Blood Feud

by David Robbins

“Just off the ferry.”

  “You remind me of my brother. He had corn hair, too. He got hit by a wagon and his head was crushed. I cried so much, my eyes hurt.” She showed rows of nice white teeth. “I’m Tallulah.”

  “Chace.”

  “You’re awful easy on the eyes.”

  “You’re awful young to notice.” Chace led Enoch around her and acquired a second shadow. “You want something?”

  “Will you be looking for work?”

  Chace regarded the stream of human traffic in both directions and the buildings that lined the street. “I reckon I will. I have to eat. Why did you ask?”

  “Might be I can help. Tunk is always looking for new hawkers. You’re young enough yet—he might let you work for him.”

  “Who is this Tunk?”

  “He runs the streets. The hawkers, that is. You can’t hawk if you don’t hawk for Tunk. But he lets you keep ten cents on every dollar you make.”

  “That much, huh?”

  Tallulah didn’t look happy about it. “Anyone complains, he has them beat up.”

  “What do your folks think, you working for a man like that?”

  “He ain’t no man. He’s not much older than you. And I don’t have any folks. My pa left when I was a baby and my ma took sick and died last year. There’s just me now. I lived on the street a whole month before Tunk took me in. A bad month, that was. I about starved.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twelve. How old are you?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to keep more of your money?”

  Tallulah looked at him. “Why wish for what you can’t have? Tunk makes the rules, not me.”

  Chace spied a water trough. As Enoch dipped his muzzle, Chace wet his hand and cooled his brow and his neck. Tallulah watched him, quiet and intent.

  “How many hawkers does this Tunk have working for him?”

  “Altogether?” Tallulah puckered her mouth. “Gosh. I never counted. But we work the whole city. I’d say forty or better.”

  “And all of them pay him the same as you?”

  “They do or they have their bones broke.” Tallulah’s green eyes showed puzzlement. “Why are you asking so many questions? Do you want me to take you to him so you can ask to hawk?”

  “My ma would call you an omen,” Chace said.

  “You don’t make sense. Is that yes or no?”

  “When can we go see him?”

  “Not now,” Tallulah said. “Tunk moves around a lot, checking on us hawkers. He’s never in one place for long except at night when we all meet in the Roost, an old pirate building. You can talk to him then.”

  “Pirate building?”

  “You sure don’t know much about Galveston, do you? It got its start by a pirate. Lafitte, I think he was called. The army or somebody drove him off a long time ago but some of his old buildings are left. The Roost is one of them. No one ever goes there but us.” Tallulah glanced down the street. “I better get to hawking. If Tunk finds me talking to you, he’ll get mad. Meet me out back of the Texas Star Flour Mill about sunset.”

  “Where is it?” Chace asked as she hurried away.

  “Ask anyone. They can tell you.” Tallulah smiled and waved and then raised her voice to shout, “Apples! Fresh apples here!”

  Chace patted Enoch and ambled on. He spent fifteen minutes crisscrossing streets. A carriage came at him and he moved aside. He was standing close to a boardwalk when perfume wreathed him and he turned to find a large woman in a red dress and a gay hat with an ostrich feather. She was studying him and twirling a pink parasol.

  “How do you do, ma’am?”

  “My, aren’t you polite?” She had a deep, musical voice that did not fit her bulk.

  “My ma’s doing.”

  The woman had great puffy cheeks and full puffy lips and was wide enough to be mistaken for a buckboard. Her lively green eyes danced with amusement as she scrutinized Chace.

  “I’m Madame Bovary. Could be you’ve heard of me.”

  “Could be I haven’t.”

  Madame Bovary laughed. “That will teach me to be more humble. I run the best house in Galveston. Folks come from hundreds of miles inland to pay my place a visit. A night with my girls is a night in paradise, they say.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “I can tell you’re not impressed. At your age I wouldn’t have been, either.” Madame Bovary came over and patted Enoch. “Nice mule you’ve got here.”

  “You know mules?”

