To Janelle: Thank you for your super sweet review! Sadly, copied links don't work on this site. So I didn't get your email. You can always reach me on DeviantArt under the same name. Thank you again!
To Silvian: Totally on purpose. Thank you for your review!
Chapter 31
Because of the dreadful weather, the streets were deserted. And Eleanor could follow reverend Brady without being seen. Her breath was visible, and reflected the light of the pale moon trying to peer through the snow filled clouds. The snow didn't cease, and she had a hard time not to slip on the already in ice covered ground. The bottoms of her boots were made of smooth leather, not build for walking in a snow covered landscape. The world was deadly quiet. Like it could do when the snow started falling. As if mother nature was in mourning, and commanded all the birds to be silent. They left the good part of town behind them, here the outsiders gathered on dirty porches in creaking rocking chairs. They followed the girl and priest without moving their heads. Women in ripped dresses and thin muddy faces leaned against doorposts, crossing their bare arms over their chests defiantly at the strangers coming into their part of town. Eleanor knew these were working girls, but they somehow looked worse off than the girls at Rosa's fort. She knew Colby had a rough site to it too, but she had never dared to venture there. Her mother had warned her about it when she was just a little girl, still curious and naïve.
They entered a narrow alley, the two buildings, both sealed shut with boarded windows, nearly touched at the top. They were crooked, and badly build. The snow on the ground had already been mixed with filthy mud, and she made a face in disgust at the horrible smell that hit her full force. The alley ended in a backyard kind of place, where pigs turned the earth and snow upside down in search of food. She had expected Butch to search for refuge in a brothel of some sort, but this didn't resemble any brothel she knew of. Unless these pigs were to be dressed up every evening.. she cringed at the thought.
The sound of someone chopping up big pieces of meat was the only thing that reminded her she was in fact still inside a town, and had not entered purgatory. Under a crudely set up stall, a large Asian man wearing a blood stain covered butcher's apron, chopped up what seemed to her to be pig after pig. Giant barrels, filled to the rim with various body parts, decorated the premises. This all explained the disgusting smell. The man noticed his visitors, but didn't seem to care. He eyed them suspiciously, but never ceased wielding his butcher's axe, shoving the newly cut pieces into their designated barrels. But to her own distaste, this was exactly the place Brady had been looking for, and he walked up the big man with confident strides.
"I need to speak to Cavendish." He said.
The axe chopped off a pig's hind leg, and the man looked at Brady like he wished it had been his face. "He not here." He barked. "I don't know him."
Brady tilted his head and gave the man a bored look. "Are we going to go through this again, Hai Cheng? Surely, you've got more important things to attend to tonight. Business as usual. It's Friday. Place must be packed. I can smell the stuff from here."
"No stuff here." Hai Cheng barked, shoving a pig's head into a barrel, its sickening thud when it hit the bottom almost made the girl cowering behind the priest gag. "Only pigs. Pigs and girls."
"Pigs and girls." Brady repeated, nodding in disbelief. "Are you ever going to get tired of this act at all? How long have you been at this, I wonder. Long before I made my entrance into this foul place."
"You go." Hai Cheng said, pointing his butcher's knife toward the exit, the way from which they came. "You have no business here." But Brady didn't move.
"I told you already." He spoke calmly. "I need to speak to Butch Cavendish. We're.. acquainted. We travelled together. A long.. very long time ago." Eleanor looked up at him in surprise. The revelation suddenly making sense to her tired brain.
Hai Cheng didn't seem to be buying his story and narrowed his dark eyes at the smooth talking reverend. "Prove it." He raised his chin at the priest haughtily. In the blink of an eye the reverend had reached into the inside of his long, black coat, pulled out a gun and held it at an inch from Hai Cheng's face.
"Don't make me do this." Brady said coldly. "I'd be the one burying you and I don't feel like digging a hole in the frozen ground big enough to accommodate your frame."
The Chinaman had not expected such a thing, and dropped his butcher's knife as he raised his fat arms above his head in surrender. " No shoot!" He stuttered. "No shoot! I have family in China!"
