the type for sure that’d drag ‘em off and lay ‘em somewhere, sure, but they ain’t gonna wanna be dragged down by ‘em afterwards. Trust me. They’d be through with ‘em soon as they came.”
Al slammed his fist on a table. “How many times I told ya, I don’t wanna hear ya talkin’ like that under my roof.”
Michael laughed silently.
“Under the roof of yer brothel ? They came in to get their muskets polished same as anyone else.”
“All the same a son ought not talk like a sailor to his father. Don’t matter though, you don’t know people with half the sense ya think ya do. I say they took two o’ my best whores away from me, and I say if I don’t see ‘em back in the next few days it won’t be short of my mind to put a bounty on who can bring ‘em back here with a pulse.”
“Ya know Pops, be that as it may be what yer thinkin’, them boys ain’t fellas yer gonna want with bad blood for ya. You seen just like I seen the way the bigger one picked up Fats and threw him out like he was yesterday’s news so it’s pretty clear where we’re standing they got confidence and healthy lot of brute force.”
“Yeah, well so does Fats but you made it pretty clear get the right drop on anybody you can leave ‘em rollin’ ‘round the floor. If Garth was still around, he’d put them boys in their place. And I’m not sayin’ so far I want them boys dead anyhow, I just want my whores back.”
“I got that Pops, I’m just puttin’ the warnin’ out while it seems sensible to do so. Don’t want to see you raisin’ more trouble than it’s worth out of a little thorn in your side again.”
“Aw Christ, get on outta here, Michael! Ya sound like yer goddamn fuckin’ mother, may she rest in peace. I’m runnin’ my business like ya run a business. Yer ever gonna take the reins from me, best pay attention how to ride. Now go play with yer friends, ya worthless!”
Michael shrugged it off and left Al’s to spend his day doing what little there was for a nineteen-year-old boy to do with spare time at the end of the nineteenth century. He chatted up Christina, daughter of the tailor on the other end of Main Street. She’d taken something of a shine to him since about a year back, or so she made it seem. By now, with nothing to show for all for her blushes and smiles save for a stolen kiss every dog’s age, he sometimes thought himself only a means by which she kept away others she didn’t want.
“Come on back with some more money,” she’d say to him, batting her lashes. “We’ll fix ya up’n some fine new leathers, make ya handsomer’n ya already are.”
And she’d smile and wink and he’d do just like she said. He’d be back a couple times a week with earnings from tending Al’s bar and poker games with the drunks, but in so many ways he felt used. Christina was, like so many other youngsters of the time, just an employee of her father’s shop and it sickened Michael a little to think of the amount of money he’d paid to her father just to keep coming in to see her. Then he’d get bitter and angry and think of all the whores from Al’s, most of whom would give it to him free of charge, and he’d wonder why the hand of Christina really meant anything at all.
When Al had had time to cool off, Michael came home and drank in the bar and smoked with some of the customers and talked of business or travel or pussy or whatever they wished to discuss.
At sunset, he wandered half-drunk back onto Main Street and saw Tommy Warden—former sheriff and former-former outlaw from some jerkwater town up north—coming into Al’s. Knowing of the friendship that existed between Tommy and Al, Michael hoped his old man wasn’t still blaming the boys from last night for what happened to Mindy and Mitsey.
Before long the sun was down and the streets turned to what they were in the early nights of electricity. A worn blanket was placed over the sun with little holes so only the smallest
Al slammed his fist on a table. “How many times I told ya, I don’t wanna hear ya talkin’ like that under my roof.”
Michael laughed silently.
“Under the roof of yer brothel ? They came in to get their muskets polished same as anyone else.”
“All the same a son ought not talk like a sailor to his father. Don’t matter though, you don’t know people with half the sense ya think ya do. I say they took two o’ my best whores away from me, and I say if I don’t see ‘em back in the next few days it won’t be short of my mind to put a bounty on who can bring ‘em back here with a pulse.”
“Ya know Pops, be that as it may be what yer thinkin’, them boys ain’t fellas yer gonna want with bad blood for ya. You seen just like I seen the way the bigger one picked up Fats and threw him out like he was yesterday’s news so it’s pretty clear where we’re standing they got confidence and healthy lot of brute force.”
“Yeah, well so does Fats but you made it pretty clear get the right drop on anybody you can leave ‘em rollin’ ‘round the floor. If Garth was still around, he’d put them boys in their place. And I’m not sayin’ so far I want them boys dead anyhow, I just want my whores back.”
“I got that Pops, I’m just puttin’ the warnin’ out while it seems sensible to do so. Don’t want to see you raisin’ more trouble than it’s worth out of a little thorn in your side again.”
“Aw Christ, get on outta here, Michael! Ya sound like yer goddamn fuckin’ mother, may she rest in peace. I’m runnin’ my business like ya run a business. Yer ever gonna take the reins from me, best pay attention how to ride. Now go play with yer friends, ya worthless!”
Michael shrugged it off and left Al’s to spend his day doing what little there was for a nineteen-year-old boy to do with spare time at the end of the nineteenth century. He chatted up Christina, daughter of the tailor on the other end of Main Street. She’d taken something of a shine to him since about a year back, or so she made it seem. By now, with nothing to show for all for her blushes and smiles save for a stolen kiss every dog’s age, he sometimes thought himself only a means by which she kept away others she didn’t want.
“Come on back with some more money,” she’d say to him, batting her lashes. “We’ll fix ya up’n some fine new leathers, make ya handsomer’n ya already are.”
And she’d smile and wink and he’d do just like she said. He’d be back a couple times a week with earnings from tending Al’s bar and poker games with the drunks, but in so many ways he felt used. Christina was, like so many other youngsters of the time, just an employee of her father’s shop and it sickened Michael a little to think of the amount of money he’d paid to her father just to keep coming in to see her. Then he’d get bitter and angry and think of all the whores from Al’s, most of whom would give it to him free of charge, and he’d wonder why the hand of Christina really meant anything at all.
When Al had had time to cool off, Michael came home and drank in the bar and smoked with some of the customers and talked of business or travel or pussy or whatever they wished to discuss.
At sunset, he wandered half-drunk back onto Main Street and saw Tommy Warden—former sheriff and former-former outlaw from some jerkwater town up north—coming into Al’s. Knowing of the friendship that existed between Tommy and Al, Michael hoped his old man wasn’t still blaming the boys from last night for what happened to Mindy and Mitsey.
Before long the sun was down and the streets turned to what they were in the early nights of electricity. A worn blanket was placed over the sun with little holes so only the smallest
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