Chapter Thirty-one
Well, I was expecting trouble while that Wild West was in Doubtful, and I’d told the barkeeps to call me fast when it broke out. You can’t hardly expect a cowboy show without a string of fistfights or even shootouts. Cowboys are a little unruly, and that’s the way they want it. So the barkeeps, like Sammy Upward, kept a sawed-off shotgun under the bar, and that usually did the job.
But after the show, when Doubtful was settling down for the short summer’s night, I got a holler from Denver Sally. She sent her bouncer, Maginnis, over for me. She has a real good bouncer, and usually he can grab someone by the ear and throw him out if he starts abusing her girls, or he’s too drunk, or he’s getting into trouble. Once Maginnis even stopped an arsonist who was going to burn the place down and fry the girls.
“We got trouble, sheriff,” Maginnis said.
“What kind of trouble?”
“We got a girl in a room with two people, and they’s a mess of shots getting fired in there, and some screaming, and them walls are flimsy and don’t hold lead, and no one’s got nerve enough to bust in and stop it all.”
That sure didn’t sound good. I strapped on my gun belt, and hurried over there to Denver Sally’s, with Maginnis, whose short legs worked twice as hard as mine.
“Who’s in there?” I asked.
“Lily the French Bombshell, that’s Sally’s highest priced girl, and two from the show. A big lunker named Rinkydink, and that shooter, Amanda Quick.”
“The sharpshooter? In there?”
“That’s who. They came together, rented Lily, and now all hell’s broke loose.”
“What’s Miss Quick doing in there?”
“Don’t ask me, and I won’t tell you.”
“I gotta know.”
“Well, when I was checking through the peephole, the three of them were all having a fine old time.”
My idea of Amanda Quick was changing fast, but I’d wait and see about this. People sure had strange ideas of what they want from life.
“Who’s Rinkydink?” I asked.
“Mostly a roustabout, all muscle and no brain. He puts up tents, does grunt work, stuff like that. He’s been at Sally’s every night, after the show’s done, and stays the night.”
“Is he in the show?”
“They’re all in the show. That stagecoach scene, wild Injuns chasing the coach, he’s driving it, or sometimes he’s painted up and wearing a breechclout, or something, and firing blanks at the stagecoach.”
When we got to Denver Sally’s, I found all her gals huddled in the parlor, except for Lily, who was caught in the back. Sally rushed up to me in her robe. She’d been busy with the trade herself, until the trouble started.
Just then I heard another shot, and a scream, and the girls all clutched one another and a couple were crying. Then another shot, more screams, and some whimpering from the back somewhere. Sally’s had two floors, but all this was unfolding straight down the main hall.
“Sally, what’s the story?” I asked.
“They’re torturing Lily. They shoot, she screams.”
“You’re talking about the show people? Rinkydink and Miss Quick? What are they doing in there?”
Sally sighed. “It’s their idea of a threesome, only it’s all bullets and whips and pain. If they mark Lily, I’ll mark both of them in a way they won’t forget.”
I was feeling real dumb, so I fessed up. “You mean they’re doing stuff that hurts?”
“Cotton, you’re a child in some ways.”
“You let ’em do that?”
“Long as they pay, and don’t get rough. But this is rough. They’ll likely kill Lily. You gotta stop it.”
So I had to stop it, and not catch lead sailing through that flimsy door.
“All right,” I said. “You keep clear.”
I clumped real hard down that hallway. “This is the sheriff. Open up, with your hands up,” I yelled.
“Go to hell,” Amanda Quick yelled, and she punctuated it with a shot. The bullet busted through the door and smacked the hall wall.
“Miss Quick, you put that shooter down,” I yelled.
“Which one? His or mine?”
“You come out of there, or I’ll come in there, and it won’t be peaceful.”
“Just try it,” she said, and fired again.
Every shot sure jolted me some. She couldn’t finish a sentence without a bullet for a period.
Truth to tell, I didn’t know how to stop this. I could hear the girls whimpering and yelping back in the parlor. I could hear a crowd gathering in the dark outside.
“Miss Quick, you send the girl, Lily, out the door now,” I said.
“We paid for her, and we’re not done with her.”
“What do you do to her?”
“Sheriff, you’re such a card.”
“All right, send out the guy, Rinkydink.”
“He’s just getting heated up and ready to roar.”
“You send him out the door.”
She shot another hole in it. I could smell burnt powder in the hallway. Back in the parlor, Denver Sally was trying to quiet the sobbing women.
“All right, Miss Quick. If you won’t come out, then nothing’s going in. No food, no water, not a thing until you call it quits.”
“Call it quits! We’re just getting ready for a hoedown!”
A man’s voice followed. “Sheriff, you just bust your bum butt out.”
“Rinkydink, you come out of there now.”
He just laughed, hoarsely. I heard a crack and a scream.
“You hurt, Lily?” I asked.
“Help me! They’ll kill me!”
I heard another slap and a scream.
That did it. I got opposite the door, which was badly splintered now, reared up, and smacked it with my shoulder. It caved in, and I fell into the room, staggered, and got a glimpse of things before Rinkydink threw the kerosene lamp out the window.
