Fistful of Feet (9 page)

   Nix said, “If you weren’t so good with a whip, I’d kick your ass. Now let’s go back inside. I have an idea.”

* * *

   Calamaro reached the hotel. Before he walked in, he lit a cigarette. As he looked through the window of the hotel, he noticed that Kersey was staring at him. The man looked nervous.

   Letting the cigarette hang out of his mouth, Calamaro widened his eyes at Kersey who then nodded his head slightly. It was a nearly undetectable signal but a signal nonetheless. Calamaro walked down the alley next to the hotel and around the back to his wooden donkey.

   He put his hand on it and said, “How you holding up, Sartana?”

   With a slight push of a button, a small compartment opened up in the donkey’s back leg. Calamaro took something out and slipped into his jacket pocket. Then he pushed the compartment back, listening for the click to make sure it was locked, and walked into the back door of the hotel.

   Kersey was standing in the hallway, worry still apparent on his wrinkled face. He gave a tiny gesture towards the stairs. Calamaro nodded and proceeded to go in that direction, the cigarette still hanging out of his mouth. He slowly opened the door to his room. He said, “Should have told me you were dropping by, I’d have brought whiskey.”

   Nix was lying on the bed while Chaps stood on the right side of it. From behind the door, Ryan jumped out and took Calamaro’s gun from its holster. He threw the pistol onto the bed next to Nix.

   “Well, you wouldn’t have time to drink it, know what I’m saying?” Nix said, sitting up on the bed. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal his bulging muscles.

   “Not sure I do. I thought we settled this already. A guy can get the wrong idea if three men show up in his bedroom. You boys want me to take my pants off?” Calamaro smirked.

   Ryan laughed but stopped when Nix looked his way.

   “Look, asshole, I’m going to let one of my boys here have at you for a while. Teach you a lesson. Then I’m going to do what I do best.” Nix tapped Ryan and pointed at Calamaro. “Go get him.”

   Ryan rushed forward like an angry child would. Calamaro could see that the guy had no real fighting experience. It took only one uppercut to send Ryan to the floor. He didn’t stay down but instead grabbed for Calamaro’s feet and was met with a kick to the jaw.

   Calamaro pulled him by the shirt and stood him up on wobbly legs. “He had at me. Now what?”

   Nix shook his head. “Lucky shot, motherfucker.”

   “Even so. He’s finished. Are you?”

   “Not by a mile,” Nix said, reaching for his gun. Calamaro pulled Ryan close to him while reaching into his pocket, pulling out a half stick of dynamite. He bent down and stuck it into Ryan’s left boot.

   “Fuck you doing?” Ryan said. He pounded his fists on Calamaro’s back. Nix had his gun pulled and was aiming it at Ryan’s back. Chaps had his whip out but he just held it there like a limp dick.

   Nix said, “Let him go, you sonovabitch.”

   “Anything you say,” Calamaro said. He sent a fist into Ryan’s gut that made him double over. Then he took the cigarette out of his mouth, lit the fuse on the dynamite and pushed Ryan all the way to the window. Nix rolled off the bed and was trying to aim his gun but stopped as he watched Calamaro push Ryan forward. Glass shattered and the man went flying.

   Nix’s mouth opened in shock. He stood up and looked out the window. Ryan was lying on the ground below. Then there was an explosion. Ryan’s legs disappeared in a mess of smoke, flesh, and bone.

   From behind him Calamaro said, “Reach for the ceiling.” Nix felt the barrel of a gun in his back. He turned his head to look at Chaps and saw that he was on the floor, bloody.

   “Okay, asshole, you win. We’re going.” He turned slowly towards the door.

   “That’s right. You’re going,” Calamaro said. “But not through the door.”

   “What? You must be fucking kidding me.”

   Calamaro pushed the gun into his back hard. “That’s right. Jump. I’ll send your other boy after you.”

   “There’s no way in hell.” Nix was getting cocky but it ended as soon as the pistol slammed into the back of his head. “Okay, okay.”

   “Go ahead. Fly like an angel. You can try to land on your friend down there, maybe cushion your fall.”

   Nix climbed halfway out the window and saw Ryan moving. The stumps that had been his legs were smoking but he was definitely still alive and conscious. In fact, he was screaming for his mother. Nix yelled down at him. “Watch out!”

