by Geff Moyer
“Tried to get the boss to lemme paint my whole room lavender,” Abbie continued, “but she wouldn’t—gave me some half-ass excuse ‘bout the only beauty in yer room should be yer own. Ain’t that a crock-a-shit? As if any a ’em drunken cowpokes care what a whore looks like ‘bove her tits!”
Still studying and growing more impressed with the details in the painting, Billy said, “Yer a good painter.”
With mock arrogance Abbie replied, “The keerek term is Arteest!”
They sat on the bed. Very quietly, so his words wouldn’t seep through the thin walls, he told her the whole story, from the time he left Nogales to his mystical experience with the ether. The towns he’d been in, the people he’d seen. The things he’d seen. The things he’d done, the suffering, the one-handed Yaqui, the giant lizard bone, Captain, and Three Man. Although he had vowed never to, he even told her about the Indian squaw and the infant. He knew he could trust this woman to not judge him. Once again, just like the night he had told Jeff about his time with the Rough Riders, he realized that some things are just better getting shed of then letting them eat up your innards.
After his story Abbie said, “That’s a lotta hell to drag yerself through, Billy.”
“It ain’t over—still two of them to account for. One of them’s sittin’ right here in John Foster’s jail.”
“Why ya doin’ this, Billy?”
“Cause I told him I would. And he would’ve done it fer me.”
“Yeah, yer pro’bly right. He was as shit brained crazy as you.”
They didn’t fuck. They both felt Jeff would be watching. Later Abbie introduced him to her friend Henrietta, a peppery little blond with a shifty sense of humor. He unloaded some baggage. Several times.
May, 1910
Naco had become so tame it was damn near boring. Billy was surprised how it had happened just shy of two years. Farms and ranches surrounded the area. Telephone lines were strung. A woman could phone an order into the Sears Roebuck wish book and not have to wait as long for it to arrive. Electric lights lit the streets and most of the small buildings. An occasional automobile would even roll in from Bisbee or Tucson and scare the hell out of the horses and send the peasants on the Mexican side of town into a state of wonder. A movie house opened and he saw his first moving picture, “Pride of the Range,” with a fellow named Tom Mix. He laughed at the size of the actor’s huge white hat and the fact that it never came off in a fist fight.
When the mines were producing they were twelve saloons operating in Naco. Only three managed to survive the demise of the copper and they shut down at midnight. One no longer allowed gambling. He figured the whorehouse would be the next. That usually happened when “civilization,” meaning churchgoers and do-gooders, started bleeding into the area. The one thing a tamer town did give the two lawmen was some spare time to catch up on the whereabouts of friends. His most shocking news was about Sparky.
“Ya ain’t heard?” asked John, as he reassembled a very clean Winchester.
“Heard what?” replied Billy.
“About a month after the Rangers got broke up, Sparky’s ma died so he moved back in with his pa. The big fella spent damn near a whole year studyin.’ ”
“Studyin’?” Billy had a tough time imagining Sparky studying anything except Indians. “Studyin’ what?”
“The Good Book. He became an ordained pastor. Got hisself a little church up in Oracle.”
“I’ll be damned! Sparky done got his dream job.”
“Married some little dressmaker from Bisbee,” added John. “I went to the weddin’. Strangest sight I’d ever seen: Giant ol’ Sparky all decked out in a fancy store bought suit, and standin’ next to him was this tiny little lady that barely rose ‘bove his belt buckle, but she sported the biggest bosoms I’ve ever seen in my life. I tell ya, Billy, I thought she’d tip over.”
Billy almost fell out of the chair laughing. He knew one day he would have to ride up to Oracle just to see this amazing change in his friend and finally feast his eyes on the “little dressmaker.”
John returned the cleaned and reassembled Winchester to its resting place then hesitated as he stared at the rack.
“I ain’t gonna clean that sumbitch’s piece,” he declared.
“Huh? What piece?” Billy asked.
“This Sharps,” answered John, pulling the confiscated weapon from the rack. “Belongs to that asshole Pasco. I ain’t gonna clean it!” He rudely returned it to its resting place. “Let it sit there and rust. Maybe it’ll blow up in his face.”
