This isn't like anything I've done before, I think. Curious as to reaction to the character, ideas, etc.
***
She left JD hitched outside and walked into the saloon, making sure her nailed boots made the kind of noise that suggested she didn’t care about being noticed. Everyone did notice, and looked, and that was a good sign as far as Al was concerned. It was those who didn’t turn to look who were usually the ones who’d been waiting.
The barkeep’s gaze was intent on her as she walked up. Maybe not often he saw a woman with a rifle over her shoulder.
‘You got a small back room,’ she said. ‘Private.’
He raised an eyebrow almost as bushy as his mustache. ‘Haven’t had an offer like that in some time.’
Probably hadn’t got a rifle butt cracked into his face either, yet. ‘Should be a man waiting for me.’ She wasn’t sure if Dale would’ve used his real name. ‘Dandy dresser.’
He grunted. ‘Your name, Miss?’
‘Ayzee.’
He set down the glass he’d been wiping with his filthy cloth, and disappeared through a door, leaving the bar in charge of a sullen-looking, hooded-eyed assistant on a stool. Half a minute later, the barkeep reappeared and nodded her through, showed her along a short dim corridor to the room. The blind was down. Dale sat in the shadows in the corner behind a round table, in a wing-back chair whose leather was peeling.
‘Lazy Ayzee.’
‘Dapper Dale.’ She shut the door behind her. ‘Heavy night? Resting your eyes?’
‘Something like.’ His voice sure sounded rough. But his clothes were as smart as ever: pin-stripes, a watch-chain. A coat with a fur collar was draped over a second chair. Al slipped Gunny off her shoulder and propped him against a third, buttoned-leather chair. She arranged her duster and seated herself.
‘You have something for me?’ he said.
‘Been holding it three days.’
‘If you’ve had it three days, it must’ve been an easy find,’ he said. ‘Sounds like you won’t be expecting much of a fee.’
‘f*ck you and your accountant’s tricks, Dale.’
He chuckled. ‘Never were a good haggler, were you?’
‘Too honest.’
‘Hn. Let’s see it.’
She took the warpie from her knapsack and placed it on the table.
Dale didn’t move. ‘A goat skull?’
‘Put it to your ear.’
He reached and took it with his arm at full stretch, as though wanting to keep the rest of him as much in the shadows as possible, and did as she’d said. For a moment she worried the skull’s taint would be unreliable, but Dale’s expression changed, what she could see of it.
‘Damn lullaby …’
‘Uh-hn. Gotta be worth a grand.’
‘Does it only know the one song?’
‘Don’t f*ck me around, Dale. Collectors in the Ironlaw’d give a fortune for that, and not care that it doesn’t have a vaudeville repertoire.’
He thought a moment, then said, ‘I’ll give you something in trade. Something worth a lot more.’
‘Not on your life. Right now, to me a grand is worth about ten grand.’
‘You might want to rethink, Albertine, because I don’t have a thousand. Barely a hundred.’
‘You pisser.’ She reached forward.
‘Wait — a pure-spring. I know where one is.’
‘Crap you do.’
‘Honest. Virgin, completely untouched.’
‘You’re joking. That’s the trade? You’ll give me directions and then be off and I’ll never see you again. When did I get a reputation as a fool?’
‘Never,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a reputation as someone too dangerous to cross. And I’m too fond of life.’
She let herself ease back a little in her seat. He had a point.
Dale went on, ‘It’s reliable. The man who found the spring couldn’t use it, died at the hands of the man he sold the knowledge to. That man could use it, but wanted money more, so he tried to interest me — the idea being he’d draw on its power however I wanted, in exchange for cash. Even took me there, and yes, even with my two feet firmly in mundanity, even I could sense its potency. So we came back here for the money, and I got him arrested for the first man’s murder. He was hanged yesterday.’
‘And this pure-spring, it’s out in the Wasteland?’
‘No, Albertine, it’s six inches up my ass.’
Okay, she’d deserved that. But something about his story didn’t add up. Dale was too much of a wimp to be trekking out into the Wasteland for any reason. On the other hand, he was also too much of a wimp to risk crossing her. And the chance of getting to a virgin pure-spring, with the revolver she’d been carrying around for several months …
‘I can see from your face we have a deal,’ he said.
All Al could see from his face was that he wasn’t keen for her to see much of it. Vanity, she reckoned, after a rough night. ‘Yeah, what the hell. A map in exchange for that singing goat-skull. His name’s Gary, by the way.’
*
She left without taking up his offer of a drink. One drink led to another with Dale, and she handled liquor poorly. Only once had that ever been a blessing: too many other times it had led to her having to fight her way out of a situation, and she didn’t want Dale to be one of those. She was fond of him, as much as she was of anyone still alive, and didn’t want that fondness ruined by some clumsy attempt on whatever virtue he still imagined she possessed.
