A LANCER CHRISTMAS STORY, 1869

 A LANCER CHRISTMAS STORY, 1869

 

 

 

Johnny put his rifle on the counter, leaving his saddlebags on his shoulder as he looked around. There was no-one else in the pokey hotel lobby and now that he’d walked inside, he could understand why. He’d almost tripped on a loose thread in a carpet so worn he couldn’t even make out what the pattern had been. But at least it was warm, thanks to a stove in the corner.

 

 

He turned back to the desk clerk, already smiling at him as if to say Johnny had come to the right place.

 

 

“You got a room?”

 

 

The clerk pushed his spectacles further up his bony nose. “You’re in luck, mister. I was full-up until Old Josh…well, let’s just say he booked out.” He pushed the register across then passed Johnny a pen.

 

 

Johnny dipped his pen then signed his name in the register before spinning it back around. The man read it, didn’t raise an eyebrow, but that smile dipped a wrinkle or two at the edge of his mouth. “Sorry I can’t offer you a meal or a bath, Mr Madrid, but most of the staff have the night off, with it being Christmas Eve and all.”

 

 

Johnny sniffed, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “What’s that bundle of rags I nearly busted my shin on?”

 

 

“Outside? Oh, that’s Charlie. He’s more or less the local freak. You’d best stay away from him.”

 

 

“What d’you mean he’s a freak?”

 

 

The clerk put one white sleeved elbow on the counter then leaned towards Johnny. “They say his ma was cursed for running off with an Injun.”

 

 

“Seems to me a woman can marry who she likes without a town makin’ up stories.” And he pushed his hat back to give the man a clear view of his face.

 

 

“No. I mean, yessiree, Mr Madrid. Would you like your key now?”

 

 

His stomach had been rumbling the last few miles as he rode into town. “Nope. I’m gonna get myself something to eat. You got a back room for these?” And he held up his rifle and dumped his saddlebags on the counter.

 

 

“Sure thing, Mr Madrid. These’ll be safe as—as the church bell.” And he grinned again, probably thinking he was real clever as the clanging started down the street somewhere.

 

 

“They plan on ringing that thing all damned night?”

 

 

“Oh, no. The boys are just practising for midnight mass.”

 

 

Johnny pushed his saddlebags across. “I’ll be back for these and the room later.”

 

 

.

 

 

As soon as he left the hotel lobby, a blast of cold air hit his face. Well, it served him right. What the hell was he thinking? He oughtta be locked up in the crazy house for heading north this time of year.

 

 

 

He walked up and down both sides of the street, sticking to the  boardwalk and trying not to bump the women with their baskets and little ones clinging to their hands. He’d made good money from the last job. He peered into a few store windows. Maybe he’d buy himself a new rifle…or a stick of licorice…or…or just somethin’. Why not?

 

 

Only the clerk closed the door on his face at the only door he tried to go through. “Sorry, son. It’s Christmas Eve. We’re closing early tonight.”

 

 

And that was how it was with all the stores. Not that he cared. He stopped outside the mercantile, watching a kid pack up a tray of scarves and hats from the table outside. Well, it wasn’t as if he needed anything. He was just trying to pass the time.

 

 

His toes were starting to go numb as he leaned against the post and watched all the folk scurrying along the boardwalk or crossing the street, with their collars turned up and their hats pulled low, but when they passed each other, they’d be calling out, ‘Best wishes’ and ‘Merry Christmas.’

 

 

There was even a group of ladies walking up and down singing Christmas carols.

 

 

Johnny crossed his arms. Yeah, they were slapping backs today and singing about Peace On Earth, and on the morrow, they’d be fighting over water rights or whose cattle had strayed through a fence or Bessie getting knocked up by Tom, but he’s swearing on the bible it weren’t him.

 

 

Well, it was none of his business what folk chose to do. He guessed he had no call to look down on’em when all that malarkey was the reason they hired his gun in the first place. Another couple of days and he’d be riding outtta here, as soon as the damned snow stopped falling. He wasn’t about to risk his neck or his horse’s, on an icy trail.

