The piano player glared up at him but instantly switched to a low-pitched dirge, fit for a funeral. Clement signaled the bartender to meet him at the end of the bar, away from prying ears. "From now on, every glass you serve is half-water, understand?"
"But, Mr. Clement, they're gonna know−"
"Don't you but me, boy. I catch you giving anybody so much as a shot glass of actual beer and I'm gonna skin your hide."
"Yes, sir."
Frisby hiked up his gunbelt and leaned his elbows back against the bar. He nodded at a few of the men, letting them know he saw them. Letting them know who owned the place. One of the girls came over to where he was leaning and sat down at the bar to roll herself a cigarette. A redheaded whore, pretty but hard-looking. A few of the men tried to get her attention, but she just rolled her eyes and ignored them. He watched her in amazement as she calmly laid out the paper and tobacco and lit it then sat there smoking like it was all she needed to do to get by in the world. Like he wasn't even there. "You comfy, girl?" Frisby said.
"I guess," she sighed. "I mean, this is a shithole compared to what I'm used to. You ever been to Seneca 2? They got some real nice places there. I mean, places where you won't catch bugs just from laying down on the pillows."
She smirked at him and stuck the cigarette in her mouth to take a long drag and Frisby snatched it out of her hands and tossed it into her face. He slapped her hard across the side of her ear, catching her cheap, dangling earrings with his shirt sleeve and tearing one of them clean through. The whore screeched like a cat, but her brief attempt at fighting him off only made him angrier.
The piano player stopped and everyone stood still as Frisby landed several punishing blows on the back of her head until she was laid out on the ground. He braced his hand on the bar and swung his foot back like he was kicking a ball, landing the tip of his boot in the center of her gut. "Get up and get your ugly, disease-ridden ass out of my place!" he screamed.
She couldn't even get up off the ground, but Frisby kicked her until she finally started to crawl on her belly toward the door. She tried reaching for some of the people she passed for help, but nobody moved. Frisby got tired of waiting and grabbed her by her thick red hair in a tight handful and yanked her toward the door. She kicked and howled and carried on, sliding on her dress across the polished wooden floor. Frisby slammed the door open and said, "Get your ass back to Seneca 2 if you're such hot shit, you stuck-up bitch!"
He wiped his hands through his sweaty hair to push it back from his forehead and stepped over her. Somebody moved to help her to her feet, but Frisby snarled, "Let her lay there. She's too good for the hard-working, decent folk at Seneca 5, then she don't need nobody to help her leave neither."
He looked at one of the other working girls and said, "How about you? You too good for the men around here?"
"No, Frisby. I like these men just fine."
He looked at another one, "How about you?"
"Uh uh, sugar. I hate them stuck up sissies from the Two."
"Good," he nodded. He clapped his hands together and said, "Now let's get some music, some liquor, and some love makin' going on then. This ain't no goddamn ice cream social."
The piano player lit into a rousing work song, and soon, everything was back to normal. Frisby looked at the door and saw that the whore had managed to crawl out of the place, and instead he saw a tall, thin man in a black hat come in with his arm around a beautiful young woman. They stopped and looked around the parlor, taking stock of the clientele. The man held the door open for his woman to enter and make her way toward the bar.
Frisby took stock of the man's tailored coat and exotic animal skin boots. The woman wasn't just a head-turner, she was dressed like the stage actresses who flew in from off-planet. She carried a lace parasol and wore long black gloves that came up past her elbows. Her plunging dress swept the floor and revealed so much cleavage Frisby could see down to her belly button. She had a tight black collar around her neck that was studded with diamonds, like something an animal would wear if its master was afraid of letting it loose. Frisby looked the woman over and decided he wanted her turned loose no matter what.
The man pulled out a handkerchief and coughed lightly into it before stuffing it back in his pocket. He waved for the bartender and said, "Two whiskeys, please."
"Coming right up, sir."
"Uh, wait a second," Frisby said quickly. He leaned over the bar past the man and whispered, "Give him the real thing. Forget what I said earlier." He looked back at the couple and smiled, "These drinks are on the house for you fine folks."
