A REFLECTION OF CHARACTER CHAPTER 32

 A REFLECTION OF CHARACTER

 

 

CHAPTER 32

 

 

 

Johnny trudged down the hotel’s backstairs, then walked along the alley until he was almost back in the main street again. Once there, he leaned his back against the hotel wall then checked his gun; spinning the chamber…checking the bullets…hefting the weight of it in his hand…mulling over what the heck he was doing out here?

 

Dios, Aaron’s talk about burning down their storehouse made his skull pound as bad as it had that night. Even if the kid had his reasons, seemed like a poor way to show his appreciation for them taking him in. Well, maybe this is how Murdoch felt with Jay McKillen turning on him? Not that it was the same…but, heck, betrayal was always something that got up his sniffer. The swayback nag tied to the hitching post out front musta been listening to his thoughts ‘cause it just let go a barrel full. He rubbed his nose with the whiff of steaming dung carrying his way. Well, it was an honest smell. Unlike the stinkin’ stench of a backstabber. Seemed like Spanish Wells was full of those lately.

 

Further up town, Mabel’s place was easy to see with lamps shining in every window downstairs. Johnny holstered his gun. Straightened up. It looked like Bonell was aiming to make as much money as possible before Mabel’s had to close; fellas were lined up in the street to get inside. Well, no way was Big Hugh gonna let Johnny in through the front door and he wasn’t aiming to come face to face with Bonnell or his crew. It was Mabel that Johnny wanted to see. Hopefully sort out the truth.

 

The main street was pretty much deserted this time of night save for the horses crowding the hitching rails. He pulled his hat low having to dodge a group of roostered cowhands trying to shimmy up the porch post to climb on the roof, but they were too busy hollering at each other to care too much about Johnny. Once he got to Mabel’s he slipped into the side alley—the one he’d used to enter Mabel’s the other day. Johnny Madrid had a rule about alleys, especially at night, but, what the heck. He started forward, weaving his way past barrels and busted wooden crates and old trunks. Mabel’s piano player must be belting the keys ‘til his fingers bled going by the noise inside. Maybe he knew this was his last—?

 

He stopped breathing. Stopped moving. Drew his gun.

 

Two of them came out of the dark, from behind a barrel, as if the alley bore a shingle with their name on it.

 

And they both greeted him…

 

…with a meow that was loud enough to wake the dead.

 

He started breathing again. “Aw, hush up,” he whispered back. “What are you tryin’ to do—raise a ruckus and let Bonnell know I’m here? Huh?” He shooed the closest one away, a fluffy black and white cat, with a wave of his boot, then walked on, stopping at the corner of the building to inch his head out.

 

He didn’t jump. Almost did.

 

The second cat had followed him and was rubbing up against his leg with a purr even louder than the meow.

 

“Okay, kitty, off you go.” All he could see were two orange eyes staring back at him. If Jelly was here he’d be ranting about black cats and bad luck.

 

He peered around the corner again but it was damned hard to see a thing. They’d had a full moon the night of the dance a week ago, so it must be half-full now but when he looked up he could barely see a star let alone the moon, and the bushes between Johnny and the back door didn’t help any. Curtains covered the windows, and that kept any light from spilling down here. Mabel depended on Big Hugh to keep her and the girls safe—but would Bonnell have a man guarding the back door as well? What were the odds of that? Shoot, his brain was moving like a wagon missing a wheel so how was he supposed to know? He rubbed his knuckles into his eye. Part of him was inclined to just stay here a spell, propping the wall up. The doc’s words to him about taking it easy were rattling around in his head and sure starting to make a lotta sense. Dios. Well, he wasn’t getting anywhere hiding around corners and being a scratching post for alley cats and he sure wasn’t gonna find Mabel out here. He shook his leg. He could just make out a black tail waving in the air as it slunk off down the alley.

 

Johnny started edging forward. The way looked clear. Kind of. He couldn’t hear any breathing or footsteps. Okay, he was pretty sure it was clear—

 

Dios, if it hadn’t been for the flare of a match giving him a glimpse of a man, he would’ve walked bang smack into whoever was standing by the door. And now there was only a shrub between whoever it was and Johnny. He edged his way back again to his old corner friend. What he needed was a distraction. Mabel’s woodpile across the way, might help. Most of the stack was in shadow so he ran his hand over the logs, fingers brushing over the scratchy bark so that he could feel the edges. He needed one big enough to—woah, what was that running across his hand? Blazes, first cats now spiders. He’d flicked it off but knowing his luck, it landed on his boot and was crawling back up his leg.