 

 

He should’ve gone to San Francisco with Wes. He’d be kicking up his heels at dance halls then spreading the legs of some pretty red head all night long. Yep, he was a damned fool. Wes had sure done his best to try and talk him into going with him that last night on the trail, while Johnny leaned on his saddle, staring into the fire, letting his coffee get cold. “Come on, Johnny. Don’t you wanna have a time of it with ol’ Wes in Frisco? There ain’t gonna be nothin’ for you in some Godforsaken hole-of-a-place. I don’t know what it is ‘bout this time of year, but you’re about as jolly as a prairie dog without a burrow.”

 

 

He’d hunched his shoulder, only giving half an ear to Wes carrying on like he always did when Wes had a bee in his bonnet about something or other.

 

 

And when they got to the fork, with one road leading to San Francisco and the other heading southeast, Johnny held out his hand. “This is where we split up. I’ll be seein’ yah.”

 

 

Wes slapped his hand into Johnny’s. “Merry Christmas, amigo. See you in a few weeks maybe?”

 

 

“Hey mister. You got a minute?”

 

 

Johnny pulled his mind back and looked around. Was someone talking to him?

 

 

It was almost dark now. When did that happen? A lot of the folk had disappeared off the street, almost like they’d never been there at all. Well, he figured they all had things to do Christmas Eve.

 

 

“Hey, mister.”

 

 

Johnny stared at a doorway a few businesses down the street. The bunch of rags had moved further down the street until it was almost outside the saloon, under one of the lamplights.

 

 

Johnny walked back a couple of paces. Wasn’t there some church that looked after the likes of Charlie?

 

 

Well, it was Christmas, wasn’t it. Not that it meant much to him. He pulled out his coin bag and fished around for a dollar.

 

 

“I…I don’t want nothin’. I was wondering if you’d like to buy this?”

 

 

Charlie was shaking so much he could scarce get the words out. But missing most of your front teeth wouldn’t help any when it came to making yourself understood. It looked like someone had given him a scarf from the mercantile but the rest of his clothes shoulda been burned.

 

 

Charlie was sticking a wobbly hand into his pocket. Dios, he was so slow that Johnny had had enough waiting. “Look, I gotta go…” he started to say, until Charlie opened his hand.

 

 

Johnny looked down—then had to stop himself from whistling.

 

 

It wasn’t the half-healed sores or the dirt that stole his breath; lying on Charlie’s palm was a gold ring, shining so bright in the lamplight, it almost looked like it came from another world. It sure wasn’t from Charlie’s world.

 

 

“Where’d you get that?” He sure wasn’t gonna get caught with a stolen ring, no matter how tempting this one looked.

 

 

Charlie’s hand shook some more. “T…t…take it. Hold it. I trust yah.”

 

 

Johnny eyed him but held his hand out, hoping he wasn’t gonna catch whatever it was Charlie had on his hands. A flurry of snow landed on his fingers, melting as they hit his skin, but all he could feel was the weight of the gold. This was no trumpery, but a solid gold piece that’d fetch a pretty penny.

 

 

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “It don’t look worth much to me.”

 

 

Charlie started shaking his head to add to his other trembling. “It was my Pa’s. He said it belonged to his mother. A real, fine social lady from back east. Honest.”

 

 

Johnny turned it over until it rested flat on his palm. With a piece like this, he could lay low for six months or head to San Francisco and sleep in one of those fancy hotels for weeks if he had a mind to.

 

 

“What d’you think, Johnny? It’s gotta be worth somethin’, don’t it?” Charlie staggered to his feet but he could barely stand straight. He coulda been an old man of eighty, struck down with ague.

 

 

Johnny eyed him. “You know who I am?”

 

 

“Sure. You’re Johnny Madrid. I seen you ride into town. I heard the barber talkin’ ‘bout you.”

