fandom: Deadwood
length: 2530 words
Gen prequel
Rated M for language, references to prostitution, violence
Al/Trixie, Dan, Jewel
Warnings: violence, language, dysfunctional but realistic pimp/prostitute interaction
Summary: Time is early 1870s. Al, Dan, and the rest return to Virginia City. Al finds Trixie in far different circumstances from which he left her, and all is far from well.
Eight Weeks
Part 1
It took eight weeks for Al and the others to get back to Virginia City. He could have done it in six, but a decent looking stagecoach with one driver and a motley-looking family appearing to be two daughters, their crippled mother, and their scholarly-looking father was so little threat as to be almost invisible. Few fellow travelers gave them a second look, other than to try and get around their slower pace.
Which suited Al Swearengen just fine. Three times, twice on side roads not far off of the main, their coach was briefly noted, then dismissed as harmless by other travelers carrying goods and coin.
The first two coaches had been sensible, handing over their cash and gold to the armed masked men by the crude roadblocks. Only the last robbery had turned violent. Handy with a gun and a blade, Al thought as he helped Dan load the last set of saddlebags and strong-box.
"How much you think we got?"
"We'll tally up when we get to town, Dan. I'm ready to get off the road." And the women are gettin' jittery and contentious, which is getting' fuckin' tiresome.
"Cheer up, girls. We're almost home." He relaxed into his seat as they made good time down the road. A brief stop for comfort and watering the horses, and they drove into Virginia City in time for supper, streets incredibly crowded, torches lighting up the main thoroughfare as the dark came on.
"See that joint?" He pointed out the side window. "That's where Trixie's workin' out of right now."
Jewel perked up at that. "Think she'll remember me?"
Al nodded tiredly. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure she will. You'd been working in the kitchen for some time before I took her out of there."
Dan got the horses settled at the livery while Al arranged for two more rooms at the Silver Queen. The clerk wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Something wrong, pal?"
"No sir. Just good to see you back, is all. Your lady friend'll be glad to see you're back, too." The young man in his worn clerk's suit looked at him with some trepidation.
Al looked at him with flat eyes. "What do you mean?"
The man began wishing he'd kept his mouth shut." Been some changes over where she works, since Miss Daisy passed."
Al's look darkened. "You're quickly comin' up on your last chance to explain yourself before I consider a more direct avenue."
"The girl you…Miss Trixie…she looks like things went rough for her a time or two, is all."
"She dead?"
"No sir!"
"She hurt bad enough for you to call a doctor? Or the law?"
"The young man began to sweat. "She didn't say nothing about needing a doctor. Nor a lawman."
Cagey bastard's hiding something. "Give me the fuckin' keys and shut the fuck up unless you can think of something useful to say. But first, go bring me up a few bottles of whiskey."
He turned towards the stairs, leading the three women up to their rooms, Wanda and Dolly helping Jewel with the steps. Unlocking their door, next to his and Trixie's rooms, he instructed them to start settling in.
"Huh." Fuckin' strange.
He looked around his rooms. The place had a sour, stale smell. Remains of a meal at least three days old were on a side table, circled by lazy flies. No smell of soap or cigarettes was in the air. A pile of dirty women's clothes were on the floor by the bed.
He put up his loot where a prying eye would have to work some to find it, then locked the door behind him, meeting Dan on the stairs. "Stow your gear and come with me. Bring along whatever you best work with in a crowd."
Dan joined him at the foot of the stairs in minutes and they headed towards the saloon.
.
"You go in and start looking for a blonde, about your age, slim, tits on the small side, wavy long hair. Pretty. Blue eyes. Looks like she'd bite your head off as soon as look at you. Find her, tell her I'm outside."
He watched Dan walk in, itching to be there himself. Still, if anything wrong was going on, he'd prefer the wrong-doer not spot him straight off. Time enough for that once he knew where she was.
"I'll be right back, ma'am. Need to take a piss first." Al watched Dan's broad-backed silhouette in the doorway.
