The Burden of Souls (Hawker's Drift Book 1) Page 10

The town would now consider her a shameless slut as well as a foul-mouthed drunk of course. Her husband barely cold in his grave and she’d brought a strange man home with her to spend the night.

  Scandalous tramp!

  Pity Amos had insisted on sleeping on the drawing room floor rather than in her bed. If everybody was going to think her a slut she might as well have had some pleasure from her shame.

  Still, no need to worry, she’d soon have all the men she could handle…

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She already felt sick from all the beer and whiskey she’d downed the previous night, she didn’t need to think about her enforced career change as well; then she definitely would spew over the floor. Her new friend had already spurned her once, vomiting in front of him would hardly help matters along.

  Help matters along?

  What was she doing? Really? Did she think this stranger was going to save her from the whorehouse if she just got him into the sack with her? Was life really that simple?

  She stepped back into the hallway and slid along the wall till she was out of sight.

  Hadn’t that been what she’d always done? Tied herself to a man, usually a violent, stupid man, and think that somehow he would protect her from the world and all the shit that was engulfing it? She was scared and alone, so she’d reverted to doing what she always had done and looked for salvation in a man.

  It wasn’t much of a plan, even last night it hadn’t seemed much of a plan, but she’d been drunk and attracted to this strange man, and when she was in that condition all of her plans tended to be drawn with an uncommonly broad brush…

  *

  The Mayor had arrived just before the girl was about to sing, two more of his long-coated henchmen trailing in his wake. If his freaky eye noticed her at the bar he didn’t acknowledge it, but, by then, the saloon had filled up and she wasn’t quite as obvious as she’d been a few hours earlier.

  “Oily one-eyed cock weasel!” She muttered, glaring at the Mayor’s back.

  Several of the nearby drinkers decided it was time to get a closer look at the new singer and shuffled away from her. Several more openly stared at her in disbelief. They clearly weren’t used to someone sticking it to their precious Mayor.

  She was about to launch into another tirade when a hand clamped around her forearm.

  “Just ‘cos you bought me a few drinks doesn’t mean you got the right to manhandle me,” she protested, “I’m a widow, remember?”

  “Don’t cause a scene Molly, it won’t help you,” Amos insisted, he leaned in and filled her vision. His eyes were the darkest brown, she noticed. Like wood polished to glass. Every other thing about his body was rough, in a worn and weathered kind of way, but his eyes, she realised, were very, very, smooth.

  Oh stop it…

  She wriggled free, pouted a little for the sake of form and then settled back onto her barstool.

  “Very well, I will behave. I swear I won’t hurl any more insults at our beloved and resplendent Mayor…” she waved a finger vaguely over where she thought her heart was a couple of times, “…this side of midnight.”

  She looked back across the bar, but the crowd had parted biblically before the Mayor and allowed him safe passage to the front.

  Fucker!

  She smiled at Amos. She was pretty sure she’d only said that in her head.

  Molly picked up her glass, which was disappointingly empty. She tipped it towards Amos to show him the sorry state she had inexplicably found herself in.

  “If you’re going to get a girl drunk, you might as well do it properly…”

  She could see he was about to say he wasn’t trying to get her drunk, every time she suggested he was hitting on her in some way he protested, but she was a woman of the world. She’d been here many times before with many men. Guys only plied you with booze if they wanted to get laid.

  From town to town, from saloon to saloon; during the years she’d spent drifting along the open road between escaping Bert-Bert and finding Tom she’d seen it again and again.

  Hey, a stranger was trying to get her into bed. It was just like old times!

  Amos shrugged and ordered another couple of beers.

  She peered at him; he was tall and spare, not skinny though, whipcord muscle. Hard, weather-beaten skin, darkened by years out in the sun. His hair was shaved short and there were a few flecks of grey showing in the stubbly growth around his ears. He was maybe ten years older than her, possibly less. Years in the saddle aged you after all.

  He carried a single pistol in his belt; she didn’t think it was for show. He had an easy confidence. He didn’t scare much either she bet, he could handle himself. He kept talking to her, kept buying her drinks, he was interested.

  A better bet than a life working in Hawker’s Drift’s only cat house.

  How long has Tom been dead?

  How long was one supposed to wait? She’d never been a widow before after all. In a perfect world she would grieve for a respectable amount of time, months would probably be more acceptable than weeks and certainly days. But in a perfect world she would have loved the man she had married and no sick one-eyed fucker would be trying to force her to work in a whorehouse to pay off her debts. Or rather the debts of the man she was supposed to be grieving for.

  She knew nothing about Amos, save that he was a stranger to Hawker’s Drift. Admittedly that was a big tick in the plus column, but what else? His knuckles were scarred, mementos from bar brawls or from knocking his women about? Maybe it was just from labouring or working on a ranch, but given she was attracted to him and her history with men, it would probably be the former.

  There was a distance about him and she hadn’t probed too deeply, she had enough of her own woes to occupy her after all, but he clearly didn’t want to talk about himself. Did he have something to hide or was he just modest? Some men were. She’d been told.

  Did she need to know anything about him? If he could get her out of this shitty town, she would forgive him a whole steaming dung hill of faults.

