“Cheatin’ at cards ain’t a crime. Besides, he took all the winnings.”
“That doesn’t matter and you know it. Maybe that old man is the sheriff’s brother. Maybe that bartender turns us in and forgets about the fact that he took the money from us. Who is the sheriff going to believe--them or us?”
“Fuck off.”
“You need to think. You’re always running around half-cocked, just waiting to stir up trouble. We’re damn lucky we haven’t been arrested, especially after you stole them boots.”
“You’ll never learn, will you? You’ve always let people walk all over you.” Paul walked off. John stood there for a moment before he followed his brother. When they left Nebraska their plan was to come west, get good jobs and return to Nebraska in a few years with enough money to set themselves up. But that was never going to happen. As long as John stayed with his brother, he was going to be condemned to a life of jumping from one job to the next, from one town to another, always on the move and always on the run. Pretty soon he was going to have to make a decision about their future together. He loved Paul and hated the thought of leaving his brother, but this was getting to be too much. He didn’t know how much more he could take.
John looked up at the hot blue sky, then returned his gaze to the street, his gut pulling him in two directions. Maybe he’d talk to Paul again, try to get through to him, get him to calm down. After all, Paul was John’s entire family, and blood was all a man had to rely on. Blood came before everything else. It always had and always would, no matter what.
#
John tossed back another shot of whiskey and slammed the glass down onto the table. Paul started to laugh and promptly refilled John’s glass. “No more,” John said.
“Last one.”
John closed his eyes and threw back the shot. His throat was numb and his cheeks felt full and flushed. If he stopped now he would just have a good buzz, and that’s all he wanted.
After leaving the bar, they had gone back to their room, where Paul had taken out his frustration on a prostitute for a couple of hours. They then found another bar on the other side of town and started drinking in earnest. By John’s count, including the money he had stashed away in his left boot in case of an emergency, they were down to their last eight or nine dollars. That would be barely enough to pay for their room and board and food for two or three more days.
It was now dark outside and the bar was steadily filling with customers and the air had turned sour with the stench of smoke and sweat and dirt. John looked around the bar, at the increasing number of encroaching people. He hated crowds and wanted to leave.
Paul tossed back two quick shots of whiskey. “That’s some damn fine hooch. Let’s get another bottle.”
“I’m through for the night.”
“The hell you are.”
“I am. And so are you. We don’t have much money left.”
“I’ll do whatever the hell I want.” Paul belched and a nauseating wave of whiskey and onions and liver drifted out over the table.
John closed his eyes, the alcohol buzz he had been enjoying forced aside by anger. It always ended up this way. He would stop when he felt good, but Paul would have to keep drinking until he either ran out of money, passed out cold, or got the shit kicked out of him. John wasn’t going to put up with it tonight; he’d already tolerated more than enough of Paul’s nonsense for one day. If Paul wanted to stir up trouble, he’d be on his own, because John was going to bed.
“Look over there,” Paul said.
“What is it?”
“Just look. Over by the door.”
John looked toward the door. For a moment he could only make out the hazy shapes through the swirling smoke, but as his vision cleared he saw Jacob sitting on a stool by the door, a bottle of beer in one hand. He was talking to a tremendously fat woman and his eyes were locked onto her large chest.
John looked at his brother. “Leave him be. We don’t need any trouble.”
“He owes me money.”
“Money you cheated off of him.”
“You starting with that shit again?”
“Do whatever the hell you want.”
“Why did you come out to California with me? Huh?”
“I think the real question is why you came out here.”
“It’s about opportunity. That old fuck owes us money and that’s an opportunity.”
“I ain’t going to prison for forty-eight dollars.”
“Who said anything about prison?”
“I ain’t interested in rolling some old man.”
Paul laughed. “You still don’t get it, do you? Watch Jacob--see how everyone talks to him as they walk by? That tells me he knows a lot of folks, which means he has money. Poor folks ain’t treated like that. He’s got money.”
“Just because people talk to him don’t mean anything.”
“You’re a damn fool.”
John looked at his brother but said nothing. There was no sense in arguing with Paul when he was drunk. “I’m going back to the room. You coming?”
“Nah, I’m going to stay here for a bit and have a few more drinks.”
“You leave that old man alone, hear?”
“Get out of here.”
John got up and walked out of the bar. Paul downed another shot of whiskey and watched Jacob. John was wrong; that old fella had money. He knew everyone and everyone knew him. Most telling of all was that they seemed to treat him with respect. Poor folks were never treated with respect. Yep, Jacob definitely had money.
Paul left the bar and waited in the darkness.
#
An hour later Jacob stumbled out of the bar, a bottle in one hand. He wandered down the street, dropped the bottle, and nearly fell over from a sudden burst of drunken laughter. After regaining his breath, he continued walking.
Three blocks later he turned onto a side street and walked through the darkness toward a small shed. He was just reaching the shed’s door when two hands grabbed him and pushed him forward, pinning him against the wall of the shed.
“Hey there,” Paul said.
