CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MONTHS LATER – NARRATTED BY KID CURRY

I stretch out on the bed. I'm not planning to fall asleep, you understand, I'm simply digesting a good supper and resting my eyes, while appreciating the softness of goose-down pillows.

This is a nice place. Not the town. Hereford's pretty much the usual for cattle country. Full of cowboys drinking and gambling their wages away come the weekend. 'S'okay. But THIS place, the boarding house Mrs. Flowers runs, is real nice. Fine home cooking, clean sheets, rooms that smell of beeswax and wild flowers.

We've been here just over a week. We came 'cos it was the next place on the map once we'd finished a delivery job for some friend of Big Mac's. We're not down to our last dollar; not even near it, 'cos we – brace yourselves – got paid what we were owed. And, Heyes won us a tidy sum at the table Saturday. We're kinda half hoping to hear, through Lom, about another job from Colonel Harper. And, why would we move on when no one's so much as looked at us twice?

There's a lotta blessings to count as I lay here. But…

The thing is, a few days after we arrived, Heyes…

I guess the best way to put it is; this is the week Heyes finally gave up.

---oooOOOooo---

After we left Arcadia, we almost got back to normal. Spotting someone we knew – moving on. Scenting trouble – moving on. Hearing about a possible job in the next town – moving on. It wasn't quite the same. I noticed Heyes didn't drink as much as he used to, didn't seem quite as keen on poker lasting into the small hours. D'you know what? At first I thought it might not all be down to Nell. I'm starting to feel, myself, that a clear head in the morning four or five days outta the seven has something to be said for it. I guess neither of us is twenty-two anymore. But a few days after we left Arcadia, I'd got talking to some saloon gal and noticed Heyes'd snuck off. (So far as THAT goes, since we left Arcadia, he's been living the life of a nun. And I don't mean the kinda nun that steals funds from the bank and hides out in disguise, neither!) When I got back to our room a coupla hours later I found him at the table with what to me looked like a whole ream of paper. He looked round, half guilty, and kinda covered it with his hands, then realised how dumb that was and tried to look – er – nonchalant. Yeah, that's it, nonchalant.

"You're back early," he said.

"Makes two of us then, don't it?" I glanced at the pages of scribble in front of him. "Is that a letter? You're writin' to the doc, huh?"

Well, who else COULD he have been writing to? Most of our friends don't have addresses! Half of 'em can't read!

"Remind me to hire you out to the Bannerman agency, Kid. Deductive ability like that shouldn't be wasted."

"What are you writin' about?" He looked at me. I kinda flushed. I didn't want him to think I wanted any kiss and tell. Not about Nell. "I mean apart from the mushy stuff."

"Nothing." He realised this made him sound about fifteen. "Leastways, I'm just telling her we're both fine and wishing her all the best now the trial's started."

"Uh huh?" I stared at the pages and pages of paper. If that's all he was saying, it had to be one repetitive letter. I know he can spin stuff out and Nell likes reading but, sheesh! I didn't mean it to, but my head tilted to one side and…'Those questions you had about my past and about the decision to change course back in the summer of '80; they sure couldn't be answered in the time we had Tuesday, I'm not sure they can be answered at all, but I'm going to try…'

"Hey!" The letter was turned over and I was given a look to end all looks. Which I guess I deserved.

Three or four times over the next weeks I saw Heyes, still being nonchalant as he could, reach into his jacket and produce a fat letter addressed to Dr. H. E. A. Meredith when we were somewhere with a mail service. AND, there mighta been more, 'cos I'm sure he only took them out in fronta me when he had no choice.

---oooOOOooo---

At the start, Heyes was like a cat on hot bricks every time we came to a place that might have a newspaper. I'll admit I was keen to know how things had gone with the trial too. Trouble was, there was so much guff printed on both sides, it was kinda hard to pick out the facts. There were photographs too. Most were of Ann, some with, some without, her baby. Some were of both girls. Mind you, by the time I got to look, a coupla newspapers had neatly clipped squares missing, so I don't know I even saw all the pictures. I held one up and peered through it.

"What d'ya think, Heyes? Paper moths?"

"It'll be some fella clipping an advertisement, Kid."

Yeah, right! These days his saddlebags rustle!

One night, after arriving in a fresh town soaked to the skin, tired and hungry, Heyes pounced on a journal a few days old; his face fell, then lit up, then kinda half fell again.

"Well?" I'd said.

"Huh?"

"What happened?"

"They were found guilty, but…"

"WHAT? What was that dang jury thinkin'?"

