by Jordan Krall
Rebecca made sure she put on a sweet face. The way Betty was talking, it sounded like she was leaning toward hiring her on. That was a good sign. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure to meet you, honey,” Keith said. “I hope you don’t mind saying but you’re a pretty one. So, you work here now?”
Rebecca took his hand and shook it delicately. “I don’t know.” She looked at Betty. “Do I?”
“Yeah, I guess you do,” Betty said.
Black Boned Keith slapped his leg. “Well, isn’t that just great! I come into town expecting the same old entertainment and I get a fresh one right off the stagecoach.”
Betty smiled. “Slow down, Keith. I ain’t sure she’s ready for you just yet. How about you let the girl mingle and then if she doesn’t find a better prospect, we’ll see if she’ll settle for you.”
Keith laughed. “You let this girl know what fun she’ll have, I bet she’ll settle for me right now.”
“Didn’t you already have Angie? What? She didn’t satisfy you?”
“Of course she did but you know I’ve been away from home so long. I got some making up to do.”
“Well, let Rebecca mingle and maybe she’ll come back.” Betty laughed and put her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Go ahead, sweetie.”
Rebecca smiled and looked at Betty who nodded her head in the direction of the tables full of drunken men. It was up to her, the new whore, to impress her boss by getting the attention of all those potential customers. So she did just that, walking by the tables, brushing past some men with her hips while running her fingers through the dirty hair of others.
There was one man in particular she thought was interesting. He looked wealthier than the others and a little bit older. Rebecca decided that this was her mark.
She put her mouth close to his ear and whispered. “You want to take a break from your poker game?”
The man looked up at her and squinted. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Rebecca and it’s nice to meet you, Mr….?”
“Not in the mood for pussy. Go sell yours somewhere else.”
Rebecca’s mouth fell open. Her first instinct was to slap the man across the mouth and cuss at the son of a bitch. But that wouldn’t do any good. Not with Betty watching. Instead, she smiled slyly, winked at another man, and moved on to another table. That’s when Betty called her over to the bar. When she got there, Black Boned Keith was shaking his head.
He said, “Of all the men you decide to come on to, you had to pick that cranky bastard.”
“How’s I to know what a son of a bitch he is?”
Betty said, “You weren’t. But you did good. You went on like it didn’t bother you. Truth is old Frank Dozier over there doesn’t come in for the girls, he comes in to play cards. He always loses, too, but that doesn’t matter. His daddy was rich and left him everything when he died.”
Keith said, “You want to know how his daddy died?”
Betty threw her hands up. “Oh my god, not this story again!”
“Let me tell her. She don’t know it.” He laughed as Betty walked away. “You see, honey, Adam Dozier, that’s Frank Dozier’s rich daddy, owned a bunch of mines all around Screwhorse. Mined for silver mostly but occasionally he’d find other things worth selling. One day he was supervising one of the mines and there they are, digging and digging, doing whatever miners do and guess what they find all buried fifty feet under the ground?”
“What?” Rebecca wasn’t that interested but knew that Black Boned Keith seemed to be a regular customer and therefore that meant he liked to spend money. It was in her best interest to stay on his good side.
“They found teeth.” Keith paused for dramatic effect. “And I don’t mean animal teeth. I mean human teeth, thousands and thousands of human teeth. One of the miners actually ran out screaming, ran away and never came back. Adam Dozier had no use for nonsense like that so he went in to see for himself and guess what happened?”
“I don’t know. What?”
“According to all his men, Adam Dozier let out a scream like all bloody hell and then tried to turn tail and run away but tripped and fell right in a pile of teeth. The men were too scared or confused to do anything because Dozier was both screaming and laughing until he sunk down into the teeth and they were only able to see his fingers. Then soon he stopped making noise.” He paused, widening his eyes. “He drowned.”
Rebecca smiled. She was expecting Keith to start laughing, telling her that it was just a joke and that the real Adam Dozier had died of old age. Instead, he just looked at her with a serious expression and nodded.
He said, “You understand? He didn’t drown in water. He drowned in teeth.”
She didn’t know what he expected her to say so she just said, “Well.”
“I know it’s strange but strange things do happen.”
“Thanks for the story,” Rebecca said. “I guess that explains why Frank over there is such a cranky son of a bitch.” She touched his arm lightly. “Keith, where’s the General Store at? I need to pick up a few things.”
“Just go out the door and turn right. Down the ways a bit. Place is owned by Tom Duma and his wife. Good people.”
“Thank you,” she said. As she was walking out, she caught a glimpse of a man staring at her. He was dressed nicely, even too nicely considering he was drinking whiskey in a whorehouse. Wasn’t he on the stagecoach with her? Rebecca thought he looked familiar but wasn’t sure.
Normally she didn’t like people staring at her but now that she was a working woman, she knew she’d have to get used to it if she wanted to make money. So Rebecca smiled at the man but continued to walk out. Maybe she’ll approach him when she came back.
Once she was outside, Rebecca stood out on the porch for a few minutes, taking in the sights and sounds of Screwhorse. Main Street was bustling with men, women, and horses. Again, she felt that dread in her gut. Rebecca hoped it was just nerves.
