Jailbait Justice

by Danny Hogan

There were also farmers and traders with mule trains laden with packs that must’ve been stuffed with all kinds of wonders. Desperate looking kids; some hopeful looking old folk; a theatre group with ballerinas and clowns all in their stage clothes; a half-witted offal eater, who’d consume anything you wanted for a bit and your entertainment, made up the collection of folks in the sun outside the trail agency that day. Not to mention the scores of people who’s likenesses, I’d wager, adorned wanted cards from here to Albuquerque.

  Outside the municipal workshops on the far right there was a group of Mexicans cooking around a fire and an excited pack of dogs. Just crossing my path a vicious looking, hunched over old gal scampered with around six feet worth of 2 bore slung over her shoulder. If you’ve ever seen the damage a 2 bore can do you wouldn’t wonder why I decided to keep out of her way. On the left of the Mexicans were a survivalist clan, about a score in number, dressed in loose fitting camouflage suits and armed with some very clean looking assault rifles.

  All these weird and wonderful folks were going about their business within the dust clouds kicked up by the doggie carts that rolled up and down in front of the agency.

  I gave a couple of howdies to the tarts and belvederes and entered the trail agency’s main office.

  6

  Dammit. OK, I ain’t the best person in the world to wait in line, but this was something else. It was at least fifty people long and I was right at the wrong end of it. The roof fans were failing in their job to circulate the air and it was stifling; it stank bad.

  To the right of me, and kicking out one hell of a noise, was a saloon chock full of gambling tables to keep the gangs entertained while they waited for jobs. A hell of a lot of roughs sat at the card tables, either slapping each other’s shoulders and haw hawing or hunched together and muttering darkly to one another.

  Five minutes passed and I felt like I was going to die, hangover and all.

  ‘Young lady will you please stop cursing,’ some rangy looking bastard mumbled in front of me. ‘It ain’t going to get the line moving any quicker.’

  ‘Look man, I can’t take this shit anymore. I’m going out of my mind here.’

  He rolled his eyes and made a stoic attempt to ignore me. He started coughing in his hand; real hard and real violent and kinda flemmy. He brought a bandanna to his mouth to try and stifle it.

  ‘That’s disgusting, more so than my curse words. Perhaps you ought to take your washed up ass out the line and make room for someone who has some kind of life ahead of them.’ Well, the heat, the line and the walk had left me in an awful sour disposition. I wished I could pull those words and stuff ’em back in my yap. I felt even worse when he turned around to look at me, all watery eyed and upset looking.

  ‘I’m sorry mister, the heat ain’t agreeing with me. Sorry.’ I looked down, clamping my mouth shut. I sure did feel awful as he turned slowly away again.

  ‘What you here for anyways, you after some protection for the trail?’ he asked, finally breaking the long heavy silence.

  ‘No sir, I’m looking to offer my services in that department.’

  He turned around again and gave me that dumb surprised look that I so often receive but, seeing as I’d been a total bitch, I decided to be temperate with this fella. Plus his “natural disaster” looks were appealing to me somewhat.

  ‘My name’s Jezebel, Jezebel St. Etienne. Mean anything to you?’ said I, fearing the worst.

  ‘Can’t rightly say the name’s familiar. What qualifications do you come with?’

  ‘Why I’m a very experienced gunfighter and leveller, with over 28 notches to my name.’

  ‘Leveller? What kind of trade is that? Construction?’

  Patience Jezebel, deep breath. ‘No sir, it means I go about bringing fairness where there ain’t none.’ I closed my eyes. ‘Those folks in Houston label me a vigilante, but I don’t like that term as I don’t abide lynching.’

  ‘Oh I see, and how do you make money doing that?’

  ‘Spoils I find on those I deal with and gifts from those I’ve helped out.’

  ‘Hmm, sounds awful like banditry to me.’

  ‘Well it ain’t sir, I am very righteous.’

  He looked at me real serious for a moment, and then stared at me long and hard.

