Don't Poke the Bear [western 02] Page 8

  “Fines for what?”

  “Breakin’ the law.”

  “Who makes the laws?”

  Mayor Ha-a-a-averhouse smiles. “We do.”

  “You know what I think?” I say.

  “What’s that?”

  “I think you’re part of the circus that disbanded.”

  “Circus? Why—because of the way we’re dressed?”

  I take a minute to look at the way they’re dressed. Their clothes are the only thing normal about ’em. But then I decide it don’t really matter if they’re circus folk or not. Dodge City needs a Mayor and Town Council, and a Sheriff, too. I’m just not sure I want to be part of it.

  “Only way I’d agree to be Sheriff is if I get to make the laws,” I say.

  “I could live with that,” the Mayor says.

  “Me too,” Bob Robert says. “Harry?”

  “Me too,” Harry says.

  “Who gets the other half of the fine money?”

  “We do,” the Mayor says.

  “So if I say the bear stays?”

  “You’d have to declare it a law.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “You write it on a piece of paper and we vote on it. Then we put a special seal on the paper, sign, and record it.”

  “And if you vote against it?”

  “That wouldn’t be in our best interest.”

  “You mean the town’s best interest.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “How about it,” Mayor Ha-a-a-averhouse says. “You want to keep your bear?”

  “I do.”

  “Produce the document,” he says to Harry.

  Harry removes an official-looking document from a leather case I never saw till now, and places it on the table. It reads:

  “By special order of Sheriff Emmett Love, as approved by Mayor Ha-a-a-averhouse, and Town Councilmen Bob Robert, and Harry, there shall be no bears allowed in Dodge City from this day forward, with the sole exception of the circus bear known as Rudy, who currently resides at The Lucky Spur.”

  I look the document over and frown. “You ain’t got a last name?” I ask Harry.

  “It’s Haverhouse,” he says.

  I look at the Mayor, who explains, “Harry just uses his first name because his last name is difficult to pronounce.”

  “Uh huh. So you two are related?”

  “We share the same mother, but different fathers.”

  “A’ course you do.”

  The Mayor says, “Before you sign it, we need to swear you in.”

  They do, then Harry pulls a piece of cloth out of his pocket. It has five points, and contains the word Sheriff, which appears to have been printed by a child.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your badge, of course.”

  “Want me to pin it on?” Bob Robert says.

  24.

  WHEN I ENTER the kitchen, Wing Ding’s gone, Hester’s scrapin’ dishes, and Gentry and Rose are sittin’ at the small table where she and I take our meals. Rose appears to be feelin’ much better. I’ve noticed over time that Gentry has that affect on nearly everyone. It dawns on me that the two prettiest women I’ve ever seen in my life are in the same room with me, and both have special, though different, feelin’s about me.

  “What did the strange men want?” Gentry says.

  “To make us get rid of Rudy.”

  “What?”

  “Simmer down. I fixed it where they can’t bother him.”

  “How?”

  I pull the piece of cloth from my pocket.

  Gentry’s face lights up. “You’re the Sheriff? Oh, Emmett, I’m so proud of you!”

  “Proud?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You can kill people without getting arrested.”

  “Well, that’s a plus.”

  Rose looks at the cloth badge and says, “Bose Rennick will be here soon.”

  “You know when, exactly?”

  “No. But soon.”

  “And Sam Hartman?”

  Rose shrugs. “No idea.”

  “Have you met Rudy?”

  “I have.”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “What do you think about him?”

  Rose smiles. “He’s noble.”

  “Noble?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s that mean, in relation to a bear?”

  “Means he has an outstanding moral character, and carries himself with quiet dignity.”

  “He’s really bright, ain’t he!”

  She don’t say anythin’ and looks a little uncomfortable.

  “Well, ain’t he bright?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Emmett, but he’s dumber than baked beans. Dumbest animal I’ve ever met.”

  “What?”

  “But he’s noble.”

