Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.
Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.
A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.
Unfinished Business Trying for Amnesty Days c May 1881
Chapter 1: A Pretty Little Town?
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"You sure he ain't drunk?" asked the hotel desk clerk.
Kid Curry stopped writing. Guileless blue eyes looked up from the registry book, the elegant script of his alias only half finished. Thaddeus. A tightlipped smile spread across Kid's face. Heyes slumped beside him, both forearms upon the reception counter. The gray sleeves of Heyes' jacket stood out in sharp contrast to the white cuffs of his shirt and his pale hands. The older Kansan's dark haired head remained bowed, black pointed hat pulled low, sunken eyes closed against the oil lamp's bright light.
"I'm sure," replied Kid in a quiet tone. "We've been travelling all day. My partner just needs to rest."
Kid's back stiffened at the clerk's audible sniff, but the disagreeable man didn't notice as he turned away and reached for a room key. The clerk muttered something that sounded like "sleep it off more likely." Heyes had been quiet ever since they got on the first stage earlier that morning. The fact that Heyes didn't rouse at the clerk's disparaging comment was more worrisome than Kid wanted to admit. The clerk turned back to face them and thumped the room key down on the counter beside the ledger.
"I don't appreciate your talking about my partner like that," warned the lean muscled young man.
"We don't want no trouble here," declared the unpleasant clerk. "This is a respectable hotel."
Kid's level gaze met the desk clerk's squinted eyes. The man backed up a step. Heyes' head raised. The shadowed circles beneath his brown eyes made the slender man's eyes look even darker than usual. The gaze he shot towards Kid told him in no uncertain terms the clerk's opinion of them wasn't worth bothering about. Kid sucked in a deep breath, but agreed. He needed to worry more about his ill partner than a rude clerk.
"Good. We don't want trouble either," nodded the curly blond head.
The clerk started to breathe again. The irritating man stepped forward and pushed the key towards Kid.
"That will be two dollars," declared the clerk.
"That's highway robbery," objected Heyes.
Kid swallowed a smirk at the clerk's affronted squawk. The muscular blond felt a sense of relief that his frugal cousin at least argued the high fee. The doctor had deemed Heyes well enough for stage travel this morning, but a day of jolting over the countryside had his partner looking done in.
"Best room in the house," huffed the clerk. "With two beds overlooking our beautiful…"
"Are the sheets clean?" interrupted Heyes. "We're not paying for bedbugs."
As the clerk launched into a recital of the attributes of the hotel, Kid reached inside his brown leather jacket to the pocket that contained his wallet. For once, it was well filled. The money from the sale of their horses and tack this morning had paid for Smith and Jones to get two tickets on the stage west to Gumption Gully. The partner's disembarked at the first stop in Wilton's Bend. While the westbound stage continued onward, Kid purchased two tickets on the southbound stage to Newton Falls using their old aliases, Rembacker and Owens. The diversionary tactics continued as the partners switched stages and aliases once more at the way stop in Red Bank, finally arriving in Union Flats at dusk. Kid didn't think Rachel Carlson would go back on her word, but he figured it would be safer if Smith and Jones weren't too easy to track.
"And we'll need hot water for a bath," interrupted Kid.
"That's extra," insisted the clerk. "Another four bits."
Kid heard the sharp inhalation that indicated his partner was gearing up for a verbal sparring match.
"Shouldn't a bath be included in the price of the best room in the house?" interceded Kid in a mild tone.
The desk clerk's chin jutted out. The man's eyes narrowed for a moment, then he nodded once.
"Alright," the man grated out. "One bath on the house."
Kid counted out the necessary money and then finished signing in. The shootist hoped they wouldn't have to touch the wages Jake Carlson had paid them for killing cougars. They would need to get horses and gear again when Heyes was well enough to ride. The younger Kansan picked up the room key and his gloves from the counter, tipped his brown hat at the clerk, then adjusted the heavily laden saddle bags draped over his left shoulder before he reached for their bedrolls. Kid grasped his partner's elbow and turned Heyes to face the stairs.
"Let's get you upstairs Joshua," urged Kid.
"I can't believe he's charging four bits for hot water," grumbled Heyes in a low murmur as they moved away from the registry counter. "Why do you want a bath? You don't need one."
