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Authors: R. S. Belcher
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people’s dreams, webbing them up, drinking them dry, or some such nonsense. Man was obviously a laudanum fiend.”
“Oh, yeah,” Mutt said, snapping his fingers. “He was one of the ones got caught up in all that. Funny, I thought old Ladenhiem had more sand in him than that. Oh, well. Handle’s Mutt, pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The manager nodded. “The girls call me the Scholar,” he said. “As good a name as any. How do you do, Deputy? Mr. Negrey here says we have an issue in the alleyway.”
“If by issue you mean a cut-up whore, then yes, we do,” Mutt said. “Can you tell me who she is?”
“I’ve seen her about,” Jim said. “Never got her name, though.”
The Scholar nodded in the direction of the body and the two men started back toward the closed-off alleyway. Jim fell in to follow them, but Mutt stopped him.
“Crowd control, Jim,” Mutt said.
“Mutt, I ain’t gonna fire and fall back no more,” Jim said. “Promise.”
“I need you out here,” Mutt said. “These folks like you a damn sight more than me. I’ll fetch you presently. And don’t worry about getting sick. A man sees something like that and don’t get queasy, something broken in him.”
Mutt and the Scholar parted the blankets and entered the alleyway. The stench hit them instantly. Mutt noticed the Scholar seemed unaffected. They moved down past the open alleyway door and around the small crowd of Doves and clients that were gathered. One man, with salt-and-pepper hair and wide muttonchops in an unbuttoned pair of trousers and nothing else, was ducking under one of the slimy lengths of suspended gut, trying to reach the dead girl’s torn body.
“Take another step and I’ll throw your ass in jail,” Mutt said to the man’s back.
“Go to hell, Chief,” the man said, trying to avoid the blood and bile dripping off the intestines. “I don’t gotta listen to you when the real law is out of town. ’Sides, I always wanted to know what it was like to diddle a dead…”
The Scholar grabbed the man by the spine. His fingers, the sizes of gun barrels, squeezed the flesh and bone. He yanked the man back and lifted him several feet off the ground, one-handed. The man screamed. The Scholar tightened his grip on the spine.
“Be quiet,” the Scholar said softly. “Take the pain.” The man tried to stop screaming, and began to sob and whimper. Mutt stood back and pushed his hat up on his head, watching the show.
“If I apply a little more pressure, you will never feel pain again below your neck,” the Scholar said to the man, turning him around to view his face. “Mr. Macomber.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” Mutt said, “Max Macomber. Your wives know you out cattin’ about, Max? Not very churchgoin’ kind of behavior, now is that?”
“I’ll have your filthy mongrel hide hung up to tan,” Macomber snarled through tears of pain. “I am a personal friend of Mr. Bick and when he…”
“Mr. Bick has entrusted me to manage his business here,” the Scholar said. “You disgust me with what you proposed to do with the dead woman’s body and furthermore, you had not negotiated an acceptable price with the house to undertake such activities, Mr. Macomber.”
The Scholar moved the dangling man back to the alley door of the Dove’s Roost and set him down. Macomber doubled over in pain, gasping. He looked up at the manager and the deputy.
“I’ll see both of you fired for this! That popinjay, Pratt, was a fool to ever let Highfather hire you. Can’t trust a savage like you to guard an outhouse, and I will talk to Malachi about you tomorrow, you lummox, I assure you.”
“Very good, Mr. Macomber,” the Scholar said. “Good evening, sir.”
Macomber disappeared inside, aided by a few of the Doves. A few girls and patrons still hovered by the open door.
“Could y’all please stay the hell back!” Mutt said. He and the Scholar moved closer to the girl’s body. Someone had set a lamp near
“Oh, yeah,” Mutt said, snapping his fingers. “He was one of the ones got caught up in all that. Funny, I thought old Ladenhiem had more sand in him than that. Oh, well. Handle’s Mutt, pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The manager nodded. “The girls call me the Scholar,” he said. “As good a name as any. How do you do, Deputy? Mr. Negrey here says we have an issue in the alleyway.”
“If by issue you mean a cut-up whore, then yes, we do,” Mutt said. “Can you tell me who she is?”
“I’ve seen her about,” Jim said. “Never got her name, though.”
The Scholar nodded in the direction of the body and the two men started back toward the closed-off alleyway. Jim fell in to follow them, but Mutt stopped him.
“Crowd control, Jim,” Mutt said.
“Mutt, I ain’t gonna fire and fall back no more,” Jim said. “Promise.”
“I need you out here,” Mutt said. “These folks like you a damn sight more than me. I’ll fetch you presently. And don’t worry about getting sick. A man sees something like that and don’t get queasy, something broken in him.”
Mutt and the Scholar parted the blankets and entered the alleyway. The stench hit them instantly. Mutt noticed the Scholar seemed unaffected. They moved down past the open alleyway door and around the small crowd of Doves and clients that were gathered. One man, with salt-and-pepper hair and wide muttonchops in an unbuttoned pair of trousers and nothing else, was ducking under one of the slimy lengths of suspended gut, trying to reach the dead girl’s torn body.
“Take another step and I’ll throw your ass in jail,” Mutt said to the man’s back.
“Go to hell, Chief,” the man said, trying to avoid the blood and bile dripping off the intestines. “I don’t gotta listen to you when the real law is out of town. ’Sides, I always wanted to know what it was like to diddle a dead…”
The Scholar grabbed the man by the spine. His fingers, the sizes of gun barrels, squeezed the flesh and bone. He yanked the man back and lifted him several feet off the ground, one-handed. The man screamed. The Scholar tightened his grip on the spine.
“Be quiet,” the Scholar said softly. “Take the pain.” The man tried to stop screaming, and began to sob and whimper. Mutt stood back and pushed his hat up on his head, watching the show.
“If I apply a little more pressure, you will never feel pain again below your neck,” the Scholar said to the man, turning him around to view his face. “Mr. Macomber.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” Mutt said, “Max Macomber. Your wives know you out cattin’ about, Max? Not very churchgoin’ kind of behavior, now is that?”
“I’ll have your filthy mongrel hide hung up to tan,” Macomber snarled through tears of pain. “I am a personal friend of Mr. Bick and when he…”
“Mr. Bick has entrusted me to manage his business here,” the Scholar said. “You disgust me with what you proposed to do with the dead woman’s body and furthermore, you had not negotiated an acceptable price with the house to undertake such activities, Mr. Macomber.”
The Scholar moved the dangling man back to the alley door of the Dove’s Roost and set him down. Macomber doubled over in pain, gasping. He looked up at the manager and the deputy.
“I’ll see both of you fired for this! That popinjay, Pratt, was a fool to ever let Highfather hire you. Can’t trust a savage like you to guard an outhouse, and I will talk to Malachi about you tomorrow, you lummox, I assure you.”
“Very good, Mr. Macomber,” the Scholar said. “Good evening, sir.”
Macomber disappeared inside, aided by a few of the Doves. A few girls and patrons still hovered by the open door.
“Could y’all please stay the hell back!” Mutt said. He and the Scholar moved closer to the girl’s body. Someone had set a lamp near
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