  “Mules and men,” Madame Bovary said, and chuckled. “Mules I learned on the farm. Men I learned when we got thrown off the farm by the bank and I had to help make ends meet.” Some of the amusement faded from her eyes. “That was years ago. Now I’m successful and rich and can do as I please and it pleases me to invite you to tea.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Are you hard of hearing? I’d like to sit you down and have a talk. Maybe offer you a job at my establishment.” She reached over and caressed his hair. “You’re about the most beautiful boy I ever did see.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “I’ll explain when we talk. How about four? It’s two now. That gives me a couple of hours to complete my errands and do a little shopping. Just knock on the front door and Sam will admit you.” Madame Bovary twirled her parasol and moved off.

  “Wait,” Chace said. “How do I find your place?”

  “Austin Street. Can’t miss it. Look for the biggest house.”

  “What do you make of that?” Chace said to Enoch. He roamed on, leading rather than riding, and came across a stable. Inside, it was cool and still and smelled of hay and horses. An old man was stabbing hay with a pitchfork and feeding it to a stallion in a stall. Chace went down the aisle and said, “I’d like to put up my mule.”

  The old man had skin like leather and gray-and-white grizzle on his bony chin. He went on pitching. “Pick a stall or there’s the corral out back.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  The old man leaned on the pitchfork and regarded Chace. “This is a paying proposition.”

  “I figured it would be.”

  “I let folks board their animals for free, I starve.”

  “I’ll pay you soon as I can. I’ve just struck town,” Chace said. “I’m not afraid of hard work and I might have prospects. A lady named Bovary has offered me one, but I ain’t sure yet as I’ll take it.”

  “Bovary, you say? Madame Bovary?”

  “That’s what she called herself.”

  The old man displayed tobacco-stained teeth. “They say she likes them young. And you want me to board your mule on her offer?”

  “I said I would pay you.”

  The old man turned to Enoch. “Your animal is in luck. Do you want to know why?” He went on before Chace could ask. “Because you’ve been honest. I can’t tell you how many try to skip out without paying me. I’ll put up your animal and you can pay me when you can pay me.”

  “I’m obliged.”

  “One thing,” the old man said, and nodded at the Spencer. “You might want to leave that with me, as well.”

  “What for?”

  “You seen many folks parading around with rifles in their hands? No, you have not. Galveston has ordinances about firearms and the law here is prickly about having those ordinances broken. You want to go on toting it, be my guest. But don’t say you weren’t warned if they throw you in jail.”

  “Come to think of it,” Chace said, “I didn’t see any guns at all. Not even pistols.”

  “Told you. Galveston likes to think it is civilized. People have to hide their weapons.”

  “That’s not right.”

  “A gun makes those in power uneasy. They don’t like to be reminded that those they lord it over can rise against them.”

  “I never thought of it like that.”

  “Take the last stall on the left,” the old man said. “I’ll see that your mule is watered and fed.” He turned back to the pile of hay
. “I’m Clarence, by the way.”

  “His name is Enoch.”

  “What?”

  “Enoch,” Chace said. “My mule.”

  The old man said a strange thing. He stared at Chace and declared, “This city will eat you alive, boy.”

  After the shade of the stable, the sun was harsh and glaring. Chace took the warning to heart and pulled his buckskin shirt out so it was over his belt and hid his Arkansas toothpick. He continued exploring. Galveston was a bounty of marvels: the first streetlamps he had ever seen, the first fire wagon, the first streetcar, the first building with a giant clock. When he saw the time, he turned to a man walking past. “Pardon me. Can you tell me where to find Austin Street?”

  The man wore a suit and bowler and smelled of lilac water. He sniffed and said, “Bumpkin,” and walked on.

  The second man reeked of sweat and had runny eyes and merely shook his head.

  The third man had a dignified air and walked with a thumb hooked in his vest over a gold watch chain. He regarded Chace as Chace might regard a new kind of critter. “Austin Street, you say?”

