by E A Lake
“Maybe if we make a plea,” I replied, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt. “You know, appeal to their sense of decency. We could have the women talk to them all…”, letting the words trail off as he shook his head.
He leaned closer to me. “I know you don’t remember this, Quinn. But most people nowadays just want to survive. You know, make it through today and hope tomorrow is a little better, or not much worse at the very least. People still care about their neighbors and friends, mind you. But a bunch of strangers being made to work in exchange for food and shelter. Hell, there’s plenty of people who’d tell you they’d take that deal.”
“But they’re slaves, Lucas,” I bemoaned. “They can’t leave.”
He nodded and gave me a sad look. His tired eyes spoke volumes. “They know; we all know. But that’s down by Hymera. Not in Farmersburg and not in Pimento. Why go looking for trouble when it can find you at home anytime. That’s the way most people see it.”
So, humanity didn’t give a shit about one another any longer. That was no big surprise. Maybe I didn’t remember it on my own, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t have figured out eventually.
“And Shaklin will be taking this up with the traveling judge the next time he sees him,” Lucas continued. “Now the judge will side with Shaklin and tell you to give the women back. But there ain’t no real meat behind his authority. He won’t try and force you, because…well, you’re you. He probably figures staying off your hit list is a good thing.”
That confused me. The judge could issue an order, but I didn’t have to heed it based on my gun-handling skills? What a strange world I lived in.
“I’m just telling you not to get all bothered when a bunch of people come traipsing in here demanding you return Shaklin’s property,” Lucas said, lifting his long form from the chair. “Only a fool would take you on. No other sheriff will even bother to come and ask you nicely. Just play it cool, buddy. Don’t going killing every man who shows up with a piece of paper.”
“So, the judge doesn’t care if Shaklin has slaves?” I asked as Lucas turned to leave.
I noticed him wink at my deputy. Art shrugged in response.
“When that memory comes back,” Lucas said, shaking my hand one last time, “you’re gonna be amazed at how much of this all makes sense. Just remember that. Now take it easy and be cool.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving me to ponder his words. And for the time being, I had no idea what any of them meant.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWELVE
Morgan and I had dinner that night with Chloe and her daughter. Though the meal was meager, it was tasty. Add to that Chloe’s heavy-handedness with the salt shaker and we all had more than a few glasses of water to boot.
I told them most of the discussion that Sheriff Cotter and I had. For the most part, nothing seemed too appalling to either woman, though neither happily took the news of delaying the rescue. They seemed to agree that most people didn’t want to fight a battle that wasn’t their own, no matter how wrong the situation might be.
“I have a question for you, Chloe,” Morgan said as Avellyn cleared the dishes and found a book to read in her bedroom. “Did you and Quinn ever date?”
Chloe choked on her bite of dry white cookie and threw her hands in the air, letting out a loud snort.
“Goodness no,” she replied. “Quinn wasn’t exactly dating material. Not after Carla left and certainly not after he became sheriff.”
That was good news — no, great news. I wasn’t sure where Morgan planned on going with her question, but getting shot down right away made me relax a bit.
“Now,” Chloe continued, smiling at me. “We were intimate a couple of times.”
What? What the—?
“Really,” Morgan purred. “Do tell, please.”
Chloe shrugged and took another bite of cookie. “Not much to tell really. You know Quinn; all nerves and anger. It was over quicker than I could spit. Both times. Hell, old man Cooley is a better lover than your man, Morgan. At least he knows how to please a woman.”
Morgan covered her mouth and laughed. I had a bigger issue with the dog lady.
“You mean, Cooley’s father and you…” I paused to pick my words carefully.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Chloe response, patting my hands. “Frank Billowman still has a wife. I’m talking about Cooley’s grandfather.”
Morgan began to laugh so hard, I was afraid she might fall off her chair. After a few minutes of it, I hoped she’d tip over and break her arm.
“I have to ask you a serious question, Chloe,” I said, hoping the last subject would just die away. “I need to raise an army. Two, maybe 300 fighters. Got any ideas?”
She looked as if she sucked on a lemon. Then her lips began to and her eyes darted back and forth across the room. The one thing she wasn’t looking at, or focusing on, was me.
“Did I say something wrong?” I asked quietly. Still, she looked everywhere but at me.
“Is everything alright, Chloe?” Morgan asked, kneeling beside her.
Chloe nodded and began to hyperventilate. Shit, was everything alright and falling apart at the same time?
“What’s his name?” she mumbled. “What is his name?”
“Whose name?” Morgan asked.
“Rider…no. Fighter…no.” Chloe finally glanced at me. “What the hell is his name?”
I opened my hands towards her. Like I had any idea. Most days I couldn’t remember my own name.
“Titus, Midas, Zeus, Thor,” she continued, now drumming some fingertips on her lips.
“And who is this fellow?” Morgan asked, seemingly as confused as me.
Chloe grinned broadly from ear to ear. “He’s the man who can help you. If I could remember his name.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN
Art stared at me the next morning as if I’d grown fangs and was sizing him up for lunch a little later. Either that, or he thought I had donned a dunce hat and should be sitting in the corner.