Billy knew there was more than one Sharps in the territory, but there was only one Diaz Pasco. He now knew who took Freddie Rankin from his young daughter. Three days had passed since his last visit to the scum bucket so he figured another one was due. After John went out for some supper Billy unlocked and opened the noisy, heavy door and strolled down to Pasco’s cell. The prisoner was standing, looking out of the small window in the back wall.
“When you get outta here, I’m gonna plant ya!” he calmly repeated.
Once again, Pasco yelled as Billy walked away, “¿Quien chingados es?”
He smiled as he closed the noisy metal door behind him. It felt good messing with the brain of the jailed killer. It made him feel clever, even a little smart. He figured Jeff would’ve been proud.
January, 1908
“Billy, I’m beggin’ ya!” pleaded Freddie. “Her whole class is ‘spectin’ it!”
“I ain’t ne’er talked to a buncha kids, Freddie!” explained Billy. “I’d look dumber than I am.”
“Ya don’t gotta say nuthun, Billy,” explained Freddie. “All ya gotta do is stand there and lemme show them how to handcuff someone, or rope them, ya know, the kinda things we do on the job.”
“Why not bring Sparky?”
“His ma took sick. He took a few days off to tend to her,” answered Freddie. “And Jeff’s off chasin’ down some gunrunners with Feather Yank. Besides, Isabel knows ya.”
“I only met her once, Freddie.”
“That’s more than anyone else.”
“But them kids are in the fifth grade, Freddie.”
“So?”
“That’s how old I was when I quit my schoolin’!”
“So?” repeated Freddie.
“So, well, hell, Boulder, what if...what if they’re smarter’n me?”
Freddie laughed and said, “Hell, Billy, they’re pro’bly smarter than the two of us clumped together, but it don’t matter none...they’re kids!”
Billy paused for a moment, pondering Freddie’s request. Then he shook his head and said, “I’d just put an onion in yer apple pie.”
“I told ya, ya don’t have to talk, just be there with me. I’ll do the talkin’. ”
“Whatcha gonna talk ‘bout?”
“Just tell them some stories!”
“What kinda stories?”
“Stories ‘bout what we do as Rangers, that’s all!”
“Them stories ain’t fittin’ fer little kids, Boulder!”
‘“Well, then...I’ll water them down a skosh. Ya know, ‘stead a sayin’ blew his brains out, I’ll say, uh...sent ‘im to Heaven. Yeah, that’s a good one, sent ‘im to Heaven. Tell ya what, I’ll buy ya a week’s supply of pipe tobacco.”
Billy shuffled his feet then walked in a few tight circles before he finally asked, “I don’t gotta say nothun?”
“Not a word.”
“Two weeks supply,” demanded Billy.
“Deal!” Freddie spit in his hand, held it out, and they sealed the bargain.
The next day the two Rangers took the morning train to Bisbee. It was a good walk from the station to the small schoolhouse. Along the way Billy reminded Freddie at least a dozen times that he had to do all the talking. He asked Freddie that since they were in Bisbee, was he also going to introduce him to his “little dressmaker with the huge udders?”
“Hell, no,” Freddie responded. “I ain’t gonna let anya ya fellas ‘round her ‘til we’re
hitched. Then when ya tell her a bunch lies ‘bout me it’ll be too late fer her to change her mind.”
Isabel’s fifth grade class was waiting anxiously to meet two Arizona Rangers in the flesh. When they walked into the classroom it exploded with applause and shouts. Billy almost turned around and ran out. Upon seeing her daddy, Isabel ran up to Freddie and leapt into his arms.
“Hey, Peaches!” he exclaimed as he held her high and kissed her four times. Once on the nose, once on each cheek, then right back to the nose, and counted “One, two, three, four” as he delivered each smooch. She giggled. He beamed. The class shouted, laughed, and whistled. For just a second Billy felt a tinge of envy pass through him. He figured his two sons would be walking by now, perhaps even running. Would they greet him like that?
“Naw,” he thought, “boys don’t do that kinda stuff.”
Written on the blackboard in huge letters was “WELCOME, ARIZONA RANGERS!”
“Take your seats, class!” ordered a young woman, also smiling.