"Yea." Brady mumbled, putting his revolver back in its holster. "Something tells me they're better off without you." He placed his hand on the shaken girl's shoulder and pushed her forward. "Let's go." He urged her to follow him while they passed Hai Cheng, who still looked visibly shaken from the whole ordeal. They entered an old, badly erected door, for which Brady had to dug slightly to not bump his head. Inside, the smell was even more penetrating. Sheets hung to dry in the narrow hallway, and they both had to find their way through them. It seemed Hai Cheng ran a laundry service as well as a butcher's shop. The whole building seemed to be thrown together in a day, and a thick layer of smoke floated in the air in long, ghostly, strands.
"Where are we?" she whispered. "What is this place?"
"Be quiet. Pretend you're Swedish and don't speak the language." He ordered, never peering over his shoulder as he lead the way through the maze of drying sheets until they reached another door, hidden behind a velvet, and partially faded, red curtain. Behind it, noises emerged. Women wailing, crying, and some screaming. All in Hai Cheng's own language. Men could be heard barking orders to no one in particular, or talk to themselves in hushed tones. "Steady yourself." Brady said to her as he opened the door to let her in. It was as if she had entered hell itself. The next hall, with adjoining rooms with no doors, just the same flea bitten curtains, was a dark, dim lit hell hole. Emaciated Asian women sat on the floor, unconscious, or just barely awake, while dogs and rats scattered around the place. Some customers leaned against the walls, their eyes clouded as if they were somewhere else inside their minds.
"Opium." Brady whispered in her ear, noticing the young woman's shock. "Mankind's worst enemy in these parts. Come on." He lead her further, stepping over several unconscious people like he was used to this. They went passed a man, with the same dazed expression, but he seemed to recognize the reverend.
"Father." He slurred, grabbing Brady's sleeve. "Am ah dead?"
Slowly untangling the man's fingers, Brady sighed. "You might be, Joe. If not, it won't take long before you are." With that less than comforting message, Joe was left to himself again. They entered one of the rooms, decorated with faded canapes. Here, the wealthier clients could smoke their opium, and enjoy the women Hai Cheng provided from the orient. Recently paid cowhands, miners, and wealthy looking men sat on the floor and stared into nothingness as the drugs turned them into real life zombies. A woman dressed in luxurious fineries, reached out to Eleanor, and pet her face like a kitten.
"Pretty." She slurred.
Astonished, Eleanor took a step back, and was quickly pulled in by Brady, closer to his much larger form. "That's Penelope. Wife of a man who struck Gold in the mountains. This is how she spends his fortune." He explained.
"You know all these people." Eleanor said. It wasn't a question, more of a conclusion. The reverend turned to her for the first time since they had entered the establishment, and stared her down with his one good eye.
"They're my flock." He explained bluntly. "You don't get to choose one. You get the flock God appoints to you. Apparently He thought I could make myself useful among this one." He spread his arms, indicating the folks laying around, stoned out of their gorge. "This is why men like Jones will never earn the respect of this town. He pretends this place doesn't exist. But he does need Hai Cheng's pigs from time to time to make someone disappear."
"And the girls?" Eleanor asked with a small voice, looking over her shoulder to the passed out women, laying sprawled out on the filthy floor. Brady was silent for a moment, following her gaze with obvious reluctance.
"An unfortunate sign of the times." He whispered. "Sold into slavery by their own dirt poor parents. A female child is worth little more than her worth on the market." She swallowed thickly, convinced there couldn't be a fate worse than this. "This is not your world." He whispered into her ear comfortingly. "Cavendish knows this. Why do you think he didn't want you to be with him right now?"
She felt herself tear up at what she could have been spared from had she only listened, had she not doubted Butch's motives, his plea to let him be. "why would he be here?" she spoke softly. "What's to be found in a place like this?"
"A cheap painkiller." Brady answered. "Come on." He gently forced her to keep moving, to leave the room behind, in which silence ruled. She had a hard time pulling her eyes off the sight burned into her skull forever. Of these unfortunate souls, hardly human in their state of drug induced coma. Brady led her to the back of the room, to another door, this time closed, and knocked. No one answered.