  She was sorry Tom was dead, truly, she even missed the damn fool, but he was gone and there was nothing she could do to change that, or even find out why he’d died. Maybe the Mayor had killed him, maybe it had been an accident, all that mattered was that he’d left her in an unholy mess. If she could find it in herself to forgive him that, then hopefully his ghost could forgive her running off with another man.

  All she had to do was convince Amos to help her.

  The new girl had started to sing, something she noticed more from the unnatural hush that descended on the saloon than the music, though she clearly had a beautiful voice.

  Molly looked around her, the saloon was packed. News of the young singer seemed to have brought half the town out to take a look at her. Even John X Smith was standing at the back of the crowd staring wide-eyed at the girl and he hardly ever came into the saloon. She was young and pretty and every man in the place was looking at her. All the men save Amos that was; he was staring squarely at Molly.

  She decided she probably knew how to convince him.

  *

  By the time the singing had finished Molly was seriously drunk. It probably hadn’t been a smart idea to switch from beer to whiskey, but that was a lesson she’d never quite got round to learning.

  “I should be going,” she told Amos, making no move to slide off her stool.

  “It’s getting late…” Amos agreed, as the crowd ebbed and flowed along the bar he turned to look at the Mayor who was talking to the young singer.

  “She should be careful…” Molly muttered, following his gaze.

  “I think she knows how to look after herself,” Amos replied, still half turned towards the singer.

  “You can tell, huh?”

  Amos swivelled back towards her, “Yes…”

  “A special gift?”

  Amos shrugged and dropped his eyes, “I notice things.”

  “What else have you noticed?” Molly
tried really hard not to lean forward too suggestively, but she wasn’t entirely convinced the message from her brain had gotten through in time.

  Amos coughed and looked back again, “Well… that young farm boy is quite smitten with Miss Jones.”

  “The one collecting the tips for her?”

  “A-huh.”

  “Sye something or other… dunno… anyway, half the men in here were goggle-eyed watching her. Not really that perceptive.”

  “No,” Amos sighed, “he really does think that he loves her.”

  “Thinks?”

  “When you’re young you can be in love with the idea of love. Which can be more dangerous than love itself…” he nodded back towards the young man who had just noticed Cece talking to the Mayor, “…see?”

  Several expressions flitted across Sye’s face, for his sake she hoped the Mayor and his deputies didn’t notice any of them.

  As they watched the Mayor span on his heels, he was smiling as he turned, but it disappeared like water droplets flicked onto a hot stove once his back was to Cece.

  “Now if you can tell me what goes on inside that fucker’s head I will be impressed,” Molly muttered.

  The Mayor moved through the crowd, flashing transitory little smiles in response to greetings from those he passed, he was heading for the door, but swerved at the last minute to join them at the bar.

  “Why Mrs McCrea! I’ve been meaning to ask, just what is a cock weasel?”

  Molly fumbled for a retort, but her mouth just flapped open and nothing came but an unfamiliar heat in her cheeks. She must have been louder than she’d intended. Not the first time she’d been guilty of that she supposed. She felt like she’d been caught whispering at the back of the class.

  “Strangely quiet for once? Whiskey got your tongue? Make the most of it; you’ll be selling it in here soon, among other things.”

  Amos slipped from his stool, for an instant she thought he was going to punch the Mayor, which would have given her a moment of satisfaction, but even she wasn’t drunk enough to think it was a good idea. The two deputies’ heads snapped around in unison as he moved, each one flicking their coats back from their guns.

  “Leave her alone,” Amos said.

  The Mayor frowned and let out a little laugh, “And who might you be, exactly?”

  “Just a friend.”

  “Yes…” the Mayor’s eye scanned him up and down “…very civil of you.”

  “Not looking for trouble.”

  “Trouble? Oh, my dear fellow, there’s never any trouble in Hawker’s Drift. The four horsemen might be trampling over the rest of this world, but our town is a haven. A veritable paradise on Earth. I’ve worked hard to achieve that, so there will be no trouble here. I just don’t stand for it.”

  “I’ve heard it’s a peaceable town.”

  “Indeed it is… well enjoy your evening, Mr…”

  “Amos.”

  The Mayor mouthed the word silently as if his lips needed to practice it, then he nodded and moved to turn away.

  “And your name?”

  He paused, head twisting back towards Amos, completely still save for his restless eye, “I’m the Mayor.”

  “That wasn’t what I asked?”

  “Be careful about lending her money, she’s not good with settling her debts,” he nodded in Molly’s directions, “though if you get in quick you can have her while it’s still free.”

  The Mayor breezed past his two deputies who remained behind, their eyes not moving from Amos.

  “Nice piece,” one said, his voice low and hoarse.

  The other glanced at his companion, “His gun or his cunt?”

  They both laughed mirthlessly and turned after their boss.

  Molly felt her hands shake, actually everything was shaking, she looked up at Amos, not sure whether he’d made things better or worse for her.

  “If they knew who I was they’d never have turned their backs on me,” Amos whispered, watching the deputies push through the crowd.

  “Who are you?”

  “Something even worse than they are.”

