Jessie Curtis flexed her stiff fingers, popping her knuckles impatiently. It’d been a long time since she’d darkened the door of Madame Dumont’s. She’d been waiting ‘til the curtains in the side room upstairs opened to make her move, watching the last patron exit the back door with a pep in his step.
She took a swig from the bottle, grimacing as she downed cheap whiskey. It was gut-rot, sure to kill her eventually, but she didn’t care. One vice or another would, as her parents had never neglected to tell her.
Ma always did say I wasn’t one for sense. If she were alive she’d say it now to be sure. But Mary Curtis was long dead, and Pa Hank Curtis, too. The old marshal had never thought much of his daughter. In some small way Jessie hoped maybe bringing Pa’s murderer to justice would help ease some of that, from beyond the grave and somesuch. Anyway. She wasn’t one to put stock in what the preacher man said. This Barrelsmoke business had nothin’ to do with bein’ a big damn hero or a vengeance quest or nothin’. Just seemed like the right thing to do.
So here she was, outside the window of a low-rate brothel in a town too far from a railroad to ever survive without an establishment such as this. If she had any sense she’d put miles between her and the woman she’d come to see. If she was lucky this time she’d make it out with her dignity intact.
A lone, willowy figure appeared in the window above. Finally. She spit out her chew and unlaced her spurs.
Satisfied that her target was likely unoccupied, she slipped through at the back porch as another grinning fool tipped his hat to her on the way out. Up the stairs she went. As quiet as could be managed she stalked down the hall on the sides of her feet to the last door on the left. She listened, counting out the seconds of silence, and rapped on the oak door.
“I’m with a customer!”
“Lily I know that ain’t true, otherwise I’d be able to hear ya all the way from the shithouse.”
Lillian Sackett glanced up as Jessie entered, but didn’t bother to rise or even greet her. Tobacco smoke curled up in lazy bends around her face as she reclined on a plush pink coverlet. Polite society would condemn the woman for smoking, but brothels would hardly be considered polite society. Jesse took a turn about the room, checking the wardrobe and under the bed before settling into a satin backed chair.
“Hello, Lilian.” She cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. The last time she’d been in this room it’d been a less than pleasant experience neither was likely to forget.
The Dove blew a smoke ring in answer.
“Lillian, I want you to tell me all you can about Eli Mullins.”
“Barrelsmoke Mullins? Why?”
Eli Mullins was a slippery one, he’d earned that moniker, that was for sure. Gone before a body could touch the ground, leaving only gunsmoke and victims in his wake. Jessie wasn’t too slow on the trigger herself, but no one was a match for old Barrelsmoke. People said his gun was some type of converted Navy Colt, and the smoke that hung in the air after a battle with him was from some black powder he had made special. Any gunfighter in the Territory worth his salt steered clear once they knew that particular burn. Until now.
Mullins’s face was plastered on every saloon from here to Sante Fe, $1000, dead or alive. It’d made Quay county the new destination for bounty hunters. There was no time to waste for Jessie. $1000 and revenge was a powerful motivator. She had a bullet with Barrelsmoke’s name on it, carried it in the inside pocket of her waistcoat. If Lilian Sackett helped, she might even get to deliver it.
“I’m doin’ the sheriff a favor. Said if I did he’d let me off easy for a misunderstanding couple weeks back,” Jessie lied.
Lillian tapped the nightstand and held out her hand.
“Doesn’t the thought of bringin’ a murderer to justice give you satisfaction enough?”
She scowled. “Jessie, I’ve got no love for Eli Mullins, but I do love his money.” With an exaggerated flick of her wrist she hiked up her skirts overworn silk stockings, making sure her visitor got a generous eyeful. “You gonna do him better?”
Jessie flashed a rueful smile, digging into her pocket. “Nothing more noble than giving a fallen woman an opportunity to come by honest money. That’s what Preacher Matthews would say.”
Lillian spat, projecting a well-aimed arc of saliva on trail-worn boots. “It’s double now.”
“Shit, Lil, I’ve got no quarrel with you. Just want to find Mullins and bring him to justice.” For good measure she stacked another coin on the nightstand and added, “he killed my old man, you know.”
“Marshal Curtis? That self-righteous old coot?”
“The very same.” It wouldn’t be the first or the last time her father’s name elicited that reaction. It seemed US Marshals were born to it, just like all other lawmen. Jessie wasn’t ever a great supporter of her father. Hell, half the time she was just trying to slip out the back of the saloon while her old man was setting spurs in the door. Hank Curtis was always looking to make an example of his daughter, especially if there was gambling involved. Or anything fun for that matter.
The two locked eyes. A long stare passed between them, punctuated by stray grunts and over-acted squeals from the adjacent room.
Jessie rose with a sigh, reaching for the stamped gold pieces. It was worth a try at least, to ask Lilian. Everybody knew she was Barrelsmoke’s favorite dove this side of Cripple Creek.
“What do you want to know?”
Jessie turned back. “Let’s start with when you expect him next.”
___
Nights were getting colder, despite an Indian summer threatening to take back the cooler days of late. Twilight was in full effect as Jessie pulled her sarape closer and shifted in the enclosed balcony box of Lilian’s room. The woman had begrudgingly allowed her plans, provided she get a portion of the reward money, and under pain of death to not ruin any of her fine furnishings. Jessie smirked at that, though another glare from her told him to save it for when he told the sheriff.
