Sixes Wild: Manifest Destiny

by Tempe O'Kun

  The dress is dreadful pretty, all lace an’ layers. Blue and white, with a nice fitted waist. Pity Blake resisted so; the lawbat is making a far better lady than I ever would have. By the looks we’re getting, it seems some of the menfolk at the party think so too. We give polite nods to those we pass. I’m just glad Doc found a suit to fit me.

  I spy Hayes. His eyes slide over me, slick as oil. He’s too busy having little meetings in the side rooms, accepting cash envelopes from that little marmot of his while everybody pretends they aren’t stuffed with more cash ‘an a miser’s mattress. I don’t stare. We move on.

  The crowd thickens around us as we get into the living room. I touch my guns, hid under my fine borrowed coat. The scents of rich foods hang in the air, but are overwhelmed by lots and lots of meat. Cooked meat, raw meat, salted meat: all of it combines to make my stomach slosh like a butter churn. From the looks of things, Blake isn’t doing too fine from it either.

  “I’m going to…freshen up.” Never did anybody say those words with as much venom as Sheriff Jordan Blake.

  I pat his wing and let go. “Whatever you say, darlin’.”

  He doesn’t make it too far. About three paces away from me, he gets accosted by a knot of menfolk coming in from the porch. They leer at him. He looks back at me, but I still have that comment about my profanity to get him back for. Figure he can’t raise a fuss without blowing the whistle on us, so I hang back, grab something from the buffet that didn’t have a mama, and watch a while. Hayes has shipped in ice from who-knows-where. Genuine ice.

  The fellas start to get amorous toward Blake. The mutt, who looks to have had a sniff of the oh-be-joyful, paws along Blake’s exposed wings. “You got purdy little wings. Awful delicate.”

  He jerks them back, his voice faltering for an instant before he sounds like a proper woman. “I— I’ll thank you to keep your paws off them!”

  Another one of the men, a cougar, puts his paw around the bat’s waist. “Awww come now, sugar bat. We don’t mean no harm.”

  He blushes, ears dropping. He looks the part down to a stitch. “You’d best let me be.”

  “Why?” The drunk mutt looks around. “You here with yer man, sweetwings?”

  I finish nibbling on my apple slice, all casual-like.

  The lawbat stands there, helpless for the moment.

  The men edge closer, the cougar reaching for Blake’s waist again. “Well?”

  Blake, surrendering, says with the deepest of blushes: “Yes, I’m here with my man.”

  I decide the poor boy has learned his lesson. I amble over, slipping a paw down his back and brushing off the cougar’s grip. “C’mon, sugar bat. You’re lookin’ a touch faint. Let’s find ourselves a lil’ privacy upstairs.” I turn back an’ wink at the menfolk, giving the fruit bat’s rump a squeeze. Just for their benefit, of course.

  This stirs up a little hooting, and the boys get shushed by some of the finer guests. A tiger lady cuts us all a sharp look over her paper fan. With a tip of my hat, I lead Blake upstairs. He leans in against my shoulder, looking for all the world like the doting lady on the verge of a faint. Good thing nobody came too close, else they might’ve heard him cursing me under his breath all the way up the stairs.

  Once on the top floor, I walk Blake down the hall, smiling all cheery at the few other guests who’ve wandered up here. As an old squirrel passes, Blake stops cussing and darn near melts against my arm. The squirrel and I exchange a tip of the hat, and when we’re out of earshot Blake whispers that the squirrel is a county judge and some kind of big bug or other. This don’t impress me terribly, but it caused Blake to stop cussing me, so I take it as a kindness.

  More of those fine lanterns fill the upstairs with a steady glow. While appearing to the most of folk to be surveying the premises, we look for Hayes’ study. Well, Blake does. I am busy palming a few of the more glittery pretties the lion has stacked around: the silver flask of bourbon from the guest room dresser, the ivory-handled knife hung on the wall, and a few odds and ends from his lady’s jewelry boxes.

  At this, Blake sees and gives me a sour look. “Put that plunder back, Six. We’re not here to steal.”

  “Figure it all evens out, seeing as how he’ll never have to pay out that bounty on my head.” I restore the flask, knife, and spangles to the dresser. “Hell, from that angle I’m saving him money.”