“Terre Haute she said?” he asked skeptically. I nodded. “The north side she said?” I nodded again.
He shook his head and walked away. Apparently, I’d struck a nerve, a bad nerve.
“And you got this intel from the crazy dog lady,” he scoffed. “A woman who cares about pooches more than me or anyone else for that matter?”
“I think she loves her daughter more than the dogs,” I countered.
“The point is,” he shouted, tossing his beat up old hat on the floor, “she’s crazy, Quinn. Who the hell tries to rescue dogs when they make a perfectly good meal? Chloe Willobea, that’s who. She’s a nut job, I tell you. She’s gonna get you killed.”
“Can you please tell me what any of this has to do with me getting help to rescue the remainder of the women down at Shaklin’s?” I asked, on the edge of exasperation. “I’m a little confused here.”
“She wants you to go meet with the devil,” he spewed. “She’s sending you into Satan’s lair.”
Like that helped.
“And exactly who is Satan in this scenario?”
He poked my chest. “King Karlos of Northern Terre Haute, that’s who!” He crossed his arms and nodded at me like I knew what he meant.
“Never heard of him.”
“Aw, hell,” he replied. “You know all about him and his crooked ways. He makes drugs and booze, sells it to some people for food and trades for slaves with the gangs of south Terre Haute. Then he trades the slaves for more raw materials and makes more booze and drugs. Then the cycle starts all over again.”
“But does he have an army?” It seemed like a logical question; however, Art gasped so loudly that I thought he might be having an end of life event.
“Not one that you want to use,” he retorted. “Or that you could afford. Good God, man. Use your head. He’s ruthless. You don’t want to deal with him.”
Okay, so maybe King Karlos wasn’t the best option. But I didn’t have many others at the tim
e.
“What do you suppose the odds are of us rounding up a decent-sized posse for a job like this?” I asked, checking to see if he had other options in mind.
“Zero,” he answered immediately. “Probably less than zero, if I’m honest.”
I patted his shoulder and went to retrieve my hat and gun. “Then I think I need to go see if I can work out a deal with this Karlos character. You wanna come along?”
I heard him shuffle behind me. “Well, if you’re gonna die, I suppose I may as well, too. Ain’t much sense in going on any longer if you ain’t around. Just as easy to replace two of us as it is one of us.”
“That’s the spirit, Art,” I called back, wondering where we were going to find a pair of horses for the trip. What was the worst outcome anyway? Death? Ha; I didn’t even have a past. Who cared about the future?
“Come on, Clement,” Art moaned. “We just need two of your best for a half a day. They’ll be back by sundown.”
Clement Hillfinder laughed at us, then began to cough and sputter. I guess old people weren’t supposed to get overly excited.
“You’ll both be dead by then and my horses will be gone,” he finally replied after spitting a wad of phlegm in the dirt by my feet. “Hell, they’ll probably grind them up and have them for dinner. No way. I ain’t doing it.”
Art argued with the old fart for a few more minutes, but I had a better plan.
“What do you want, Clement?” I asked. “What would make you happy? Name anything.”
He glared at me and then Art and then back at me.
“Anything?” he asked, sounding like his mind could be changed.
“Anything!” I replied confidently.
“I’d like to have dinner with Chloe,” he replied, blushing slightly. “I’d give up just about anything for that.”
“There ain’t no way—” Art began, fighting back laughter.
“Done!” I replied with authority. “I’ll make it happen.”
Clement looked surprised; Art seemed a little more shocked.
“Okay then,” Clement said, turning for the stable. “Two horses it is. And if I get two meals out of this, you can keep them as long as you want to.”
“You sure about this, Sheriff?” Art asked, his words bathed in skepticism.
“Why not?” I answered. “Give me one good reason.”
Art grinned. “Besides Chloe Willobea hating Clement, I can think of about a dozen more.”
Details, I decided. We might not make it back alive. And if we did, then I’d have to sell the deal to Chloe. But only if.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN
Morgan wasn’t thrilled I was leaving for the day, but she was rarely thrilled with anything I did that wasn’t on her schedule. Something about getting killed and breaking her heart, she claimed. Hey, I wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of death either. However, I needed to get going on finding enough people to help with the rescue.
“I’d feel better if you let me come along,” Morgan whined, pulling at my arm as I grabbed a tasty cookie bar someone had dropped off. “Don’t you think you could go convince that horse guy to give you one more? I promise I won’t be a bother.”
I fought back a laugh. Oh, she’d be a bother alright; and a huge pain in my rear.
“Me and Art have this covered, sweetie,” I said, giving her a hug and kissing her forehead. “We’ll be back before the sun goes down. I’ll tell you all about it then.”
She gave in, albeit begrudgingly. “Okay, but please be careful. Everyone I’ve talked to says Terre Haute is an awful place. Claim they wouldn’t send their dog there.”
A few more hugs and one last semi-passionate kiss and I finally got away from her. But dang, that kiss was pretty good and gave me something to look forward to on my return.