"No," nodded Kid in agreement. "You do. A hot soak will make you feel better."
Heyes' snort indicated his objection, but any argument was forestalled as they reached the staircase. Kid didn't comment on his wobbly partner's white knuckled grip on the banister, and he stayed right behind Heyes every step of the climb. Finally they reached the front bedroom. Heyes leaned against the wall as Kid inserted the key in the lock. The door swung open. Kid surveyed the large room. To his left, a night stand with a single drawer stood sentry beside the closest bed. The shiny brass arch of the headboard was camouflaged behind a mound of fluffy pillows. A high backed upholstered chair guarded the other side of the bed. The front was exposed. Heavy floral drapes hung to either side of the tall, narrow windows. A dry sink topped with a large wash bowl and a pitcher adorned with pink roses flanked the right wall. The Spartan second bed had two thin pillows. A tall bureau with an oil lamp setting on a lace doily stood watch between the bed and the open door.
"After you," gestured Kid.
Heyes pushed off the wall. Panting with exertion, the former outlaw staggered inside the room. The fast draw followed. Kid dropped the saddlebags and bedrolls just inside the entrance. He pushed the door shut behind them as Heyes' knees started to buckle. Kid caught his weary partner around the waist before Heyes hit the floor. He shepherded his cousin to sit on the side of the nearest bed.
"I knew it was too soon for you to be travelling," groused Kid.
"Doc said I could! I'm fine," insisted Heyes.
Kid released his grip on his partner. He moved towards the other bed and tossed his hat and gloves on the piecework quilt. Heyes placed his hands on either side of his hips to steady himself.
"Why are you so worried about me?" sighed Heyes.
"You ain't fine," answered Kid. "You've been shot."
Blue eyes met brown in a wordless exchange. Heyes' lips crinkled up in a small rueful smile, he shrugged.
"It isn't easy is it?" asked Heyes.
"What?"
"Being the one that's not hurt," replied Heyes. His dark eyes softened. Using almost the same words Kid had used when they were leaving the Carlson's ranch this morning, Heyes continued, "Getting shot at doesn't agree with me either. When you're injured, I feel..."
"You ain't never been shot before."
Kid was surprised at how bleak his voice sounded. He turned away from his partner's gaze and swallowed the lump in his throat as he strode quickly past the second bed to the front window.
"It wasn't your fault," assured Heyes' soft voice.
"I know," answered Kid.
He didn't tell his partner the truth of that statement didn't make it set any better. Heyes knew that just as well as he did. Standing to one side of the glass, Kid pretended to check out the darkening street below. The setting sun pierced the window panes with orange slivers of light. The watchful man carefully kept his body away from the view of anyone that might be peering at the hotel.
"You're gonna have to tell me the rest of what happened at the Carlson's," continued Heyes.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
The simple one word answer brought a smile to Kid's lips. Kid tilted his head to one side and assessed his partner carefully. His partner's dark eyes were clear and Heyes was speaking with full sentences, not the worrisome disjointed mumbles of the first few days after the shooting. Heyes might not be feeling his best, but his partner was definitely on the mend. For the first time since his partner had been shot, Kid started to relax.
"Figures, you always want to know everything."
Heyes smirked. He pulled the black hat off his head and dangled it from his bedpost before bringing his legs up onto the bed revealing the worn soles of his boots. The strategist leaned back against the pillows.
"Can't make a plan without information," nodded Heyes. "It's important that I know what I told Mrs. Carson, and a few other things, like who shot me and why."
"We'll talk after supper," agreed Kid.
"Kid, I've waited all day," countered Heyes. "Besides, I'm not hungry."
"You still need to eat," declared Kid.
"You mean you're hungry!"
Kid pulled the heavy rose patterned drapes across the window. His long legs carried him swiftly back to the bureau. Kid struck a match and lit the oil lamp, spilling golden light across the oval braided rug lying between the beds. Now was probably as good a time to explain his plan to Heyes as any.
"Union Flats is a pretty little town," started Kid. "The diner..."
"Pretty?" mocked Heyes. A tired chuckle escaped from his mouth before his voice ratcheted upwards in a tone of incredulity. "The desk clerk called the town beautiful and now you say pretty?"