  ‘Well I can see you’re a killer, all right. I hope to god you’re as righteous as you claim.’ He looked about a bit and then said, ‘Come with me,’ left the line, and headed towards the door. That suited me just fine. Having the chance to leave that line was too great an opportunity to let up at that moment.

  ***

  As we made our way through the crowds of desperados I was soon wondering what the high hell I was getting into but, I had been in the sun too long that day and my damned loins were leading me along. I suffer one hell of a daddy complex you see, when it comes to the fellas. Yeah, well, it’s a long story.

  ‘Don’t get many lone females offering guarding on the trail. In fact I’d say you’re the first I’ve ever heard of,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, and if you’re nice you’ll get more than guarding.’ Self-promotion you understand.

  He just stopped and looked at me in not a nice way at all, then turned around and carried on walking, ‘Come on.’ he barked.

  ‘Listen man, I ain’t got nothing against fags if that’s your inclination,’ I tried.

  Again he stopped, turned around and glared. Jesus, there was no right side to some folks.

  We were going on along this dirt track to what seemed to be the ass end of the trail agency’s land, when I sensed a tension coming from the fella that I didn’t think had anything to do with my uncouth manners. I saw the guy fidget and twitch a tad. Not too much but just enough for me to notice. Oh dear old timer, I thought, oh dear.

  Next thing his big old arm swung around like a dying sea monster lolloping around the surface of the ocean and, in his rheumatoid fist, he brandished some crappy little 9mm. But I was way too quick for him. I had the barrel of my .44 pressed in his jugular before he was anywhere near drawing a bead on me. I sure had him clucking, too.

  ‘What’cha doing old man?’ I hissed.

  And with that he looked like he was full of fright, he dropped his little pistol on the ground and raised his arms in the air like a good boy.

  ‘What are you?’ I asked, ‘Some kind of has-been bounty hunter sick with the trauma?’ I tugged my Ruger from his neck and held it skyward in a gesture of peace then slowly holstered the bad girl. I just knew it in my guts that this old fool had not meant to rob nor kill me, and now I was damned interested to find out what his business with me really was.

  I rolled my eyes. He sure was taking a long time to stop quivering and grab a grip on himself though.

  ‘I… was – I was just testing you to see if you were any kind of g-gunfighter like you claimed.’

  ‘You dumb bastard. I could have killed you.’ For someone reason I started to feel sorry for the gibbering old fella.

  ‘Well you done seen I’m as good as I said, now what?’

  He lead me through some bushes on the very perimeter of the agency grounds and I was thinking, look buddy you might want to mess around with me now, but your fear on the wrong end of gun done dried me right up. As I said, there was just something about him.

  As I pushed through after him I could see him there hunched and wheezing, still shaking while he led me through these bushes. It got to being really annoying. I was getting stabbed and jabbed by branches and stuff but we eventually came to a clearing and it became apparent what all the fuss was about.

  7

  Standing before me in the clearing was a mule with knocking knees, a swollen belly, a big old nose that drooled thick white gunk, ears that looked like they’d been a bug’s banquet and an expression on its face like it had been shot in the head and lived. Next to this most pathetic example of livestock I had ever seen stood a very different creature.

  She was around the same age as me, but a good bit taller,
and skinnier too. She had short dark hair and eyes that were also real dark yet gleamed with life. She was prettier than me so, me being me, my initial reaction was to hate her. Hate her as deeply as I would have had she spent her whole life dogging me at every turn.

  ‘This here is Alice, my daughter.’

  I looked at her and she looked at me and she smiled. I’ll be damned if the smile didn’t seem forced. She held out her hand to me as if I was something she was in a hurry to get rid of. I took the hand firmly in mine.

  ‘Hi, pleased to meet you… sorry what is your name?’ she asked airily.

  ‘Jezebel.’ She looked at me weirdly and I added, ‘Yeah, like the whore in the bible.’

  ‘Fallen, abandoned woman,’ the bitch corrected with her sing-song pretty little voice.

  ‘Yeah you could say I’m all of them things,’ I said, trying to make light. I wanted to hasten to the money and glory part. I stuffed my lip with a good pinch of chew in anticipation and enjoyed the fact that this Alice character didn’t seem too partial to the habit, judging by the way she wrinkled her nose.