 

Anyway, he managed to find a few logs that might work. When he looked around the corner again, the fella was still puffing away, probably hankering for the action upstairs instead’a out here on guard duty.

 

The first log he aimed at Mabel’s shed woulda had Scott rolling his eyes and asking Johnny if he’d like lessons in log throwing.

 

He tried again. This time he picked up two logs, hefting them one after the other. Glass tinkled and a smack of wood on timber echoed like a gun shot.

 

“Hey, what’s goin’ on out there?” Bonell’s man came out from behind the bush and started walking to the shed; a creeping shadow, holding a gun.

 

Johnny waited until the guy was half way down the back, then snuck behind him. He reached for the door, turned the handle and pushed—and nothing happened.

 

Aw, hell, it must be locked! He snatched a look behind him; any minute the guard would be comin’ back and Johnny’d be stuck here out in the open. He put his shoulder to the door but the damned thing still didn’t give an inch.

 

Blazes, he was sweating now. Should he give up? Run back to the alley? Dios, to be this close!

 

One more try. He rammed his shoulder into the timber, biting back a curse as his left arm took the brunt of it—and almost fell through the doorway into the arms of a redhead who must’ve heard his efforts from her side of the door and unlocked it. “Well, well, well. Sometimes the cat drags in some very tasty morsels.”

 

He put a finger to his lips and closed the door softly behind him, then looked around. A lamp was turned up bright, showing coffee on the stove and a plate of sandwiches on the table, along with the last of some sorta lemon cake. He coulda been walking into the Widow Hargis’ kitchen—except for the gal smiling at him like she’d be happy to eat him alive and the piano player thumping out a song no lady’d know the words to, let alone sing.

 

“I get it.” Her purr was louder than the cat’s as she nodded at the door then back to Johnny. “A lotta fellafeller

s don’t want their wives or kinfolk know they visit here to have some lovin’ with Chantelle. I guess with you it’s that pa of yours, Johnny, with him being in town an’all?”

 

Sometimes having Murdoch as a father was a real handy thing. “Aw, shucks, Chantelle.” He bobbed his head like he was embarrassed. “Yeah, my old man’s real strict about some things.” He turned the key in the lock behind him. “Is Miss Mabel…um…entertaining anyone right now?”

 

She started pouting. “Ain’t she a little old for you, sugar? Look at me,” and she pulled her gown far enough off her shoulder to give him a glimpse of a breast so perky it was probably gonna haunt his dreams if he ever got the chance to sleep tonight. “Why I’m fresher than a bowl a’newly picked cherries. Smell just as sweet, too.” She sidled up to him, slipping a hand inside his shirt.

 

“I’m real sorry, Chantelle.” It was a damn shame but he caught her wrist and gently eased her hand out. “Yep, you’re all those things, but I really need to see Miss Mabel. It’s important.” His heart was hammering but not because of her. Blazes, Bonell or his men might find him in here any minute.

 

The pout got bigger. “Oh, all right, I guess I can find Miss Mabel for you.”

 

She took his hand and started leading him out the kitchen and down the hallway but he drew back under the balcony once they got to the gold framed lady with her rose and not-much-else, and the stairs leading to the top floor. “It’s kinda important no-one else knows I’m here.”

 

“Yep, that’s what a lotta fellas say.” Those freshly picked cherries were turning sour if that look she threw him was anything to go by. She took his hand then pulled him over to the door next to the side table with the stuffed owl, like he was some nuisance kid, then turned on him. “One a these days I’m gonna get me fella who’ll walk down the main street of town with me on his arm, and he’ll be real proud about it, too.” She finished with a sassy rap on the door.

 

Dammit. “Chantelle, I didn’t mean—” But the door swung open.