  “If you want me to trust you, you can’t be thieving whenever I turn around.”

  “Alight.” Once he turns around, I filch that pretty ruby ring again. He can fuss later, while I’m buying him a new lock for his office door.

  We come upon Hayes’ study. Rich looking as the rest of the place. Big ol’ wooden desk, wide enough I could probably raise a herd of cattle on. I light a candle on one of the lanterns, and we get to finding. The lawbat looks through Hayes’ files while I set down the candle and poke around. Puttin’ my ears to use on the lion’s safe, I lean against the metal surface, spinning the knob real slow-like. Newfangled combination locks are just about my favorite thing ever: you don’t even need a lockpick to open ‘em. There. Now, lets see what he’s got squirreled away in here…

  I open the door of the squat little safe. First thing I notice is gold. Whole inside is lined with gold, half an inch thick. Then I see a few cubes of exceptionally shiny metal…

  My ears perk up. Whispers. Can’t make out quite what they’re saying, but they’re getting louder. Closer. Familiar…

  Wind from no place stirs my fur. Leaves rustle. Birds call. That easy calm steals over me…

  A wing slams the safe closed.

  In an instant, the world snaps back to drear and dust, life’s tensions curling back up my muscles. This ain’t the time or place for echoes and visions. Hayes ain’t the sort to be stopped by either.

  I find myself pitching forward, spilling half the contents of the desk in an effort to right myself. Woulda kept my appointment with the floorboards, had the collar of my shirt not decided to haul me back up. I look back, seeing Blake with his teeth clamped on my shirt, his wings full of papers. I blink and Blake is there. He’s dressed like a lady.

  I laugh.

  “Hush up!” He clamps a hind paw around my muzzle, hopping on the other to keep from tipping over. “Dangit, Six! You had to go straight for the stash of idiot-ore.”

  Course, this only makes me laugh harder.

  A few more things spill off the table. An inkpot shatters. A blotter rolls under the safe. An old brown folder splits open against the floor, maps fan out of it.

  “Why, hello…” Blake scoops up the pile. His gold-flecked eyes flicker to a ledger, then to me. “These look pertinent to you?”

  I straighten, Blake releasing my shirt from his muzzle. Shaking off a touch of woozies, I snicker and prop up against the desk. “Nope.”

  “Hayes has been shipping great wagonloads of something out of the mine. According to these dates, he’s still shipping things out!”

  I paw at the maps, unsure what the lawbat’s yammering about. “Ain’t none a’ that gonna help me shoot Hayes.”

  He bops me on the snout with the sheaf of papers. “These are records of all the money he’s sent out and where it’s going. Now we just need to slip back out through the party— we’ve got him, Six!”

  He’s trespassing without a warrant. We’ll have the boys shoot him.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Morris follows me up the stairs, stumbling under his own weight. The house is thick with sound and odor. I close my eyes, trying not to think about all the prey I smell in my own house. I was damn ready to rip that squirrel apart like cured beef if he took any longer staring at the money. In my day, you’d leave a man in a room with his bribe on the table and he takes it; all you do is pretend it was never there.

  Morris checks another name off his list, nibbling at a claw. The way we’re burning through my funds at this event, that list better be getting claw slender. I would have preferred just having the cash show up at their respective
offices, but that bunny has decided to make himself a thorn in my paw. Jasper Haus…

  “You find anything on that bunny yet?”

  “Jasper ‘Six Shooter’ Haus? No, bossman. I’ve sent word to our man down at County Records, but he ain’t got back to me. These things take time.” Morris is lying— he knows things too fast. He knew about me before I arrived and about trouble at the mine before it blew. Either he’s got contacts I can’t account for, or he’s holding an ace. “Haus coulda led a quiet life, or even assumed a false name. There ain’t no guarantee we’ll find anything on the man.”

  I snort. Sometimes I wonder if Morris holds out on me, tries to play me. But that’s the way of life: we all play each other for fiddles— the key is to get good enough that nobody hears your sour notes. “And the bribes?”

  “Everybody’s taken theirs so far, though the sheriff of Chance Canyon declined our invitation again.” He straightens his vest. “Seems we ain’t high enough company for him.”

