by Danny Hogan
There wasn’t a bandit in Texas who did not know his name and, finally, a powerful desperado by the name of Gilberto got the drop on him and that was that. I witnessed the foul deed but, well, that’s another story. All that I got to remind me of my man was the old duster I wear on my back and the big iron I wear on my hip. And a kinda daddy complex, as I said.
Still in my teens I had nothing to do but carry on his work; using all the gifts I was born with. “Jailbait Justice”, they used to call me. Yeah, the women’s league didn’t like my nickname too much either, I can tell you. It stuck for a while too ’cos, as you may have noticed, there’s a few folks as still thinks I’m a kid.
I put my head on my knees and began to sob a little, so helpless did I feel. Oh, if only I had stayed in Austin I thought. How I missed that damn place. You have no idea what I would’ve done right then for some food, a mouthful of chew and a snort of whiskey, out on my tiny porch on South Congress.
I scooted over to the door and began to holler through the hole: ‘Give me some food you bastards, I ain’t et in days.’
I could make out a guard walking towards the door, though I could not see his face as the hole only allowed a glimpse of his approaching waist. And then, a view of him undoing the front of his pants and producing his grubby looking cock. The idiot shoved it through and said: ‘Here you go missy, get stuck into that.’
So I did, and bit down on it hard. I should have known there would be consequences but, what else did he expect me to do?
But, oh, you should have heard him screech. Then he punched down on my face through the door and clean bust my nose; sending me sprawling backwards and clutching my blood pissing face. I heard the door open, and next thing I was kicked in the side so hard I left the ground completely for a second. There went yet another rib I’d have to do without. Unable to breath and blinded by pain and blood I felt the monster kneel on my shoulder with all his fat weight, and squeeze the precious air out of me.
Next he grabbed the back of my head and, cursing, he smashed his fist into my face. My brain felt like it was trying to escape down my spine but he did it again; and again; and again…
32
I have no idea how long I was out that time but the sound of voices outside the cell door brought me around. By god, I was in some kind of pain. Every bit of me hurt, stabbed and ached. My eyes had swole shut and my nose felt like it had disappeared into my face. I had to gulp air through my mouth. My lips felt like two old, crusty bedrolls and my thoughts were in a hell of a muddle.
The voices outside sounded like they was talking underwater but I heard the words “bits”, “view” and “prisoner”. That was about all I could make out.
Oh lord, I was thinking, I really ain’t ready to be hung, and I started blubbing again. There was a sound like a book being flung to the floor and the voices ceased. The next thing I heard was the rattle of keys and the lock clicking in the door.
I tried to convince myself that the hanging would stop the pain and agony I was in but I failed; plus I would have to sit through the showboat of a trial. I just wanted to die there and then.
I heard footsteps running up to me, and a voice exclaiming, and then there was someone upon me. But, rather than some big callused mitts hauling me off I felt myself encased in a pair of thin arms and I was being stifled with a bony breast.
‘What have they done to you…?’
The voice still sounded weird, like it was being spoken underwater; all in and out of focus, but I did not need to feel that one of the thin arms had only one hand to work out it was Alice. I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you that I could feel on my back, distinctly, that her one hand was holding a hot gun. I heard her calling out in a mighty panic.
Then I felt another pair of hands on me. This time they were big ’uns, and clearly belonged to a man used to toiling on the range. He said something that I couldn’t understand, but the smooth comforting tone told me it was our friend Tyrone.
I was hoisted up, but I had no strength in my legs and I found myself being dragged along stone flooring.
‘Do you think she’s got brain damage?’ I heard Alice ask, suddenly sounding horribly clear but touchingly concerned.
‘I don’t know darlin’. It’s too early to say,’ came Tyrone’s voice.
Everything got all blurred and muddled again and the next thing I felt was heavenly, cool fresh air. We must’ve been outside and, by the coldness, I figured it was very late at night.