  ‘I need you to take Alice to Houston proper,’ the old man began. The fella had a real good habit of answering my questions before I needed to ask them.

  ‘OK, what you paying?’ I spat a bit of chew juice just a little too close to Alice’s booted feet. ‘Do excuse me ma’am,’ I said, with a smile as I touched the front of my bandanna in respect. She just shuddered and scolded me with those dark eyes of hers.

  I became aware that there was a weird, long silence and I thought, fuck me, it was only a little chew spit and it didn’t even touch her, when the old man finally piped up.

  ‘Three thousand in gold.’

  There was another shorter silence, until I broke it with a mighty belly laugh. I wiped my eyes and noticed the two were just looking at me all stern like.

  ‘I’m being serious,’ the old man said, ‘deadly serious.’

  ‘Why are you going to pay little old me all that money to take your daughter to town, huh? Just ’cos I’m quick on the draw old man?’

  ‘My name’s Doug, Doug Goldberg and no, it ain’t just ’cos you a quick draw. Like I said it’s cos you’re a lone woman who, it seems, can take care of herself.’ He looked at me as if he was trying to convince himself more than me. ‘The only other woman I could find was an old crone who seemed too light in her senses and too heavy in her armament.’

  ‘I saw some ladies who looked like they were in the guarding business up yonder.’ I knew full well what he was getting at but I was having me some fun.

  ‘They were in bandit gangs,’ he said, flatly.

  I smote my brow and couldn’t help but giggle. ‘Aw, I see. You want your little girl to arrive with her dignity intact.’

  ‘Yes,’ he hissed, ‘but it seems to me you ain’t serious about the escorting business so perhaps I’ll take my gold elsewhere.’

  ‘Hold on now,’ says I. ‘Dougie I ain’t never even heard of so much money, least of all in pure gold. How do I know this ain’t a trick?

  ‘Three thousand is worth the price of a daughter’s safety on that damned trail and I no longer have the constitution to do it alone.’

  ‘Let me see the money and I’ll say yay.’

  He looked nervous.

  ‘The gold’s in Houston.’

  I stood there for a little while and then shook my head at this hack job scenario I had stumbled into. ‘Yeah, and I’m in Old France eating bread and drinking wine. What the hell is this set up? I’m outta here.’

  I spat chew and began to make off in a dark temper.

  ‘No wait.’ It was the light voice of Alice. ‘My dad really needs your help, Jezebel.’

  ‘I’m sure he does…’

  ‘Show her the proof, Daddy.’

  Doug searched around his personage frantically before coming across a bunch of papers. ‘Here,’ he said, thrusting them towards me.

  The paper was awful stiff and kind of waxy, and was a stark yellow, which seemed weird. On its surface was boxes, numbers and large titles that said stuff like By order of Houston such and such and the holder of the account whatnot, and there I saw it: Doug’s name and three big’uns to be paid in gold. And then something about While some other fella in Houston promised to look after it for him until such time as yada, yada.

  ‘This don’t mean shit to me,’ I said and, handing the papers back to him, began to make my way back through the god awful scrub the old fool had dragged me through.

  8

  The community atmosphere of the agency changed as the evening approached. It got darker, and I ain’t just talking about the light. The booze began to flow and a skiffle band kicked up a din on anything they could find that’d emit a noise.

  I began to feel awful exposed and I needed an excuse to either head back into Austin or get out of town real quick. The noise and confusion around the agency was perfect cover for a Houston lawman to make use of if they planned on trying their luck again.

  Derelicts sat in the gutters munching on discarded morsels, their skin like twisted leather and their features warped by years of boozing. One of the belvederes I had seen earlier was sat in the gutter along side ’em with his head in his hands, his fancy boots, hat and coat gone and the jewels wrenched from his shirtfront. Another of the belvederes lay dead beside him in a similar state of undress. A crudely made shank was protruding from his chest.