 

“Who is it? Girls, I told you I didn’t want to be—”

 

As soon as her face appeared, Johnny pushed his way in, too late thinking it woulda been smart to check Mabel was alone, first. Well, lucky for him, she was. He turned to Chantelle. “Thanks. Maybe next time, huh?” Then closed the door on her scowl before turning around. “It’s just me, Johnny Lancer ma’am.” He took his hat off. “Howdy, Miss Mabel.”

 

“Johnny Lancer, are you a total fool? Didn’t I tell you there’d be hell to pay if you came around my place again?” Mabel’s red satin dress swished as she stalked back and forth, her petticoats and skirt sounding like a flock of birds beating the air with their wings. Well, maybe he had that thought because it looked like she wanted to beat him over the head with the fan in her hand. He eyed it warily—but she closed it with a snap, instead.

 

Johnny ran his eyes over the room. No wonder she was fanning herself—the fire burning in the hearth made it feel hotter than death valley. It looked like she’d got up from a blue stuffed chair with its own footstool. A china teapot and one cup and saucer sat on a round table, and a piece of the cake he saw in the kitchen was sitting there untouched.

 

 “Why? Scott and me were always welcome here before.”

 

She lifted her chin and gave him the same look Chantelle had a second ago. “Well, you’re not welcome now—so please leave.”

 

He’d always thought Mabel was something to look at, with that creamy white skin and dark hair but that frown looked weary, like her knit brows carried all her troubles.

 

She stalked back to the door but Johnny put his hand over hers on the knob and held fast, his head so close to her cheek he was just about breathing down her neck. “Because Bonell says so? Huh? Is that right?”

 

She stiffened, staring straight ahead. “You’re playing with fire.”

 

“I caught sight of Bonnell with Melody the other day, didn’t I? He was in the parlour across the way, when Scott and me were here looking for McKillen?”

 

Her laugh oozed scorn, but her hand trembled under his. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“What are you afraid of, ma’am? Bonell wasn’t all fire and brimstone the last time we saw him. He told Murdoch he didn’t care about this town.”

 

“Then he lied,” she snapped back, pulling her hand out from his then walking across to the fireplace.

 

It sure was a lady’s room, with a lace cloth draped along the mantle and a vase of wildflowers and those white tiles with the blue flowers around the hearth. He’d been in bordellos with velvet chairs and coloured feathers and fancy wallpapers. Mabel’s room wasn’t like that. The stuffed chairs were sagging and the red roses stitched on the fireguard were faded and frayed. Just like the kitchen out back, it was all kinda homely. Like he could walk in one day and find some little old granny cooking toast over the flames and sipping tea.

 

“Why would Bonnell lie?”

 

She drew herself up, throwing a look his way meant to make him feel his twenty years, then poured her tea. She was smooth, all right. Back in control. Saucer held in a steady hand and smiling at his stupidity. “He didn’t care about Kirby’s because he had this place. Why do you think he came here so often? It wasn’t for some two-bit gambling in a frontier saloon.”

 

“He made all his money here?”

 

“No, Johnny. We’re just one of his many interests. Still, it shows how important a good reputation is, doesn’t it.” Her mouth turned up but her smile was bitter. “Go to Mabel’s they say. Her place’ll give you a good time with pretty girls and clean sheets.”

 

“Maybe you oughtta try adding a little sugar to your tea, ma’am? Sweeten it up a little.” But she had a point. Spanish Wells might not be as big a town as Green River but Mabel’s outdid any town in the valley, when it came to her kind of entertainment. “And now Franklin wants you to close down?”

 

“All thanks to you Lancers turning this town respectable with a fancy jail and a doctor from back east. You ranchers are all the same. You think nothing of chopping down trees, but pay no heed to the critters that were nesting in it—or the ones who used the branches for shade. All you see is a tree that has to go.”

 

“Or a jail that has to be built.” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry it’s worked out this way for you, Mabel—but I won’t be sorry to see Bonell go. Not if he’s treating your girls like he does.”

 

She swung around at those words, just as mad as a she-wolf dressed in satin. “What are you talking about.”

 

Fierce as it was, Johnny wasn’t flinching from that glare of hers. “I talked to Aaron tonight. He told me about Melody.”

 

“Aaron?” She’d only taken one sip but she plunked down her tea, the cup rattling on the saucer. “He’s talking bull.”