"Cavendish?" He called. "It's Brady. Are you in there?"
Still occupied with looking around, Eleanor hardly noticed no one came to open the door. The walls of the building were so thin, that the pigs could be seen roaming around outside through the cracks in the wood. They stuck their snouts underneath the bottom of the boards, and sniffed the air, trying to get in. She could only imagine what happened when one of them succeeded, pigs were known to chew on anything laying on the ground, be it dead or alive. After a few more minutes of silence, the door was unlocked, and an elderly man peered around the doorway. He wore little round Golden spectacles on his nose, under which a large white moustache quivered from his heavy breathing. His face was covered in sweat, and he had opened the collar of his vest and shirt.
"Reverend?" He asked, almost offended to find the man in a place like this. "What on God's good earth compels you to be in a place like this?"
"Doctor Dawson." Brady greeted, tipping his wide black hat. "I need to speak to Cavendish."
"Well." The doctor peered over his shoulder for a moment. "He's in no place to be speaking to anyone at the present time, father. How do you..?" He caught sight of the girl hiding behind the tall reverend's shoulder, and frowned. "What the.. Who is that?"
"She's a friend of him." Brady cleared up. "And of me. I convinced Hai Cheng to let us in. I can be.. very persuasive if need be."
The doctor shot him a bored look. "I cannot believe that man keeps falling for the same trick you pull on him every time you wish to gain access to this establishment." He mocked. "If you two must know, mister Cavendish needs absolute rest, and cannot be bothered right now. I'm truly still here to make sure these darned pigs don't get to him. Figure he won't be thanking me if he woke up with his toes chewed off."
Brady chuckled gruffly. "Why don't you let us release you from your pig guarding duties, doctor? There's a young man waiting for your assistance in the Grand Massachusetts. I believe he's got a broken jaw, and quite some glass splinters to be picked out by hands more skilled than those of his friends."
The doctor didn't look sure to leave his patient behind, but opened the door a little further nonetheless, fixing his shirt and collar in an attempt to make himself look more presentable. The cuffs of his white shirt were stained red with blood. "I.. I suppose I should make myself useful somewhere else about now." He said, not quite sure of himself. "I'm not happy about it. A patient in this state needs constant monitoring. Then again, I suppose he's not completely by himself right now. Though I beg to differ."
"Will he live?" Brady asked, his voice void of any emotion.
The doctor waited a little before answering. "If he survives the night, he will live." He swallowed thickly when he caught sight of Eleanor's shocked expression. "I'm sorry, miss. I have no better news to give you. Although mister Cavendish himself seems to be quite oblivious to the severity of his condition."
"Tell Hai Cheng he can come in ere and suck me if he wants his money right now!" To Eleanor's relief, and despite his foul words, the sound of Butch's gruff voice was a most welcome addition to the current situation. "Ah aint payin' four bucks for an overdosed chink. Not even fer two."
The doctor pursed his lips in agitation and shot a look over his shoulder. "The reverend Brady and a young woman are here to see you, mister Cavendish." Butch didn't answer, and Brady decided he had waited long enough.
"Wait here." He told the young woman, and pushed his way past the reluctant doctor. He opened the door with the tip of his black boot, to reveal Butch sitting in a bathtub holding an opium pipe. The water, steam rising from its hot surface, had a dark ruby colour, as Butch's recently stitched bullet wound still drizzled blood into the tub. But he didn't seem bothered by it. At his sides, there were two Asian women, constantly refilling the pipe with a fresh batch of drugs. They smoked it themselves, to get it going, and then offered it to the outlaw leader, whose eyes were glazed over from intoxication.
"Joshua.. Daniel.. Brady.." Butch slurred at the reverend, a mocking smile on his pale face. "Ah'll be damned. In a goddamn hog joint too. Ah see some things just aint never gonna change." He let out a low chuckle. "Ye still wearin' the monkey suit ah see. Ye here to find one of ya lost sheep?"
