Normally she would be interested to see if the law had decided to become more aggressive with their operations in the town, or identify if there was any easy money to be made with corralling some of the smaller troublemakers. The greatest worry would be if, Heaven forfend, their own faces made an appearance.
The first line of ugly individuals to stare back were familiar sights. The posters were new, printed this morning by the looks of things. She had no need to look at the names beneath each face in turn. Theirs were branded into her memory on account of the times that they had tangled.
The Sanders Boys. Never to be outdone by another, it seemed like they carried a good bounty between them as long as they could be corralled to the gallows together. Each flyer referred to racketeering or general lawlessness – or in layman’s terms, uneventful thuggery that the narrow-minded believed to be footsteps to criminal lore. Derek, Brutus, Jarvis and more. All from one dirt-ugly family with no prospects other than criminality.
Suddenly, her attention was drawn to one further down the board. Within that moment she felt her heart suddenly sink to the soles of her boots. The photo wasn’t a traditional mug shot, where dead eyes stared blankly on demand, but instead was an artist’s rendering of the culprit.
The picture showed a dark-skinned man, clearly of pure Settler blood. Smartly attired. Clean-shaven. Alvina moved closer, aghast about what she was looking at. Beneath the sketch of the man in profile, were the following words:
WANTED
BY PROCLAMATION OF REGIONAL SHERIFF A. JUNIPER
10,000 IN COIN
FOR THE WHEREABOUTS AND CAPTURE OF
COLE ROANER
FOR MULTIPLE ACCOUNTS REGARDING THEFT OF MONIES
‘Son of a bitch,’ Alvina exclaimed. ‘Mind if I take this?’ Alvina asked, so impatient for an answer she began unpinning it from the corkboard. The postmaster waved her to continue, setting his attention on the queue of people who shuffled about their business to him.
* * *
Back at the safe house the poster was read over and over.
Finally, Blakestone stated what everybody uncomfortably thought, though he did it with some amusement. It was a pleasure to be proven right, especially when it came to the new kid. There was always something shifty about him, the eyes especially, and his grandfather always said to look out for those with shifty eyes for they always had secrets to keep – not that he was a measure of decent of course but he did occasionally dispense worthy advice on the rare times he was sober.
And here the secret was. Out in the open for all to see – and judge.
‘Well now. It looks like our new recruit has been keeping a whopper of a lie from us,’ he stated, cutting into an apple with a flick knife. Each segment was pulled off with precision and loudly chewed.
‘What do we think it was for?’ Alvina mumbled. She had rested her head upon folded arms, quite tired of speculating to herself. Unlike her cohort she didn’t relish being correct about him. Secretly she had wished for her suspicions to be wrong, the product of an overactive mind. To her, Cole was a good kid; he had worked hard and was showing promise. Yet that niggling had remained, concerns that had picked at her, convincing her that something was never quite on the level. This was a disappointment in plenty of ways.
‘Say’s theft don’t it?’ Blake spoke with the contents of his mouth quite visible, peppering the table. ‘With that bounty, monies in particular. It’ll be that I wager.’
Alvina rolled her eyes. ‘No, idiot, that’s not what I was getting at. He’s not the type to rob somewhere, is he?’
‘He said that confronting the boss was the first time he held a gun.’ Blake trimmed off another slice, watching the others with interest.
Jack stood the entire time, an open palm covering his mouth. He said not a word, forcing Blakestone to bounce his monologue between the only other recipient in the room.
‘Makes not a lick of sense,’ he grumbled.
‘Driver possibly?’
‘Not from what we saw in Muskratt. He did the job but he was clearly new to the deal. He’s been on the run from the law but that was the first time he was on the run from the law, if you get my meaning. This is frustrating. This is, this is …’ Blake stabbed his knife into the wooden veneer of the table in outburst, finally coaxing a reaction from Jackdaw, though slight. His eyes flicked to Blake’s, unmoved, ‘Didn’t I warn you something like this would happen? Didn’t I say, expressly and at length, that he could be anybody? We know nothing about the guy, or we did, until this.’