 

“No, I don’t think he is, ma’am. Murdoch said you had a reputation for only taking on women—not kids who should be still in school.”

 

“Since when did the age of my girls bother you, Johnny Lancer?”

 

He dropped his eyes, running his hat brim through his fingers. “You’ve got the right of it. I guess Johnny Madrid never cared too much. But…well…Johnny Lancer has a sister.”

 

“And that makes a difference?”

 

Dios, could she sound any harsher? “For crying out loud, Melody’s just a kid.” He waved his hat around the room. “Barely old enough to wear long skirts let alone work in a place like this.” He ran his hand over his belly. Dios, it made him queasy just thinkin’ about a girl like her getting hooked up to that kinda life.

 

Mabel blinked, stood tall for a moment, then turned her back. “It’s none of your damn business how I run my girls.”

 

Johnny threw his hat on a table. In three strides he was behind Mabel, taking hold of her shoulders. “Is it Bonell? Is he making you do this, Mabel? Why don’t you trust me? We can help you.”

 

“Here we go again. You Lancers just have to stick your nose into other people’s business, don’t you. Throw your gun down, boy.”

 

Mabel’s breath caught in her throat, shoulders stiffening like a soldier standing to attention.

 

 Johnny closed his eyes. Yep, that was the way his luck was running tonight…

 

He hadn’t had much to do with Bonnell, but he knew that voice. He let go of Mabel, opened his eyes, then took his time turning around. Yep, it was Bonnell all right, looking like a banker in his grey suit, only most bankers aren’t the fellas pointing guns at their customers. “Mr Bonnell.” Johnny took his gun out with two fingers, then tossed it on the floor. “Aaron tells me you want as much business as possible before Jeb Franklin and his council make you close up shop. My money no good?”

 

At least he had the satisfaction of seeing a chink in Bonnell’s gaze when he mentioned Aaron but Bonnell covered it quicker than hot syrup poured on pancakes.

 

“Ah, how is the boy? Quite the chip off the old block, wouldn’t you say?”

 

This time it was Johnny’s turn to smile. “Maybe you’d know more about that than me?”

 

Bonnell’s eyes narrowed. “The boy has a wild imagination.”

 

“Maybe. Look, let’s cut to the chase. I came here because of Melody.”

 

“Ahhh, my angel. You like her too, do you?” He looked across to Mabel. “You see, my dear. I told you everyone would be besotted with her.”

 

Johnny just about gagged. “I’ll buy her from you.”

 

“Really? What’s the going rate for virgins, Mabel?”

 

She shrugged. “The Lancers are rich. They’ll probably pay handsomely for her. Perhaps you ought to consider it, Jack?”

 

“Hmm…perhaps you have a point.” He stroked his chin with his thumb. “Well, boy, I guess I’d be willing to sell her to you for…oh, let’s make that twenty.”

 

“Twenty what?”

 

“Thousand, of course.”

 

Well, he knew that was coming but the answer still slammed his heart into his boots all the same. “In other words, she’s not for sale.”

 

“Not to you, Lancer. Not in a million years.” Bonnell might have a good poker face at the card table but hate’s always harder to hide.

 

“What happened to all your talk? You told us you didn’t care about Spanish Wells and small-minded men.”

 

“That’s right. And I still don’t care about them either—on a personal level.” He shrugged. “My men can go to plenty of other towns to let off steam. But it’s quite another matter when my income is affected. That boring upstart, Franklin, seems determined to make a name for himself. Apparently Mabel’s doesn’t suit his vision for Spanish Wells.”

 

“Like you say, there are plenty of other towns.”

 

Bonell studied his fingernails. “But I liked this one. Boys!” Three of Bonell’s hardcases walked in, grinning at Johnny like they’d been saving him for dessert. “I think it’s time we showed young Johnny here that he’s not welcome at Mabel’s place.”

 

.

 

“Oh, dem golden slippers. Oh, dem golden slippers. Da..dum mum…gonna wear to walk that street…”

 

His mouth wasn’t working. Everything came out slurred and thick and Dios, he rolled onto his side and spat out a mouthful of grit and spit and that coppery stuff sure tasted like blood.