Letting out a tired sigh, the priest closed the door behind him and looking around the dim lit den Hai Cheng had prepared for the criminal. He took off his hat and smoothed back his long hair. The air was hot and stuffy, causing him to sweat. "Actually I'm here to return one it seems." Butch tilted his head in question, the obvious hint not reaching his clouded brain. "Taking women up in your gang, Butch? I see some things do change."
"The hell ye blabberin' about." Butch mumbled, and reached up to rub his eyes, trying to stir himself awake. "Git out, Josh. Yer ruining mah buzz."
The doctor had joined the party by now, and seemed ready to wrestle the reverend to the floor. "This man needs rest!" He huffed, standing up to the much taller Brady, who didn't seem very impressed by the frantic man of medicine. "He all but lost almost half of his entire blood supply. He shouldn't even be in a bath tub right now.. but unfortunately he insisted and my advice was ignored." He gave Butch an almost accusing glare, to which the outlaw just raised an eyebrow.
"Cold outside." Butch shrugged a little, gazing at the ceiling like there was nothing going on. The girls at his side, in their drugged mental state, had slowly taken to washing down his chest with filthy, balled up rags. They knew what they were here for, and they also knew what happened to them if they refused. They seemed barely there, barely conscious as they performed the dreadful tasks they had been ordered to do. Both skin and bones, kept quiet through drugs, the women ignored the conversation.
"I want to know what's going on with that young woman standing outside this door, frantic with worry about you." The reverend spoke calmly. "She gave me this confusing story about a child shooting you."
The doctor, huffing in indignity, stared at Butch as if the biggest cover up in history had just been revealed. "You told me it was a grown man! And there were three of them!"
Butch grumbled and shot the doctor a warning glare. "Ye shut yer trap er ah'll make sure ye'll be stitching up yerself tonight." The doctor continued mumbling his incantations underneath his breath, offended by the undignified way he was being treated, but Butch had enough. "Get out of ere Doc. Ye had yer fun sticking needles in mah skin, now get goin'"
The physician knew better than to refuse or hesitate. He quickly closed his bag and muttered his goodbyes to the reverend, and accusations to Butch, before scurrying out of the door. Outside, he almost bumped into Eleanor, who only barely managed to jump out of the way when the doctor came out.
"How is he, doctor?" she asked, but the man didn't stop. He said nothing to her, and simply moved past her, clutching his bag tightly to his chest as he almost tripped over his own feet trying to leave the horrible establishment as quickly as possible. A little stunned at his behaviour, Eleanor was left behind, the door in front of her still closed.
Getting impatient, Brady shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Cut the crap, Bartholomew. Why are there children involved in this?"
"There's always children involved." Butch shot back, eyeing the reverend menacingly after using his full given name. "In goddamn everythin'. Ye haven't been chasing God around long enough if ye still don't know that."
"Who is that woman?" Brady asked again. "Where does she come from?"
"What's it te ye." Butch mumbled, getting fed up with the conversation. "Why don't ye just stay out of it and go polish yer chapel, eh?" He looked at one of the Asian women as if he only just noticed her, and seemed almost mesmerized by her presence.
"I'm already into it." The reverend argued, trying to keep Butch's attention away from the two girls still washing him down. His intoxicated mind easily distracted. "Whoever she is, she slammed a bottle into a cowhand's face and albeit ruined it forever. Jones wants her hide. And yours too."
"Jones don't know ahm ere." Butch mumbled, still staring at the woman closest to him, though his mesmerized gaze had turned into something darker.
"That girl you send into that saloon threw back three shots and started blubbering she's part of your gang. And that you would punish anyone coming near her." Brady sneered. "All that after that very same cowhand came on to her with.. dishonest intentions."
"Well then he deserved it te have a bottle chucked in his face, didn't e'?" Butch slurred, looking up at the reverend. "Ah don't give a damn about that gurl getting' erself into trouble."
"You both are in trouble." The reverend explained. "You need to leave. Tonight, if you can. And take that woman with you. Unless you wish her dead." He shook his head. "This town changed. Jones isn't what he used to be. He's getting paid by the Pinkertons to clean the streets off people like you."