 

 

Johnny did his best not to wrinkle his nose as he looked at the half-healed sores on Charlie’s face. The man’s cheekbones stood out, making scruffy whiskers bristle like a porcupine. Only, a porcupine had charm, for all its sharp points. Charlie had none. Under the mangy clothes, the stink of urine and shit hit Johnny’s nose, making him wanna puke.

 

 

“What you say, Johny? She’s a beauty ain’t she? She’s gotta be worth somethin’.”

 

 

Johnny shrugged again, but his eyes kept going back to the ring. It was a beauty all right. Worth more than Johnny had seen all year. “Sure, it’s worth somethin’.” And Charlie’d probably be fool enough to sell it to him for the dollar he was about to get out of his coin bag. Well, he had some idea of what Charlie was dealing with and it sure weren’t the fault of an Indian daddy. Johnny’d be doing him a favour taking the ring off his hands before some chiseller robbed him of it. That was bound to happen sooner or later. You could just about write a cheque on it.

 

 

“You…You want it?” Charlie’s eyes were just about watery with longing—but not for food. Hell, he’d seen that look before…

 

 

He pushed Charlie’s hand away. “Get down to the church, you damned fool. You oughtta be able to get a meal there. Get outta the damned cold.”

 

 

And he flipped him a dime instead of the dollar, before heading off along the boardwalk.

 

 

He didn’t look back.

 

 

.

 

 

Well, there wasn’t a single shop open now. It was Noche Buena. He figured no-one wanted to be hanging around town when they could be cosied up in front of a fire, doing whatever families did on a night like this.

 

 

He’d had a glimpse in some of the windows of houses at the edge of town. In a few he’d seen trees all covered in popcorn strings and ribbons and candles. A good way to burn a house to the ground, if you asked him.

 

 

 

It had been a while since he’d been this far north at Christmas time. Mostly, the main streets in border towns were filled with people, all in their Sunday best, following the posadas. When night fell, all you could see were the candles as they walked through the village to the church and hear the bells ringing.

 

 

For a second there, he was almost a kid again, standing on the edge of town, with his mother’s hand on his shoulder, watching as the crowd walked past, following Mary and Joseph as they looked for a place to sleep.

 

 

Lo siento. Ya no hay lugar en esta posada.

 

 

Charlie Freak, they called him.

 

 

Well, he guessed there was no room at the inn for Charlie, either.

 

 

Or for himself, for that matter. His gringo father hadn’t wanted them…nor did his mother’s relatives. Parientes. Hell, who needed kin folk when there was a saloon across the way and a good tequila. That was all the company he needed.

 

 

 

.

 

 

Just like he thought, the saloon was mostly full…well, half-full anyways.

That’s where his side of the law went when the respectable folk had gone to their homes.

 

 

He grinned to himself as he walked up to the bar.

 

 

“Fred’s the name. And Merry Christmas to you. What’ll it be, son?”

 

 

Whoa, outta the blue, a fuse was lit in his chest; he opened his mouth to tell the old guy he was nobody’s son, least of all his.  Only, his churlishness kind of surprised him and he clamped his mouth shut. Dios, he was starting to sound as mean as Day Pardee.

 

 

He flipped his coins on the polished walnut bar. One started spinning on its edge until the barman slapped his hand on it. “Tequila. And bring me the bottle. You gotta steak, Fred?”

 

 

“Sure have, son.”

 

 

Johnny managed a nod this time. “Thanks.”

 

 

He headed across to a table near the pot belly. He would’ve made Laredo except for this big storm blowing down from up north. Well, it made the kids happy. He’d seen them in the street, trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues.

 

 

He took his hat off and tossed it on the table, leaning back in his chair.

 

 

Noche Buena.

 

 

His mother would don her mantilla and never miss mass on Christmas Eve. It was pretty much the only time she ever went. He could see the black lace but he only had a shadowy picture in his head of her face.

 

 

He couldn’t really remember much of her now but every so often he’d get a whiff of…a perfume or a flower or something…and he’d hear her voice. “It was a dark night, Juanito…the wind was blowing. We had nothing. He make me leave with barely the clothes on my back. Madre de Dios. His last words were: And don’t forget Buster.” She always said that part with a gringo accent…sometimes the tears showed at the edge of her lashes…

 

 

Well, maybe he imagined that last part about the tears but it seemed to him, if his mother wasn’t laughing, she was crying. There didn’t seem to be anything in-between with her.