She walked down towards the General Store and walked inside. A smiling man behind the counter greeted her.
“Hello there! What could I do for you?”
Rebecca gave the man a great big smile. “I just moved in town so I need a few things.”
The man put out his hand and Rebecca shook it. “My name’s Tom Duma.”
“Rebecca Bywater.”
“You staying at the hotel?”
“No, I’m staying at Betty’s.”
Tom Duma’s smile faded. “Oh.”
“What’s wrong? I thought this town was okay with…..you know, women working there.”
“It is. The town never had a problem with it. It’s just that...”
“Let me guess. You’re a religious man?” Rebecca said. She always found it absurd how many of the men who object to brothels on religious grounds are the men who secretly harbor passions that are even filthier than anything you’d find in a whorehouse.
Tom Duma said, “No, no. It’s just that whenever I see such a young, pretty woman I tend to get a little sad thinking of her selling herself to all those dirty men. I’m not judging you, please don’t think that. Things go on there that can hurt a lady. It’s just discouraging. All those filthy men.”
Rebecca patted his hand. “Oh, rest assured I’ll make the men take a bath before they have a go at me.” She smiled.
“You’re a funny one, Miss Bywater,” Tom said. A smile was back on his face as he continued to help Rebecca with her order. When they were done, he slipped something into her hand.
“What’s this?”
“Just some medicine,” he said. “For women. You feel itchy or have any sores…down there, you just rub some of that on. My wife just ordered it all the way from Thompson, New Jersey. She wants me to give it to any of the girls who come in here.”
Rebecca said, “Uh, okay, well I don’t know if I’ll need it but thank you. I guess.”
As she opened the door to leave, a man walked through the doorway and bumped into her.
“Excuse me, miss,” the man said. “That was clumsy of me.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about it. It was my fault,” Rebecca said. “I’m Rebecca Bywater.”
“I’m Calamaro,” the man said, taking his hat off.
Rebecca practically swooned as she looked into Calamaro’s eyes and hoped that he would visit the brothel and become one of her very first customers. “Well, I must be going. It was very nice meeting you, Calamaro.”
“It was my pleasure, Miss Bywater,” Calamaro said. He pushed the door open for her.
She left the store and walked quickly back to Betty’s. The run-in with Calamaro made her eager to get to work. Her womanhood was warm and aching for a man. Now all she had to do was find one that’d be a suitable substitute for Calamaro.
* * *
Tom Duma smiled at Calmaro and said, “Good evening, sir! How can I be of service?”
“I was told your wife is the one to see for some good food.”
“Oh that she is. I’ll go get her to make you a plate. Should be no more than ten, fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you. Tell her she could take her time. I got nowhere to be,” Calamaro said. He stood against the counter behind which was a wide array of medicines, candies, cooking supplies, and bottles full of unidentifiable liquid. He watched Tom Duma walk into the backroom. Then there were voices. The husband softly asked his wife if she could prepare a plate for the stranger. The wife’s sultry but annoyed voice chattered away. She was just about to go upstairs and clean up. She didn’t feel like making any more food. There was another minute of arguing until the wife finally relented. She’d make a small plate of scraps.
Tom Duma walked out of the backroom with a smile plastered to his face. “Sorry about that, sir. My wife isn’t feeling well but she’ll make you a plate.”
“Please thank her for me.”
“I will, I will.” Tom put his palms down on the counter. “Is there anything else I can get you while you wait? We got the best selection of hard candies, Mexican cigars, and even…” He stopped and looked towards the door to the backroom.
“And even what?”
Tom Duma whispered. “Ever hear of Ass Juice?”
Calamaro shook his head.
“It’s made in the south, hit its peak back before the war. During all the fighting, they didn’t make much of it, though. It’s still hard to come by. You see, it’s made like regular whiskey but once it’s done, they get a whole bunch of dirty, sweaty whores and make them bathe in it. You know, clean up all their girly parts with the whiskey. They sit in it about a week and don’t come out of there for even a minute.”
“Sounds pleasant,” Calamaro said.
“Well, personally I don’t touch the stuff. I got a bad stomach. But all the men in town swear by it.” He looked to the backroom again. “The wife doesn’t like me selling it so I have to sneak it. Got a couple bottles left, if you’re interested. Earlier today I actually just sold a bottle to another man from out of town. Is he a friend of yours? Did you come into town together?”
“No, I came alone,” Calamaro said. “I’m guessing the price is a bit higher than regular whiskey.”
“A little bit, yes, but Ass Juice is worth it, I’m telling you. I swear you can taste cunny and girl-ass in every sip.” Tom Duma smiled. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“Maybe another time.”
“I even have a bottle that’s just full of feet. I mean, they had a bunch of whores just soak their feet in it.”
“No thanks.”
“Suit yourself, stranger.”
Mrs. Duma walked out of the backroom with a plate in her hands. She scowled at the two men and said, “Food’s done.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Calamaro said. The plate was practically slammed down in front of him. He dug into the lukewarm meat and corn.
Tom Duma nodded to his wife and swatted her on the arm. “Make us some coffee, will you?”
