THIRTEEN
He rolled over, thumped his pillow and then regretted the action. He had a bit of a headache. It was nearly 3:00 AM and his mind was reeling. The whiskey he'd consumed at her place added to his befuddlement. Kitty kept refilling his glass as she spun her harebrained scheme. A scheme to which he had agreed. Now, in the wee small hours of the morning he tried to figure out why he had.
To be fair to himself, at first he had objected, "Kitty, I'm a lawman, I can't just go around playing games with people's lives."
"Oh for pity's sake. It's the dead of winter! Any outlaw worth his salt is spending his time in Mexico drinking tequila and having a grand old time. The Dodge City saloons are dead and we're down to one stage a week until spring. The domestic disputes of Emma May and Ollie Jackson can wait a day or two. Emma May can hold her own."
He tried to express his professional point of view, "I just don't feel comfortable ..."
She poured a little more liquor in his glass, "Listen here. Mr. Dudley is going to be an important man one day. He may even be Governor of the State of Kansas. Do you want a man, with that kind of power thinking he can just manipulate ordinary folks like us. It's up to me and you to nip this kind of thinking in the bud and teach him a lesson." She placed hands on hips and declared, "I like Daryl Dudley."
The lawman looked askance at the saloon gal, trying to measure up just how dear the Double Double D heir had become to her heart. She reassured him without realizing it, "Oh, I could never be serious about someone like him, but I think he's a good man at the root of things. The trouble with people like Daryl is they've never had to work for something, everything has been handed to them on a silver platter. Gladys too, not that she's lead a charmed life, but I think she's a nice girl, but it's not right that they are using us as pawns in a real life game of chess. What if we had deep feelings for them?" She paused to study Dillon with her own squinty glare. "You don't have feelings do you, for Gladys I mean?"
"No." He took a drink from his glass. "For Gladys?! Hell no!"
She stretched out her hands in supplication, "Don't you see, if you did, this would break your heart and for a lawman to have a broken heart, well that could end in disaster."
He nodded, he was beginning to get her point, foggy though it was. "What do you have in mind Miss Kitty?"
"Your part is easy."
Another sip, "Well, I'm glad to hear that."
"All you have to do is spend an afternoon 'helping' Mr. Frumpton in the Cobbler Shop."
"Now wait a minute, despite what you seem to think, I have a job to do." He tapped at the badge on his chest, "If I don't do it, it won't get done."
She shook her head, "For one afternoon you can solve Dodge City's crimes from the Cobbler Shop instead of your saloon of preference, or the pool hall."
He gave an indignant huff, "That's not fair!"
Her tone softened, "Oh hush, I don't want to get in an argument with you." She winked at him and worked an old ploy with a coy half smile, "I'm just teasing you."
He was a sucker, for he smiled back. "I'll be the worst cobbler's apprentice ever."
"Perfect, that's just what you need to be, the worse the better. But, all the while, be sure to tell Mr. Frumpton how much you enjoy working on old, worn out, smelly shoes."
He scowled at the picture her words presented, "So what's your part in all this?"
There was an energy to her now, born of crafty ingenuity, "My part is a little more tricky. At Banker Bodkin's Sunday dinner, I heard Mrs. Dudley invite all of the women to a special church meeting of the Ladies Aid Board of Benefactors on Monday afternoon, they're going to organize a charity bazaar or some such thing. I am going to attend."
"Now Kitty, no offense but I'm sure she didn't mean to invite you."
"Well, of course not, but ... I heard her say, I will expect ALL of you there tomorrow afternoon." She glanced up at the battered old clock that adorned a shabby wallpapered shelf in the corner of her room. "which is this afternoon." That poker look was back on her face; arch eyebrow, eyes narrowed and slight lift to mouth. "Let's see, what shall I wear that will shock the socks off those biddies."
"Hold it right there! You'll be in church, you have to show some respect."
"Oh, I will Cowboy, don't worry about that." She topped off his glass. "Drink that up and go home to bed. Come back here tomorrow night and we can discuss our success and figure out what to do next."
He finished his drink, as he was told, all the while looking at her. That yellow ruffled peignoir did little to hide what was underneath when she stood next to the lamp. His heart thumped extra hard and his heart wasn't the only body part that had reached that excited state. The Marshal extended a gentle hand with which to caress her, but she was quicker on the draw. She took his hand in hers and gave it a pump. "Right." She said, "Shake on it," and they did.
GS GS GS
That was how it had happened. For an honorable man like Matt Dillon, a shake was a binding contract, he couldn't back out now. Resting on his hard cot, he heaved a frustrated sigh. The gas street lamp outside his office flickered in the wind, dark shadows danced across the jailhouse wall and an image of Kitty Russell in her yellow peignoir danced with them and then he smiled for he remembered she expected him to come back tomorrow night.