Paradise Sky

by Joe R. Lansdale

  “Do you know where the drovers was going?”

  “To get some cows, I reckon.”

  “He told you all this?” I asked.

  “Nope. He told the big man. I’m an eavesdropper of the first order. I was also paying attention to them because I didn’t like the condition of their horses. I can’t abide a man that mistreats horse flesh. That’s why I’m telling you about them. I usually keep a tight lip, but anyone that mistreats a horse—rough-rides it, doesn’t feed it, or doesn’t curry it good—they get a special place on my shit list.”

  “Do you know where the drovers are going to get those cows?”

  “Texas. That’s where they always go. Pretty sure the scarred one said he was going on his own when they reached Texas, or maybe he said before he reached Texas. I was listening in, but I wasn’t writing it down.”

  “If I tell you the hotel where I’m staying and promise you a full dollar for letting me know if the big man comes for his horse, will you do it?”

  “I will,” he said.

  I thanked Cecil for the information and how well he was treating my horse, then decided my next step was to find Golem. Golem was an odd duck and hard to figure, but my first thought was he might be at the saloon. I started over to the Long Branch, as it stayed open pretty much around the clock due to all the cowboys that passed through town at all hours. If Golem was there, even without a gun, he would be a handful, but I needed to know if he was still in town and where he was. If he saw me, things could go south quick, so I was thinking how I might just peek in the saloon then slide out and figure from there. I hoped I could hold my anger back enough to be sensible.

  I was crossing the street, considering on all this, when who should I see coming out of it but Bronco Bob. He was heading my way. He hadn’t put on fresh clothes. His hair was matted where it hung down from under his hat, and his beard was so tangled an owl could have nested inside it.

  He seen me, and I noticed he was taking some time to look me over before deciding I was in fact Nat Love with a haircut and a shave. When he was satisfied it was me, he come to me with his hands waving. “Nat. What a set of ears. And with that shirt, you look like a robin redbreast.”

  “Thanks for noticing the ears,” I said. “I never do.”

  “Nothing by it, Nat. They are manly. I want to tell you something. I’m worried about Kid Red.”

  “Who?”

  “Red. We got to drinking, and he got to drinking more, and he played cards and had a knack for it, and by the time I cut him off from my money he had gambling money of his own. He got really drunk, and the boys in the Long Branch started calling him Kid Red on account of his hair, and by early this morning he was so drunk you could have laid cucumbers on him and they would have pickled. He borrowed some fellow’s horse and a rope, roped that cannon at the fort, and dragged it along the street. They found him at the far end of town, having fallen off the horse, asleep by the cannon. I think he had taken his boots and pants off, but he had managed to keep his shirt and hat. The law come and got him, and he’s in jail.”

  “Goddamn it, Bronco, he shouldn’t never been allowed a drink. He’s just now learning how to eat food. That’s why I don’t drink, all that kind of foolishness.”

  “You may have a point there, Nat.”

  We went over to the jail. The town marshal was a fellow named Deger. He was built near in the shape of a box and had a mustache like a resting caterpillar. He said the kid was in the back and had thrown up all over the cell. A man he was sharing it with took to beating him so bad they had to pull the kid out and put him in a cell by himself, which was not a thing they liked to do, their jail being stuffed pretty tight with troublemakers and drunks.

  “It was pretty funny, though,” said Marshal Deger. “He pulled that cannon through the streets, and when we brought him in, he said he did it so he could take it back to Deadwood and fight the Indians.”

  “He’s never been drunk before,” I said.

  “That’s true, Marshal,” Bronco Bob said. “I gave him his first taste of liquor.”

  “He looks mighty young,” said the marshal.

  “He’s nineteen,” Bronco Bob said, lying with an authority so strong I damn near believed him.

  “Well,” Deger said, “he damn sure put a wet one on.”

  The short version was Bronco Bob paid a bit of money, and the sheriff went back and got Red, or Kid Red, as he had been called by the saloon boys. He had his pants on, and we pulled his boots on him, and we hauled him out of there. Pretty much toting him by the arms, we took him to the hotel where I was staying. Bronco Bob got himself a room, having spent the previous night in saloons, mostly the Long Branch, and in a bordello, where he had met what he referred to as a temporary fiancée.