Jack’s attention fell back to the poster.
He was thinking.
‘So, uh … what do we do, boss?’ Alvina probed.
Finally, Jackdaw decided to engage with the others. He gave his decision quite matter-of-factly and devoid of any further discussion.
* * *
The evening black hid away a multitude of wrongdoings in Esquelle, yet the Ten of Hearts was proudly lit up as a beacon to those adamant to partake in wrongdoings of excess. The bar downstairs was heaving with well-dressed characters, indulging in drink and dancing, all to the symphony of a swing band. The music did plenty to loosen inhibitions and pair both the lonely and the rich. Bubbles of laughter drifted from the yard, a place where folks could court a little privacy for whatever desires socializing brought them.
It was this laughter that Jackdaw shut out by closing the window to room 13 with a shunt of the frame. He took no interest in the cavorting of others, nor the coaxed giggles by roving hands. The dresser before the window was littered with quality bottles of liquor, with plenty of diversity to cover all tastes. Jackdaw cared as little as to the expense of the bottle he took in hand as he did with his nakedness. His flesh was marked with scratches, the welts diverting the occasional drip of sweat that careered downward.
The woman on the bed behind lay with one leg arched, devoid of clothing bar a loosely wrapped silk gown peppered with depictions of exotic birds. She too was flustered, raven-black hair scruffy from being handled by her company. Bounty’s smell lingered upon Jack’s skin, her taste still upon his tongue. No matter how much he may be inclined to drink this night and during this momentary period of rest, he would heed her advice. If it could be called that.
‘He lied to you? That’s all? That’s the reason why you’re cluttering up my bed? In addition to sulking which, may I add, is far from a becoming trait.’
‘I don’t appreciate liars in my company. If you can’t trust their words then you can’t trust them.’ Jackdaw poured two measures of rum, tasted his and passed the other to his companion. Bounty took it and took a long draw whilst having her eyes journey from the top to the bottom of the man, and everywhere in between. When the glass was pulled away her tongue flicked across her lips.
‘A bit hypocritical isn’t that? You lie,’ Bounty stated.
‘I do not.’
‘Sure you do.’ She sipped the substance from the glass once again. ‘Just fifteen minutes ago you stated – with substantial vigour may I add – that you loved me. I won’t hold it against you, of course, the throes of passion coax falsehoods from all men. It’s a weakness of your sex that we women have come to accept.’
Jackdaw broke eye contact and chose not to have an exchange on that particular topic. The red in his cheeks could thankfully be put down to the post-coitus flush if pressed.
‘He’s a liar. He’s done me wrong. Made a fool of me.’
‘Is your ego that fragile that you have to take everything as an insult? Do you know how many I’ve had to contend with in my lifetime? I could only count them on my fingers if I possessed fifty hands. Come, Jack, step back a moment and ask yourself what he had to gain to be in your employ.’
‘He’s a mole. Wanted to find our workings out. It’s why things have been going so –’ He stopped himself dead, tapping a nail against the tumbler. ‘It’s why business has been peculiar as of late. He’s been passing information to the competition. That’s how they’re up on us.’
‘You have a habit of allowing things to get up on you.’ Bounty smiled, with a glint of sin in her eye. ‘But I can tell by your voice that you’re projecting somewhat. Could it be that you want someone to blame and blessed coincidence tossed him in your lap?’
‘Coincidence has a peculiar way of making itself known.’
‘It always does. Never mistake it for fate.’
‘What’s your point?’
Bounty sat herself up and covered her modesty with the robe. It was far from her place to dictate his running of the Jackrabbits but the woman’s familiarity gave her a pass to make observations. Something that Jackdaw would have permitted no other.
‘My point … is that you shouldn’t be looking for meaning in things where there is none. Tends to make situations worse.’
She wrapped her fingers around his and beckoned him back to the bed. The trouble with Cole could be addressed in the morning, for tonight Jack was encouraged to channel his frustrations in more agreeable ways.