  “Well, I’ve got half his deputies on payroll, so he doesn’t matter terribly.” I turn down the hallway, walking past the sitting rooms and guest rooms. All this space I never use, but I could if wanted. It’s less for me than it is for passersby. What kind of respect would a lion get if he lived in a shack? A lion needs territory, possessions, enough money that he can throw it around as needed. I pick a little gristle out of my teeth, wiping my claw on my handkerchief. “How is the ore coming?”

  “We’ll have enough soon to take over three towns, assumin’ they’re small and our men stick to the plan. After that, we ought to have the manpower to mine all the gold we like.” The marmot cleans one claw with another. He’s always a bundle of nerves. Makes me suspicious. “A-And Blake did send word to County Records, same as us, looking for things on the mine.”

  Sure feels like that marmot is playing me somehow. Best to let him think the gold is all I care about, let him think I’m too stupid to see the ore’s real potential. “Good. Let him fly in circles. We’ll have enough ore to enslave his whole town in a few weeks.”

  “Yes, sir. And as far as the other plans go—”

  I stare at his unexpected pause, wondering if his little rodent brain has snapped like a wagon axle.

  His ears twitch. I look where he’s looking: my office. He gnaws a claw, glancing to me. “Somebody’s in there.”

  I listen. He’s right. I can hear knocking around, the shuffling of papers, male voices… My body slips into a prowl and I creep to the door, silent as the night. The door’s open a crack and though it I see the candle-lit form of a shapely fruit bat lady, standing over a passed-out hare. Then the fruit bat talks.

  “These are records of all the money he’s sent out and where it’s going. Now we just need to slip back out through the party— we’ve got him, Six!”

  Six. Six Shooter.

  I slink back to Morris, who has taken cover in one of the doorways. His belly sticks out so far it’d be hard for a bullet to miss it. My heart pounding at the hunt, I growl a whisper. “Haus is in there right now with some fruit bat lady.”

  He jumps, clutching his papers.

  I clear my throat, letting it rumble into a soft roar.

  Inside my office, the voices stop.

  His ears flick down. “What’re we gonna do?” He scampers back.

  I grab him by the scruff, listening to the frantic movement beyond the door. The clatter of boots on the floor, of paws on paper. I lift his fat little body up until his ear presses to my muzzle. “That’s easy. He’s trespassing without a warrant. We’ll have the boys shoot him.” I snarl a laugh. “Morris, honestly, you have no instincts for this kind of thing…”

  You try running in a dress!

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Up to my nose in dizzy, my body goes slumping against the wall. I glance out the window, down at all the pretty little carnivores. Still in a haze from that ore, it crosses my mind that some of that get-up doesn’t look all bad. Wonder if the lawbat would like me better dressed in finer ladies’ wear. Not that I ever would...

  “Six?” Blake turns me toward him. The papers are tucked in his pocket.

  “Hmm?” I lift an ear. He always seems mighty interested about anything I do with ‘em.

  The frilly fruit bat waggles a wing thumb before my eyes. “Are you hearing me? We’re going! And leave that damn ring you’re stealing!”

  “Whatever ya say, ma’am.” I make a show of flicking the ring out the window instead of back in the desk. I don’t get riled none. Matter of fact, I’m a little proud of him for catching me. Granted, I’m prouder still that he didn’t catch me stealing all Hayes’ fancy gold pens...

  He scowls, hurrying me. “We’ve got to--” All of a sudden, he looks back at the study door. Ears up, face serious.

  Seem like that ore kicks me harder every time I run across it. My head’s still full of cotton, but it sounds an awful lot like a door swinging open.

  “Get down!” Blake hauls me down behind the heavy desk. The candle gutters.

  Bullets rip the air.

  Splinters and glass rain down.

  Occurs to me this deal’s gone sour, but I have difficulty taking it serious, what with Blake reaching around inside his skirt like that. I reach on in too, grabbing a pawful of his rump.

  He squawks, but pulls a gun out of the dress. Seems that’s what he was after. Trifle disappointing. I roll over to see what’s happening.

  A whole acre of folk are in the doorway, shooting at us.