  “She was a honey,” said Bronco Bob. “I told her I would take her away and make her my wife, and it seemed like a hell of a good idea at the time. But when I woke up this morning and realized what I said, on sober reflection I decided against it. I snuck out while she was asleep. That’s when I realized I had lost Red somewhere. I found out about him when I went over to the Long Branch.”

  I had some coffee sent up, a whole pot, and we went to work having Red drink it. It took another pot to get Red so he could at least uncross his eyes. He had taken a pretty good beating in his cell. He had a knot on his forehead, both eyes was blacked, and his lip was cut open. The jacket Bronco Bob had given him was stained up, and his shirt was torn. When we pulled off his boots, we found the derringer in one of them. He had either forgotten to check it or had chosen not to. I was surprised it hadn’t been discovered when he was arrested, him having pulled his boots off and all.

  “Good thing he forgot about that,” I said. “Or someone might have gotten shot.”

  “I would agree with that,” Bronco Bob said.

  The coffee may have uncrossed his eyes, but it didn’t do much else, so we finally stretched him out on my bed and took ourselves downstairs to have a meal. I was eyed a little uncomfortably, but people in Dodge didn’t want to insult someone who might be part of a team of drovers and free with money and had friends with pistols, so I was let in without incident. We was put at a table in the back, so as to keep my colored face from shining too bright near the front door. Still, for me, it was a real change being able to eat with everyone else. I enjoyed it.

  Bronco Bob, being better-heeled for money than I was, ordered us both steaks and taters and bread. He ordered himself a warm beer and me a warm sarsaparilla, there not being any ice on hand.

  “I take credit for foolish choices,” Bronco Bob said. “I thought a boy that hadn’t never done anything and had lived from hand to mouth might deserve a good night on the town. It got out of hand.”

  “I’ll say.”

  We ate a few bites, and I said, “Golem is in town, and Ruggert is headed toward Texas.”

  Bronco Bob paused a fried potato on its way to his mouth, said, “Where’d you learn that?”

  I told him.

  “Do you know where Golem is exactly?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” I said. “I was going to start the search when I come across you.”

  “Without a gun, you will have hell to pay,” Bronco Bob said.

  “Already thought about that,” I said.

  Bronco nodded. “If you need me while you’re here, Nat, if you come across him, I am your man. But after that, I’m sticking with Dodge. I think I can manage some card games and may even go back to shooting matches a bit. I’m sick of riding and being out in the wilds. I think I’ll encourage the boy to stay with me as well. I might try and get some newspaper work here until I can write books about you and me and our adventures. Some of them will be true.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  We bought some biscuits with meat in them, wrapped them in a red-and-white-checked cloth they gave us, and carried those back to the hotel. On the way up to our room, we ordered and paid for another pot of coffee. In the room we found Red sitting up on the
side of the bed, holding his head like Atlas holding up the world.

  “I feel bad,” he said.

  “You and Bronco Bob had quite a toot,” I said.

  “If that means we drank a lot, that’s what happened,” Red said. “I think I even got some pussy. Though I’m a little shaky on the memory.”

  We gave him the biscuits, and he went to wolfing them down and drinking more coffee. About the time he got to the second biscuit, he paused in midbite, said, “Hey, wait a minute.”

  I was pouring a cup of coffee. “What?” I said.

  “That Jew fellow. He was in the jail with me. He was the one hit me.”

  I put the cup down. “You mean Golem? He was back there in the jail?”

  “I forgot about it until just now. My head ain’t right. My brain is all twisted. But he was back there. Had that ash mark on his forehead. I know it was him. I seen him around Deadwood before. I think what happened is I knew it was him, said something to him about how he was a big coward and a backjumper. I got sick on him, and he beat me up. I’m not really sure in what order all that happened, but it happened.”

  I put on my hat. “Guess I’ll go over and see him,” I said.

  “No,” Bronco Bob said. “You can’t go in the jail and try and kill a man with your bare hands, Nat. That is frowned on by law officers, and in the long run, considering his size to yours, foolish.”