Chapter Twelve
Reputations
Cole completed his early morning routine much quicker than usual. Outstanding credit with stallholders was paid, provisions were acquired and even a little protection money was collected early. By seven, he strolled into the factory, climbed the stairs and set about lighting the oven. To his surprise everybody was already up and situated around the table, talking between themselves – something that descended to a hush on his entrance.
‘You best be on your finest behaviour today. The 6:39 from Windberg had some thorny cargo with it.’
Alvina tilted her chair back on two legs, watching him hang his coat on a hook beside his bed. A large canvas bag was placed upon the mattress, the springs suddenly whining under the weight. He was in quite a good mood, whistling a charming ditty to himself as he went about his business.
‘Firstly, what were you doing down the station so early?’ Alvina asked, casually hiding her suspicion. The bag was hoisted over his shoulder, brought to the table and its contents placed before her one by one.
‘Papers. Letters. The morning routine?’ A bundle of rubber-bound envelopes was shifted into her hands, shortly followed by wedges of folded newsprint. Alvina began sifting through the mail for anything that stood out or was in particular addressed to herself.
‘I thought that routine involved coffee,’ she added.
‘It’s happening.’ Cole strode to the kitchen, fastening up his apron, continuing his relaxed tune. Blakestone watched all this with scrutiny, patiently driving a whetstone across the blade of his hip knife time and time again before buffing it with a leather chamois. He let Alvina do all the talking.
‘Next,’ she added as Cole busied himself with pots upon the oven hot plate. He lit it before going out, ensuring that it was ready for breakfast, a smart move, he thought, not that he would be met with any praise. ‘Who exactly did you catch a sight of?’
‘Marshal Juniper.’ The name was dropped with the weight it commanded.
‘The Axe? What’s he doing here?’ Blake grunted, sheathing his knife and bundling the cleaning equipment away. It fell effortlessly in its oiled leather home.
The coffee pot began to chatter and whistle as Cole leant on the countertop.
‘Would you like the serious answer that I don’t know, or the sarcastic one being that I didn’t get around to asking him?’
‘Rein it in, Cole,’ Alvina warned.
Jackdaw emerged from his room, adjusting his shirt, which was seemingly tossed on with little care, a trait that was quite unlike him.
‘Regional Marshal Alex Juniper,’ Jack crooned, adjusting his shirt cuffs. ‘Word on the wire was he was venturing our way. See, the new lawman has been rallying Bluecoats in a drive to stamp out corruption and weed out the uncouth. I suppose that bank job finally got his attention. Today it’s the turn of our fair town to be scrutinized.’
‘What does it mean for us?’ Cole poured the coffees sequentially and sat down with everyone.
‘Trouble, mainly. Be vigilant. If he is sniffing around, let us be sure we’re not caught doing something of a criminal nature.’
‘So … It’s a day off today, is it?’ Cole cracked a grin, though his humour was out of sorts when Jack was being serious and it retreated just as hastily.
‘That’s not what I was getting at,’ Jack scorned him. Strange for him to be particularly thorny so early in the morning.
‘Some of us are just not used to constant criminality. Feeling that I’m being watched all the time can be draining. Stop me if I’m wrong …’ Cole took a mouthful of his drink.
‘I forgot you’re a beacon of good character,’ Blake muttered.
‘I have my good aspects.’ Cole suddenly noticed the seriousness in each of the faces around him. ‘What are you getting at?’
It was only the slightest of nods, but a signal was given nonetheless. In seconds the resulting scrum had Cole face first on the floor tiles. No sooner than he was able to object, he was hauled back up again, tossed onto a chair and hands quickly held in place from behind. Of course there was no use in resisting, especially with Blakestone doing most of the heavy work and being none too gentle with it, but this didn’t immediately come to Cole’s mind.
‘What is this?!’ he protested, though his struggles subsided upon realizing their futility.
