” Shirin said, fitting Leah with the earbud in the washroom before heading out to their positions. “Just don’t fiddle with it. The hat should do most of the work covering it up, and the PPM will do the rest.”
“Why can’t you take them out one by one as they come into town?” she asked Shirin on the comm.
“The more resonant the story, the stronger the patch. We need to play in-genre,” Shirin said. “Sneaking around and assassinating bandits doesn’t fit.”
Shirin raised a finger of exception. “But when we go to Spy world, you and I can sneak around and assassinate to your heart’s content.”
“Next time we come here, can I skip the giant-sized hat?”
“Oh, honey, there are things you get to complain about, and the wardrobe is not one of them. This is what every new team member has to go through. Even King and me, though that was ages ago.”
“You two have been at this for a long time, haven’t you?” Leah asked.
“That we have. Best job I’ve ever had. Not every mission is as scary as this, though. A lot of the worlds aren’t violent. Romance world is especially fun. It’s all musicals and meet-cutes and schmoopiness.”
Genrenauts: Season One Page 7