  As I idly watched a drunk get near beaten to death with hickory clubs I began to feel real guilty about Dougie and Alice. I could have at least hung out with them and made sure they were OK. The fearfulness they couldn’t hide was sure to find them some dastardly trouble.

  Despite some occasional violent scenes it really was all more or less jolly at first, but then it began to deteriorate somewhat. A scuffle broke out here and someone was robbed there and then, in the not so far off distance, a gun barked. Well, I thought to myself as I adjusted my bandanna on my forehead, that’d be worth investigating.

  I followed the direction of the gunfire around the back of the agency. It was pretty dark but I could make out some figures bustling around. As my eyes adjusted and I got closer I could see exactly what was going on and I’d be lying if I said a part of me didn’t want to bolt all the way back home right there and then.

  There was that gang of bandits I’d seen earlier whooping and jeering and behaving in a generally lewd fashion. The stench coming from them told me they were pretty well liquored up, and that’s putting it mildly.

  Kicking up a heck of a chorus with the bandits was a fat mule and, on the floor by its stomping hooves was none other than old Dougie, and I did not need to consult a doctor to see he was suffering from a gunshot wound to the chest. And there, doing a laughable job of keeping those bandits at arms length by shakily prodding a pump action scattergun at them, was a very frightened Alice.

  If there had been a gambling table present I’d a laid down money on it being two minutes tops before she was airtight. If you don’t know what it means don’t ask. Dougie coughed and spluttered and I figured he was feeling pretty damn shitty at the fact his whole world was crumbling around him in all kinds of ways.

  I’ll be honest with you I was chock full of fear myself, but that’s just between you and me OK.

  The thing is, I ambush gangs, I do not like happening upon them like that. I certainly did not like going against those kinds of numbers. I ain’t superhuman nor stupid, and all I had on me was my single-action six shooter and my carbine, which weren’t even loaded. Not to mention, me coming along just meant more holes for more dicks. I could have ran easy, I should have ran probably, but I guess that just ain’t in my nature.

  I got that feeling in me. It ain’t an altogether nice feeling but it’s always best to be prepared. So, I acknowledge the facts and accept death is likely. I never go into any of these situations expecting to win, see. That’s how it is; you can always get beat.

  Now, there are three people in a gang you wan
t to look out for. The one with the yap, that’s the guy who wants to be in charge, the one standing near him looking concerned or serious or smug, that’s the one who is actually in charge, and thirdly the one standing away from the others in quiet confidence. That’s the most dangerous one of ’em all. Hair lank and greasy, high cheekbones, small stubbly jaw and dead little eyes; he was a real mean looking sonofabitch.

  I went up to the guy in charge, a tall lazy looking fella, as if I was going to ask him what he thought he was doing. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the dangerous one stiffen and take notice while the one who wanted to be in charge was acting like the stripper had just turned up.

  Before the leader had time to respond to my presence, I removed Comeuppance from her leather cradle and planted a .44 magnum slug into the dangerous one’s brow, sending him reeling backwards and his brains adding some much needed colour to the back wall of the agency. While they were wondering what-the-hell, I pulled Comeuppance’s hammer back with my thumb and blew a neat hole plumb in the leader’s heart. He was dead before he hit dirt.

  Now, the gang’s confidence had been sapped but it didn’t stop them reaching for an assortment of weapons, drawing beads on me and looking damned mean doing it.

  The wannabe leader was clearly hit by a conundrum; he was shocked and angry at what had happened but found himself in the position he had long hankered for. I was betting on the chump’s own self-interest and his desire to enjoy his new career as I pulled back the hammer for the third time and levelled the .44 magnum right at his head. I was not two feet away and everyone around knew I weren’t gonna miss.

  ‘Howdy,’ I said, ever the one with the manners.

  ‘H-howdy?’ says he, all drooling and aquiver.

  ‘What’s it gonna be, boss? You taking your boys the fuck out of here or am I gonna have to gun you down?’ I was doing my best trying not to look as scared as I felt. These were desperate men after all.

  ‘No miss,’ he said, with a slavering smile. ‘I think we’re going to be taking our leave now.’