Kid leaned back against the wall. The cartridges in his gun belt pressed uncomfortably against his backside.
"Yeah, pretty," retorted Kid.
"This dry and dusty little town is just like all the other dry and dusty towns we've been chased out of this past year!" insisted the more loquacious partner. "There ain't nothin' pretty about it."
The corners of Kid's lips twitched upwards. The sinewy man shifted his stance slightly trying to find a more comfortable position.
"Nobody's chasing us," soothed Kid.
If anything, Kid's calm words riled Heyes more. The mastermind sat up from the pillows, raised both hands and started ticking off various businesses on his long slender fingers.
"Union Flats is just like every other town! Since we left the stage depot, we walked past a livery, a smithy, a mercantile, an assay office, a saloon..."
"Two saloons," corrected Kid. "One on each side of the street."
His partner shot a dark eyed glare at Kid before he resumed his litany. Kid decided not to mention the third saloon past the hotel. They hadn't actually walked by it after all.
"A vacant storefront, a diner, and now we're in the hotel," concluded Heyes. "What's different about this town? What makes you think Union Flats is so pretty?"
Blue eyes twinkled. A gleaming smile spread across Kid's face. His partner hadn't mentioned any of the buildings further up the street, signs that Union Flats was growing with nearly all the essentials to ensure a safe and prosperous community. In addition to the third saloon, Union Flats boasted a post office accompanied by a telegraph station, a school, a cobbler, an attorney's office, several neatly kept homes behind the mercantile, and a church at the end of the street. Even more attractive to Kid, there was one thing that he hadn't seen in Union Flats.
"Come on," prodded Heyes, "tell me what's so pretty about Union Flats?"
"No Sheriff's office."
For a brief moment silence filled the hotel room. A spark of amusement lit up Heyes' dark eyes, followed by an infectious chuckle. Kid's smile widened into a full out grin, and then he found himself laughing out loud. It felt good to laugh again after the long worrisome weeks of cougars and killers and Carlsons. Heyes settled back again, deeper into the pillows, wriggling his legs as he stretched out on the soft bed. He crossed one slim leg over the other. A mischievous smile dimpled Heyes' cheeks.
"Kid," agreed Heyes as he crossed his hands behind his head, "I do believe you're right. Union Flats is the prettiest little town we've seen in a long while."
Kid sauntered over to the door. He picked up the abandoned saddlebags and brought them to his bed. The careful man bent over, opened the clasp on one side and started rummaging through the pouch. He pulled out socks, a crumpled white shirt, a wide toothed comb, a container of boot polish, red longjohns, and a bar of yellow soap.
"Catch," called Kid.
Kid tossed the soap towards his cousin. Heyes' nimble fingers snatched the soap in midair.
"Tomorrow morning I'll telegraph Lom," smiled Kid.
"Why so soon?" asked Heyes. "We don't have to contact him until the end of the month."
"I told Mrs. Carlson to contact Lom when she needs to reach us," answered Kid as he resumed unpacking the saddlebags.
"When Mrs. Carlson needs to reach us? What do you mean? Why?" questioned Heyes in a puzzled tone. "Why would she need to reach us?"
Kid's hands paused. He looked over his shoulder. Heyes sniffed the soap, his nose crinkled up at the odor of the yellow bar.
"I promised I'd be back to testify for Jake," answered Kid.
The soap dropped from Heyes' hands as his jaw dropped open. Speechless for a moment, Heyes ran his fingers through his dark hair. He closed his mouth and swallowed before a torrent of words poured out of his mouth.
"Are you out of your mind?" protested Heyes. "You can't go back there! Mrs. Carlson knows who we are! Why would you need to testify for Jake..."
Kid straightened up. Heyes continued his remonstrations, his querulous voice rising with every word. A knock on the door interrupted the flood of objections. Kid and Heyes exchanged a glance.
"That will be your bath water," asserted Kid in a quiet voice.
"Kid,"A low hiss of frustration erupted from Heyes.
"I'm gonna fetch us some supper while you take your bath."
"Why do you think you have to testify for Jake?" objected Heyes.
The knock sounded again, followed by a youthful voice calling, "Señor, su baño."
"The last thing we need is for you to go back to the Carlson's ranch!"
"I ain't arguing with you Heyes," replied Kid.
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