  It was all I could do not to rush out the door, but of course he was right, and I wasn’t stupid, no matter how bad I wanted to kill Golem. If I was going to go back to Win with all my parts, I had to play it wise.

  “Tell you what,” Bronco Bob said. “I will go over and check and see what Golem’s status is, make sure the kid here didn’t dream it.”

  “I didn’t,” Red said.

  “When I know what the situation is, I will come back, and we can lay plans. Maybe I can go his bail and get him back on the street, and then you can kill him.”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  Bronco Bob went out, and Red said, “I forgot I had that derringer in my boot. I should have shot him.”

  “Against a man like that it would be like trying to knock a mountain over with a well-thrown rock,” I said. “It’s best you didn’t shoot him with that. He might have killed you.”

  I quit talking and sat down in the stuffed chair, but now it didn’t seem so comfortable. I looked at my hands resting on my knees. They was shaking. Not from fear. I was too mad to be fearful. They was shaking with anger.

  It seemed like I sat there for hours, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Bronco Bob come in and said, “He was there, but he’s been released. He sobered up and paid his own fine. I had to shoot shit with the marshal and pretend Golem was an old pal and I was looking to buy him a beer and some such story line, but he didn’t know where he went. Just that he paid up and left. My thoughts are he has gone out to take a nip of the hair of the dog that bit him, to get over that hangover.”

  “Maybe that’s what I need,” Red said.

  “No,” I said. “You don’t.” I turned to Bronco Bob, said, “Listen here. How about one last favor, and then you are out of it. Go over to the Long Branch and peek in and see if he’s there, check the other saloons if he ain’t. I would be noticed a lot quicker by him than you, as you have grown in the hair and beard department, and you aren’t wearing your show clothes.”

  “That’s a for sure good thought,” Bronco Bob said, and went out.

  Well, that time an hour or so did actually pass before he came back in and said, “I looked in all the saloons and didn’t see him. He may have found a place to sleep last night off.”

  “All right,” I said. “From here on out this is my problem.”

  “I told you I was game to stay with you as long as you were in town,” Bronco Bob said.

  “I’m in for whatever comes,” Red said.

  “I know, and I appreciate it, but I’d prefer neither of you got involved. That hasn’t worked out for them that’s been friendly toward me in the past. Red, you stretch out on my bed and rest some more. You wouldn’t be of any use like that anyway. And Bob, you look like hell yourself. Sleep some, and then get you a bath, or in the other order if you like. Me, I’m going to take a walk around town.”

  “I don’t feel good letting you do that, Nat,” Bronco Bob said.

  “You look out on your feet,” I said. “You wouldn’t be of much help.”

  “That might be true, but let me sleep a few hours, and we’ll go out together.”

  “All right,” I said. “You two stretch out and rest, and we’ll talk it over then.”

  “Now you’re using your head,” Bronco Bob said.

  Bronco went to his room, and Red stretched back out on the bed, and in spite of all that coffee he was out right off. I closed my eyes thinking to relax a moment, but I went out like a candle in a high wind.

  When I awoke it was to noise in the street, and it was dark.

  I looked at the bed, and I could see Red’s shape. He was still asleep and snoring loudly. I got up, went to the window, and looked out at the street, which was lit up with flickering streetlamps and the lights from the saloons. The street was full of folks, a lot of them obviously drunk.

  I slipped the derringer from Red’s boot, and with it tucked in my coat pocket, went downstairs and asked if the liveryman had left me a message, but he hadn’t.

  I went along the streets looking for Golem, even glancing in the saloons Bronco Bob had looked in just in case he had shown up. I didn’t see him. I walked all over Dodge and back again but didn’t see my man. I went to all the saloons again, managing to be called nigger only twice, once affectionately. I even had some warm sarsaparilla at the Long Branch, but still didn’t see the son of a bitch.

  Finally I slipped out of the saloon for a last stroll around town and had the same results. I was about to give it up when I decided I might amble down to the stockyards, take a look there. Closer I got to them, the stronger that cow shit smell became. There was a few cowboys in the area, but it was mostly just pens of cattle, the drovers having left their herds there and glad to be shed of them.