Jacob struggled but Paul was too strong. “I ain’t got no money.”
“I ain’t here for your money.” Paul pulled Jacob back, opened the door to the shed, and shoved the old man into the darkness. “Light a candle.”
Jacob stumbled around the shed for a moment and fumbled through his belongings. A moment later a small candle illuminated the shed, which contained only a small filthy bed, a broken dresser, and a large water bowl. Jacob turned toward the door and anger flooded his face as he recognized Paul.
“Shoulda known it was you.”
Paul entered the small shed and closed the door.
“I ain’t givin’ you no more money.”
“That a fact? Well, I say different.” Paul pulled out his revolver and raised it toward Jacob’s face. “And my gun here says different.”
“You can’t kill me in the middle of town. Someone will hear the shot. They’ll know it was you.”
“Shut up. You owe me money and I intend to collect on that debt.” Paul cocked the gun. “One way or another.”
Jacob looked at Paul and licked his lips. “I don’t have any money. I swear.”
“What about them drinks in the bar?”
“I didn’t pay for those.”
“That’s bullshit and we both know it. A pig of an old man like you doesn’t have any friends.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” Jacob backed away from Paul. The old man’s heart beat hard in his chest. This didn’t look good at all. Jacob thought about yelling for help but decided against it. He’d be dead before anyone got to him. “There isn’t any money here.”
“Well, looks like we’ve got a situation.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want my damn money.”
“I told you, I ain’t got no money.”
Paul looked around the small shed and frowned with disgust. Alt
hough he had insisted otherwise, he knew the old man was telling the truth. No one with money would live in a sty like this.
“You got anything of value?”
“I done told you I don’t. Why don’t you listen to me?”
Paul swung the gun and clipped Jacob across the head, knocking him back onto the bed. A gash appeared in Jacob’s forehead and blood ran down his face. “You watch your damn mouth.”
Jacob wiped the blood out of his eyes but said nothing. He was going to die, there was no question about it now. After years of living through hell, he’d finally settled into a decent life. Sure, he was still damn poor, but at least he didn’t want for anything. And now he was going to die like this, shot down in cold blood in his own home.
“Get up,” Paul said. “We’re going for a little ride.”
#
The night air was cool and the nearly full moon cast a diluted glow over the landscape. Paul stood over Jacob, who was tied to a shriveled and heat-blasted tree. Jacob’s face was black and blue and his right eye was nearly swollen shut. A small fire burned a few feet away.
“Now then,” Paul said, “we can sit out here all night, if you’d like.”
“What do you want from me?” Blood spilled out of Jacob’s mouth and his eyes were swollen from crying. Why didn’t he just kill him and get it over with?
“I saw you in that bar, talking to folks, shaking hands. Looked like you were running for office,” Paul said. “Even if you don’t have any money, you know people who do. You can get what you owe me from them.”
“No one is going to give me money. They know they’ll never get it back.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Paul punched Jacob in the face three times in rapid succession and Jacob’s nose imploded under the assault. Blood splattered across Paul’s arm. He grabbed Jacob and twisted him around and rifled through Jacob’s pockets, his fingers looking for something, anything, of value. He jammed his hand into Jacob’s right pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He let go of Jacob and stood up.
“What’s this?” Paul asked as he unfolded the paper.
“Nothing.” Pain ebbed across Jacob’s face and one of his teeth was caught under his tongue. He hacked it free and spit it out. Blood streamed down his face and his right eye no longer felt right, like it had been partially knocked out of its socket.
Paul turned the paper toward the fire so he could see it. He recognized the logo for Western National Bank. He turned to Jacob. “What’s this say?”
“It’s just my old identification.”
“You used to work for Western National?”
“Yes.”
“Well, now we’re getting somewhere. You gotta know something about the Western National Bank.”
“I ain’t telling you anything.”
“We’ll see about that.” Paul raised his revolver and aimed it directly at Jacob’s head. “You got ten seconds.”
“Go ahead and shoot me.”
Paul lowered the gun and shot Jacob in the right shoulder. The sound of the shot echoed across the desert and a plume of blood spewed from the wound. Jacob cried out in pain. “There’s more where that came from.”
Jacob bit down on his lower lip and tears rolled down his face.
“I’m shooting your balls off next,” Paul said. “You ever seen a pig get its nut sack cut off? A truly horrible sight. Blood everywhere. Don’t know what it feels like, but if the pig’s squeals are any indication, it must hurt like hell.”
“Fuck you.”
Paul fired at the ground between Jacob’s legs, just below the groin. The bullet dug into the ground and dust from the impact drifted across Jacob’s right leg. “That’s your last warning.”
“Okay,” Jacob said, “okay. I know where you can get some money. A lot of it.”
“Keep talking.”
“It’s a Western National stage. Carries money out to the miners in Arizona and New Mexico.”
“I think you’re lying to me.”