   He jumped out of the window and landed right next to Ryan. Nix felt a bone break but wasn’t sure if it was his arm or leg. Then he felt the pain in his knee. From above he heard a yelp and as soon as he looked up, Chaps landed on him ass first.

   Calamaro stuck his head out of the window, the cigarette back in his mouth.

   All three men on the ground looked up at him as he spoke.

   “Feel free to drop by anytime, boys. I’ll be waiting.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

   Sheriff Doyle heard the door open but did not look up from his newspaper. It was probably just another person complaining about the Hard Candy Kid. There was nothing anyone was going to do about it because the Kid was the meanest son of a bitch in the territory.

   “Help you?” the sheriff said, still reading.

   “Yes. You can start by putting down that fucking newspaper.”

   Sheriff Doyle’s eyes widened as he put the newspaper down and turned in his chair. It was William Lyons.

   “Sorry, didn’t know it was you,” Doyle said.

   “So what? What if I was some nigger or Mexican coming in to kill you, what then? You just go on reading your newspaper while you get your throat cut by some dirty cocksucker?”

   Doyle nodded his head. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m just tired is all.”

   “Well I’m tired and pissed off. Was spending time with my boys when Nix came by and told me there was some sort of stranger in town making trouble. I don’t like taking time away from my family to deal with this shit.”

   “So why didn’t you tell Nix to deal with it himself? He’s good with a gun, ain’t he?”

   “Sometimes it’s easier to just treat Nix and his boys like little babies. If I let them handle it, they’re bound to fuck it up and give me a bigger headache.”

   Doyle pulled out a cigar and offered it to Lyons who shook his head, waving his hand away. “You know I don’t smoke.”

   “I forgot,” Doyle said. “I still don’t know why you keep those boys around anyway.”

   “I have my reasons.”

   “So what’d you want me to do? I can’t just go arrest him. You know we’ve been having some government assholes sticking their noses in my business, checking out how the town is run and how the jail is run, all that shit.”

   “You don’t have to arrest him, just warn him. Last time I checked you were the law, right?”

   Doyle stood up. “I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry.”

   “I’m not the one who should be worried.”

   The sheriff laughed, thinking that Lyons was referring to the stranger. Then the laughter faded when he realized that Lyons had meant to threaten him. “I’ll take care of it.”

   “Okay then,” Lyons said as he walked out.

   Sheriff Doyle picked up the newspaper, threw it back down, and cursed. That William Lyons was really something. The man walked in as if he was the sheriff. Doyle figured there was no use fighting it, though. Lyons was the mayor’s favorite citizen and so everything he did was okay.

   Goddamnit, thought Doyle. He hated when Lyons barked orders at him. He had hope, though, that maybe someday Lyons would fall down, crack his head open, spill those crazy brains of his all over. He’d love to be there when it happened. That’d be nice.

   The sheriff stood up, stretched, and walked outside so he could start looking for the stranger. He figured he would probably be in Betty’s place since that’s where most of the strangers ended up. Betty sure did have a good selection of whores. Doyle wasn’t a customer, though. After all, he was the sheriff and he had an image to uphold. Occasionally he would meet up with one of the girls after hours and coerce her into giving him a free one. He especially liked that four-footed girl, June. Shit, she was a wild one with those twenty toes wiggling in his face while he screwed her. He often sucked the dirt out from underneath her toenails. For the rest of the night he’d feel that grit in his teeth and he loved it. She was a nice girl, too. Very polite and respectful.

   Doyle walked over to Betty Black’s place. Stacklee greeted him with a nod.

   The sheriff grunted. “There a stranger in here, Stack?”

   The black man said, “Yes sir, lot of ‘em. One even came in wearing a donkey mask. Here’s over there. You believe it?”

   Sheriff Doyle looked over at the table and squinted in disgust when he saw the man in the donkey mask playing cards. “What the fuck, Stacklee? You throwing a party or something? Is he the one who caused trouble?”

   Stacklee shook his head. “No, sir.”

   “Then who did?”

   “Those boys work for Lyons caused most of it.”

   “I’m not asking you to be a goddamn judge, I want to know where the stranger is who came in here and caused trouble.”

