Fistful of Feet (2 page)

   “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Calamaro said.

   Ryan stopped. He was not the brightest guy but he knew when he was outmatched. Besides, he didn’t want his dick blown off. He put his pistol away.

   Calamaro said, “You could’ve avoided this, you know.” He put his gun back into its holster. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s assholes.”

   Nix whimpered. “Fuck you.”

   Calamaro shook his head. “You might want to apologize to the man. I think you’re aware his name’s not nigger. He said you knew his name. I just learned it myself, actually. It’s Stacklee. That refresh your memory? Do you want me to spell it for you?”

   Blood dripping out of his eye, Nix said, “Fuck you.”

   “See, you talk to people like that, they might get the impression you’re an asshole. Are you an asshole?” He wasn’t worried about Ryan trying for his gun again. That guy was a coward if he had ever seen one.

   Chaps finally looked up from his cards. “What the hell’s happening here?”

   “This your friend?” Calamaro said, pointing to Nix who was up on his knees, holding his eye.

   “Yes sir, he’s my friend. What’s the problem?” Chaps said. Thoughts of his French horn were still floating around but now he was getting focused on Nix’s bloody eye. “I didn’t see him do anything to you so why’d you go and attack him?”

   “Your friend doesn’t know how to talk to people.”

   Ryan piped in. “What? Now you’re sheriff around here, telling people what they can say?” He giggled. “Got a great idea. We can get the sheriff and tell him someone wants his job.”

   Nix stood up. He took his hand away from his eye, revealing a dark red and blue bruise. His eyeball was bloodshot and looked like it was pushed further into his head than its twin. “You signed your death warrant, you know that? You come in, a stranger like you defending a goddamn nigger and attack a man who’s just playing cards. That shows everyone what kind of man you are, know what I’m saying?”

   Calamaro smiled. “For your sake, I hope you never find out what kind of man I am.”

   From behind the bar, Betty Black laughed. She couldn’t help it. She was amused by what could either be courage or stupidity on the part of the stranger.

   Stacklee walked over and put his hand on Calamaro’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Let the men play their cards and leave. Shit’s not gonna get any better if you all stand here seeing who has a bigger dick.”

   “Yeah, listen to the ni-,” Nix said. He stopped himself and smiled. “Listen to Stacklee. He sure is a smart one, know what I’m saying?”

   Calamaro nodded. He was done with the guy. Men like that never learned their lesson. It didn’t matter whether Calamaro threw a whole whiskey bottle through his other eye, the guy would defend his manhood to the very end.

   Stacklee touched his shoulder again. “Let’s go.”

   Calamaro followed him back to the bar. He picked up a whiskey bottle and took a swig, looking at Betty Black. Then he said, “I’ll pay for the bottle.” He smiled. “And the shot glass.”

CHAPTER TWO

   Once they were outside the brothel, Nix said, “You guys tell Lyons anything different and I’ll smash your faces in, know what I’m saying?”

   He had already come up with his version of the events. He’d tell William Lyons that they were sitting there playing cards when that stranger came in wanting to play the next hand. Nix refused and the stranger didn’t take kindly to that. Nix told him to beat it but the guy just wouldn’t go away. Then the stranger sucker-punched Nix in the eye and ran away like a yellow-bellied coward.

   Ryan said, “You really think William’s going to believe some guy just punched you and ran away? Why don’t you just tell him we beat the shit out of the guy?”

   “Because then he’ll think it’s over. It ain’t over, know what I’m saying? I want us all to go after the man and I don’t want Lyons telling me to back off. He’s always telling me not to beat a dead horse. Well, I have to tell him the man hit me when I wasn’t looking. Got it? You tell him anything different and you’ll see what’ll happen, you know what I’m saying?”

   Ryan and Chaps nodded.

   Nix said, “Chaps, you son of a bitch, you’ve been quiet tonight. What the hell’s on your mind?”

