hey look. it's me! woohoo! i'm making a comeback (sort of...) for all those who've been waiting, lots of luv and apologies!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Fallen While Stumbling
The first whiskey had tasted good, burning all the way down his throat to light a fire in his belly. The next thirteen had put him out of his misery.
Jesse sat slumped over the table, his legs twisted beneath his chair, shot glasses strewn about the table with his head in his arms, his eyes closed. Then there was a tap at his shoulders, he sat up, eyes bleary with tears and alcohol as he saw a pretty woman standing next to him, a small, tight dress cupping her sky lit breasts, a shoddy shawl pulled about her skinny shoulders. Her black hair was slicked down against her head, her skinny body bleeding the smell of vanilla.
She slid down into his lap, taking his face by his chin and poking her lips out. "You looking for a good time? They saved me special for you." Her accent sounded French as she jiggled her chest in front of him, lulling his eyes drunkenly to her skin.
He wasn't, but he didn't tell her that.
"You're not cold?" She was sitting, barely dressed, on his wet lap, his own skin standing out in gooseflesh beneath the sticking fabric.
"Are you kidding?" she asked, wrapping her arms about him, pressing his face up against her. "With a radiator like you?" She touched her forehead with the back of her hand dramatically, drawing it down the side of her obtrusive jaw. "Oh, you make me sweat..."
Her voice was husky and thin, parched for a drink, but instead, she poured him another one. "You want to go upstairs and tell me about your troubles?" she offered, lifting the glass to his lips, tipping it up so that he drank.
"No..." He pushed the cup away, water hardening in his eyes and cracking his cheeks as he let the side of his head settle down against the top of her chest, his eyes closing. "I just want to sit here..."
She looked about the bar, surprised and somewhat embarrassed by his reaction, when her eyes fell upon the dark pair of eyes that had sent her. They were close and even, eyebrows tipped above them, lingering dark out of the shadows. A many ringed hand was up on the top of a cane, clicking as he thrummed his fingers.
The woman turned back to him, stroking his hair as if nothing was wrong. "What's your name...?" she asked, leaning down close to his head, pulling on her shawl. She spoke as if to a broken puppy, her lipstick stuck lips pursing at the words.
"Jesse," he breathed in her vanilla, wanting nothing more than to drown in it and lose himself. "Jesse James."
The woman turned back to the eyes, nodding her head.
The fingers stopped thrumming, as the man leaned forward, into the light. He was broad shouldered with a mess of light brown, curly hair on the top of his head, a dark rash of stubble across most of his chin. He was handsome, devilishly handsome with dark, fiery eyes. He was dressed proper, noosed with a tan, rumpled ascot, smudged with lipstick. He wore a long sleeved scarlet shirt with a button down bib beneath an open gray vest. Furry chaps covered his legs while rusted spurs cradled his feet against the floor, their teeth biting into the wood.
If Jesse'd been looking, he would have seen that he'd seen this man before. It was Robert.
With a flick of his wrist, the woman turned back to Jesse and began to slide off his leg. "I must go now..." she spoke quickly, gathering up her shawl and resting his head back down against the table.
There was tapping against the floor, the soft clinking of frozen spurs as the man from the corner came forward, his cane tapping with his boots. He reached out and touched Jesse's shoulder.
"You gutless scum sucker," he pulled Jesse hard so that he flipped over in the chair, his legs becoming even more of a tangle as his eyes flashed open, glaring at the man who had him by the shirt. He squinted hard through the whiskey before the face came to him, the dim lights hiding the bruises from the fight. "You come back for more?"
He heaved Jesse up by his collar, getting him to his feet as his head loafed to his shoulder, having a hard time finding stiffness in his whiskey-soaked muscles.
"Why don't you leave me alone?" Jesse asked fluidly, putting his hands on the man's wrists, in an effort to get them to turn loose of him.
"And why don't you jump in a bucket o' shit? Worlds full of wishes, ain't it?" Robert sneered. "Heard your brother's dying..."
