WISH YOU WERE THERE!

Jantallian

Holiday Snapshot 5

"So what did you find out from your aunty?" Finally having got into some cool clothes, the older man looked a lot less hot and bothered as he smoothed his fair hair down and regarded his reflection critically in the mirror. It was fortunate that he was, by nature, modest, otherwise the stunningly handsome reflection might have caused him to commit the cardinal sin of pride. It was about the only kind of sin he was likely to commit, despite the opinion of certain ecclesiastical ladies.

"She ain't my aunt!" The other man was out on the balcony, smoking quietly and concealing his amusement at his companion's literal interpretation of the relationship. "It's a technical term."

"Oh – theatre slang?"

"Not exactly. And no, I ain't gonna explain because …" The next part was a chorus from them both: "You don't wanna know!"

"So do we know anything that we didn't know this morning?" the blonde man amended.

"You know a lot more about shoppin'," his companion teased. "But he ain't been in the theatre and Mae says no-one's talkin' about a new minister preachin' hell fire and damnation."

"Maybe he's cooled off a bit. Things might be quieter here than in Laramie."

"You reckon?" No amount of description could possibly convey the irony and scepticism in the younger man's voice. He shook his head and resigned himself to his companion's endearing innocence and totally unjustified interpretation of the surrounding environment. Instead he disclosed some more relevant information. "But she did hear of someone answerin' his description, gettin' into a parcel of fights round the place."

"Fights?"

"Yeah. Didn't you know he had a great rep as a bare-knuckle boxer in his young days?"

"That was a long time ago, before he got religion," the logical one objected.

"Maybe he's revertin'? Thinks he's young again?"

The thinker of the expedition looked doubtful, but was willing to try anything. "How do we know where the next fight is anyway?"

"It's tomorrow night, in Micky's bar," he was informed.

"So we get a night off?"

"No. Tonight we're gonna follow up Wen's lead and see if we can find him without a fight."

The venue of their next investigation was, unoriginally, down a dark alley. Another dark alley. The entrance was low and the taller man, failing entirely to follow his shorter leader's movements, gave his head a good thump as he passed through. He stumbled down the uneven steps and found himself in what looked like a version of hell without the flames. The air was thick with smoke, and dim, furtive figures moved disconcertingly in the shadows. People seemed to be lying about, looking rather like so many corpses and with the same blank, mindless expression in common. In some cases, corpse was probably not far from the truth. Feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous, the tall man looked around. His guide had completely disappeared.

A sinister looking Chinaman suddenly appeared at his side and hissed something in an undertone. It might have been in any language, but his gestures seemed to indicate that the tourist should take his hat off. Protocol thus having been satisfied, the Chinaman beckoned him to follow and led him through the cavern towards an alcove in a far corner.

"Oh, there y'are. Try an' keep up. This ain't the place to get lost in," the dark man said. "Sit down there," - he indicated a chair behind him – "an' keep y' eyes open. Let me know if y'spot him."

"And you're not watching? What are you going to do? Or don't I want know again?"

The other waved a hand at the table. "I'm playin'." He turned back to the game.

His companion watched the room, but also let his eyes scan the gaming table from time to time. The game in progress was obviously complex, although only four players played at a time. The rustle of stiff paper tiles, the rattle of dice and the click of ivory counters was almost musical in its speed and rhythm. The dark man was concentrating hard, but seemed to be holding his own, judging by the pile of little ivory sticks he was accumulating. Presently someone brought a jug of thin, yellow wine and some very small glasses. This should have warned the more innocent of the two to be cautious, but he was intrigued by all that was going on in the cavern, as well as the intense gambling. He absent-mindedly emptied his glass. It was surreptitiously refilled. In the sweet, smoky air, people moved slowly, like creatures in a dream, except when one or other of them fell over and was dragged swiftly from the scene. His glass mysteriously seemed to have filled up again. There were a lot of people smoking – perhaps that accounted for the dense atmosphere, although it didn't smell like tobacco. He didn't seem to be able to empty the glass, despite being sure he'd drunk whatever was in it. There was a strange bubbling sound in the background. All this went on for some time.

Suddenly he heard a familiar hissing and a dull thud. For a moment he couldn't place the noise, then he remembered. It was the sound of a knife being thrown. He looked down and saw a villainous rat-like man pinned to the wall next to him by his collar. Play at the table had paused.

The gambler leaned over and jerked the knife out of the wall, twisting it instead against the evil-looking man's throat. "Aunty Mae taught me good," he hissed, "an' if I ain't spitted you, it's 'cos I intended to miss. He ain't got a dime an' y' won't part me from mine. Now beat it! And tell y' friends the same!"

The rat wriggled away into the crowd and there became a definite sense of space around the gambling table. Play resumed.

The one who, unbeknownst to him, had just had a narrow escape, found that his little glass had mysteriously disappeared. This was a good thing because when he spotted their quarry and jumped to his feet, he found that his brain appeared to have no connection with them. He had intended to stroll across and shake the Reverend by the hand, but found himself staggering rapidly across the room and thumping him on the shoulder instead.

As soon as he looked into the man's face, he knew it was a mistake. The wild, white hair was there, the long snowy beard and moustache, the nose like an eagle's beak, the mountainous build – but the tiny, pig-like eyes were bleared and red-rimmed, the mouth a dental nightmare of broken teeth and the breath at close quarters would have felled an ox.

"Worrahellaydoin'!" the stranger bellowed. He picked the incautious one up by the collar and shook him violently.

This was a mistake as well. The tall man was, as has already been noted, heavily muscled and, in addition, he was not deterred by size or bad breath when it came to a fist fight. He hit his opponent a devastating haymaker that connected in no uncertain terms with his jaw. The stranger dropped him, but yelled: "Getimladseesaftaypay!"