 

 

Dios, what was he getting all maudlin for? Maybe it was the tune the piano player was tinkling, instead of thumping out one of those saloon tunes. He sure didn’t want a silent night.

 

 

“Hey, this ain’t church. I wanna hear saloon music,” a big guy called out. Probably a miner going by that tree trunk for an arm, showing under his rolled up sleeve. “Me and Lucy here wanna dance.”

 

 

 

Johnny had to agree with him about the music. Only Lucy didn’t look too interested in dancing, the way she was trying to uncoil his arm from her waist. “Now, George, I said we’d dance in a little while, but I got other customers that need my charms as well.” She had a cute, squeaky voice, like a little girl.

 

 

For an answer, George plonked a dollar down on the table. “There. That oughtta buy me enough drinks to have you all to myself the rest of the night, Lucy.” Then he yelled at the piano player. “Now give me some dancing music. This ain’t a funeral, is it.”

 

 

The piano player upped his tempo a little but the song didn’t change and Lucy didn’t look happy at being dragged out onto the floor. “George, I danced with you last night. You can’t hog me like this every night.”

 

 

George was a real ugly son-of-a-gun. His nose musta been broken at least three times, until it was a no better than a squashed, dried-up chilli pepper. Right now, he was squeezing Lucy’s arm so tight it was turning white.

 

 

Johnny sighed to himself. Did he wanna get involved? He really didn’t want the bother. “She don’t wanna dance with you, George.”

 

 

He’d said the words quiet enough but somehow the whole saloon fell silent.

 

 

“And who are you, little man?”

 

 

Johnny took a swig of tequila. Why the hell didn’t he keep his big mouth shut? He hadn’t come in here looking for trouble. Well, he’d seen that look in her eyes. She was scared.

 

 

Oh, well. “Madrid. Johnny Madrid.”

 

 

Ol’ George shrank on inch or two. It looked like he wasn’t too drunk to have lost all sense. He took a look at the gun on Johnny’s hip, then turned to the girl. “You wanna dance, Lucy?”

 

 

“I gotta spend some time with the other customers, don’t I, George. I told you that already?”

 

 

Johnny held out his hand. “There’s your answer, George. Why don’tcha let Lucy do her work, huh? It’s Christmas Eve. We all want a nice peaceful evening now, don’t we.”

 

 

George’s eyes flickered to Johnny’s gun again. “Well, seein’ as it’s Christmas Eve, I guess that’s only right, ain’t it.” And he let go of her wrist.

 

 

Then one of the other gals came up to George. A redhead. “Come on, Georgie. I wanna dance. It ain’t right for a good-looking feller like you to be lonesome on Christmas Eve now, is it? Mort, we want a dance tune. Somethin’ to liven this place up. You heard the man.”

 

 

Johnny turned back to his drink. No lemon and salt tonight. He just wanted to feel the world spinning a tad. That light-headed swirl as the tequila swamped his head…then the burn, squeezing his throat and neck, all the way down to his belly.

 

 

Yep, that did it.

 

 

George and the redhead were dancing now and the piano player was thumping away and trying to look like he was having a grand ole time.

 

 

Cowhands were playing poker at another two tables, and up at the bar, a coupla boys about his own age, were trying to blow smoke rings with their cigars but mostly they were laughing and coughing. Well, at least someone was having a good time.

 

 

And why the hell didn’t he go to Frisco with Wes?

 

 

One of the poker players got up and left, so Johnny wandered over there after he’d finished his steak. “You got room for me?”

 

 

“Sure.”

 

 

The stakes were small—but so was his luck.

 

 

After a couple of hours, his coin bag wasn’t feeling too flush. Well, he had a job in Nogales waiting for him.

 

 

He stood up and stretched. “That’s it for me, boys.”