That got Jesse' blood going and he swung low, aiming for Robert's belly and missing completely.
"You wanna fight Robert," yelled the barkeep from the top of his broom, "you take it outside. You done cost me too much money tryin' ta fix up this place as it is..."
Robert turned, with a broad, toothy grin and tipped his head at the keep, obliging.
"Very well," he said, "let's take this matter outside." A couple of his drunk buddies got up from the dark table and came around him, grabbing Jesse by the shoulders, as Robert led the way outside.
Robert stepped regally off the boardwalk, stepping out onto the muddy road, his clothes immediately soaked by the rain. Jesse, unceremoniously, was thrown into the road from his shoulders, tumbling until he stopped; lying on his back, facing up to the sky.
"You know, you're some kind of lousy snake shit to threaten my family and expect help in return..." Robert took out his stiletto from his side, the blade shining in the wet, sticky moonlight as he twisted it around, letting the gathered folks admire it too.
The ladies of Black Hawk with their gentlemen in arm stopped on the boardwalks, liking the idea of a midnight shootout in the rain. Whispers were among them that the stranger was Jesse James, but none of them could be too sure.
"You and me got some unfinished business to settle." Robert seethed as he watched Jesse work his way up to his feet again, vainly brushing off the mud.
"I don't want to fight you." Jesse tilted sideways, heavy from the booze, but stayed where he was in the street, facing Robert.
"I wanna fight you though." Robert ran his palm through his hair, his chaps hanging wet and heavy on his legs, fastening him to the ground.
"I asked you nicely..." Jesse said.
"You keep on askin' huckleberry." Robert grinned over his stiletto, running it beneath his fingernail before shoving it back into its sheathe on his belt. "Someday someone'll hear you."
"You don't want to do this..." Jesse warned as he kept his knees from buckling, knowing that he'd left his guns back at the house. They were still wherever Charlie had put them.
Robert smiled widely at the threat, a thundering laugh exiting his belly as he leaned back to accommodate it. "You never cease, do you boy? Get this man a gun!" His fingers fell against his ivory pistol butts, engraved with his initials, R.F.
A large, long rifle was thrown from the darkness and Jesse caught it out of the air easily, letting the new weight settle into his fingers.
Robert reached into both of his holsters and pulled out his guns, weighing them in his hands, testing them, before he put one back away, finding his favorite.
"That suit you?"
"Not my favorite. But it'll do." Jesse spit and sighted the loaned gun.
"No draw, full aim on three, one bullet." Robert proposed the rules of the fight, rolling the chamber of his gun back and forth along his arm, liking the click, click, click. "Torso and head gets you twenty points, limbs get you ten; point reduction depending on how far away from your heart they are. Sound fair?"
"Fair enough." Jesse tilted his head, cracking his neck. As he gave his rifle a once over check. It was heavy in his arms, sticky from the mud on his hands as he held it aloft to check the alignment, then let it rest back down against the side of his leg.
"Moscoe counts." Robert jerked a thumb to one of his drink buddies, who stood rolling on the porch, ogling a large breasted woman when he turned and saluted, stepping off the boardwalk and coming around the hitching post, patting a near horse on the side.
"I'd be quite a dandy to it, sir." Moscoe said stupidly and tipped his too big hat and spit a nasty glob from his toothless mouth, some sticking in his down turned handlebar mustache.
Robert breathed slow, talking beneath his breath. "Hello twenty..."
"One."
Jesse licked his lips intently, stepping sideways with his head turned to face Robert, who'd done the same, mirroring him.
"Two." Jesse's fingers thrummed against the hard wood, becoming slick in the washing rain. Robert's fingers did the same at his pistol ends, pulling them back to kiss it gently.
"Three."
They both fired.
That's when the rifle exploded in his face, burning his eyes and searing an orange ball through his mind. He felt a hot pain graze over his arms, clunk up against the gun and ricochet right across the bridge of his nose, slicing up his forehead and knocking his head back.
He screamed as the pain hit him full force in the face, searing his brain as the heavy rifle dropped from his hands.