  “He seems so bright.”

  “To you, maybe.”

  I look at Gentry. “You gonna say anythin’?”

  She shrugs. “I thought he was smart too, but I don’t speak bear.”

  To Rose I say, “Are you mad at me for some reason?”

  “Mad? No. Why do you ask?”

  “It ain’t polite to insult Rudy’s intelligence. He’s been through a lot. And you may be a good friend, but I don’t approve of you disparagin’ what I know to be a helluva smart bear. Maybe you don’t speak black bear as good as you think you do. You probably spoke grizzly to him by mistake. Of course he wouldn’t respond to grizzly.”

  Rose and Gentry look at each other and bust out laughin’.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Gentry says, “I put her up to it.”

  “Which part?”

  “I told her to say Rudy was dumb.”

  “Why would you do a thing like that?”

  “I wanted to see if you’d defend your son.”

  “He ain’t my son. He’s a dang bear.”

  “Well, you defended him like a son.”

  Rose winks at me, mouths the words, “Sorry Emmett.”

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” I say, though she knows I don’t mean it.

  Gentry walks over and kisses my cheek. “You know what I think?”

  “No,” I say, pretendin’ to pout.

  She kisses me again. On the lips, this time. Then says, “I think you’re noble, too.”

  25.

  THE WHORES SLEEP two to a room, and each night a different one can either sleep alone or have an overnight guest. That takes care of three of the bedrooms. Shrug has the first guest room, Rose the second. Gentry and I sleep in the last bedroom, at the end of the hall. There’s a hallway door to our room, then the bedroom door. I built the outer door so I could hear anyone tryin’ to get to us from inside the buildin’. But like the other rooms, our back door leads to the balcony. Our early warnin’ system from the back is the steps themselves. They creak somethin’ awful, and I don’t fix ’em on purpose. You won’t get past the third one without wakin’ everyone in the house.

  We have three rules after closin’ time. First, I have to know whoever’s stayin’ in the overnight whore’s bed. Second, no one comes in after closin’ time. Third, no one goes outside after closin’ time. The outhouse is only twenty steps from the back of the buildin’, but bad men often lurk in the shadows near the outhouses women and girls are known to use. Gentry knows a dozen town women who’ve been violated on their way to or from their privies in the middle of the night. Some of ’em know who done it to ’em, but most won’t complain, for fear their husbands, sons, or brothers could get killed tryin’ to defend their honor. Now that I’m sheriff, I s’pect I’ll hear these complaints privately. I’d love to learn who these men are, and kill ’em.

  It’s embarrassin’ even to our whores, to have to do their business in the middle of the room, in a pot or bucket
, when someone else is sittin’ or sleepin’ a few feet away. But over time you get used to it. The worst part is when one gets an upset stomach, ’cause everyone else in the house is gonna know it. If someone’s in a really bad way, I’ll get my rifle and stand guard while they go to the outhouse. But that’s a last resort, because the likelihood of bein’ ambushed while standin’ up there on the balcony is high.

  Up there, in the relative dark, I’m a sittin’ duck.

  So tonight, knowin’ Bose Rennick and probably Sam Hartman are headin’ our way, I’m extra careful to tell everyone my back is up, and not to do anythin’ that might make me start shootin’.

  Somewhere in the middle of the night, I hear a noise outside on the balcony, despite all I’ve said. I look out the window and see Rose sittin’ on the steps. I open my back door and call her over with a quiet whisper.

  “Sorry, Emmett,” she whispers. “I can’t be in there any longer.”

  “Did you see your vision?”

  “I saw enough.”

  “You need your sleep, and I do, too. You can bunk with Gentry. I’ll take your bed tonight.”

  “You don’t feel the evil in there?”

  “Rose, I’ve spent weeks in jail cells that have been slept in by the evilest men who ever drawed a breath. I guarantee you, no twenty-two-year-old school teacher ever lived that can rob me of a good night’s sleep. Plus, I’ve slept in that room several times, when Gentry’s been mad at me.”