  “Very reassuring…” she placed a hand lightly upon his arm, “thank you, I think…”

  “For what?”

  “For taking my side. Nobody else in this shithole town has since Tom died.”

  Amos shrugged and finished his beer, “The only side I take is my own Molly.”

  “Then it would be better not to challenge the Mayor.”

  “I ain’t challenging anyone,” he shrugged again and looked sideways at her, “just can’t stand assholes…”

  “Sheesh… you really are in the wrong town.”

  She glanced at the table where Blane and the other deputy still sat. Watching her as intently as they had all night, ““I want to go home… will you walk me back… please?”

  Amos took a moment to ponder, Molly got the impression he wasn’t really the spontaneous type, before nodding, “Sure, I’ll see you home.”

  Nobody appeared to pay them much heed as they left, though Molly was sure it had been noticed and noted. Fuck ‘em, her reputation had already taken a battering today; she might as well let the town add easy virtue to her list of failings.

  Once outside Amos wrapped a hand around her arm and pulled her towards him. Perhaps he was more spontaneous than she’d given him credit for and she half closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss as he pushed her gently against the wall, but when no lips were forthcoming she peeled open her eyes and looked quizzically at him as he stood next to her, back against the wall.

  Her question never got past a frown as he put a finger to his lips, a moment later the two deputies came through the saloon’s door.

  “Why don’t you boys head home,” Amos said, casually hitching his fingers into his belt, “you’ve had a long day after all.”

  The younger deputy jumped slightly, but Blane didn’t show a flicker of surprise or any other emotion.

  “Just doing our job,” Blane said eventually, his voice was deadpan to the point of being lifeless.

  “I’m sure, but you can leave it to me to get Mrs McCrea home safely.”

  “Much obliged,” Blane continued to stare at Amos, who returned the compliment without blinking. Molly’s own eyes flicked between the two, but she appeared to have become suddenly superfluous while they engaged in some kind of staring contest.

  Then Blane was gone, without further word or comment, not even a facial gesture, he just turned and walked across the street, his partner a step behind.

  “He gives me the creeps,” she muttered, as much to herself as to Amos.

  “You’re a good judge of character.”

  “What was that staring thing about?” Molly asked, heading down the boardwalk she quickly looked over her shoulder despite herself. Blane and the other deputy were standing in the deserted moonlit square watching them.

  “He was trying to make me blink.”

  “And what were you trying to do?”

  “See into his soul.”

  Molly’s laugh petered out when she noticed Amos’ distant expression; eventually she asked in a hesitant voice, “And what did you see?”

  “He hasn’t got one…”

  “Are you shitting me?” Molly asked, when she looked back again two long coated figures were slowly walking along the middle of the empty street behind them.

  Amos didn’t reply, he just flashed an enigmatic smile and shook his head.

  They walked along Main Street in silence for a few minutes, other than a dog howling in the distance Hawker’s Drift was silent, it seemed everybody was either at home or getting drunk in Jack’s. Save for two of the Sheriff’s finest of course.

  “What did the Mayor mean about you selling yourself?” Amos asked after Molly had turned back from looking at the Deputies again.

  “Just his fucked up sense of humour,” Molly muttered and stared at her shoes, the boardwalk didn’t run this far down Main Street, but at least most of the mud
had dried.

  “Sounded more specific?”

  Molly didn’t reply. She didn’t want to discuss it with Amos, she barely knew him after all. It was one thing to take him to her bed, but it was another to tell him about the Mayor’s threat to make her whore off her dead husband’s debts.

  Was she simply too embarrassed to tell him or did she think he’d take off if he knew? Was she just being calculated? Wait until the right moment to tell him about the Mayor’s despicable intentions to ensure he would help her. If she let him have her would he be more likely to save her from the whorehouse? Tell him now and he might not want to get involved as if the very prospect of having to prostitute herself already made her tainted in some way.

  She shook the thoughts away. She’d never been adept at working out what she wanted, let alone how to get it. All she knew was that she didn’t want to be alone tonight. If she hadn’t run into Amos and spent the evening with him, she’d be walking home alone in the dark, with those two creeps in her wake.

  Be careful Molly, those two men want to kill you…

  Amos’ words had seemed fanciful in the bar, her initial fear that the Mayor wanted her dead had passed now she knew what he actually intended, but being followed along the deserted street in the darkness was another matter.

  “What did you see, when you looked in Blane’s eyes?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes, actually, I do.”

  Amos sighed, “He’s quite mad and very dangerous.”

  Molly screwed up her face, “You noticed that?”

  “Yeah, like I said, I notice things,” Amos shot her an apologetic smile, “sounds… bullshit, I know. But I’m usually right.”

  They were approaching the corner of Baker’s Street where they would turn off Main Street, a narrow little road of small wooden homes that clung to the slope that fell away down to the surrounding Flats. It would be darker there as the moon was low and would be shadowed by the taller buildings on Main Street as they descended the hill.

  “How mad?”

  Amos looked uncomfortable, almost to the point of embarrassment. He wasn’t trying to impress her or scare her she realised. He really did think he could see something of Blane’s character from just looking into his eyes.