She led JD down the near-deserted main street towards the general store, to stock up. When she was out of earshot of everyone, Snoops said from her knapsack, ‘He’s gonna cross you, of course.’
‘Of course,’ she said, as though she’d never believed or hoped for anything else. ‘Why else d’you think I accepted? Then I can get the damn skull back. I’d miss that little guy singing me to sleep.’
*
The map Dale had drawn located the pure-spring about four days from Humbert’s Ditch, two days into the Wasteland. That figured: pure-springs were only found near the edge. Part of the Wasteland’s spreading, she supposed, which meant she wasn’t helping the general situation any by drawing from it, but someone else would if she didn't, and a girl had to look after herself.
Especially so, when some of her so-called help seemed to be getting unreliable. Right after the meeting with Dale, Gunny stopped talking to her, even when she addressed him by his proper, ‘dignified’ name. She knew the problem, tedious though it was to admit to: that beautiful Carlson six-shooter in one of JD’s panniers, cased in rosewood and wrapped in chamois and only fired ten times to test it. Gunny didn’t like the idea of her enhancing the pistol. He was jealous, lock, stock and barrel.
It got so vexing that as they were crossing a field of blackened beans outside Forsburg, she tried to ease his fears. ‘It’d only be for close-quarter fighting,’ she said. ‘I need someone who’ll slide into my hand, who’ll want to sit there, who’ll never misfire, who’ll help keep me alive in situations where a rifle just isn’t at his best. And things are only going to get more dangerous rather than less. It doesn’t mean I’d replace you, Longshot. Just means I’d replace that piece-of-sh*t Spenser & Peake. You’d still be my choice for distance work, and hell knows I prefer to work at a distance. You and Hawkeye make such a good team.’
‘Ha ha, it’s “Hawkeye” now!’ cried Snoops. ‘Why, you’re being polite to all of us. You keep shtum, Gunny — this new Miss Zweig I like.’
Al sighed. She could only hope they’d get along in time. The thing was, she didn’t recall ever telling Dale about her plans for the Carlson. As far as she knew, he didn’t even know about Gunny and Snoops, or JD come to that. So what cross was he planning, if not to steal her newly enhanced revolver?
Maybe there was no plan in his dandified, hungover head, and he was honest after all. Nice to think there might be somebody who was.
***
She left JD hitched outside and walked into the saloon, making sure her nailed boots made the kind of noise that suggested she didn’t care about being noticed. Everyone did notice, and looked, and that was a good sign as far as Al was concerned. It was those who didn’t turn to look who were usually the ones who’d been waiting.
The barkeep’s gaze was intent on her as she walked up. Maybe not often he saw a woman with a rifle over her shoulder.
‘You got a small back room,’ she said. ‘Private.’
He raised an eyebrow almost as bushy as his mustache. ‘Haven’t had an offer like that in some time.’
Probably hadn’t got a rifle butt cracked into his face either, yet. ‘Should be a man waiting for me.’ She wasn’t sure if Dale would’ve used his real name. ‘Dandy dresser.’
He grunted. ‘Your name, Miss?’
‘Ayzee.’
He set down the glass he’d been wiping with his filthy cloth, and disappeared through a door, leaving the bar in charge of a sullen-looking, hooded-eyed assistant on a stool. Half a minute later, the barkeep reappeared and nodded her through, showed her along a short dim corridor to the room. The blind was down. Dale sat in the shadows in the corner behind a round table, in a wing-back chair whose leather was peeling.
‘Lazy Ayzee.’
‘Dapper Dale.’ She shut the door behind her. ‘Heavy night? Resting your eyes?’
‘Something like.’ His voice sure sounded rough. But his clothes were as smart as ever: pin-stripes, a watch-chain. A coat with a fur collar was draped over a second chair. Al slipped Gunny off her shoulder and propped him against a third, buttoned-leather chair. She arranged her duster and seated herself.
‘You have something for me?’ he said.
‘Been holding it three days.’
‘If you’ve had it three days, it must’ve been an easy find,’ he said. ‘Sounds like you won’t be expecting much of a fee.’
‘f*ck you and your accountant’s tricks, Dale.’
He chuckled. ‘Never were a good haggler, were you?’
‘Too honest.’
‘Hn. Let’s see it.’
She took the warpie from her knapsack and placed it on the table.
Dale didn’t move. ‘A goat skull?’
‘Put it to your ear.’
He reached and took it with his arm at full stretch, as though wanting to keep the rest of him as much in the shadows as possible, and did as she’d said. For a moment she worried the skull’s taint would be unreliable, but Dale’s expression changed, what she could see of it.