  She chuckles, softly. “Gentry would be angry if she heard you tell that.”

  “Well, good thing she’s asleep then,” I whisper.

  “You sure you don’t mind?” Rose says.

  “Of course not. Sleep tight. And be sure to lock the back door when I leave.”

  She does, and I enter the room she fears, feel my way around in the dark for the bed, climb in, and sleep like a baby.

  26.

  THE QUALITY OF our window glass ain’t great, and there ain’t an abundance of birds in town. But every now and then the sun will hit one of our bedroom windows in such a way as to cast a reflection. When I hear a thump like the one that wakes me up this bright, crisp April mornin’, I know the barn swallows are back.

  I don’t like barn swallows. They fly into Dodge in early to mid April and leave in September. So far I’ve owned the Spur durin’ the off season, but I heard that these birds’ll drive horses, dogs, cats and people crazy all spring and summer long.

  The one that woke me up is lucky I didn’t spin around and shoot it when it hit my window. But even while soundly sleepin’, I know to listen for the steps creakin’ before I think to shoot. Now that I’m awake I hear some voices downstairs, and smell somethin’ wonderful I ain’t smelled in months.

  Rose’s cookin’.

  I hope Gentry’s down there learnin’ some of Rose’s kitchen secrets.

  I climb down the back stairs, taking Vlad’s handgun with me to the outhouse. When I’m finished with my mornin’ ritual, I come to the back, wash up at the pump we share with the dry goods store, the feed store that’s under new ownership, and Mrs. Dunphy’s Boardin’ House. Surprisingly, no one’s out back this mornin’, so I take time to shave by the small, broken mirror someone tacked to a small tree by the trough. When I’m done, I walk back upstairs, lock the back door, and go out the front and down the hall. As I look over the railin’, I see somethin’ that don’t make sense.

  There’s six people sittin’ at different card tables, as if savin’ ’em for games, but we ain’t even open for cards yet.

  By the time I hit the bottom step, eveyone’s raisin’ their hand to get my attention. I stop where I am and say, “What’s goin’ on?”

  Everyone starts talkin’ at once.

  I calm them down and learn they’ve all been told I’m Sheriff, and they’ve got problems for me to solve.

  I notice Gentry across the way. She can see by the look on my face that I’m frustrated. They all want to talk, but none want to talk where the others can hear. So I give ’em each a number, and tell ’em to wait at the far end of the room, and I’ll talk to each of ’em in the quiet corner.

  “You expect us to stand by the bear?” one lady says.

  I recognize her as Mrs. Plenty, the very prim and proper wife of Leah’s best customer. Leah’s thin as a rail and has a scar that runs from the far corner of her eye to the side of her nose. The scar is at least twenty years old. She earned it at the age of ten, in a knife fight with another young whore. By all accounts it had been a bloody battle, and by the time it was over, Leah took the other girl’s life. But the wound on Leah’s face had been stitched so poorly, her earnin’s were never what they should a’ been. She traveled with us to Dodge last September, and I managed to get her a spot with a Madam friend of mine, Mama Priss. But even Priss couldn’t afford to keep her, so Gentry took pity on Leah, and gave her a place upstairs, where she’s managed to attract a couple of regular customers, includin’ Mrs. Plenty’s husband, Peter. Whatever Leah’s doin’ for Pete, it’s workin’, ’cause if Leah’s not available, he waits. Still, she don’t get much traffic. If it weren’t for Gentry and the buffalo hunters, she’d be whorin’ in a hog ranch.

  “The bear won’t hurt you,” I call out, loud enough for her to hear.

  Mrs. Plenty looks nervous. “I’ve never been in a saloon before,” she says. “I expected to find lewd women of low character. But a bear?”