Trouble found us early on in our trip. Many people blocked the road between Pimento and Terre Haute. Each and every one of them was looking for handouts.
Most were benign; simple beggars at the worst. But some blocked our way, forcing Art and I to stop and negotiate with them.
The second group was the worst. Two filthy men and their homely female companions stood before us like linebackers in a football game of old. Each had a weapon of some sort and when we stopped, the bravest of the group strolled forward.
“We sure could use some food,” he drawled. “Or something that we could trade for food. Think you can help us out, fellows?”
“Get the hell out of our way,” Art barked. “We’re busy and we ain’t got time for the likes of you.”
One of the men, who looked to be about my age — just a little rougher around the edges — acted as if Art had offended him, which I found hard to believe.
“You don’t got to go getting all snotty on us, old man,” he replied. “I asked nicely, you know.”
“With a gun no less,” I said, placing my right hand on my own weapon. “I don’t really call that nice.”
“You really want to get in a shootout over this?” Art asked, his tone no kinder than before. “The sheriff here will gun you all down so fast, your soul will be in Hell before your body hits the ground.”
He eyed us carefully before looking back at his group. “We just need something to eat. You must have something with you; something you can spare.”
I dug in a saddle bag and tossed him two biscuits I’d grabbed on the way out the door earlier. Since I knew we had another four, giving up two wouldn’t kill us.
He nodded and motioned us through. How kind of him.
“Where you headed?” he asked as we rode on.
“None of your damned business,” Art scoffed, turning around to flip him off as well.
Maybe I should have brought Morgan along, I thought. Her general attitude wasn’t any worse than Art’s. And maybe, just maybe, her comments wouldn’t get me killed. With Art, I wasn’t so sure.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN
What we found in the southern section of Terre Haute could only be described as awful. I recalled a little about the place; not enough to give a stranger directions to any particular spot, but enough to know what I recalled was nothing like what I observed.
For the most part, every last building looked dilapidated. Shutters hung askew or had fallen off; windows were dirty or broken. No one had bothered to keep their yards up and the streets were cluttered with litter. In general, the place was a shit hole.
More trouble found us as we worked our way north. Only this time, it was a much larger group than we had encountered thus far. I prayed Art could keep his yap shut and not stir the pot of piss soup any more than needed.
A group of about a dozen gun-toting men and women approached. Their leader wore a smile that was highlighted by brown-stained teeth. I was sure he’d be the charming one of the group.
“What brings you fellows to Terre Haute today?” he asked overly politely.
I returned a sweet smile from atop my horse.
“Just going to visit a sick friend on the north side of town,” I replied casually. “We’re not looking for any trouble. Just passing through.”
He nodded and grasped the reins of my horse. Looking back at his friends, he maintained his amicable attitude.
“That’s fine,” he replied easily. “Fine as frog’s hair. We’re not looking to cause any trouble neither.” He glanced up at me with dark brown eyes as his smile faded. “This friend have a name?”
For once Art kept his mouth shut. That would have been a good thing, except for the fact that my mind went blank.
“A name?” I replied.
He nodded. “Yeah, maybe I know him and can help you find him.”
I smiled at him again. “Can’t see where that’s any of your business.”
He took another step towards me. “I’m an inquisitive guy. Just ask my friends.” He turned and looked at his gang. “Ain’t I an inquisitive guy, Sharlene?”
A young blonde who looked as though her hair had been trimmed short with a dull hedge trimme
r smiled at her boss.
“Inquisitive and helpful, Brent,” she replied with a sassy tone. “And he don’t like to be stonewalled, so you’d better answer his question.”
When he glanced back at me, he was all smiles. “Well?”
“Andy,” I replied cautiously. “Andy Pettitte.” I had no idea where the name had come from, but it was the first one to my head.
His face scrunched up at the reply. “Can’t say I know of no Andy Pettitte around Terre Haute.” He grinned slightly. “Unless the pitcher from the old Yankee team moved here and I never heard about it.”
“Andy Pentant,” Art added quickly. “The sheriff is always getting names messed up. Old Andy lives in the north part of the city. We got word he’s dying, so we thought we’d come and see him one last time.”
That seemed to quell Brent’s suspicion and he nodded as though everything was fine with him. But it wasn’t.
“Okay. Once you pay the tax, you can continue on,” he said as though he were a government employee. “We’re either going to need all your extra ammunition, or your guns, or one of the horses. Sorry, but it’s the cost of entering our fine city through the south end.”
Given his serious tone, I knew we had a problem.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTEEN
The scene went from casual to tense in a heartbeat. Each member of Brent’s group had their guns a little more at the ready. He wasn’t going to do any of the shooting, I realized. But I picked out one or two others who looked eager to fire.
A guy with a long red beard on the left end of the lineup inched away from the person next to him. I knew that meant he wanted extra space to shoot and move. An older woman wearing a dark leather Harley vest moved two steps forward as Brent released my horse and backed away slowly.
“You gotta decide,” he said slowly. “No one gets in for free. I know you probably each have an extra box or two of bullets. If not, then we’re down to the choice of giving up your guns or riding the rest of the way on one horse. Your call, boss.”