And the crowd gasped in surprise and delight as both the men hit the ground.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Fallen While Stumbling
The first whiskey had tasted good, burning all the way down his throat to light a fire in his belly. The next thirteen had put him out of his misery.
Jesse sat slumped over the table, his legs twisted beneath his chair, shot glasses strewn about the table with his head in his arms, his eyes closed. Then there was a tap at his shoulders, he sat up, eyes bleary with tears and alcohol as he saw a pretty woman standing next to him, a small, tight dress cupping her sky lit breasts, a shoddy shawl pulled about her skinny shoulders. Her black hair was slicked down against her head, her skinny body bleeding the smell of vanilla.
She slid down into his lap, taking his face by his chin and poking her lips out. "You looking for a good time? They saved me special for you." Her accent sounded French as she jiggled her chest in front of him, lulling his eyes drunkenly to her skin.
He wasn't, but he didn't tell her that.
"You're not cold?" She was sitting, barely dressed, on his wet lap, his own skin standing out in gooseflesh beneath the sticking fabric.
"Are you kidding?" she asked, wrapping her arms about him, pressing his face up against her. "With a radiator like you?" She touched her forehead with the back of her hand dramatically, drawing it down the side of her obtrusive jaw. "Oh, you make me sweat..."
Her voice was husky and thin, parched for a drink, but instead, she poured him another one. "You want to go upstairs and tell me about your troubles?" she offered, lifting the glass to his lips, tipping it up so that he drank.
"No..." He pushed the cup away, water hardening in his eyes and cracking his cheeks as he let the side of his head settle down against the top of her chest, his eyes closing. "I just want to sit here..."
She looked about the bar, surprised and somewhat embarrassed by his reaction, when her eyes fell upon the dark pair of eyes that had sent her. They were close and even, eyebrows tipped above them, lingering dark out of the shadows. A many ringed hand was up on the top of a cane, clicking as he thrummed his fingers.
The woman turned back to him, stroking his hair as if nothing was wrong. "What's your name...?" she asked, leaning down close to his head, pulling on her shawl. She spoke as if to a broken puppy, her lipstick stuck lips pursing at the words.
"Jesse," he breathed in her vanilla, wanting nothing more than to drown in it and lose himself. "Jesse James."
The woman turned back to the eyes, nodding her head.
The fingers stopped thrumming, as the man leaned forward, into the light. He was broad shouldered with a mess of light brown, curly hair on the top of his head, a dark rash of stubble across most of his chin. He was handsome, devilishly handsome with dark, fiery eyes. He was dressed proper, noosed with a tan, rumpled ascot, smudged with lipstick. He wore a long sleeved scarlet shirt with a button down bib beneath an open gray vest. Furry chaps covered his legs while rusted spurs cradled his feet against the floor, their teeth biting into the wood.
If Jesse'd been looking, he would have seen that he'd seen this man before. It was Robert.
With a flick of his wrist, the woman turned back to Jesse and began to slide off his leg. "I must go now..." she spoke quickly, gathering up her shawl and resting his head back down against the table.
There was tapping against the floor, the soft clinking of frozen spurs as the man from the corner came forward, his cane tapping with his boots. He reached out and touched Jesse's shoulder.
"You gutless scum sucker," he pulled Jesse hard so that he flipped over in the chair, his legs becoming even more of a tangle as his eyes flashed open, glaring at the man who had him by the shirt. He squinted hard through the whiskey before the face came to him, the dim lights hiding the bruises from the fight. "You come back for more?"
He heaved Jesse up by his collar, getting him to his feet as his head loafed to his shoulder, having a hard time finding stiffness in his whiskey-soaked muscles.
"Why don't you leave me alone?" Jesse asked fluidly, putting his hands on the man's wrists, in an effort to get them to turn loose of him.
"And why don't you jump in a bucket o' shit? Worlds full of wishes, ain't it?" Robert sneered. "Heard your brother's dying..."
That got Jesse' blood going and he swung low, aiming for Robert's belly and missing completely.