I felt myself picked right up and cradled in big strong arms and then pushed gently along some kind of rough flooring. There was a creaking of wood, a far off snorting and a slow rolling motion, and I passed out proper.
***
When I came to it felt like the whole world was rocking along at one hell of a pace. I felt something cool and heavy removed from my eyes and then: I could see again, by god, albeit blurry as hell. I could make out a canvas tunnel above me, all lit up by the sun, and I could see Alice kneeling beside me, looking sorrowful. She had a big hunk of raw steak in her hand which she put down and then wetted my bandanna from a bucket and began to gently dab my forehead. She followed each dab with a gentle little kiss.
‘I guess we really are buddies now, huh?’ I said, my voice sounding weak and croaky and my throat horrible dry.
‘I ain’t never killed a man before and you know what? I’m not sorry about it,’ she whispered.
I tried to laugh but it hurt too much.
‘Was it – was it one of Elliot’s boys?’
‘They went out whoring all night long, which gave the doc time to fix up Tyrone and then us the chance to come and rescue you.’
I looked around, as best I could, and saw that we was in the flatbed of a wagon, moving like a bat out of hell. I could hear Tyrone’s voice, a little way off, yahooing and he was cracking a whip.
‘Where – where we going?’ Please tell me back to Austin I thought, though I did not have the strength to say it.
‘Houston,’ came the god dammed reply.
I sank back down into the bedding and let out a croaky moan.
‘Are you crazy Alice? Ain’t you had enough already?’
‘Jezebel, I promised you three thousand in gold and I’m going to damn well get it for you.’
‘Fuck the gold,’ I moaned. I put my hand on her arm. ‘Please take me back to Austin.’
‘Don’t worry, Jezebel. It ain’t Houston proper, like I said. In Jersey Village there’s a man who has been keeping my daddy’s gold safe.’
‘Alice, you ever even met Stoneman?’ I heard Tyrone calling back to us. ‘He’s one helluva character. What the hell was your daddy doing business with the likes of him for anyway?’
Alice just looked back at me and said, ‘Besides, I want to take down Elliot more than ever.’
‘Oh god,’ I sighed, as I sank further into the bedding. Then: ‘Where the hell’s my gun?’
‘I don’t know, we couldn’t find it. We can get you a new one when we get to Jersey Village.’
‘No,’ I groaned. ‘You kidding Alice? You got any idea how hard it is to get a .44 Magnum these days?’
‘I’m sure three grand’ll help us,’ said Alice.
33
We left the trail and ended up in the tiny township of Pine Island in order to hole up for a while and lick our wounds. I say township, but it was more like a cluster of cruddy abodes huddling around one municipal building that did pretty much everything: from serve coffee to collecting and distributing mail from the couriers and pigeons.
We spent a good week there trying to convince Alice of her folly but then… I started feeling better and my injuries were healing quickly and, well, then it was Alice who was convincing me what a good idea it would be to get back at Elliot, and a mighty fine job she was doing too.
The long-suffering Tyrone was keeping us in bits with his morning sorties to hunt prairie hogs for the townsfolk, and Alice aided the local treasurer with his math. I finally found some
time to kick back, chew some tabacci and drink some half-good whiskey under the pretence of keeping an eye out for lanky’uns, crusty’uns and bandits. But nobody really happened upon this place and I found myself thinking I could do this for a good while longer.
I nearly had all the feeling back in my gun hand but the only gun they sold there that suited me was a Smith & Wesson Model 625. I also had to buy sufficient .45 ACP shells for it, as well as a cross draw holster and a couple of moon clips. That had both Alice and Tyrone grumbling: me dipping onto our joint funds for that lot.
It was a fair piece and it was double action, but it had nothing on Comeuppance. I really ain’t that much into material things but it sure did feel like there was something missing; not having my old .44 on my hip.
***
It was a Saturday afternoon, just turning to evening, when Alice came up to me as I was pondering; sat there on my ass in the prairie.
‘We’re thinking of going to the municipal building for a drink and bite to eat, you want to join us, Jezebel?’