Across the broad streets of Tucumcari she caught a shadow behind the tall false front of Cole’s General store. That’d be Sheriff Peavy, and whoever else he’d rounded up for a posse. They were expecting a gunbattle, judging from the headcount. Jessie hoped it didn’t come to that. Hard to collect a reward when you can’t ensure the owner of the killing shot. Besides, her plans didn’t quite coincide with the ones she’d made with the lawman.
It wasn’t long after the stars appeared that so did Mullins with his own posse, about seven men all on Indian calicos. If the man had any sense of subtlety he’d have his friends ride into town separately, maybe from different directions, but not Mullins. Not that it made much difference. Someone would have to be a right fool to attack Barrelsmoke on their own. Good thing Jessie didn’t intend to.
Barrelsmoke made a predictable beeline to the boardwalk leading to M.Dumont’s. Even the noise from the saloon a block down seemed to dampen as eyes filled every street window.
Now.
“He’s here,” she whispered. Jessie reached into her waistcoat pocket, fingertips pushing a bullet up the sides of the rough cotton lining. She thumbed it into the Colt cylinder and motioned to Lilian.
“Still bad for business, this plan.” She put down the stocking she was in the midst of mending and primped herself in the mirror, adjusting all manner of ribbons and bows on her pink dress.
Jessie waved her off. “Hush woman, you’re not the one doin’ the killin’. Now get me into this wardrobe.”
The painted lady huffed but obeyed, pushing aside perfumed frocks to make room before closing the oak-paneled doors on her visitor’s face. Between the frippery being both stiflingly musty and doused in fragrance, Jessie nearly choked but caught herself. She fancied could hear the thuds and clinks of Mullin’s boots start up the stairs below.
Soon enough the spurs and footfalls grew in earnest, with a cadence and speed that could have inspired a funeral dirge. At long last they stopped in front of Lillian’s door, barely pausing before the door swung open without even a knock.
“Mullins.” Lilian greeted him from the balcony like he was hired help. At least she greeted all her customers the same.
The spurs tracked to meet her. “Lilian.” A ripping of fabric followed, but it didn’t sound like the dove minded. As a matter of fact, she could’ve sworn she heard a coo of surprise in response.
“I hope you’re interested in getting blown away tonight,” her sweet voice came through with a coy undertone.
That was it. That was the cue.
Jessie unholstered and pulled back the hammer, trying to muffle it under a petticoat she pulled up from the hangers. It did no good. The three clicks of the hammer cocking back was clear as a bell to any outlaw worth his iron.
“Say, what was that?” Barrelsmoke’s voice cut their hazy murmurs with an edge of suspicion.
Jessie kicked the wardrobe open, panels splintering under her foot. A string of curses spilled from her lips as she struggled to yank her boot free from the oak cage. The couple turned away from the balcony railing. The light of recognition dawned in the man’s eyes, grim tension drawn at his jaw. Jessie’s blood ran cold but she leveled her Colt.
A blur at the hip as Barrelsmoke palmed his revolver, a flash of silver. For once the marshal’s daughter was faster. She squeezed the trigger.
At such close quarters the shot was like a thunderclap. The bullet’s impact rippled through Barrelsmoke’s body. He recoiled backwards, face contorted in surprise, blood flying from the corners of his mouth.
For a sweet moment all was quiet. Jessie launched forward and kicked the gunslinger over the balcony railing.
Somewhere behind, Lilian screamed. Despite her knowing the plan, real panic flooded her face. She fanned herself, generous spilling bosoms heaving as she failed to catch her breath like a cowhand after a stampede. It wasn’t the re-ward Jessie was after, but it wasn’t a bad first course neither.
“Lilian!” A concerned shout rose from the deserted street below.
“She’s alright!” Jessie shouted back. She pushed down a swell of triumph and peered over the railing. A silver star gleamed crimson on a buckskin jacket below. With one foot Sheriff Peavy kicked over a dust-coated corpse, blood pooling over fine New Mexico sand. He gaped up at the balcony in baffled anger.
“Sorry about that, Sheriff.” Jessie tipped her hat. “Honest mistake.”
“Damnit Curtis, that was Barrelsmoke Mullins.”
“I know it.”
“We agreed that we’d be takin’ him alive.”
“Awful sorry, sheriff.” Jessie took her hat in her hands. “I jus kept thinkin’ about how he killed my pa, and then he went for Lil and I plum lost all control.”
Sheriff Peavy shook his head, holstering his Colt. “I should’ve known that might happen.”
Jessie wore her most apologetic face. “Well shucks, sheriff. I know you wanted to take him alive.” She stole a glance at Peavy’s face. The lawman looked mighty frustrated as he dusted himself down.
“Come on down, I suppose you’ll be askin’ about that re-ward.”
She schooled her face to solemn planes, thinkin’ of her old schoolmarm Miss Sawyer for extra measure. That spinster could teach a stone a thing or two, and Jesse had earned plenty of those looks when she was still learning her letters.
Only the tiniest hint of eagerness slipped through her voice as she replied, “only if you think it’s right, Sheriff. My Pa didn’t raise no scalper.”
Lillian snorted. Someone below may have snorted too, but Jesse was already halfway to the door.
“Oh hush, you! If you had any sense, you’d be nice as pie and get to work earnin’ your keep.”
Another snort. But it didn’t matter what Lillian thought, or how the job was done. Barrelsmoke Mullins was dead, and as far as Jessie could reckon, that made her rich. And a big damn hero. A big damn rich hero.
And there weren’t nothin’ her old Pa could say about that.