“Listen to me, I’m telling you the truth. It starts in Los Angeles and then heads east. It stays off the roads and cuts through the desert. That’s why it’s never been robbed. It changes teams once before getting to Phoenix.” Jacob could no longer hold his head up straight and it tilted to one side. His right eye was now swollen shut and partially coagulated blood covered the lower half of his face. His shoulder burned with pain.
“How am I supposed to find it if it cuts through the desert?”
“There’s a series of bluffs about fifty miles into Arizona. There’s one called Smoking Chimney. Go to the south side of that bluff and you’ll see the stage.”
“Man’ll say anything to save his life.”
“I swear to you I’m telling the truth!”
“When does the next stage run?”
“A week from yesterday. It’ll take it two days to get to Smoking Chimney.”
“How many men?”
“Usually just two, a driver and one rifleman.”
“You sure about that? I don’t want no surprises out there.”
“They keep the crew small to avoid raising suspicion.”
“It better be.”
“I told you what you wanted. Now let me go.” Jacob lifted his head and looked at Paul. His vision was blurred and Paul was little more than a smoky outline in the night. The fire crackled off to the side and Jacob’s left eye was having a hard time focusing the light.
“I don’t think so.” Paul pulled a small blade out of his pants leg and ran it across Jacob’s throat. The old man gagged silently as his blood ran down the front of his chest. Paul wiped his blade on Jacob’s shirt and put it back in its sheath. He picked up a handful of dirt and rubbed it across his blood-splattered arm and the blood disappeared in the mixture of rocks and earth. Paul swept away the excess dirt and walked over and kicked out the fire.
#
John opened his eyes to darkness. He blinked a couple of times and the hotel room slowly came into view. Dim light from the lanterns out on the street shone in through the room’s only window.
“I said get up,” Paul said. “We need to talk.”
John slowly sat up and looked around for his brother. Paul was across the small room, sitting on a stool by the dresser.
“What is it? I’m trying to sleep.”
“I had a talk with our little friend.”
“Little friend?” John’s head was still fuzzy from sleep and he was having a hard time thinking. His head hurt from a mild headache and his mouth was dry and sticky. Maybe he’d had too much to drink after all.
“The guy from the bar. Jacob.”
“You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“You know what. What did you do to him?”
“Nothing, I swear. We just had a talk is all. And we came to an agreement.”
“What kind of an agreement?”
“He didn’t have any money, but he told me where we could get some. He used to work for Western National Bank. They run a stage to Arizona that’s loaded with cash. He told me the route it takes.”
“You’re not seriously thinking about robbing that stage, are you?”
“What have we got to lose?”
“We could get killed or thrown in prison.”
“Listen to me, John. This is a turning point for us. This is that moment where we decide the direction our lives are going to take. If we pull this off, we’re set. We can go back home and get the farm back. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“You know it is.” John swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked at his brother. He looked okay, with no scratches or bruises or other signs of a fight. Maybe he was telling the truth about Jacob.
“There you go. Besides, we’d just be getting ours for the way that bank back home took the farm from us.”
“That was a different bank.”
“Doesn’t matter. All the banks are the same. They’d kick out our teeth in a second if it meant they’
d turn a profit. This is our chance to get even with them, strike one for the common man.”
John looked at the floor. He knew this was wrong, but Paul did make sense. What did the future hold for them? Even if they did get to San Francisco, what would they do then? They’d be broke and they’d be working on a farm somewhere for next to nothing, slaving away for some rich rancher or farmer. And even if he split off from Paul, the situation wouldn’t be much better. All they had to do was pull this off and they’d be set.
“Well?”
“I need to think about it.”
“We’ll have to leave first thing in the morning, so you got until then to make up your mind.” Paul stood up and walked over to his brother. “Just remember this, though--you’ll be able to buy back the farm. The barn, the old oak tree with the swing, all of it will be yours again. You’ll be your own boss, John. You’ll be able to start a family, raise horses.”
“And what about you? Where will you be?”
“Oh, I’ll be around.” Paul smiled in the darkness. “I can’t settle down yet, you know that. But I’ll be around.”
John lay back down. He wanted to tell Paul that this was wrong, that it was wrong to even talk about robbing a stage, but he didn’t say a word. Just the thought of getting the farm back made his heart race with excitement. The bank had screwed them over royally, and maybe Paul was right, maybe this was their chance to strike back.
“What do you say?”
“I still need to think about it.” John closed his eyes and lay in the darkness for what seemed like an eternity, his mind slowly working through the decision. He wondered what their father would do.
CHAPTER THREE
The sun baked the desert valley.
It was early in the afternoon and the sun pummeled the desert, a hot wind spreading the searing heat to every nook and cranny of the valley. Waves of heat mingled just above the ground, creating the deathly illusion of plentiful water. Two vultures circled slowly in the sky, riding the thermals, looking for carrion. John and Paul lay prone next to a group of cacti, their horses tied up several feet behind them, hidden behind a cluster of rocks. Behind them loomed the top of Smoking Chimney, the rock formations at the top giving the appearance of black and brown smoke.
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