  “A lady named Madame Bovary has invited me to tea.”

  The man’s eyes crinkled. “I can see why. Sure, son. I’ll give you directions.” He winked. “But you have to promise to never let my wife know I know where it is or she’ll peel my hide.”

  Madame Bovary’s “house” turned out to be a mansion set back from the road along a gravel drive lined with roses. Chace went up the marble steps and rapped with a brass knocker.

  A black man in a brown uniform opened the door. He had gray at the temples and was clean shaven.

  “You must be Sam,” Chace said.

  “And you must be the young gentleman madame told me to expect.” Sam stepped aside and motioned.

  “I am in the lap of luxury,” Chace declared.

  Plush carpet covered the floor. The walls were paneled and adorned with paintings of men and women in stages of undress or entirely bare and often entangled. In a recess stood a statue of a man and a woman, both naked, their hands where in public they would get arrested.

  Chace stopped and stared. “I didn’t know they had such a thing.”

  “It is madame’s stock-in-trade, you might say,” Sam said.

  “You must love your work.”

  Sam smiled. “I care for madame. She’s as fine a lady as ever lived. She bought me and freed me long before Mr. Lincoln came along.”

  A spacious room had been painted bright pink. Along the walls were velvet couches on which several women reclined or were sitting and talking. All were young and wore exquisite clothes.

  Sam said, “It’s early yet or there would be more of madame’s girls.” He moved on.

  Chace noticed one of the women look at him and laugh. She had a heart-shaped face and red curls and lips as full as ripe cherries. He smiled and she gave him a scornful look. “Who’s that one?”

  “That would be Sasha,” Sam said. “She tends to look down her nose at those who don’t meet her standards.”

  A sitting room had three walls all of glass. Flowers were everywhere. In the center was a gilded table with four chairs and in one of the chairs was Madame Bovary. She had changed into a blue dress and wore a necklace studded with sparkling diamonds. “You came,” she said happily, and bid him have a seat. “That will be all, Sam.”

  “Yes, madame.”

  The chair had cushions so that sitting on it was like sitting on a bed. Chace bounced a few times, and grinned.

  Madame Bovary hung on his every movement. “Man and boy rolled into one. It will be a shame when you change.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Boys don’t stay boys forever. They become men and lose a part of them they can never replace.”

  “I’ll never lose me,” Chace said.

  A silver teakettle rested on a stand. Beside it were two china cups and saucers with floral designs and a golden bell. Madame Bovary filled both cups and sipped hers and sighed with contentment. “I do so love rosemary tea. It’s good for the digestion, you know.”

  “My ma likes tea but I’m partial to milk myself.”

  “If you had tits you might think different.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I refuse to drink anything that comes from inside something else.” Madame Bovary patted his hand. “But I didn’t ask you here to talk teats. I asked you here because I like you and it would delight me greatly if you would like me. What do you say, handsome boy? Care to put yourself in my hands?”

  Chace took a swallow of tea, and grimaced. “I’m listening.”

  “How would you like to be my greeter? I’ll pay you two hundred dollars. Plus you can eat in the kitchen if you like.”

  “Two hundred?” Chace said. “My pa never made that much in a year in his whole life.”

  Madame Bovary chortled. “No, delightful one. Two hundred dollars a month. If you stay a year you will earn two thousand four hundred dollars.”

  Chace stared.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “Two thousand four hundred dollars?”

  “My compliments. Your ears work.” Bovary picked up her teacup and delicately sipped. “I’ll give you the first month in advance so you can get rid of those smelly animal hides you’re wearing and buy acceptable clothes. Have your hair trimmed while you’re at it. You have beautiful hair but it will look even more beautiful if it is less shaggy.”

  “Two thousand four hundred dollars.”

  “Honestly,” Bovary said, and put down her cup. “Be dazzled if you must, but it’s less than I pay Sam. Of course, he does a lot more for me than be my greeter.”

  “What is that, exactly? A greeter?” Chace asked. “What would my job be?”