"Thank you kindly," Doc Halladay said.
Frisby nodded at the bartender to hurry up. "So what brings you around these parts. I ain't never seen you in the Prime before."
Halladay winked at Winnie and said, "I told you."
Frisby passed the drinks toward them and said, "I'd have remembered this little lady, that is for certain."
Halladay downed his liquor in one sip. He licked his lips and tried to hide his distaste of such cheap swill. "We are in search of an establishment that provides a safe environment for women of quality."
"Well you come to the right place," Frisby said. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself, adding, "I'm one of the owners. You all came to the right place."
"Is that so?" Halladay said. He cocked an eyebrow at Winnie before looking the place over. "What do you think, darling? Would you feel comfortable plying your trade here?"
"Perhaps, eventually," she said. "I don't know anyone though, and all of the women are so beautiful. It feels intimidating."
"What?" Frisby laughed. "Little girl, you ain't got nothin' to feel intimidated by. I promise you, men will be eating the corn out your poop just to get close to you."
Winnie's eyes widened, and Halladay said, "What a charming euphemism. So tell me, sir, what is the house's split with the employee?"
"We do a standard fifty-fifty," Frisby said. He got nervous they'd walk and added, "But for someone as delicious as this little morsel, I'll go sixty-forty. You can't tell nobody though, 'cause that's strictly a private contract with me and you folks, okay?"
"Okay," Winnie said with a shy smile.
"And one more thing," Frisby said. "I have to test drive the merchandise just to make sure everything goes okay. It's company policy. Honest."
"Fine," Halladay shrugged. "We're ready when you are."
"Right now, you mean?" Frisby sputtered.
"Yes, indeed. Why waste time? Unless you are not currently able to perform your … proprietary duties, of course."
Frisby hiked up his belt and said, "Course I am. I had a few drinks, I mean, but that won't be no thing. A fine lady like yourself, shoot. The second you take off that dress I'll be harder than grammar school."
Halladay extended his arm to Winnie so that they could follow Frisby and said, "And here you thought we wouldn't find a man charming enough to capture your interest."
They walked up the staircase, overlooking the piano player who looked up and realized he could nearly see all the way up Winnie's dress. His fingers hammered the wrong note and the piano twanged in protest. Doc Halladay looked down at the pianist and scowled.
"He does that all the time," Frisby muttered. "Not a lick of talent."
"People have died for less, I imagine," Halladay said dryly.
There was a large crystal chandelier hanging over the steps, and the hallway beyond them was lit by long rows of oil lamps on either wall with doors spaced every ten feet. "This first one should be open," Frisby said. He checked the door handle to make sure it turned and poked his head in. "Okay, coast is clear."
Frisby held the door open for Winnie, but frowned as Halladay took off his hat and began following her inside. He put his hand up to block Halladay and said, "Hey, partner. This is a strictly one-man-at-a-time establishment."
"Of course it is," Halladay said, "but I am sure you understand I must protect my investment, at least until we are on more f
amiliar ground."
Frisby scratched his chin and looked at Winnie as she walked to the front of the bed and stripped off her gloves, one at a time. She smiled at him in a way that made her lower lip pout, and he said, "Okay, I guess it's all right. But you gotta just sit there and don't make no noise. I told you I had a few drinks and I don't need no distractions."
"I will be silent as the dead," Halladay said with a thin smile.
Frisby waved him in and shut the door behind him, "Just sit in that chair then." He rubbed his hands together and whistled at Winnie, "Okay, let me see what's doin' under that dress of yours."
He moved toward her, but she wagged her finger in his face and grabbed him by the front of his pants. Her fingers worked around his gunbelt's buckle quickly until it unsnapped and fell to the floor with a clunk. "Sit down."
Frisby sat on the edge of the bed and tucked his hands under his thighs, "See? I won't make a move. You take as much time as you want."