 

 

He wasn’t drunk…not even close…but after the cigar smoke and that second whisky, he needed some fresh air.

 

 

He picked up his hat, then wandered outside—only, it wasn’t the world he’d seen just a few hours earlier. There was only half a moon shining on the town, but that was enough to make the covering of snow sparkle and show the flakes in the air as they floated to the ground.

 

 

“It sure is pretty, ain’t it.”

 

 

He knew that squeaky voice. It was Lucy. She’d come out of the laneway, beside the saloon, still dressed in her satin and feathers that had seen better days. Probably hand-me-downs from the last gal who worked there, because there wasn’t nearly enough of Lucy to fill the bodice. She was shivering.

 

 

“You oughtta go back inside. It’s too cold out here.”

 

 

“A gal just needs a feller to keep her warm.” And she sidled up to him.

 

 

He reached out and put his arms around her. Maybe this was what he needed? It wasn’t Frisco, but a few hours with Lucy would while the night away. “We’d have to be awful close to stay warm.”

 

 

“I know it. I’ve got a place.” And she tugged on his hand.

 

 

He let her lead him down the alley. There was only a single lamp for light but he could see the saloon’s back stairs where she probably lived.

 

 

Half-way down she turned around and lifted her face to his, pressing up against him. “Are you really Johnny Madrid?” she whispered.

 

 

“Yeah.”

 

 

It was clear she wanted a kiss—so he obliged.

 

 

The first one didn’t mean much but the second one had him wanting to find a bed real fast. The evening was starting to look up as he broke the kiss.

 

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in his ear, making feelings he knew real well burn inside him.

 

 

“Why?”

 

 

Aw hell. It was too late; she’d already slipped his gun from his holster.

 

 

He really didn’t feel anything, until he hit the wall.

 

 

“You don’t look so tough now, Madrid.”

 

 

Dios, he knew that voice from somewhere but his head was pounding something fierce. He tried to see straight but the man above him was in shadow.

 

 

The alley…he’d been in the alley with Lucy.

 

 

He tried to clear his head but he was being hauled to his feet…and instinct kicked in. He got in a punch to the man’s guts and another to his face before a fist smashed into his jaw and he was back against the wall again.

 

 

“Don’t hurt him, George. You promised you wouldn’t.”

 

 

George.

 

 

Of course.

 

 

Now he understood it all…well, sort of. No, not really…

 

 

When he opened his eyes, she was clinging to George’s arm. “Just ‘cause he made you look small, it ain’t worth getting killed over it now, is it, Georgie.”

 

 

George kind of growled, then he took Johnny’s gun and emptied the bullets from the chamber. “In case you’re wondering, I don’t carry a gun, Madrid.” Then he grabbed Lucy’s hand. “Come on, then.”

 

 

“My money first, Georgie.”

 

 

Johnny squinted up in time to see George stuff a wad of notes down her bodice. Well, he guessed she needed something to fill it out.

 

 

Lucy came across and peered down at him. “I’m sorry, but a gal’s gotta make a living. Merry Christmas, Johnny Madrid.”

 

 

.

 

 

 

By the time his head stopped ringing, he was all alone in the alley. It turned out it wasn’t just his head ringing—someone was ringing the church bell the other end of town.

 

 

Dios. So much for doing a good turn. Some days he kept his brains in his boots and stomped on them.

 

 

He struggled to his feet, grabbed his hat, then staggered out of the alley, only standing upright when he got to the street. He had his pride, after all.

 

 

But he nearly tripped over, all the same.

 

 

“Dammit, Charlie, what the hell are you doin’ there in the middle of the boardwalk?”

 

 

Charlie was shivering worse than ever, now. “I’ll give you a good deal, Johnny. Honest I will.” And he fumbled in his pocket.

 

 

Johnny’s head was spinning but the sight of that gold ring made it stop. He pushed his hat back. Why the hell was he being a damned fool? What good had it done for him? He’d tried to help Lucy and earned himself a split head for his trouble.

 

 

“Maybe I can help you. How much do you want for it?”