 

Where the hell was he? Face up? Face down? In a ditch?

 

“Golden slippers…dum dum dum…” Nope, that wasn’t right…oh, boy, he hated that song. Could just about taste the words…like that bad meat he ate one time. Had his head in a bucket for days…

 

Dios, was he gonna puke?

 

“Would you shut the hell up!”

 

Well, that worked. The fella thumping the piano musta heard him because the notes were kinda floating away on the breeze…

 

.

 

He opened his eyes and saw stars. Real stars. In the sky. Then half a moon. Yellow. Bright.

 

Keeping still felt awful good right now. Until his head started to ache. Cold dirt wasn’t much of a pillow. He lifted his head and looked down at his toes, then squinted around him some. Couldn’t see much. Just some branches waving above his head.

 

Dios. Here he was again. On the ground. His eye was watering; running from his eye to his ear. He swiped it away then stared at his fingers. Nope. No blood.

 

Bonnell.

 

Mabel.

 

Well, he was pretty sure it had been a good fight. From what he could remember. That counted for something. Well, he’d keep telling himself that every time he was tempted to groan.

 

He took his time sitting up, spitting stuff outta his mouth. His cheek felt cold. He rubbed some dirt off that but his finger came away sticky this time. Blazes, how long had he been lying here? He ran his tongue over his teeth. Well, at least they were still all there but that last hit to his jaw was like being slammed with an anvil.

 

He turned over, then got as far as all fours, with one eye scrunched tight. No, make that three outta four ‘cause his left arm wasn’t working too well. It was still dark, so maybe he hadn’t been out here all that long? The moon had risen some from when he’d gone into Mabel’s but not so much that morning was coming. Behind him, the lights from her place still burned. The piano was still thumping out a tune. Chantelle was probably showing some other fella a good time…

 

 Aw hell. Well, there was no-one around so he groaned. It didn’t help. The second groan didn’t help either considering he didn’t have a spot on him that wasn’t kinda pulsing like he was still being hammered.

 

Responsibility. Murdoch was always going on about it. Well, so far, all that did was earn him a sore jaw and an aching head. His hat was a few inches from his hand, so he reached out and grabbed it.

 

Well, he might as well try two legs. He staggered upright, reaching for his ribs. Nothing was broke. He knew what that felt like. There was a fence close by, so he hung on that for a while, then put his hat on his head. Gingerly. He was still there when a voice said, “Are you all right?”

 

He’d heard the footsteps. Even saw the feet as they came closer from under his arm. “Oh, yeah, ma’am, I’m just dandy. How’d you enjoy the show?”

 

“I did warn you.”

 

He still clung to the fence, lifting his head like some broken down nag. “Well, ma’am, I was never too good at heeding those.”

 

“Here. I thought this might help.”

 

He straightened up a little and squinted at her. “Unless it’s tequila, whatever you’ve got ain’t gonna help.”

 

“Stand up. Let me get a look at your face.”

 

He snorted. “Aren’t you afraid Bonell will see what you’re up to? Don’t they call this fraternising with the enemy?”

 

She looked behind her, then back again. “He’s with one of my girls. She’ll keep him busy for a good while, yet.” She took his hat off, giving it to Johnny to hold, then started dabbing his face with a wet cloth. “You put up a good fight.”

 

“I mighta saved myself a few bruises if I’d just laid down and told’em to drag me out like a sack a’potatoes. Ow.” He pulled back as she dabbed his lip. He grabbed her hand and looked at the cloth. With it being white, he could just make out the dark patches staining it.

 

“That’s not your style, more’s the pity.”

 

“Well, it’s not all bad.” He held up his left hand and wiggled his pinkie. “I still got one finger that ain’t hurtin’.”

 

She didn’t even crack a smile. “Here, I brought you some powders to have in your room. And your gun.” She took both outta her pocket then held them out to him, taking his hat back so that she could press the brown packet into his free hand.

 

It was hard to see her face with only a sliver of moonlight, but he stared at her all the same. “Why’re you doing this?”

 

She went back to her dabbing and wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I don’t like seeing a pretty face busted up, Johnny. That’s all. Like you said; you and your brother have been good customers of mine. There. That’s the best I can do.” She put his hat back on his head. “Are you okay to walk home?”