Butch was silent for a moment, gazing off into nothingness, like the priest's words barely reached him, then he scoffed. "Then he aint doin' such an admirable job. Ah aint never seen more low lives in one place." He cringed slightly when his wound was agitated by a certain movement, and shifted in the tub. "Jones can have here fer all ah care." He continued coldly. "Ahm done with er. Ah was gonna leave er here anyway. Now git out, Brady. Don't make me tell ye twice." He looked away, back to his girls and his opium.
Defeated, Brady sighed. "Even if it was truly her fault you got shot, like she told me, I don't think that would be a valid reason for you to hand her over to a trigger happy moron like Jones."
"Then ye thought wrong." Butch remarked coldly, and laid back his head on the rim of the tub in an attempt to relax. He jumped, letting out a deep growl, when one of the women had unintentionally touched the bullet lodged in his ribcage. "Ow! Get off me!" With a violent movement, he pushed the scared girl out of his way, letting her fall to the wooden floor with a pitiful squeal. "Ahm in enough goddamn agony without ye addin' te it! Ye too! Get off! Leave me alone!" He barked at the second girl, who quickly ceased her duties and scurried out of his reach, cowering in a corner of the small room. "Ye all get yer hands off me." He mumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
Like a silent spectator, Brady watched the girls huddle up together for comfort, and slowly brought his eyes back to the wounded criminal. "Is Hai Cheng going to mysteriously lose one of his girls tonight?" He asked darkly, finally getting Butch's attention back. "Or have you parted ways with that curse?"
Butch narrowed his eyes at the reverend. "The only curse ah parted ways with is you and that goddamn bible of yers."
"I see." Brady nodded. "And the girl outside?"
The outlaw's expression softened slightly, and he was sure it didn't go unnoticed. Gathering his strength, he pulled himself into a sitting position, cupping his hands in the bloodied water to rinse his face, and nudge himself awake. The priest, patient as always, watched him force himself into the real world again, and stood by the door with his hands folded in front of his belt, like a silent sentinel. "Ahm dizzy." Butch complained, holding his face in one hand while his elbow rested on the iron rim of the tub.
"I know." The reverend said. "That's the blood loss."
Butch grumbled in annoyance. "Yea, ah know that. Thank ye." While he was still demonstratively suffering, the priest made a hand movement to the girls, indicating for them to get up and come over to him. Knowing the reverend as a man always seeking out the helpless, they obeyed, and hurried behind him, leaving the room through the door he was guarding, and blocking with his large frame. He was sure Butch heard every movement, every patter of feet, but for some reason the criminal decided to pretend not to notice.
"You need rest." Brady remarked dryly, to which Butch shot him a bored look before closing his eyes again. "I shall tell her you're resting." The outlaw said nothing more, and didn't look up when the priest turned and left.
Outside, Eleanor got up from the floor when she saw the reverend emerge from the door, closing it behind him quickly. Her legs had started to feel tired, as was the rest of her body. "How is he?" she asked, wringing her hands together nervously. "Is he in a lot of pain?"
Removing his heavy, black coat, Brady draped it around the young girl's shoulders. "Sleep is the best healer of all." He told her gently. "I have to prepare my evening mass. You're welcome to join me and leave that old crook to lick his wounds for now."
She hesitated, feeling warmer now, but shook her head. "I think I'll stay here for now." She decided. "Thank you though.. father."
He nodded, and smiled down at her. "Alright, play your role of guardian angel then." He chuckled. "I'll be in the church if you need me." With that, he left, and she watched him disappear behind the smoky haze in the narrow hallway. Now alone, she wondered what would happen if she knocked on the door herself. She lifted her arm, but hesitated, then thought against it and lowered it again. She turned, and looked around the hall for a moment, a shiver ran down her spine, but she fought it. She'd wait here for him. Right here. Slowly, her legs started to protest, and gently she slid to the floor with her back against the door. The long sleeves of the reverend's heavy coat covered her hands, and she dug into it, searching for warmth. Outside, a coyote sniffed the cracks in the wood, his blue eyes glowing in the dark of night. And somehow, with him around, she didn't feel as alone anymore.
R&R please!
Happy holidays everyone! Love you!
