| |
* * *
Edward did not knock on Ray's door; he pounded on it. The oaf had failed to answer for the last several minutes, but that did not mean he was not at home. Edward knew perfectly well that the sleep of the drunk was equal to the sleep of the dead.
"Open up!" Edward shouted, pounding loud enough to draw the neighbor's attention. An old woman wearing a dirty white bonnet poked her head out of a ramshackle little house where the shutters were barely holding on.
"Pipe down, will you?" she called. "He's not at home, and you're waking my grandchildren."
Edward turned to her. "Where is he?" he asked briskly.
The woman eyed him suspiciously. "Does he owe you money?"
"He owes me an explanation."
The woman screwed her face up then nodded her head, as if answering a question she'd just asked herself.
"The Shawnsee Saloon," she said. "And when you find him, tell him he still owes me for that frying pan he stole. Darn fool was probably so drunk when he took it he doesn't even remember. But you tell him for me; Mrs. Ruthers is my name. I either want my money or the frying pan back." She shut the door with a thud, and Edward continued on his way.
He knew the Shawnsee Saloon by reputation, though he had never been inside. It was not the sort of place that was considered respectable by men of his class. Indeed, he did not even think it considered respectable by men of the lower-class.
Ray was sitting at the bar when he pushed through the doors. A few eyes turned to him as he entered. They showed surprise. He did not think they were used to seeing someone dressed so finely, with hair that had been washed and trimmed and boots that were actually polished, in a place such as this.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asked as Edward made his way over. "I've got a fine bottle of whiskey."
"Nothing," Edward said, taking a seat on the stool next to Ray.
The bartender frowned. "This is a business, mister, not your house. If you're sitting here, you're drinking."
"Fine," Edward said. "Whiskey but give the glass to my friend."
Ray smiled at him. It was thin and sickly looking, full of contempt. "Are we friends now?"
Edward tilted his head to the side. "I suppose that depends on your definition of 'friend.' If all that's required is to buy one a drink and give away your hard-earned money like a fool, then surely we're the best of friends."
Ray looked at the bartender. "You heard the man. Get me that drink."
The bartender looked suspiciously at them both. "Money first," he said to Edward.
Edward pulled a dollar from his billfold and laid it on the bar. "The change is yours."
The bartender's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir. If you need anything else, sir, you just let me know."
"Some privacy," Edward said and laid another dollar down. The bartender scooped it up, poured Ray his whiskey, and walked to the other end of the bar where he remained.
Ray studied Edward over his drink. "Problem?"
"I'd say so," Edward replied.
Ray smirked. "Well, seeing as how you've done so much for me, I imagine I can assist you with whatever problem you're having."
Edward thought Ray was laughing at him. Perhaps he was right to. Edward had clearly played the fool.
"The problem is you," Edward said, hot air hissing through his teeth as he clenched them together. "You're still here. In Blisspeak."
Ray nodded. "It seems that way."
"You took my money and agreed to my terms. You should be on a train or a stagecoach or a horse. The choice of transportation matters little to me. The point is that you should already be on your way out of here. You either owe me an explanation or the return of my money. Perhaps both."
Ray dropped the whiskey down his throat and let out a satisfied breath that burned Edward's eyes.
"What money are you talking about? The only money that I've got is what I won gambling at poker last night. As far as I can tell, I don't owe you a thing."
Edward's jaw dropped. He'd never felt angrier or more foolish in his life. What had he been thinking, trusting that this man would hold to his end of their agreement?
"I gave you five hundred dollars," Edward said angrily, keeping his voice low even though it was difficult. The last thing he needed was the entire town knowing his business.
"I won five hundred dollars last night. Told my wife and my friends all about it. Everyone knows how I got that money."
"You expect people to believe that you won five hundred dollars gambling?"
"They already believe it." He paused and leered at Edward. "Especially Lily. Oh, she was mighty excited by it when I told her. Could hardly keep her hands off me."
Edward's hands balled into fists. He forced them to stay at his sides.
"I don't believe you."
Ray laughed. "Oh, yeah, she was real wound up over it all right. All I had to do was wave some of those dollars in front of her, and she opened up to me like a woman in a brothel. Maybe that ought to have been her true profession all along. Maybe when this money runs out, I'll set her to work in one."
Without even thinking about it, Edward rose from his stool, grabbed Ray by the collar, and threw him across the room.
"Hey!" the bartender shouted, then backed down when he saw the murderous look in Edward's eyes.
Ray groaned and sat up, trying to get to his feet. Edward picked him off the floor like he weighed less than a sack of flour and held him at arm's length. His knuckles cracked against Ray's jaw, and Ray fell back to the ground with an ugly thump.
Everyone in the saloon was watching them now. One or two of the men looked as if they might intervene, but Edward shot them the same look he'd given the bartender and they backed down.
"You get out of town by tonight," Edward yelled. "Don't even lay one finger on Lily before you do. If you're not gone by midnight, I'll kill you."
Ray wiped the blood from his nose and spit on the floor. "You don't have the guts."
Edward leaned over him, his blood pumping. "Maybe midnight's not soon enough. Maybe I ought to just finish you now."
"I dare you to try," Ray said and started laughing. He was still laughing when Edward left the saloon.
* * *