 

 

“Ten dollars?” Charlie’s squeak was almost as high as Lucy’s. “Would that be too much?”

 

 

He still had that much money—and more—in his coin bag alone. “That’s awful steep, Charlie. How do I even know the ring’s for real?”

 

 

Charlie’s eyes were shining with tears now. “I wouldn’t lie to yah, Johnny. We’re friends, aren’t we? I got no home. You got a home?”

 

 

Johnny shook his head. That burn in his chest was starting up again.

 

 

“See. We both got no home. Nowhere to go Christmas Eve. That makes us friends, don’t it.”

 

 

“I guess.” But Dios, the day he was like the Charlie Freaks of the world, was the day he oughtta try another trade.

 

 

“Honest, I wouldn’t trick you any. See.” And he bit into the ring. “Make it six. Five even.”

 

 

Johnny rubbed his jaw. “We-ell…I dunno, Charlie.”

 

 

“One. I’ll give it to yah for one dollar. You can afford that, can’tcha?”

 

 

“Yeah…I guess so.”

 

 

He fished out two dollars…then, maybe because a voice inside was niggling at him…he added another two. “There you go.”

 

 

Charlie stared at the coins like Johnny had given him a hundred dollars—and even that wouldn’t have been anywhere near what the ring was worth. He tried to grab Johnny’s hand to thank him but Johnny shook him off.  “Just give me the ring. We had a deal, remember.”

 

 

Dios, he’d been fooled one time tonight already. He didn’t want Charlie Freak taking a swing at him as well. The way his head felt, Charlie could probably take him down with a wobbly punch.

 

 

He was careful not to touch Charlie’s hand with all the sores, as he took the ring  from his palm, then wrapped it up in his own bandana. He started walking away, then called out, “Merry Christmas, Charlie.”

 

 

Charlie was staring at the coins in his hand.  “M…Merry Christmas, my friend.”

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

The wind was beginning to blow something fierce now. Johnny pulled down his hat and hunched up against it as he made his way back to the hotel.

 

 

A lamp was burning in the hotel window but most of the town was in darkness now.

 

 

The clerk wasn’t grinning at him now as he walked in the door. “You just about got yourself locked out. I was about to close up.”

 

 

Johnny stood  just inside the door, shaking any stray snow from his hat. “This is a hotel ain’t it.”

 

 

“Not Christmas Eve it isn’t. I got a wife and four kids waiting up for me. I got a boy sleeping in the room behind me if you need anything.” He’d already put Johnny’s rifle and saddlebags on the counter, ready for him.

 

 

Johnny shrugged. “That ain’t likely.”

 

 

“Here, take this.” The clerk passed him a lit candle in a holder. And a key. “First room on the right at the top of the stairs.”

 

 

“Sure.”

 

 

“Goodnight. And Merry Christmas.” The last part sounded kinda grudging. “My wife’ll be putting on a special meal in the dining room at midday. You be sure to come, you hear.”

 

 

“Mebbe.”

 

 

Maybe not, more likely. He took the candle and made his way upstairs, past the peeling wallpaper. The threadbare carpet didn’t do much in the way of muffling his boot heels.

 

 

Sure enough, the key turned in the lock and the door swung open. Johnny held up his candle and looked around. At least there was no sign of what happened to ‘Ole Josh.’ It was no fancy hotel in San Francisco but it had all the things a body needed; a bed, a pillow, blankets and a washbasin, all kinda drab and well-used. He pushed down  on the bed a few times and it sprung back with a rusty squeak.

 

 

He flung his saddlebags in the corner, then lit the lamp beside the bed, before blowing out the candle.

 

 

Only then did he fish his bandana out of his pocket. He unwrapped the blue cloth—and there sat the gold ring, nestled between the folds.

 

 

Charlie’s ring.

 

 

Well, if Charlie was fool enough to lock his lips to a whisky bottle or whatever else he sold out to his whole life, that weren’t any of Johnny’s business now, was it. Charlie coulda sold it to a pawn shop and still been diddled into parting with it for chicken’s feed. Johnny probably did him a favour.