   “Nothing, boss,” Chaps said. He was thinking of his French horn, thinking about it dancing in the moonlight and changing into a horse galloping on the horizon. He wanted to be on that horse. He thought about riding it all the way to California to look for gold. Chaps thought about that goddamn whore who took both his virginity and destroyed his beloved instrument. Though he was filled with rage at the woman, he knew he would never do anything about it. Instead, he would wallow in self-pity until he got himself another French horn. His thoughts were interrupted by Nix punching him in the shoulder.

   Ryan laughed as Chaps almost fell over from the blow.

   Nix said, “Both you assholes better get the story straight or else, know what I’m saying?”

   “Sure thing, boss,” Ryan said.

   Nix grunted and watched as a stagecoach rode down the street. He always loved when a new batch of people came into town. It gave him the chance to recruit someone into his fold or at least give him the chance to show-off. As the stagecoach stopped in front of the hotel, Nix made sure to stand up straight and flex his muscles. If there were any ladies on board, he wanted them to see his manly physique. Then he remembered his black eye. There was no way he wanted anyone to see that.

   Nix quickly turned around and started walking. “What’re you jackasses waiting for? Let’s go see Lyons.”

CHAPTER THREE

   Rebecca Bywater looked out the stagecoach window and sighed.

   It wasn’t that she wanted to be a whore. It’s not like she woke up one day and decided that getting screwed by dirty men was her destiny. She just figured it was the quickest way to get the money she needed to move to California.

   Her cousin had told her about a town in Nevada called Screwhorse and how the brothel there was one of the most lucrative in the state. Men would pay good money for some weird things and some of those things weren’t even that difficult. Some men wanted to be spit on, some wanted to suck toes, and some men just wanted to smell a woman’s armpits. Rebecca didn’t think any of that would be bad at all.

   So there she was on a stagecoach from Phoenix, making her way into Screwhorse. Rebecca had seen a tribe of Indians on the way in and that made her a little bit nervous as she’d never had any good experiences with redskins. She always thought they were looking at her strangely, as if secretly wishing that they could roast her over a fire during one of their pagan rituals. At least she’d be protected in town, she thought. There was no way that the law didn’t offer protection against the possibility of attack.

   Her first stop would be
BETTY BLACK’S
, the brothel. From what Rebecca had heard, the woman who runs it looks out for her girls and provides them with a clean place to live.

   Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw that the man sitting across from her was staring at her again. He had done it practically the whole trip. She didn’t mind all that much. The man was attractive enough though he was dressed strange, all fancy like a stuffy Englishman.

   When the stagecoach finally stopped, Rebecca quickly got off and put some distance between her and the man. She walked to the brothel, walked inside, and put down her suitcase. It wasn’t what she had expected. There weren’t naked women dancing all over the tables like she had imagined. In fact, the place was pretty classy for a brothel.

   A black man by the bar walked over and greeted her with a small smile. “Help you, miss?” he said. “You lost?”

   Rebecca didn’t smile back at the man. It wasn’t that she really hated Negroes but she grew up with a mild fear of them due to all the stories her father had told her about how they treated white women. She said, “No, I’m not lost. I’m looking for the lady who runs this establishment.”

   “Then you’re looking for Betty. That’s her over there behind the bar. Want me to hold your bag for you?”

   Rebecca quickly grabbed the handle of her suitcase and said, “No, thank you.”

   The black man shrugged and walked away.

   Behind the bar was a woman who was old enough to be Rebecca’s mother but lively enough to be a younger sister. She was pouring drinks for two very tall and very filthy men.

   Walking with her head held high, Rebecca approached the bar and said, “Excuse me. Betty?”

   The woman said, “Yeah, I’m Betty.” She looked down at the suitcase. “If you want the hotel, it’s across the street.”

   “No, I don’t want a hotel. Can we talk in private?”

   Betty nodded. She looked over Rebecca’s shoulder at the black man. “Stacklee, watch the bar, will you?”

   “Sure thing,” Stacklee said.

   Betty brought Rebecca to a back room. She motioned to a couch. “Have a seat.”

   “Thank you.” Rebecca sat down, making sure she sat prim and proper. After all, she didn’t want the woman to think she was just some common street whore.

   “What can I do for you?” Betty said.

   “I’d like to work here. In your establishment.”