  She shouldn’t have made the ‘lewd women’ remark in front of Constance, a big-boned gal who, in addition to bein’ especially good at letterin’, don’t take to bein’ called lewd in her own home. Though the Spur ain’t technically her home, she considers it such. Had I known she was in the kitchen at the time, hearin’ herself bein’ called lewd, I would a’ stopped what happened next before it happened. But I was already talkin’ to George Murphy in the quiet corner. Actually, we hadn’t begun talkin’ yet, because the screamin’ kept us from startin’.

  By the time Wing Ding and I pulled Constance off Mrs. Plenty, we were able to count how many freckles the proper woman had on her left bosom.

  Three.

  But I’m the only one in the whole room that got slapped over it.

  Mrs. Plenty stomped out of the saloon shoutin’ somethin’ about how I’d be hearin’ from her attorney for an assault charge.

  I look at Constance and frown.

  “She started it,” she says.

  “You’re twice her size.”

  “Damn right I am. Can’t imagine how she managed to nurse a baby with a tit like that.”

  I frowned again. “I s’pect I’ll have to deal with her husband, now.”

  “I’ll deal with him if you want.”

  “That’d probably be best, ‘less he’s heeled.”

  She puts her hand inside her dress and fiddles around a second and produces a derringer. “Even if he is.”

  I sigh. “If it comes to shootin’, respect the floors. They’ll be yours to scrub.”

  “I thought Ding Dong was working here now.”

  “Who?”

  “Ding Dong?”

  “Wing Ding.”

  She looks confused. “Who’s Ding Dong?”

  “I s’pect you been workin’ here long enough to know Ding Dong’s the woman who does your laundry.”

  “Oh. Well anyway, Wing Ding is working here?”

  “He is.”

  “Why can’t he clean the floors?”

  “’Cause he didn’t start the fight.”

  “I didn’t either. That bitch—”

  I hate arguin’ with whores. Plus, I still have five people to deal with before breakfast, and I ain’t a man who likes to put off eatin’ breakfast. I try to explain my logic to Constance. “If Mrs. Plenty had come in and slapped you, it’d be her fault.”

  “She slapped my pride.”

  I was about to say somethin’, then realized she had a point.

  “If Pete comes in, keep your mouth shut and send him my way. I’ll offer him a free week
of pokes.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “I would.”

  Constance laughs.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You don’t think Leah’s gonna be jealous?”

  “What? Why would she be jealous?”

  “I’d be jealous if you were fuckin’ my best customer for a whole week.” With that, she cackles and heads back to the kitchen.

  Realizin’ what she said, I yell, “It wouldn’t be me givin’ the pokes, you chucklehead—”

  Then I look around and see the other five grinnin’ at me, ‘cept for Clair Murphy, who looks like she was weaned on sour pickles. I sigh and walk back to the table.

  27.

  GEORGE MURPHY—NO relation to Clair—says the town kids keep breakin’ his window and wants permission to shoot ’em in the ass with rock salt. I tell him no, since everyone knows old George is half blind.

  Clair Murphy’s complaint involves the half-dressed women on the balcony of Patty’s Pie Palace, who make—she pauses to see if Constance is nearby before saying—“lewd noises.”

  “Lewd noises?”

  “Yes. Every Wednesday evening, when we’re walking to church.”

  “What sorts of lewd noises?”

  “You know. Outhouse noises.”

  “Outhouse noises? Like what?”

  Clair fixes me with a stare. “Do I really need to elaborate?”

  I sigh. “Well ma’am, maybe them noises are actual bodily noises that ain’t bein’ directed at you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Something needs to be done. And I’ll tell you something else.”

  I wait for her to tell me somethin’ else, but she don’t. So I ask, “What’s that?”

  “The place is called Patty’s Pie Palace.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ve never seen so much as an apple pie in the front window. And if those women are baking pies for Patty, well, you’ll never catch me serving one in polite company. While we’re on the subject, you should inform Miss Patty about the ill mannered women she’s hired. There are plenty of able-bodied girls in town who—why are you looking at me like that?”