"Well?"
"I think I seen her. She's dressed fancier than the other girls, didn't seem to be takin' no tricks right this minute." Dan looked uneasy, looking down and around Al.
"But…?"
"She got something wrong with her like your Jewel? Crippled some kind of way?"
The air seemed to thin out right then, it felt like to Dan.
"Why do you ask?"
Dan's eyes darted back and forth between the saloon and the man next to him.
"She's movin' kinda funny. Slow-like, kindly…stiff. She's over by the back faro table.
Al looked into the interior of the saloon, the hot dark air, scented with smoke, beer and whiskey, spilling out the door.
"Keep close, and watch my fuckin' back."
He took a deep breath and plastered a smile on his mug, then swung through the door. Keeping his eye on the bartender, he forced himself to not look around for Trixie.
"Evening, my good man. Announce to Miss Daisy that Al Swearengen has returned to finish our business, and pour me a drink."
The bartender's hand shook slightly as he poured out a shot. "Uh…Daisy took sick some weeks ago."
Al affected a concerned look. "I hope that good woman is doin' better now."
"Um..I'm sorry to say she passed. Elijah's running the place now."
"Elijah." Al drew out the name, stroking his chin. "I don't believe I've met him."
"Daisy's son. Elijah Winters. He's running the place now." The bartender's expression was carefully neutral as he spoke.
Al took a long, slow look around the business areas of the saloon. Not very fuckin' well. He noted the barkeep pocketing part of the bill in his apron. What looked to be a crooked card game was going on to his left. Hand signals were subtly thrown between players at dice.
"Hey, handsome. Lookin' for company?" He looked down at the petite blowsy whore at his side. He turned away from the room.
"Always, honey. What's a good time with you run?"
She sidled closer. "Six, if you pay here where my boss can see. Four if you meet me out that side door when I take my break."
He forced a laugh. "You little devil." He stroked her face. "Cuttin' your boss outa the action, huh?"
Her face grew hard. "He don't take care of me, why should I play straight with him? Girl's gotta look out for herself, right?" She softened again. "Don't worry, sugar. He don't really notice what's going on out here. He's all up in his new honey's snatch."
He thought he heard a soft "God help her" under the girl's breath.
"Interesting. The new honey out on the floor?"
"Just barely. That's her in the back, by the office." She ran her hand up his leg. "Trust me, I'll show you a better time than that one." She leaned against him. Slipping her blouse down as enticement, she rubbed against him until he looked down. He saw greenish-yellow bruises shaped like fingertips above her breasts and around her nipples. Purplish ones, fresher, looked like teeth marks. He looked up at her, all flirtation gone.
"What happened to you? Fuckin' mauled, you look."
She twitched her blouse up, covering the marks. She looked away, oddly embarrassed for a saloon whore. "I was his old "honey"."
She gave him a brittle smile. "See why I don't much mind cuttin' my boss out of his action? I got these for bein' his favorite."
His hand itched to get to his blade. "Anybody watchin' us?"
"Nobody that matters."
He put six dollars on the bar, and put one hand on the girl's hip, turning her further away from the crowded room. "Act like you're rubbing my prick."
As she moved closer, one hand hidden below the bar at his crotch, he palmed a tenner and put it in her hand. "Don't look at the bill."
A couple of grinds against his thigh, and the tenner had disappeared under her clothes.
He bent over as if to kiss her ear. "Wait a minute, then escort the new girl over to me."
She giggled and hugged him, mouth at his neck, whispering, "If something happens and the boss gets crazy, it'll come down on me, he figures I had anything to do with it." He could hear the fear in her voice.
He staggered a bit as if the drink and the girl had put him off-balance, turning her in his arms so she was looking over his shoulder at the door. "See the bear-lookin' man with the long hair? He's with me. Your boss got anybody looks like him?"
"Them that looked like that went to the joint west of town, didn't want to work for him."