‘Sure, sounds like a fine idea,’ I said, pulling a length of straw from my mouth, ‘what we celebrating?’
‘That we’re gonna be heading out tomorrow.’ She said this as if she was announcing the arrival of a freshly cooked turkey.
I chomped down on a straw while I figured on what I owed her and she me. I reckoned I was probably missing something, especially as I had escaped a hanging with her help, so I got up and said, ‘Lead the way then, friend.’
As we walked I could almost feel Alice buzzing about something.
‘I know that you ain’t seen me and Tyrone as much as normal these past few days.’
‘Really? I ain’t noticed. Been kind of enjoying my own time out here.’
‘Yeah, well, promise you won’t get mad. OK?’
‘I ain’t promising anything of the sort, just in case.’
‘Well, me and Tyrone have been kind of courting.’
‘Courting? Oh I see, when I do it it’s called fornicating but when you do it it’s called courting.’
‘I was worried that you might be jealous, that’s all.’
‘Jealous, no. Tyrone’s a good guy and handsome and all but, he really ain’t my type. Besides, I’ve only been keeping my drawers on in case I get damned as a whore again.’
‘Jezebel, I really didn’t mean it OK, those were desperate time we were in’
I was a little jealous sure, but it was only because it made me realise that I could hardly remember the last time I had seen any action.
‘We sure were. Listen, I’m happy for you guys OK. You two are the closest I’ve had to friends for a long while; and fine friends you make too. You go good together and, before you ask, I ain’t bridesmaid material. You hear?’
‘Oh Jezebel, thank you,’ she giggled, strangulating me with a hug. ‘I love you, you do know that?’
‘Yeah me too,’ I conceded. ‘By the way, don’t worry about me; the first place we come to with any half decent bucks in and I’ll be good, OK?’
***
Oh we sure did celebrate, by golly. We had steaks and beer, and then a band kicked up a noise and we had ourselves some whiskey and dancing. I have to say, some people can change into total idiots on the drink but both Alice and Tyrone were a riot. It made me realise how much fun some people can be and how, maybe, being a loner wasn’t always best.
I learnt a lot about Tyrone that night too. He had grown up in South Houston but his family got relocated to Prairie View, by force, when they began the Great Renovation all them years ago.
‘You got kicked out of Houston?’ I asked.
‘Oh, we put up a fight all right: my pops, my brother and me. I was the only one to make it out though, gut shot as I was. So, I took my momma and my sister to Prairie View.’
‘How come you never talk about yourself Jezebel?’ asked Alice.
‘I always talk about myself sister, you just don’t listen. Hey you ever hear the one about the priest and the crusty’un?’
Alice looked at me all strange and asked about the damndest thing I ever heard: ‘Jezebel, are you the offspring of a normal person and a crusty’un?’
Well that just poleaxed me right there that did, and I couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
‘Excuse me Tyrone, but I’m gonna have to shoot your girlfriend for that.’
We laughed and, when Alice took herself off to the john, Tyrone turned to me, leant forward and asked:
‘You OK about me and Alice?’
‘Sure why wouldn’t I be? You think I had intentions, you big headed bastard?’ I said, smiling but pushing my chest out to let him know what he was missing.
‘I seen you eye me up before,’ he said to my tits.
‘No offence, but you ain’t my type in that regard and you was doing the eying, I believe.’
‘What? Your daddy wouldn’t forgive you if you brought home a black man?’
I saw through him better than a hooker’s drawers. He knew full well it wasn’t that.
‘Nope, he sure as hell wouldn’t ‘a done,’ I said anyway, by way of misdirection, and packed my bottom lip with chew. ‘So what’s she like in the sack? I bet that hoity-toity façade she’s got falls to the floor as quick as her panties. Am I right?’
‘Oh Jezebel, you know I am too much of…’
‘Yeah, yeah, too much of a gentleman. I got it. Anyway, enough claptrap. Here’s to you and Alice,’ I said, raising my glass. ‘And a gentleman would take his eyes off my titties before she got back,’ I added.