"That's a good boy," Winnie purred. She swayed from side to side as she reached behind her neck and undid the clasp of her dress. It slid down from her body like a stage curtain falling, revealing her curved breasts and flat stomach. Frisby swallowed at the sight of her pink nipples and muttered a small prayer. She stepped out of her dress, naked except for her string-thin underwear and neck collar and moved toward the bed like a predatory animal.
"Would you mind turning off the light, partner?" Frisby whispered.
"Of course not," Halladay said. He reached across the table for the lantern just as Winnie reached up to undo the bun of her hair. She pulled the long steel needle out and let her hair fall down over her shoulders just as the room went completely black.
Frisby moaned softly in the darkness, and then suddenly said, "Eeek."
Royce Halladay crossed his legs and reached into his shirt pocket for his cigarette case. He struck a match against the edge of the table and when he held it to the tip of his smoke, he saw Frisby Clement's head tilted far enough back to eyeball the ceiling with Winnie's needle stuck in the soft spot under his chin. Frisby's Adam's Apple bulged against the needle as he swallowed and tried to breathe.
Halladay took a deep drag of the cigarette and said, "Would you like to live, Mr. Clement?"
"Yes, sir," Frisby moaned.
"Good." He stood up and walked over to the bed, taking the needle from Winnie. He slid the tip an inch up Frisby's right nostril and said, "You make one move and the steel tip of this instrument will perforate your frontal lobe. Do you know what that is?"
"My brain?"
Halladay looked at Winnie in shock, "I am absolutely astounded you just said that. Yes, in fact, it is. If you are lucky, it will kill you. If you are unlucky, it will severely damage your faculties and leave you drooling in a corner for the rest of your life."
"Please don't hurt me, mister. I'll give you whatever you want."
"That is correct," Halladay said. He slid the needle up and punched a hole through the nasal passage next to Frisby's eyes.
Frisby let out a wail like he was being murdered, and Winnie looked toward the door nervously. "Doc?" she winced. I hear people outside.
He silenced her with one look. "Now, Mr. Clement. Where can I find Johnny Starr and his friend, Mr. Pine?"
"I have no idea!" Frisby said.
Halladay drew the needle back and felt something dripping onto his hand. Frisby thrashed on the bed, but Halladay held him fast. "Now don't get excited, friend. You just have a third nostril to breathe through now. Maybe you can hang an earring through it or something."
"You crazy son of a bitch!" Frisby shouted. "I don't know where Starr is! He comes and finds me whenever he needs something. You think I want that scum in my life? He comes in here and takes my money and drinks up my liquor and beats on my girls as much as he pleases just because he gave me the money for it. You want him dead? Good. I'd pull the trigger myself if I knew how to find him."
Halladay withdrew the needle from Frisby's nose and said, "Well, the good news is that I believe you, Mr. Clement."
Frisby grabbed his nose with both hands and gasped, "Thank God. Now can you both please get the hell out of here before anything else happens?"
Halladay nodded at Winnie, "Darling, I believe it's time for you to get dressed."
She hopped off of the bed and scooped up her clothing from the floor. Halladay waited as she wiggled into her dress and stuffed her gloves into her purse. Frisby watched her as he clutched his bloody nose to try and stop it from bleeding. "You're that girl, ain't you? The one who tried to kill him in the Filthy."
"I had good reason," Winnie snapped. She reached up to undo her neck collar. She lifted her chin and pointed at the jagged scar there, "Anyway, this is what he did to me in return."
Frisby held up his hands and said, "I weren't judging you for it. I just always wondered why, is all. I mean, plenty of women got plenty of reasons to kill Starr. We always wondered what your story was."
Winnie was about to respond when Halladay held up his finger and said, "Remember, darling. We came here to retrieve information, not to provide it. I believe our friend Mr. Clement needs to take a walk with us."
Frisby looked up at him with dull, defeated eyes that spoke of a lifetime of coming up short. Halladay yanked him to his feet and said, "Look out, look out!" to Winnie, dragging Frisby toward the door.
Halladay got him to the edge of the staircase and called out, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special performance for you tonight. Did you know Frisby Clement was an acrobat?"