He looked down at the bruised whore, and brought his mouth near her ear again. "You think anything's getting' ready to jump, come find us at the Silver Queen Hotel." She breathed against his cheek and he felt her nod against his skin.
She grinned and said more loudly, "Whatever you want, sugar." She moved out of his arms and made her way to the back tables.
Al met Dan's eyes through the open door and signaled him to be on the ready. When he turned back around, Trixie was almost in front of him. Her steps were unsteady and stiff. Her eyes widened as she saw him. There was no smile.
"You took your sweet fuckin' time gettin' back." Her voice was unsteady and thin.
Her hair was arranged in curls on the top of her head, held with a few fake jeweled combs. Sparkly pendants and chains tangled over the high lace neck of her bodice. Her dress was a chocolate brown satin, at odds with her coloring and eyes. Snug sleeves covered her arms and dripped lace over her wrists.
The finery was nothing like the other whores wore—nothing like any whore Al knew of would wear. Nothing like Trixie would have chosen for herself, either. Odd choices all around and completely unsuited, although it did not look like it had been cheap. What kind of a pimp covers up every square inch of a comely whore's skin? Then he thought of the petite girl's marks.
"You go on over to that man at the door."
No argument or questioning came from her as she slowly moved towards Dan.
"That one's special."
He turned and looked at the pale pudgy man in front of him, scraggly beard growing out over a weak chin.
"I know."
"I mean, you want her, you have to make special arrangements with me."
Oh? And you are…?"
"Elijah Winters, owner. That's one of my special girls."
"Winters…didn't a Daisy Winters own this joint some time back?" Al kept his face bland as cream.
"My mother, yes. She died a few months ago."
"Oh? Perhaps I misremember…I thought when I was in here eight weeks ago, she was fit as a fiddle. Fit enough to enter into a business arrangement with me. But you say she died a few months ago…I confess I'm...perplexed." A smarter, more cautious man would have caught the dangerous tone underlying the words. Elijah was neither.
"Well, that's neither here nor there, is it? The point is, anyone wanting that lady's time has to make special, and expensive, arrangements through me personally."
Al made a subtle move with his right hand, his body blocking his actions from anyone looking in their direction.
"I have another point. That would be the point resting on the biggest artery in your body below the waist. Move or call out and you'll bleed out before anyone gets close enough to interfere."
The bar stool behind the man kept him from pulling away easily. The cold dead stare, or perhaps his own inadequacies, kept him from calling out or fighting back, as droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip.
"I paid good money to this establishment eight weeks ago for my principle whore to work out of this joint, splitting her take with the house, the house providin' clientele and a safe fuckin' environment."
He punctuated his words with little jabs of the point of his knife. "There should be a signed paper in your mother's effects, along with the fee I paid."
"I…I know of no such—" The pudgy man began sweating more profusely.
"Stop talking, Elijah."
The man stood there, silent and reeking of fear.
"I'm takin' Trixie with me. Whether you find any papers or not is nothing to me. I'm putting my knife away…for now…and walkin' out of here. You have anything else to say on this, come find me at the Silver Queen Hotel." He looked around the room at the sullen whores and shady dealers and smiled.
"Bring whoever you feel you might need to, to feel safe. Short of diggin' up your mother, I mean."
He turned his back on the shaken man and walked out, fairly certain that the only person who would have been interested in being the man's second was dead and buried. The stillness of the crowd seemed to confirm his thoughts. He caught a glimpse of the bruised petite whore, standing by the back hall with a watchful eye on her boss.
Trixie was standing by Dan when he walked out, eyes dull as she looked up at him. Dan shot a worried look at Al. "She don't look right, boss."
"No, she doesn't. You watch behind me for any action coming out of that place."
Trixie winced when he put an arm around her waist to help her walk. When he tried to put her arm over his shoulder to take some of the weight off her feet, she gasped and closed her eyes. He dropped her arm and circled her waist again as they slowly made their way to the hotel.