  “You will work from six in the evening until six in the morning six days a week. You will wear a suit and polished shoes. When my customers come, you will admit them and show them to the parlor where my girls wait.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s what greeters do. They greet people. What else did you expect?” Madame Bovary indulged in more tea. “Believe me when I say there are some who would kill to have a job like yours. Not only will you make a comfortable income, but you’ll meet some of the most important people in Galveston. Hell, in all of Texas. So who knows? It could open doors for you.”

  Chace drained his cup in a swallow. “Damn, I hate tea.”

  Madame Bovary laughed. “Do we have an agreement? Or do you need time to think about it?”

  “I ain’t stupid,” Chace said.

  Her eyes twinkling, Bovary said, “I’ll take that as a yes. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d very much like to know what my weakness has led me to hire. Who are you, Chace Shannon? Tell me a little about yourself.”

  “What you see is who I am.”

  “That’s no answer.” Bovary reached across the table and gently placed her hand on his. “Please. I would very much like to be more than your employer. I would very much like to be friends.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Oh, dear boy,” Madame Bovary said. “You must learn tact. But trust me when I say I would never do anything to hurt you. Now, about yourself, if you please.”

  Chace stood. He walked to the glass wall at the back. Beyond was a magnificent rose garden. “You’re powerful fond of roses.”

  “That I am. They’re beautiful and fragrant and a joy to touch. Just like my girls. Now stop stalling and tell me.”

  Chace turned and looked at her. “This is hard for me. I don’t like to talk about myself.”

  “A lot of people don’t. I’m not asking for your life’s story. I just want to know who you are.”

  “What was that about a weakness?” Chace asked.

  “You’re stalling again but I’ll tell you anyway.” Bovary motioned. “Look around you. All you see are beautiful things. My house, this room, my garden, my girls. Beauty everywhere—wouldn’t you agree?”

  “It’s as close to heav
en as I’ve come across.”

  Bovary laughed, then grew solemn. “The world outside isn’t like my private world. Too often it’s an ugly place, filled with ugly people. I saw enough of that when I was your age. I saw too much, in fact. So now that I can, I surround myself with beauty. I don’t permit a shred of ugly in my life if I can help it.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Madame Bovary responded. “You’re beautiful, Chace. Perhaps the handsomest boy I’ve ever known. When I first set eyes on you, you made my heart flutter, and my heart hasn’t fluttered like that in a long time.” She straightened. “Now, for the last time, enough about me. What about you? Your sweet looks aside, for all I know I’ve hired a killer.” She laughed merrily.

  “You have,” Chace said.

  Madame Bovary laughed some more but then she stopped and her gaze grew troubled. “You’re serious?”

  “It’s only fair you know.”

  “I sure can pick them.” Madame Bovary sighed and raised her cup and set it down again. “How bad is it? Did you kill a rival for a girl’s affections? Did you rob someone and have to defend yourself? What?”

  “I did it because they killed my pa and my uncles and raped my sister.”

  “My God. Where in heaven’s name are you from?”

  “It’s best if no one knows.”

  “How many lives did you take? Will you tell me that much at least?”

  “More than you have fingers and thumbs. I shot a deputy, too, but I think he might have lived.”

  Bovary picked up the bell and rang it. Almost immediately Sam entered and bowed. “Whiskey, Sam, a bottle of my personal stock.”

  “As you wish, madame.” He departed.

  “I didn’t expect anything like this,” Madame Bovary said.

  Chace came to the table. “I understand. I don’t want to cause a gracious lady like you trouble. I’ll go, and no hard feelings.”

  “No, no.” Madame Bovary clasped his hand. “What do you take me for, thinking that I would throw you out?” She shook her head. “Sit down, please.”

  Chace sat and pushed the teacup away.

  “I don’t care what you’ve done,” Madame Bovary said. “The past is the past. I’ve done unsavory things in my own life. I imagine you killed all those people because you felt you had to. You didn’t really want to or like doing it.”