  Lawbat kicks a leg up higher than a lady should, firing that little Smith & Wesson over the top of the desk. He clips a panther in the ear. The big kitty goes down yowling. Rest of the shots go wild, but the shooting drives the panther’s cronies back into the hall for a spell.

  Blake’s gun clicks to empty. He gives me a desperate look.

  A shock of cold hits me.

  Gunpowder works wonders for clearing the mind. I roll to my paws, drawing. I drive a shot against a rifle barrel poking through the doorway. Someone cusses. I smile.

  “Six!” The lawbat grunts with effort. “The window!”

  I spin to my feet, helping Blake lift the window open. I fold the lawbat’s wings against him and shove him, squeaking, though. I scramble through after.

  We clamor onto the overhang, causing important persons to look up in dismay. Bullets whistle past us.

  Taking advantage of the confusion, I hop down, dragging the lawbat with me. Most folk don’t realize that bunnies can land as well as we can jump. Leastwise better than Blake, whose dress flies up in his face, giving me an indecent view of his petticoat. A pawful of Hayes’ cronies gawk at the sight. I straighten this bat-shaped mess of ruffles and go bounding over the porch rail and into Hayes’ party. The lawbat follows me as we shove past a mess of startled carnivores at the door. They make themselves real useful, standing there watching as we turn down a hallway.

  “Figure you can fly outta here in that layered cake?”

  Shaking out of my grasp, he gives a clap of the wings, lifting off the ground a ways. Impressive for a man in a dress, but not enough to make a getaway. Then it dawns on him: “I’m not leaving you here!”

  “Then we gotta get to the stables!” I grab Blake’s wing again and haul him past some fine leather furnishings. “You fancy runnin’ any quicker, lawbat?”

  He grabs awkwardly at the dragging hem with a wing thumb, scowling at me. “You try running in a dress!”

  “One a’ the things I aim to avoid in life.” As we hoof it down a hallway, I draw one of my guns from this fine coat, half-cocking it. This won’t be easy. Hayes’ men know the ins and out of the place, plus I’ve got this yammering fool in a dress with me. Come to think of it, they likely can’t tell who Blake is and aren’t likely to gun down some innocent lady.

  We turn a corner. Ahead, oil lanterns flood light into the dining room. Various somebodies mill nervous-like, wondering what all the commotion is. Fine-set tables run the room, covered in meat, and with a nice big cry
stal bowl of blood-red punch at the last one.

  My guns rattle. I spin around just in time to see Hayes’ men crash down the stairs in front of us. Before the first one sees me, I crack my pommel between his eyes, knocking him into his compadres.

  The big panther and some mutt teeter back, for a moment. Then Hayes bursts into being at the top of the stairs, roaring: “Forget the female! Grab the bunny!”

  The other two come leaping over their fallen pal, panther included.

  Hayes’ guests look around like panicked prairie dogs. I drag the lawbat through the thick of ‘em. Even Hayes won’t shoot into a crowd of his fellow bigwigs.

  The lion roars after us. “Thieves! Grab them!”

  A big boar jumps in front of us. Blake snatches a meat tray from a table and wallups the piggy in the temple. The boar goes down, the silver tray clattering, scattering raw fleshy tidbits every which way.

  We run past the bar.

  The guns tug downward.

  I dive, dragging Blake with me. Glass shatters above us, raining down booze. All the ladies scream, lawbat included. I turn to see a scruffy tabby firing at me from near the window. I put a shot in his chest, knocking him backward in a fresh shower of glass.

  Fearing more shots, the guests stampede willy-nilly, which does some to hide our escape. I take care not to slip on dropped drinks, blood-red punch staining the floor. Such a waste, and all because Hayes took exception to me.

  We come upon some manner of coat room. Last room before the stable. Two feline stable hands stand outside it, guns drawn. The guests cower back, knowing lead is about to fly.

  On the last of the tables, the punch bowl gleams at me.

  I hop up, landing hard before my target. The crystal bowl soars skyward, twinkling in all the glory of Christmas morning. Cats look on with confusion as the punch bowl sails clear over my head, barreling square down on ‘em. They scatter. A flying mess of red punch swoops out, soaking the guests and their fine meats. The bowl shatters in an expensive heap against the floor.