 

 

He took his jacket and pants off then got between the cold sheets, damned glad he’d had the sense to keep his shirt on, then turned on his side and pulled the blankets up under his chin.

 

 

Maybe he’d go find Charlie tomorrow, if some padre hadn’t scooped him up, and buy him some lunch before he left.

 

 

Snow or no snow, he’d had enough of this damned town.

 

 

He snaked his hand out of the blankets to turn the lamp off and tried to ignore his thumping head.

 

 

The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was the ring of pure gold.

 

 

.

 

 

The sun was well and truly up when Johnny opened a bleary eye. The damn church bells had been ringing half the night, then they started up again at dawn.

 

 

He’d grabbed his pillow and put it over his ears at some stage in the night. The only good that did was give him crazy dreams about mantillas floating in the wind and a gold coin rolling down the road, always just outta his reach.

 

 

.

 

 

The clerk was back at  his desk when Johnny stomped down the stairs.

 

 

“You got yourself a shiner there, Johnny. What did you do, wrestle a bear in your sleep?”

 

 

“Nope.”

 

 

“You leaving so soon?” He eyed Johnny’s saddlebags slung over his shoulder.

 

 

“I got a friend waitin’ for  me in Frisco. Figured I might as well get an early start. How much?”

 

 

“That’ll be a dollar. Road should be clear. It looks like the wind blew most of the snow away. T’weren’t more than a dusting at best, but the kids were pretty excited.”

 

 

Johnny looked around as he took his dollar out. “I was kinda hoping the missus had started her cooking.”

 

 

“Oh, she will. And soon. But with poor Charlie going so sudden-like, she didn’t bounce up like she normally does Christmas morn. She’d been planning to bake him a special lunch, you know.”

 

 

“Going?” Johnny looked around, which was plum foolish but he did it anyway. “So, where’d he go?” But his feet felt cold of a sudden, like he’d dipped them in ice water.

 

 

“Well, up there I hope.” And the clerk pointed at the ceiling. “T’was my wife who found him. She wouldn’t let us sit by the fire knowing Charlie was outside in the snow.”

 

 

“He die of the cold?” Charlie had been shivering from head to toe when he’d last seen him.

 

 

“No. Somehow he got hold of some money. That was the worst thing for him. We got the doc to him but it was too late. He said his mind had been smashed.”

 

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

 

“Laudanum. Opium. Charlie took’em all. Probably got’em from the Chinese in the back alleys.”

 

 

“And it killed him?”

 

 

“Poor Charlie. The doc said he woulda been feeling real fine until his body died in about fifteen ways.”

 

 

Johnny threw his key on the counter. “Where is he now?”

 

 

“We carried him down to Jack McPherson. The undertaker. Just had to leave him there with it being Christmas Eve an’all.”

 

 

Johnny headed for the door, but he wasn’t seeing where he was going. All he could see was a bundle of stinking rags on the boardwalk and a hand reaching out to him.

 

 

And all of a sudden he felt real sick. It was one thing to shoot man who was aiming a gun back at you…but he’d never meant to put a gun in Charlie’s hands.

 

 

His hand was on the doorknob when he stopped. “Which way to the undertaker?”

 

 

“Just head right when you leave here. It’s at the edge of town.”

 

 

Johnny walked outside.

 

 

Dios, he’d seen what laudanum could do to a man…turn him into a walking shadow of what he’d been…the shaking…unable to sit still…the sweats. Why hadn’t he seen that in Charlie last night?

 

 

Because he was a freak. He was just Charlie Freak.

 

 

The sun was shining this morning, spreading a little wintry warmth, but it was too late to warm up Charlie. He was never gonna be warm again.

 

 

.

 

 

Johnny banged on the green door with its fancy writing. “Jack McPherson.” There was no answer, so he thumped harder and yelled louder this time. “Jack!”

 

 

Finally, a window was pushed open and a head appeared in the second floor window. “What d’you want?”

 

 

“You got Charlie Freak in there?”