  No Golem.

  As I was crossing the street back to my hotel, I come across the liveryman, who was coming toward it. I called out his name, and after determining that I was who he thought I was, he threw up his hand in greeting and came over to me. He said, “I ain’t seen your man. He hasn’t come for his horse. But I thought I might tell you something of interest, if you can tell me why you want to find him so bad.”

  “My plan is to kill him deader than a goddamn post, and I have my reasons. I’ll put them in a nutshell for you if you’ll stand for it,” I said.

  “I will,” he said.

  I told him what had happened, leaving out a bit of it here and there but giving him the story in a fairly honest manner.

  “My God, man. No wonder you want to find him. But you ain’t even got a pistol.”

  “There’s the law,” I said.

  “If you’re going to break the law and kill him, you ought to have something to do it with. Come by the livery and let me slip you a pistol. Just one.”

  “All right,” I said. “But wasn’t our agreement that I tell you what happened to make me want to find him, and then you’d tell me something?”

  “It was, but let’s go to the livery to talk about it.”

  There was a part of me that was concerned. He was, after all, mostly a white man, and he could have an arrangement with Golem to lead me into a trap, and all I had was the popgun. I reached in my pocket and gripped it, but not with confidence. It was like the fellow that grabs at a straw when he’s drowning.

  The walk to that livery seemed the longest in my life, and when we got there he unlocked the door, which had been padlocked, and let us in. There was soft lantern light glowing inside, and it gave the place a pleasant look. There was some smell of horses and their leavings, but mostly it was a comfortable aroma, and it was warm
inside. Golem didn’t jump out of the shadows and hit me with a rock or shoot me with a gun.

  Fact was, Cecil guided me to a desk where he kept his business ledgers and took a bottle out of the drawer and got out two glasses. I didn’t say anything about not being a drinker of alcohol, not under the circumstances.

  “I suggest just a swallow,” he said. “Enough to warm you but not enough to give you liquid courage, which could get you killed.”

  I sat in a chair in front of his desk, and he sat in one behind it. I pulled my hand off the derringer, picked up the drink, and put it to my lips but didn’t drink it. I can’t even stand the smell of it. I put the glass back on the desk.

  “He is about Mabel Jean’s business,” he said, leaning forward to take hold of his drink.

  “Mabel Jean?” I said.

  He downed the whiskey, poured himself another from the glass.

  “She is a guide to peculiar interests, is how she describes herself, or maybe that ain’t exactly what she says. Something like that. She comes over here once a month, on Tuesdays, that’s today, and hauls my ashes for a free buggy anytime she needs it. It’s kind of a lease agreement.”

  “She’s a madam?”

  “Yeah,” said Cecil. “And a little more. Not all them she services want to get the standard piece of ass. I say she caters to peculiarities, more so than the China Doll brothel. It’s pretty much straight in and out there.”

  I sat silent, waiting for him to get to the point.

  “Thing this man of yours likes is different. He likes beating the whores, and Mabel Jean arranges it.”

  “The whores know this? That he’s going to beat on them?”

  “They expect a certain amount of abuse and a certain amount of extra dollars for it. He wants to hit them with whips, but Mabel Jean only allows cloth strips bound into a wooden handle. That way the whores get a sting, not a wound, and a man who likes that kind of thing gets his feelings settled. The man you call Golem, I’m sure it’s him, as he was described to me today by Mabel Jean during our moments of lease payment. She rarely mentions her customers, hers being a private business. But she’s scared of him. I think she thought I might do something, which I won’t. I’m not crazy. Not after what she told me. She said she was glad to come see me to get out of her place. Said your man used the handle of that cloth whip on her girls, and not just to hit them with it. He won’t leave. He’s tanked up on liquor and hasn’t paid for a drink or a fuck. And the two bouncers she’s got, both colored like yourself, they both got broken up by him. Went home in a hurry, one on a stretcher. When me and her finished our business, I locked up and was on my way to the hotel to find you or leave a note. I was hoping you might want to kill him. I figured that was your plan. It could work out all around.”