We laughed as our glasses clinked and Alice rejoined us with a “What’s so funny?”.
It was the best night I would have for a very long time.
34
Our wagon, the one that Tyrone and Alice had rustled from Brenham, was a wondrous thing: not that big by usual standards but it suited our needs just right. There was plenty of room inside for me and Alice to sit jabbering, while Tyrone sat on the buckboard, guiding the horses. One of those animals was his own and the other they had rustled along with the wagon.
It was quite comfortable too, once you got used to the bouncing around.
It only took three easy hours to get to Jersey Village and we only had to stop once: to rescue a family from a pack of lanky’uns. Tyrone sure could shoot and, between us, it was just nuts.
The entrance to the village was bizarre. A welcome sign was pitched beside some neat looking grass banks fringed with living tree. It looked altogether like a dainty shrine to quaintness from a picture-postcard of old. The town itself was another matter.
It was as bawdy as could be and, despite it being only midday, the streets were packed with drunken revellers partying, singing, dancing; you name it. There was a bunch of hippies and hobos passing cigarettes to one another, and a tribe of survivalists, like the ones I’d seen in Austin, making their way humourlessly by them.
I could see a freak show pitched up on the sidewalk that was doing a roaring trade, and a near-nekkid lady on stilts was plodding about passing cards to everyone.
I reached up from the buckboard and took one from her. It was a photo picture of two topless ladies holding a scroll between them, which ordered us to: Eat at Cavanaugh’s Bar and Grill.
‘That’s where we’re heading,’ said Alice.
‘Good. I’m hungry,’ I said.
‘No, I mean that’s where the man is who has my dad’s gold.’
‘Yeah, Cavanaugh Stoneman, and it ain’t so much an eatery as a whorehouse,’ added Tyrone.
A bit further along the road it was possible now to see Houston’s skyline in the distance, and by god, I had never seen the like. Huge towers pointed to the sky, just like in the pictures I’d seen of how cities used to look before the change. Some of them towers looked even more impressive than I had imagined, and the whole scene felt otherworldly.
‘Oh my god, have you ever seen anything like that?’ asked Alice.
‘Yeah, it looks awful nice don’t it? From here
that is,’ said Tyrone.
‘What the hell are they anyway, temples?’ I asked.
‘No Jezebel, residences and businesses; residences and businesses, and Des Diamond and his cronies own the lot. That’s the whole point of the Renovation.’
A wise old troubadour once said: “Just ’cos you got the power, that don’t mean you got the right,” but it sure did look pretty, though.
As impressive as Houston’s skyline was, these streets that we were slowly rolling down put up a good show of attention getting themselves. Showgirls, clowns, and acrobats in full fig skirted around bands of thugs, roughnecks, slingshot men and genuine desperados of every stripe.
A man of the cloth had his cassock up and was openly jerking off at a bunch of tarts that were having a cigarillo break; yet nobody else seemed to notice it or think it strange in anyway. As we passed him he seemed to be incanting some feverish scripture at the top of his voice; and still no-one batted an eyelid.
‘This is more like it,’ I said, leaning back out of the wagon and onto the buckboard. ‘We can have some fun in this town.’
As we rolled up towards it it became plain to see that the biggest and most extravagant building in town was none other than Cavanaugh’s Bar & Grill.
A huge façade in yellow was lit up like a carnival float and a carpet, once red but now blackened with filth, sprawled out into the street. The entrance was flanked by massive plastic palm trees and on the walls, either side of the entrance, were large photo pictures of skinny girls wearing naught more than pasties and panties. Underneath each picture there were scrolls that were, apparently, sporting their cheesy names. There was a Candy, a Betty, a Sapphire and a…
‘Sulphur? What kind of girl wants to go about proclaiming they smell like a bad egg sandwich?’ I asked. Tyrone just shrugged.