Chaos erupted as other equally mountainous men surged from their reclining positions with every intention of joining in. At this point the gambler, who had been methodically exchanging his ivory sticks for hard cash and all the while keeping a shrewd eye on the action, decided to render his companion a little assistance. As he was considerably shorter than most of his opponents, this consisted of charging at the nearest target and head-butting them vigorously in the stomach. It was quite effective as a tactic and the pair of tourists might have done reasonably well if the owners of the cavern had not decided that all this ruckus was disrupting trade and other more important activities. The fighters suddenly found themselves surrounded by a multitude of small but determined Chinese, who, by sheer weight of numbers, were able to simply swamp and pick up the three ring-leaders. They were carried rapidly up the steps of the cavern and tossed summarily into the alley. Moments later, three hats landed on them.

The blonde man and his bull-headed companion picked themselves up and dusted each other off with their hats. This mutual piece of sprucing was interrupted by a stentorian bellow at knee level. They both looked down.

"You in control of y' feet now?" the black bull asked.

"Yeah, let me guess – leg it again?"

"Right! Run for it!"

They pelted out of the alley and into street. If they had hoped to lose themselves in the crowd, they were due for disappointment. Admittedly the road was thronged with people of both sexes, staggering, skirmishing, begging, browbeating, scrambling, stumbling, dancing, nose-diving, reeling, wrestling, pleading, picking pockets, ambushing and undertaking a good many other deeds that did not bear too close inspection. This, however, made progress problematical if they were not to become entangled in activities they had no wish to indulge in. It also did not make for speed. Behind them, they heard the rallying cry of the one they were trying to evade.

"Getimladseesaftaypay!"

It was extremely effective. The doors of every bar, brothel, dance-hall and gambling den on the block burst open and a motley assortment of rogues, villains, miners, speculators, cowboys, land-grabbers, petty thieves, house burglars, tramps, whoremongers, lewd women, cutthroats, discharged soldiers, murderers, gamblers, drunken sailors *4 and anyone else spoiling for a free-for-all, tumbled out into the street. The odds did not look good.

"Take y' hat off!" the dark man yelled, grabbing an opponent by the arm and heaving him back into the crowd.

The fair-haired man laid out three attackers in row with his straight left and enquired: "My hat?"

"Take!" - Right jab - "it!" - Left upper cut – "off!" A head-butt followed a kick to the knees for the man in front and an elbow stove in the stomach of the second attacker creeping up behind.

They took their hats off. "Now duck!" They did. "And crawl!"

The street was one vicious, mindless, drunken riot. The two tourists emerged relatively unscathed but rather more grubby and sought shelter in the nearest alley. When they had got their breath back, they strolled nonchalantly on to the end, took a right and a left, crossed another street, took a further alley and emerged into a familiar road. The sounds of fighting were fading behind them. They sauntered into their own hotel. They had not put on their hats.

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SS - JH

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"I thought you said we'd find him without fighting this evening?" Slim complained as he tried vainly to brush the mud, dust and traces of blood off his pants and jacket. "That's the last time I take any of your friends' advice."

"That miner was like enough to be his twin," Jess pointed out more reasonably than he felt. He was sprawled across the gigantic bed, trying to count his winnings, and this was the third time Slim had interrupted him. Mathematics was not Jess's forte. "An' it looks as if you're gonna need washing doin' again, so don't be too quick to unhitch from my friends. And your wallet would have gone straight to the light-fingered laundry if it hadn't been for them tippin' me off!"

Slim regarded him balefully. How was it Jess had managed to come through that smelly cavern, a dust-up with gigantic miners, ejection by a bunch of Chinese, a street fight and crawling down an alley, without so much as a crease in his pants (apart from the ones that were meant to be there) or a tear in his shirt (always a feature of Harper rig) and not half as much dust as usual on him either? And with a wallet-full of winning? Aloud he said: "I hope the laundry bills can go on expenses too."

"Y' getting' that free," Jess told him curtly. "Friends, remember?" He rolled off the bed and took his wallet from his jacket, which was, against all habit, hanging neatly on a hanger. He had decided that he had won enough for a night on the town, even if he didn't know exactly how much it was. Fishing out his watch, he saw that the vaudeville show would be ending soon.

"Yeah, thanks," Slim said apologetically. "I guess I was out of order there." And because he was inherently honest, he added, "And out of my depth too."

Jess looked him over with affectionate concern mingled with a certain wry exasperation. Slim certainly did look the worse for wear and quite unlike his normal neat, self-controlled and confident self. "I'd do no better if I didn't know the people or the town," he said gently. "Get some sleep. Y' lookin' done in."

Slim peered in the mirror and had to agree. Quite apart from the state of his clothing, his head was still throbbing from the combined effects of a thump from the door-lintel, the thin yellow wine, two fights and some energetic crawling. He lowered himself carefully on to the bed and closed his eyes. "Just don't make any loud noises," he pleaded.

"Silent as a snake," Jess assured him, as he bent and tenderly removed the other's boots. When he had locked these safely in the wardrobe, he added: " 'cos I ain't gonna be here."

"What? Where are you going now?" Slim sat up abruptly, clutching his aching temples and glaring at Jess.

"You don't wanna know," Jess told him with utter predictability, "but, just so's y' won't lie there worryin', for a start I'm gonna buy a lady a hat!"

Slim groaned in frustration and anguish, then lay back, thwarted once more. "You won't find the Reverend in a hat shop!"

"It ain't him I'm gonna be lookin' for," he was assured with a grin – or maybe it was more of a smirk. Jess slid into his jacket, picked up his still remarkably clean hat and headed for the door. As it closed ponderously behind him, Slim moaned in faint tones, "Wish he'd been there in that cavern!" Then it might all have been worth it.