Billy couldn’t remember ever seeing a school marm smile. He thought she looked too pretty and too young to even be a school marm, at least compared to the ones he remembered. Her hair wasn’t pulled up in a tight bun, or forced back to make her eyes squint like a coolie. It flowed to her shoulders and was a deep auburn color. Even her dress was colorful and not something that reminded him of an undertaker. As the children scrambled back to their places behind the small desks, the woman turned to Freddie.
“Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Rankin,” she stated with genuine appreciation and an even bigger smile. “This whole idea of having a parent come speak to our class is very new. We’re still testing the waters, so to speak. As a matter of fact, you’re the first one to actually show up.” Then she turned to Billy and said, “Hello. I’m Miss Hannipy.”
As Billy started to tip his hat, the young woman extended her hand like a man would do when being introduced to a stranger. Having never shaken a woman’s hand in greeting he was taken back for a second, not quite sure how firmly he should grasp the dainty paw.
“Billy Old,” he replied shyly, lightly taking her hand. “I, uh, work with Freddie.”
He was surprised at her firm grip. It was strong and forceful. Then he noticed her withered left arm that denied her its use, but had strengthened her right. She reminded him of a pretty dove with a broken wing.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Old, and thank you for joining us!” Turning to the class she announced, “Class, this is Mr. Rankin, Isabel’s father, and this is his friend Mr. Old. What do we say?”
Together, in one loud voice, the entire class erupted with, “HELLO, MR. RANKIN! HELLO, MR. OLD!”
Billy chuckled.
“Mr. Rankin, Mr. Old,” stated Miss Hannipy, “the floor is yours!”
The next hour was filled with oohs and ahhs as Freddie explained just what it was the Rangers did, without the gory details, of course. He handcuffed Billy then asked the class for volunteers to see what it was like to be handcuffed. The entire room raised their hands in unison and started calling, “Me, me, me!” So Billy took out his cuffs and he and Freddie went around the room, cuffing and releasing all eleven children.
“Any boyfriends and girlfriends in this here class?” Freddie asked with a devilish grin.
Several of the kids started hooting and pointing at two kids seated next to each other—a blond haired boy and a brown haired girl. So Freddie cuffed a hand from each together and said, “Yer now hitched!” Everyone laughed and made cat calls at the two children. They took it in stride.
Freddie demonstrated lassoing a steer by using Billy as his cow. To Billy’s surprise, Freddie tossed him on the ground and began to hogtie him. In a moment of spontaneity that he didn’t even know he had, Billy mooed, grunted, and kicked like a roped steer. The classroom ignited with laughter. Freddie played a few tunes on his harmonica and the kids sang along. All-in-all, Billy actually enjoyed himself. He also witnessed a side of Freddie he had never seen: a father. Isabel ran up and hugged her daddy goodbye. Tears began to form when she asked when he was coming back to Grandma’s.
“Soon as I can,” answered Freddie, giving her the “One, two, three, four” kisses again.
Miss Hannipy lightly tapped a ruler on her desk and said, “What do we say to Mr. Rankin and Mr. Old, class?”
Again an eruption took place. “Thank you!”
Billy was impressed with the way Miss Hannipy handled her class. It was nothing like what he remembered about his fifth grade class. The kids actually seemed happy to be there. As the two Rangers were returning to the station to catch the late afternoon train back to Nogales, Billy was still smiling.
“Guess that weren’t as bad as I thought’d be,” he stated.
“Kinda fun, weren’t it?” said Freddie with a smile.
“Yeah, was!” answered Billy, also grinning. “Kinda makes ya feel important.”
That was the last time Isabel would see her father alive.
May, 1910
When a new lawman was in town, it was wise to let folks get accustomed to his face. So Billy spent some free time just roaming the area surrounding Naco, meeting the new settlers, making friends. The ones who respected the badge appreciated the gesture. The ones who didn’t now knew who to fear. It was on one of those days of roaming that he discovered the empty, rotting shack about five miles northwest of town. Checking with the land office he found it was abandoned property, which made it a perfect place for a future planting.
It was early Friday morning of the same week he had stumbled on the abandoned shack that Abbie took her ride. He had slipped the blacksmith a half dollar to inform him of the next time she asked to have Lavender prepped for a run. The smithy told him she always rode east on the trail towards Pirtleville and was usually back in about three hours. He needed to speak to her in a safer place than within the thin walls of her depressing room.