   Betty laughed. “Honey, you know how many girls have said that over the years? You know how many have begged to work here and then ran out two days later after some crusty old miner asked her to sneeze on his pecker? To earn you money you have to be willing to do more than just lie on your back and stare at the ceiling. This ain’t a picnic, you know. It’s not like one of those brothels back east. I have no room for lazy whores.”

   “I’m sure you don’t. I need employment and I am willing and able to fulfill the requirements. I’ve heard about this place. I know what goes on here.”

   “You do, do you?”

   “Yes, I do. I’m not just some farmer’s daughter who doesn’t know about the world. I have goals, too.”

   “Such as?”

   “I plan to make enough money to get to California and start a life there. Have a husband. Have children. To do that, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes even if that includes sneezing on a couple of dirty peckers.”

   Betty leaned over and patted Rebecca’s hand. “That’s good you want to get married but you know most men don’t want to marry a whore.”

   “Are you saying I can’t work here?”

   “I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to give you a chance to see clearly so that you don’t end up blaming me for anything that happens later on.”

   Rebecca frowned. “I never blame anyone for my problems.”

   “That’s good,” Betty said. “Still, I’d like to think about it. Until then, you can stay here. You’ll have to pay for the room until I make up my mind. After that, your food and lodging comes out of your earnings. Understand?”

   “Yes. Thank you.”

   “Go talk to Stacklee and he’ll take you to the room. He’s the one who greeted you when you came in.”

   Rebecca’s eyes widened. “May I ask what he’s here for? It’s a little strange seeing a Negro working in a place like this. Should I be worried?”

   “If you have any problems with Negroes you best get rid of them before you even think about working here. Stacklee’s here to protect the girls and he works with me just as if he was a white man. He’s like family. You don’t have to worry about him.”

   “If you say so,” Rebecca said. She wasn’t entirely at ease but knew that if she said any more about it, Betty would definitely decide against offering her the job. So she went out front and asked Stacklee if he’d take her to the empty room. He obliged and brought her up the stairs.

   When she walked into the room, the first thing Rebecca noticed was the stains on the walls. She could only imagine where they came from but she knew that inquiring about them wouldn’t be in her best interest if she wanted employment. It never paid to be too critical.

   After putting her suitcase on the bed, Rebecca sat down next to it. She looked at the streaks on the wall in front of her and thought one of them looked like blood. Was it safe staying here?

   Though she never considered herself a religious woman, she hoped to God that she wouldn’t be in danger. Rebecca had practically given up on any sort of religion after that reverend back in Phoenix had tried to rape her in the name of the Lord. Though she managed to get away without being violated, she lost all faith in religion and in so-called holy men in general.

   Rebecca sat in the chair by the window. The stagecoach ride had been tiring and she wanted nothing more than to relax for a few minutes after which she’d try to impress Betty by flirting with some customers. She looked out the window at the town below. Though it had all the qualities of every other western town she’d seen, there was something strange about Screwhorse. Rebecca couldn’t readily identify it but it tugged at her gut like bad whiskey. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea, she thought.

* * *

   On the stagecoach ride, Bluford Barnes had tried his best to hide his erection but that woman was just too damn arousing. He had stolen glances at her whenever he could get away with it. When he wasn’t looking at her face or her cleavage, he snuck glances at her dirty boots. He imagined himself underneath them, the heel of it digging into his forehead.

   He thought that it was dangerous for a woman to ride unescorted for such a long way. Though he considered himself a gentleman who would never hurt a lady, Bluford understood how some men might take an opportunity like that to get themselves some pussy.

   So Bluford didn’t make any move to talk to the lady since he knew that she was probably unescorted for a reason. Maybe she knew how to handle herself pretty damn well and had a revolver hidden somewhere on her, cocked and ready to blow a hole through any man who tried to get fresh. Bluford wasn’t about to risk his life just to relieve his erection. No sir. Instead, he decided that he’ll get it taken care of when he reached Screwhorse. The whores there were supposed to be top-notch. He had heard that there was one lady who could spit whiskey out of her cunny and right into your mouth. That amazed Bluford. They didn’t have women like that back east.