“Oh, of course. Not like I have anything better to do.” She walked out of the room in a huff.
“Nice lady,” Calamaro said. He smirked. Women like that always confused him. They acted tough but always seemed to want men to treat them like fragile flowers. They should make up their minds.
“She gets like that sometimes. She can be as sweet as candy, though, hugging and kissing me all over but then all of a sudden she turns into a mean old thing. Good times do make up for the bad ones, though.”
Calamaro thought about what Mrs. Duma would be like in bed. Did she dominate her husband there, too?
Soon the plate was empty and Calamaro wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He thanked Tom again.
“You’re very welcome.” Tom moved his head in close. “Don’t mind me asking but what happened to your ear?”
Calamaro licked his fingers clean. “A kid shot me.”
“A kid shot you?”
“Yep.”
“He have reason to?”
Calamaro said, “None that I saw.”
“So it was just some kid took a gun and shot you?”
“Called himself the Clementine Kid if that holds any meaning to you. Wanted to rob me so he took a shot. I shot back. Kid’s dead but my bullet ain’t what did it.”
“Then what did?”
“Indians.”
Tom frowned. “Oh.”
“Don’t feel so bad though. I don’t think he was so innocent. Kid looked like he’d served in the war. Probably done more killing than you and I could imagine.”
“War will do strange things to a man,” Tom said. “Hell, there’s a fellow in town who fought and came back all nervous and always shaking. He took to hiring whores to tie him to a bed and put scorpions all over his body while he’s lying there naked.”
Calamaro squinted. “Naked?”
“Yes sir. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t like that before the war. That’s what I heard. Maybe I’m wrong and maybe he was always a bit crazy.”
“I’ve noticed that every man has some sort of dirty desire they like to keep hidden,” Calamaro said.
Tom laughed. “Still, it’s damn queer. I’m glad I didn’t get wrapped up in the fighting. The hell if I was going to risk my ass for something like that.”
“Sometimes a man don’t got a choice. Everyone around you doing something, you might do it just so you don’t stick out and look peculiar even if that means doing something you’d rather not do.”
Tom opened his mouth to respond but a noise from the backroom interrupted him. It was a low grunt and then a sound like something heavy hitting the floor.
“Christ!” Tom ran to the backroom. Calamaro dug into his pockets, pulled out an amount of money he thought the food was worth, and then walked out.
He wondered why the sheriff hadn’t talked to him yet. Usually when he came through a town, the law met up with him within minutes. They always gave him the same speech about how their town is different from the others and how it would not tolerate trouble of any kind, big or small. Calamaro noticed that the longer the speech, the more corrupt the town. Because the sheriff of Screwhorse did not come out to meet him, Calamaro was more than a little confused. He would have to be prepared for anything.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Stacklee leaned in close to Betty’s ear. “Something about those guys bother you, too?”
“I don’t know. The guy in the mask is weird, I guess. And I hope June is going to be okay with that other one. He scares me.” She looked over at the new customers. Stacklee usually had a knack for judging people so she tried to see what he was seeing.
Stacklee said, “The guy who went up with June. He doesn’t seem like he’s here to enjoy himself. Looks like he’s just killing time.”
“Most of the men come in here are killing time. You think there’s something different about him?”
“He looked like he’s waiting for something to happen or waiting to do something. I just don’t like it.”
“Keep an eye on him,” Betty said. “What I’m really getting wo
rried about is all that noise from the Indians. Getting worse and worse. I think I saw one of them last night walking around by the church.”
“I imagine the sheriff’s taking care of it best he could.”
Betty laughed. “You think Doyle’s going to do anything? Shit.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the rising din of the Indians outside of town. After a few minutes it tapered off but it left the inhabitants of the brothel unsettled. It wasn’t just drumming this time. There was also a deep voice that sang loudly, echoing through the town like an anxious church bell.
Stacklee said, “Hey, you want me to check on Mary? Make sure everything’s okay?”
“Yeah, but try to do it without upsetting Timothy.”
“Don’t you worry, Betty,” he said. “I’ll treat him like a sweet little baby.”
* * *
Mary felt disgusted with herself.
The whole ordeal had been a messy and degrading lesson in what a woman has to do in order to please a man with connections to those in power. Hopefully Timothy would give his uncle, Mayor Douglas, a good report on what the brothel was doing. Maybe he’d even give her a compliment or two. Didn’t the mayor hire girls for private parties that he threw for fellow politicians? Maybe Timothy would recommend Mary for that. There was sure to be a lot of money in it.
But the disgust was definitely an overwhelming factor as she sat on the bed covered in slime and semen. Timothy was lying on the bed next to her, snoring loudly. What she wanted to do the most was wake him up and get him out of there but since he had paid to stay overnight, there was nothing she could do but wait there just in case he woke up and wanted another screw.
There was a knock at the door.
“Mary? It’s Stacklee. You two okay in there?”
She rushed to the door. “Shhh! He’s sleeping,” Mary said, stepping into the hallway.
“Lord, look at you. You’re a mess,” Stacklee said. “What’s that smell?”
“You really don’t want to know the answer to that.”
“Well, I just wanted to make sure that boy wasn’t giving you any trouble.”