About a mile outside of town the trail crossed a small creek. Knowing she would slow to ford it, he parked himself and Orion on its east side in some cottonwoods. When he stepped out of the trees in front of her, Abbie jerked Lavender to a sudden stop. The Blood Bay whinnied and reared. As fast as he’d ever seen a man pull one, Abbie had her boot gun drawn, cocked, and aimed straight at his johnson. Knowing there are few things more dangerous than a pissed off whore, Billy threw his hands in the air and shouted, “It’s me!”
“Whoa, girl! Easy!” She calmed Lavender but continued to chide Billy. “Ya scared the shit outta me, Billy Old! Jesus Christ! Almost gimme a goddamned heart ‘tack!”
“Sorry,” Billy declared, stifling a chuckle. Then he held up a small bag that had been hanging from the lizzy on Orion’s saddle. “Got some fresh biscuits here,” he said. “Could ya handle a little breakfast?”
Still mad enough to melt snow, but hungry, Abbie replied, “Why the hell not!” She slid the boot gun back into its nesting place and hopped off Lavender . “Yer lucky I dint blow yer head off,” she added.
“It weren’t my head ya were aimin’ at.”
Abbie laughed. He knew her anger was cooling. She tethered Lavender next to Orion, who took an immediate interest in the pretty Bay. He nudged her with his nose. She replied with a loud fart.
“Whatcha doin’ out here?” asked Abbie. “All ‘em days down in that Mexica’ heat ain’t baked yer brain pan, has they?”
“I need a favor, Abbie,” Billy stated with reluctance.
“A favor?” the girl repeated as she quickly devoured one of the fresh biscuits. “I don’t do favors, Billy.”
“It’s worth a twenty dollar gold piece,” he added.
“Jesus, who do I gotta kill?” she devilishly grinned, exposing a mouthful of fresh biscuit.
Not certain how Abbie would react to a plan that included her being friendly with one of Jeff’s killers, he considered treading lightly, but then figured there really was no way to tread lightly with what he needed to ask of her. At first he thought about a
sking Henrietta, but she had no stake in the game. Abbie did. They took her customer, her lover, her potential husband and escape from the life she was living. So he decided the best route was straight to it.
“In about thirty days Diaz Pasco gets sprung. I need ya to get him passed out drunk and fucked senseless ‘fore he crosses the bridge.” He waited for her to spit at him, cuss him out, claw at his face, anything. She just looked at him for a long moment while continuing to nibble on her second biscuit.
“Is that all?” she finally asked.
“Uh, yeah,” he answered, exhaling.
“He one of Jeff’s killers, ain’t he?”
“Freddie’s, too.”
Abbie turned and gazed off to the north. The morning sun lit up the right side of her face as Billy watched her eyes travel far away. When she spoke, it was a soft voice he had never heard before. He thought of his mother.
“Ya know,” she finally said, “I used to dream that someday Jeff and me mighta got us a little house, with windows...real windows that open up and let in fresh air...not some stuffy little room with four ugly walls I can’t even paint. Might not ne’er have happened, but I liked to dream it. Them skunks that kilt him kilt that dream.” Then the harder Abbie voice he was accustomed to returned and she added, “Fuckin’ right I’ll do it.”
“I been kinda iffy ‘bout askin’ ya to take on someone who had a hand in Jeff’s killin’.”
“A dick’s a dollar, Billy,” she replied coldly and chewed her biscuit. “It don’t matter who it belong to...’cept a gambler...stay clear a their kind. Fuckin’s lot like ridin’ a horse. Same movin,’ ya know, thrust, push...” Her hips moved so perfectly, so smoothly that Billy momentarily forgot who he was with and felt an awakening in his member. “...ya know, all that shit,” she continued, oblivious to Billy subtly adjusting his Levis to the tightness in his crotch. “So when I got me a customer and he’s a gruntin’ and a pumpin’ ‘way, I ain’t even there. I’m out ridin’ Lavender.” She bit off another chunk of biscuit. “Didn’t bring any molasses, did ya?”