"You wanna fight Robert," yelled the barkeep from the top of his broom, "you take it outside. You done cost me too much money tryin' ta fix up this place as it is..."
Robert turned, with a broad, toothy grin and tipped his head at the keep, obliging.
"Very well," he said, "let's take this matter outside." A couple of his drunk buddies got up from the dark table and came around him, grabbing Jesse by the shoulders, as Robert led the way outside.
Robert stepped regally off the boardwalk, stepping out onto the muddy road, his clothes immediately soaked by the rain. Jesse, unceremoniously, was thrown into the road from his shoulders, tumbling until he stopped; lying on his back, facing up to the sky.
"You know, you're some kind of lousy snake shit to threaten my family and expect help in return..." Robert took out his stiletto from his side, the blade shining in the wet, sticky moonlight as he twisted it around, letting the gathered folks admire it too.
The ladies of Black Hawk with their gentlemen in arm stopped on the boardwalks, liking the idea of a midnight shootout in the rain. Whispers were among them that the stranger was Jesse James, but none of them could be too sure.
"You and me got some unfinished business to settle." Robert seethed as he watched Jesse work his way up to his feet again, vainly brushing off the mud.
"I don't want to fight you." Jesse tilted sideways, heavy from the booze, but stayed where he was in the street, facing Robert.
"I wanna fight you though." Robert ran his palm through his hair, his chaps hanging wet and heavy on his legs, fastening him to the ground.
"I asked you nicely..." Jesse said.
"You keep on askin' huckleberry." Robert grinned over his stiletto, running it beneath his fingernail before shoving it back into its sheathe on his belt. "Someday someone'll hear you."
"You don't want to do this..." Jesse warned as he kept his knees from buckling, knowing that he'd left his guns back at the house. They were still wherever Charlie had put them.
Robert smiled widely at the threat, a thundering laugh exiting his belly as he leaned back to accommodate it. "You never cease, do you boy? Get this man a gun!" His fingers fell against his ivory pistol butts, engraved with his initials, R.F.
A large, long rifle was thrown from the darkness and Jesse caught it out of the air easily, letting the new weight settle into his fingers.
Robert reached into both of his holsters and pulled out his guns, weighing them in his hands, testing them, before he put one back away, finding his favorite.
"That suit you?"
"Not my favorite. But it'll do." Jesse spit and sighted the loaned gun.
"No draw, full aim on three, one bullet." Robert proposed the rules of the fight, rolling the chamber of his gun back and forth along his arm, liking the click, click, click. "Torso and head gets you twenty points, limbs get you ten; point reduction depending on how far away from your heart they are. Sound fair?"
"Fair enough." Jesse tilted his head, cracking his neck. As he gave his rifle a once over check. It was heavy in his arms, sticky from the mud on his hands as he held it aloft to check the alignment, then let it rest back down against the side of his leg.
"Moscoe counts." Robert jerked a thumb to one of his drink buddies, who stood rolling on the porch, ogling a large breasted woman when he turned and saluted, stepping off the boardwalk and coming around the hitching post, patting a near horse on the side.
"I'd be quite a dandy to it, sir." Moscoe said stupidly and tipped his too big hat and spit a nasty glob from his toothless mouth, some sticking in his down turned handlebar mustache.
Robert breathed slow, talking beneath his breath. "Hello twenty..."
"One."
Jesse licked his lips intently, stepping sideways with his head turned to face Robert, who'd done the same, mirroring him.
"Two." Jesse's fingers thrummed against the hard wood, becoming slick in the washing rain. Robert's fingers did the same at his pistol ends, pulling them back to kiss it gently.
"Three."
They both fired.
That's when the rifle exploded in his face, burning his eyes and searing an orange ball through his mind. He felt a hot pain graze over his arms, clunk up against the gun and ricochet right across the bridge of his nose, slicing up his forehead and knocking his head back.
He screamed as the pain hit him full force in the face, searing his brain as the heavy rifle dropped from his hands.
And the crowd gasped in surprise and delight as both the men hit the ground.