‘Calm down, Little Fish. This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to ask you questions. You’re going to give me answers. If I don’t like what I hear –’ Jack smoothly holstered his weapon and pointed it front and centre ‘– then I’ll be giving you the worst headache you’ve ever known. Now, no games. No run-around. In a method that doesn’t bore me nor give the feeling of disappointment, tell me why you’ve got a bounty on your head.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘You’re doing yourself no favours.’
‘Really! I didn’t know there was money on me.’
Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Son, I swear, I didn’t say if you knew, I asked why.’
‘Maybe someone had a grudge, or …’ Words struggled to pass his throat in trepidation.
‘Oh, now you’re losing my attention and we both know it’s as short as they come.’ The gun barrel waved back and forth, its darkness harbouring a death sentence.
‘Best talk, kid,’ Blake demanded from behind, supressing the more vigorous thrashing.
Jack scowled at the disruption. ‘Stow it – he talks to me and me alone. Now. I want details. And I want them quick. You have ten seconds.’
Cole decided to come clean and quickly. From his time spent among the Jackrabbits he knew that Jack wasn’t one known for his patience. It wasn’t that he had lied to any of them as any mistruth would be detected with ease. They never probed him about his circumstances, so there was nothing to discuss. That had evidently changed.
‘That job you did? I said you stole everything from the company I worked for? When they checked their losses they went over the books in detail. My books. I told you, I was their bookkeeper.’
It wasn’t an answer but it was a start.
‘I’m listening.’ Jack kept the Pendulum steady.
‘I was skimming a fraction from operational costs. When the robbery came to light, things weren’t adding up for the insurance folks and the auditors were called in. Well, then I was discovered.’
‘I recall you saying you were good with numbers.’
‘Yeah, well, apparently they had someone a touch better,’ Cole grunted, glancing aside in humiliation.
‘Is there anything this kid says which is a truth?’ Blakestone interrupted. Quickly he was told to be quiet, and not in a fashion that encouraged further discord.
‘I’m guessing your boss wasn’t the forgiving sort,’ Jackdaw continued.
‘You would be right. Of course I went on the run with what I had. I didn’t know there was anything on me until just now. You gotta believe that.’
‘How much did you take?’
‘About seventy
thousand.’
Jackdaw pursed his lips at the revelation. ‘Not an unsizable amount. And you had the audacity to call us crooks. How much beforehand?’
‘Plenty I would say. A few hundred thousand at the most.’
Cole rubbed his throat, his eyes narrowing in disgust. This wasn’t about the money, not in the slightest. How dare he be compared to some two-bit bandit.
Suddenly thunder poured uncontrollably from his mouth, catching all by surprise.
‘Do you know what the company did? Strip mining mainly. They employed the desperate and made them work to their deaths. As long as they were hands that could swing a pick or push a cart they didn’t care who was under their employ. Do you know what digging low does to a man, every day for years at a time? Or on a thirteen-year-old street boy? You can guess the result and do you know what exactly happened when those workers dropped dead on shift time? They either tossed them into the blast shafts or buried them outright.’
‘And what does this have to do with the money?’
‘That money was for their last of kin. The ones left behind.’
‘You were going to pay them?’
‘Recompense for the shit the company put them through.’
Blake erupted in laughter. Finally, he revealed what was so amusing.
‘Hah! Fucking great! A thief with a conscience, lucky us!’
‘I said quiet,’ Jackdaw spat sharply, punctuated with the raising of his palm. The laughter stopped. ‘What does it matter to you if people go without?’
‘Call it a courtesy. I knew what it was like growing up with nothing and being treated with disdain. I was in a position to change that for the better.’
‘Elaborate.’
Cole clenched his lips.
‘E-lab-o-rate,’ Jackdaw demanded. ‘I will not ask again.’
‘I lost my pops in a mining accident when I was seven. He was planting charges when the foreman signalled them to be blown prematurely. People like him were disposable, or as the company liked to stress, “accident prone”.’
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