The three didn’t have a stitch on between them. Miss Quick wore nothing but a gun belt, and she sure looked cute in it. Made me think of proposing, but she was also waving her revolver at me, and I decided not to propose.
There was just enough light so I could see Lily dive onto the bed, followed by Rinkydink. But Miss Quick just waved her revolver at me.
“So, join the party,” she said.
It wasn’t a bad idea, but my ma always used to say finish what you started, so I decided on that. “You two from the show, you get yourselves dressed and out, because if you don’t, I’ll haul your bare butts to my jail and you can sit in there and think about things.”
The sharpshooter eyed me. “You’re a turd, Pickens.”
But she grabbed her stuff, and began to get dressed. By then the dollies down the hall were all creeping toward Lily’s room. Rinkydink stuffed his shirt into his pants, yanked his boots on, and pushed through the crowd. Miss Quick was sure looking grumpy, like she had been deprived of a cookie. She got into her fringed buckskins and pushed her way out, and vanished into the night. I wondered how many times she had pulled her trigger that evening.
“Don’t come back,” Sally yelled.
Lily was a trouper. She was not only smiling, but enjoying all the fuss her pals were making.
“Man, did he have a gun,” she said.
I managed to hold back the crowd that was swarming in, but Sally saw her chance.
“We’ll open in five minutes, half price,” she said. There were about fifty males jammed into the parlor and the hallway. “Even Lily the French Bombshell. Half price for the next hour.”
You sort of had to admire Sally. There are people who know how to take advantage of events, and turn everything into cash, and she topped the list. All those gents, they were digging into their britches to see if they could come up with a dollar instead of two, and pretty quickly there were greenbacks floating into Denver Sally’s hand.
“We should stage one of these every night,” she said. “I could retire.”
It was the strangest thing. All I could think of was Amanda Quick, wearing nothing but a smile and a gun belt. I thought I’d like to put her in a little cottage with rambling roses, and we could shoot at tin cans on fence posts for our entertainment, when we weren’t heating up the bedroom. But that’s just me. Some men, they’d be better off leaving her alone. I like guns and I like women who like guns, and there aren’t very many of those.
I like to compare women to guns. Now, Amanda Quick, she was like a fine Navy Colt. Other women, they’re like a blunderbuss. A few are like derringers. I’ve hardly ever met a woman who reminds me of a shotgun, though. But I’d like to meet one. Belle reminds me of a Dragoon, big and hearty and makes a lot of noise. The ones to watch out for, though, remind me of a dueling pistol, a big caliber, smooth, and mean.
About then, Billy Bones showed up.
“Trouble?” he asked.
“Nothing to it,” I said.
“She does that, you know. She likes little parties of three.”
“I’m hoping you’ll leave town. We’ve had enough trouble around here.”
“Thanks, sheriff. You’re really welcoming.”
“It’s her,” I said. “She’s trouble. I don’t know a thing about women.”
“She’s our big draw. Without her, we’d not have enough gate to pay our freight.”
I didn’t know what all that meant, but it didn’t matter.
“You’re lucky she’s not sitting in the jail bare-ass naked, along with that stud of hers.”
“No luck at all. I wish she was there. We’d have a sell-out crowd tomorrow.”
I might be a slow learner, but I was beginning to understand road shows, and show business. Those people sure were strange.
I headed back to the jail. I was sleeping in Cell Number Two, because I’d given my boardinghouse room to the Siamese twins. Doubtful had finally quieted down, after the excitement in the sporting district. I unlocked, didn’t light a lamp, washed up, got out of my shirt and britches and boots, and headed for the cell cot in my underdrawers. It had been a long day, wrestling with Riley and his little thefts, and fishing with him, and not getting anywhere with him, and then trying to prevent a cathouse bloodbath.
No sooner did I lie down on that hard bunk, mostly just sheet iron with a pad on it, than someone was tapping at the door. It wasn’t real loud, just persistent. I grabbed my shooter, and decided not to light a lamp. I’d open the door a little, and see who was there without being seen.
I creaked the door open some, and saw herself, Quick, standing there alone. The moonlight caught her locks and caught the smile on her face.
“Mind if I come in, sheriff?”
“Well, I mind. Unless you got something to report. It’s late and I’m ready for a sleep.”
She ignored me, and drifted in, and I thought I’d let her talk a minute and then push her out. I lit a lamp. She studied the office, with its gun racks, my desk, the open door to the jail, and the darkness beyond the wavering yellow light of the lamp.
She was smiling. “I sure like guns,” she said. “You got guns on every wall, and they just make me happy. Put me in the middle of a lot of big long guns, and I’m a happy woman.”
“Well, I like guns, too, ma’am. I got a mess of them, and I’m always a sucker for the next one. But I like the older ones better than the new. I like ’em when the shine’s gone, the blueing is worn off, and I know what way off-center the shot’ll go.”
“Sounds like you’re talking about me, Cotton Pickens. I thought maybe you’d like to pull my trigger.”