With that, Halladay shoved him forward and Frisby missed the first two steps, going ass over tin cups in a sideways roll that bounced him off of each hard wooden step in a series of screams and snapping bones. He rolled from the steps onto the floor in a twisted heap of arms and legs jutting out at the wrong angles from his body. Halladay looked down at the disfigured man and said, "Well, perhaps he's not acrobat-material after all."
At first, the crowd was too stunned to move. Halladay drew both of his pistols and fired at the center of the chandelier, sending shattered glass raining down on Frisby's writhing figure.
The bartender reached under the bar for a shotgun mounted underneath the beer taps. Halladay turned his hand sideways and fired, sending a bullet through the side of the man's head that threw him into a case of empty glass bottles. Winnie shouted in horror at the murder and hit Halladay on the back with her fists and said, "No!" Halladay ignored her and cocked his guns again, turning them toward the members of the crowd. Nobody moved. "Enemies, impartial observers, and fellow denizens of society, lend me your ears. My lady friend has a message for you to carry forth." He looked back at Winnie, who hadn't moved. "That's your cue, darling," he whispered.
She leaned over the bannister and said, "Tell that two-bit scoundrel Johnny Starr that this was just the beginning. Tell him a reckoning is coming!"
"Oh, I like the sound of that," Halladay said. He fired a bullet over their heads and the entire crowd poured and clawed over one another to get through the door. He calmly walked down the rest of the stairs and stepped over Frisby's body to assess the liquor bottles behind the bar. "Tell me, Edwina. What is your preferred poison?"
She pushed him from behind, "This is not what we discussed! You were just supposed to ask him a few questions, not start killing people, you psychopath! My brother is a preacher, for God's sake. We're church people! Oh God, Doc. I just helped you kill a man."
Halladay cocked an eyebrow at her, "Had I known you were closely related to persons of such ill-repute, I might not have associated with you. Regardless, what would you like to drink tonight?"
"Just grab whatever," Winnie muttered.
"A woman after my own heart." He went around the bar, looking at the crumpled form of the bartender to grab a few bottles from the rack. He pulled the cash register's arm and scooped up the cash from the drawer and stuffed it in his pockets. "I want you to know it was not my intention to kill the bartender," he said. "I had no quarrel w
ith him until he reached for the gun."
Winnie took the bottles from him and said, "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"It is simply a fact. I meant to kill the piano player. If you see him on our way out, please let me know." Halladay popped the cork out of several bottles of clear liquor and splashed the bar and floor until they were soaked. He backed out of the parlor, leaving a long trail of fluid that extended out the front door. He struck a match and dropped it in the alcohol and it instantly ignited, blue flames that rushed toward the bar like a wave.
Winnie watched the fire spread and said, "Now there's no way Johnny Starr won't come looking for us, I reckon."
"That is the plan, darling. Say, where did that bastard piano player get to?"
"Come on, Doc," Winnie said, pulling him toward their destriers. "The Sheriff is gonna be here any minute. Unless you wanna kill him too."
"Does he deserve it?" Halladay said, but Winnie shouted at him to knock it off and get going.
They rode Buttercup into the wasteland, her hands wrapped around his thin stomach. She felt it flex as he choked on sputum and let go of him when he lurched forward to cough. At one point the dust grew so bad he had to cover his face with a cloth and stop riding until the cloud passed. Winnie rubbed his back gently and said, "You'll be okay, Doc. Just try to relax."
He spit blood into the dirt and said, "Thank you for managing to conceal your disgust. You are truly a saint."
"I ain't disgusted," she said.
He picked a campsite high up on the rocks, looking down over miles of nothingness. A good vantage point. The sky was so cloudy that they could barely see the moons, and the fog swirled around the smoke of their fire and made it its own.
"I hate sleeping outside," Winnie complained.
Halladay drew his thick fighting knife to turn the branches over in the flames and said, "High adventure in the great outdoors, young lady. One can truly live according to his own will in the wild. Eat what you kill, sleep where you choose. Attached to nothing and no one."
Guns of Seneca 6 Box Set Collected Saga (Chambers 1-4) Page 48