   “Well, he’s not here now if that’s what you want to know.” Stacklee shrugged and tried his hardest not to smile. “Must be he left town on account he knew you’d be looking for him. Probably real scared, pissed himself. You might be able to follow the trail.”

   “Don’t get smart with me, boy. You play games with me, you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

   “Well, sir, like I said, I don’t know nothing about where the stranger gone to. I’m just here to greet the customers.”

   Doyle squinted. “You like pretending you’re just an ignorant Negro, that it?”

   “No sir, not pretending. I am a Negro, sheriff. I saw it for myself when I looked in the mirror this morning.”

   The sheriff grunted and cursed. “Go get me a drink, will you?”

   Stacklee walked over to the bar and tapped on it. “Betty, can you get the sheriff here a drink? His mouth must be dry, he’s talking so much.”

   Betty held in a laugh and poured a shot of whiskey. Sheriff Doyle made a sour face and walked over to get it. He said, “Goddamn, Betty, you better tell your boy here that if he keeps running his mouth, I’ll run him out of town before he can say Abraham Lincoln.”

   “Oh, Sheriff, he can’t help it. He’s just trying to be amusing,” Betty said.

   “Well, I’m not amused.”

   Behind the sheriff, Stacklee stood smirking. He resisted the urge to take the whiskey bottle and whack the sheriff upside the head with it. What held him back was his knowing that the threat to run him out of town was an empty one. Doyle had been saying that ever since Stacklee came to work in Screwhorse three years ago. He thought maybe the sheriff had a soft spot for Negros but was afraid to show it on account William Lyons and the mayor might not approve. Still, it would be sweet to just take the whiskey bottle and give him one good whack.

   Doyle said, “Betty, your tits are hanging out, you know that?”

   “Sure do, sheriff. You plan to arrest me for it?”

   “I’d love to,” he said, smiling. His mustache drooped down over his upper lip, just barely covering his crooked teeth. He finished his drink. “What I’m really here for is the stranger who started some ruckus here with some of the boys who work for Lyons. You see what happened?”

   Betty said, “I heard you the first time and Stacklee told it like it is. Nix and them boys started in with Stacklee and the other man just came to his aid.”

   “Things get rough?”

   Betty shrugged and when she did her breasts bounced, causing Doyle to stare wide-eyed at them. “Guess so.”

   “And you didn’t think to come get me?”

   “If I called you every time a fight broke out, you’d have to set up camp here.”

   Doyle’s eyes were still on the breasts. “I don’t mind some of the local boys roughhousing every once in a while if they got a few drinks in them but we’re talking about a stranger we know nothing about. What if he’s a wanted man or a crazy killer or something? You want someone shot dead right in the middle of your place?”

   “I could just tell that wasn’t going to happen.”

   “Well, I’d like to talk to this man anyway. He still here?”

   “No. He left.”

   “And let me guess. You don’t know where?”

   Betty said, “No, I do not, sheriff but this town isn’t that big so I’m guessing you’re smart enough to find him.”

   Doyle finally took his eyes off Betty’s mounds and said, “Guess I’ll go find him then.” He walked towards the door, passing Stacklee.

   “Sheriff, I wish you the best of luck.”

   “Fuck you, Stack,” Doyle said, walking outside and wishing that he had buried his face in Betty’s tits.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

   Bluford thought stealing money from poker players was pretty easy. He had the brains and the tools to take a lot of money. He didn’t necessarily consider it cheating. It was more like using all the advantages at hand in order to separate a fool and his money or in Bluford’s case, separating many fools with lots of their money.

   That’s what he was planning to do when he went over to the brothel. He saw plenty of prospective suckers but settled on a table with a particularly easy mark. When Bluford introduced himself, the man just grunted and said, “I’m Frank. Sit down and shut up if you want to play.”

   So that’s what they did. They played along with three other men who were the typical breed of poker players one would find in a small town.

   
Bluford was up quite a bit of money when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was the black man who had been watching the door. He said, “Sir, there’s someone who wants to see you.”

   “Can it wait? My friends and I are in the middle of a game,” Bluford said. He thought adding that bit about his friends was a nice touch. It would put the other men at ease.

   “No sir, it’s urgent.”