‘Damn lullaby …’
‘Uh-hn. Gotta be worth a grand.’
‘Does it only know the one song?’
‘Don’t f*ck me around, Dale. Collectors in the Ironlaw’d give a fortune for that, and not care that it doesn’t have a vaudeville repertoire.’
He thought a moment, then said, ‘I’ll give you something in trade. Something worth a lot more.’
‘Not on your life. Right now, to me a grand is worth about ten grand.’
‘You might want to rethink, Albertine, because I don’t have a thousand. Barely a hundred.’
‘You pisser.’ She reached forward.
‘Wait — a pure-spring. I know where one is.’
‘Crap you do.’
‘Honest. Virgin, completely untouched.’
‘You’re joking. That’s the trade? You’ll give me directions and then be off and I’ll never see you again. When did I get a reputation as a fool?’
‘Never,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a reputation as someone too dangerous to cross. And I’m too fond of life.’
She let herself ease back a little in her seat. He had a point.
Dale went on, ‘It’s reliable. The man who found the spring couldn’t use it, died at the hands of the man he sold the knowledge to. That man could use it, but wanted money more, so he tried to interest me — the idea being he’d draw on its power however I wanted, in exchange for cash. Even took me there, and yes, even with my two feet firmly in mundanity, even I could sense its potency. So we came back here for the money, and I got him arrested for the first man’s murder. He was hanged yesterday.’
‘And this pure-spring, it’s out in the Wasteland?’
‘No, Albertine, it’s six inches up my ass.’
Okay, she’d deserved that. But something about his story didn’t add up. Dale was too much of a wimp to be trekking out into the Wasteland for any reason. On the other hand, he was also too much of a wimp to risk crossing her. And the chance of getting to a virgin pure-spring, with the revolver she’d been carrying around for several months …
‘I can see from your face we have a deal,’ he said.
All Al could see from his face was that he wasn’t keen for her to see much of it. Vanity, she reckoned, after a rough night. ‘Yeah, what the hell. A map in exchange for that singing goat-skull. His name’s Gary, by the way.’
*
She left without taking up his offer of a drink. One drink led to another with Dale, and she handled liquor poorly. Only once had that ever been a blessing: too many other times it had led to her having to fight her way out of a situation, and she didn’t want Dale to be one of those. She was fond of him, as much as she was of anyone still alive, and didn’t want that fondness ruined by some clumsy attempt on whatever virtue he still imagined she possessed.
She led JD down the near-deserted main street towards the general store, to stock up. When she was out of earshot of everyone, Snoops said from her knapsack, ‘He’s gonna cross you, of course.’
‘Of course,’ she said, as though she’d never believed or hoped for anything else. ‘Why else d’you think I accepted? Then I can get the damn skull back. I’d miss that little guy singing me to sleep.’
*
The map Dale had drawn located the pure-spring about four days from Humbert’s Ditch, two days into the Wasteland. That figured: pure-springs were only found near the edge. Part of the Wasteland’s spreading, she supposed, which meant she wasn’t helping the general situation any by drawing from it, but someone else would if she didn't, and a girl had to look after herself.
Especially so, when some of her so-called help seemed to be getting unreliable. Right after the meeting with Dale, Gunny stopped talking to her, even when she addressed him by his proper, ‘dignified’ name. She knew the problem, tedious though it was to admit to: that beautiful Carlson six-shooter in one of JD’s panniers, cased in rosewood and wrapped in chamois and only fired ten times to test it. Gunny didn’t like the idea of her enhancing the pistol. He was jealous, lock, stock and barrel.
It got so vexing that as they were crossing a field of blackened beans outside Forsburg, she tried to ease his fears. ‘It’d only be for close-quarter fighting,’ she said. ‘I need someone who’ll slide into my hand, who’ll want to sit there, who’ll never misfire, who’ll help keep me alive in situations where a rifle just isn’t at his best. And things are only going to get more dangerous rather than less. It doesn’t mean I’d replace you, Longshot. Just means I’d replace that piece-of-sh*t Spenser & Peake. You’d still be my choice for distance work, and hell knows I prefer to work at a distance. You and Hawkeye make such a good team.’
‘Ha ha, it’s “Hawkeye” now!’ cried Snoops. ‘Why, you’re being polite to all of us. You keep shtum, Gunny — this new Miss Zweig I like.’
Al sighed. She could only hope they’d get along in time. The thing was, she didn’t recall ever telling Dale about her plans for the Carlson. As far as she knew, he didn’t even know about Gunny and Snoops, or JD come to that. So what cross was he planning, if not to steal her newly enhanced revolver?
Maybe there was no plan in his dandified, hungover head, and he was honest after all. Nice to think there might be somebody who was.