 

“Sure.” He dropped his gun back in its holster. “But we need to talk.”

 

“Keep away from here, Johnny. I’m not telling you again.”

 

“You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?”

 

“I’m a cautious woman, Johnny. Always have been. Now get going before Bonell starts looking for me. And don’t forget to take those powders.”

 

.

 

It was a damned long walk back to the hotel. Well, it was more like a shuffle right now. Felt twice as long—maybe even three times as long—as when he’d walked it before.

 

Looking up, he could see a hint of light in his own room, but Murdoch and Scott’s room was still in darkness. Good. His head couldn’t face that roar of Murdoch’s right now.

 

It was later than he thought; passing Kirby’s the saloon was only half lit, Lionel was nowhere to be seen, and the swamp boy was mopping the floors like he was trying to lull himself to sleep. After all the fracas a few hours ago, Spanish Wells was pretty much a ghost town, save for a few fellas sleeping off their whiskey in Henry’s doorway.

 

When he got to his door, he tapped a few times. “Aaron.”

 

The kid must’ve been standing right there because the door swung open almost straight away.

 

“Hell, Johnny, what happened to you?”

 

He tried to grin. “What? Doesn’t everyone come out looking like this after a night at Mabel’s?” He took his hat off then flung it on the bed. The powders went that way, too. Aaron wasn’t laughing though. Seemed like no-one liked his jokes tonight.

 

 “Heck, Johnny, I never meant to get you into trouble.”

 

Hell, if Aaron thought he looked bad with the lamp turned low, what was he gonna look like by daylight? Sure enough, when he looked in the mirror, that split lip had opened up again and there was a good chance his jaw would be black and blue come morning. “If you ask Scott, he’ll tell you that trouble goes lookin’ for me.”

 

“Was it Bonell?”

 

“Nope. He’s not the type to get his hands dirty.” It was tricky unbuckling both belts with one hand but he mostly managed before slinging them onto a chair by the table.

 

“It was those men who work for him. Wasn’t it. I hate them.” He ground his teeth and clenched his fists like some kid trying to be a man but that fire in his eyes was true enough.

 

“Can’t say I’m too fond of them myself, right now, but you stay away from’em. You hear.” He emptied the pitcher into the basin then soaked the hand towel until it was good and wet, then wrung it out. Maybe Murdoch would think these were the same bruises he’d got from Drew’s men?  “Give me a hand with my boots, will ya.” He just about fell onto the bed.

 

Aaron pulled one off, then the other. “Did you get a chance to see Melody?”

 

“Sorry, Aaron.” Dios, what had he done other than make Bonell even more determined to not let Melody go? The kid’s face fell as Johnny lay back on the pillows. “Hey, cheer up. We’ll think of something.” Short of stealing her away, he had no idea of anything right now, other than throwing the hand towel over his face. The cold felt better than a kiss right now.

 

“What are these?”

 

He lifted one corner of the towel. “Mabel gave me some powders. She thought I might need’em.” And if they cleared his head and helped him think up some way to get Melody, he just might take’em. He was still under the towel, just about drifting off when he felt a blanket dropped on him and he mumbled his thanks.

 

“Johnny, do you want me to mix one with water? You sure look like you could use something?”

 

“Nope. All I need is some sleep. Just toss’em over there.” He was just about slurring his words he was so damned tired. “Get some sleep, kid.” Aaron had already made up the couch with a pillow and blanket.

 

“Johnny, there’s a note here.”

 

Aw hell, did the kid ever shut up? He took the towel off his face, opening one eye. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

 

“Here. Look.” Aaron held up a sheet of paper in front of Johnny’s eyes.

 

The letters kind of swum in front of him for second, big and sloping and black. He squinted at them, trying to wake his brain up to read’em out loud.

 

“Well, Johnny. What does it say?”

 

Aw, shoot. “Meet me at the church. Nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Mabel.”

 

Out the corner of his eye, he could see Aaron just about jumping up and down. “What does that mean, Johnny? What does she want?”

 

He closed his eyes. “How the hell do I know, kid. Now, turn off the lamp and go to sleep. And I don’t wanna hear a peep outta you until morning.”

 

To be continued…