"Probably thinking of the law. The judge had no choice but to direct 'em according to the words in the Act, Kid. They WERE guilty. Guilty as weasels coming outta a henhouse with egg-yolk dripping from their whiskers. BUT, the summing up and the fact he fined 'em the minimum he could…"

"That means they're all right then? They just got fined?"

"Huh?" he grunts, not even listening to me.

I tried to pluck the paper outta Heyes' hands to read for myself. He twitched it outta reach, then, since it was no use to either of us held at full stretch, he spread it on the table so we could share.

Judge Hanley had said the law originally targeted 'obscene, lewd, lascivious or filthy' books and pictures – the real dirty stuff that had started to flood outta New York right after the war – though the paper called it 'material whose dominant theme taken as a whole appeals to the prurient interest' and is 'utterly without redeeming social importance'. He'd said just 'cos this fella Comstock got something written about how to 'prevent conception' added to a mile long list of things banned on one of hundreds of bills rushed through without debate, as a Congress surrounded by scandal tried to redeem itself with a spate of creditable legislation in its final hours… There was a good bit of this guff. Anyhow, HE'D said he didn't intend any court he had a say in to lock up two ladies who'd be more use to everyone bringing up a baby, or looking after sick folk, for writing a pamphlet aiming to give medical advice, in plain spoken English, calling things by their right names, that folk could use or ignore or not as they chose.

Heyes was done before me. "It's what they call a moral victory, Kid," he said. He has GOT to stop with the dang books.

---oooOOOooo---

Soon after that, I realised Heyes wasn't just mailing letters out. He was hoping for something back. Whenever we stayed anywhere more'n a few days, or knew ahead of time where we were heading, Heyes would come over all nonchalant (again!) in the telegraph office and ask if there were any messages for Joshua Smith.

The first time, I pointed out we weren't expecting nothing more from Lom for a few weeks.

He shrugged, "No harm in asking, Kid."

I caught on. "Heyes, are you mailin' out where we are and where we're goin'?" No answer, but the look on his face meant I didn't need one. "Ain't that kinda risky? I mean, even acceptin' Nell won't hand us in, letters can get read, mail can get stolen. We KNOW mail can get stolen!"

"I'm not using our real names, Kid! I'm not dumb! AND, I keep what I say in any letter with a town in it – y'know – oblique."

"HUH?"

"If'n folk read 'em – they wouldn't necessarily know what I was talking about."

"Not if they're full of words like oblique, they won't!" I stared at him. "Seems to me, if she don't know what you're talking about, what's the point?"

"SHE'LL know. Nell's sharp enough to turn oblique back to a right angle."

Huh?

"D'you geddit? Oblique – right angle?"

No! I didn't get it! It sounded like the dumb kinda thing SHE used to laugh at. I rolled my eyes.

"Look, Kid. I'm not giving up! I reckon if she can believe I've really changed – that the amnesty's not JUST about staying alive and staying outta jail…"

"It AIN'T?"

"Well, is it?"

He gave me a real straight look. And - I guess he's right.

We don't talk about it much, but…

Okay. We wanna stay alive. We wanna stay outta jail.

We want each other to stay alive and outta jail. But, there IS a bit more to it than that.

And, if that something more started off kinda small and shy and sheepish, it's been getting stronger as going straight sinks in.

IF we were told we could go back to robbing and never get caught or killed – I reckon we'd still want that amnesty. I know I would.

I'm not saying we're up there with the kinda folk who do good deeds like it's natural. We're not, are we?

But…

There was something Nell said about being a doctor once that stuck in my mind: 'first, do no harm'. I reckon both me and Heyes got there, wanting to do no harm, a while back. And, I reckon some of the things the girls said kinda made us realise there's more to doing no harm than simply not being the one to start any trouble.

I shrug, "I guess."

His voice stayed low, "I want her to know I'm trying. I'm trying to be the man she wanted – the man she thought I could be - even when she's not there to see it."

Maybe that accounts for some of the quiet nights in?

So, anyhow, there we were. Heyes haunting telegraph offices and annoying the clerks: 'It's Joshua Smith – 'Ess, Em, Eye, Tea, Aitch – to await collection. It mighta been here a while? You sure? Look again, would ya? If'n anything comes in, you'll find me at the hotel.', It ain't easy to do that AND stay nonchalant, but I'll say this for Heyes – he almost pulled it off!

He'd be downcast at drawing a blank, sure. Then I'd see him talk himself round about how it hadn't been that long. Maybe the message had arrived at the LAST town just too late. Or it'd be waiting at the next town. Maybe she was still unsure. Maybe he needed to be more persuasive. And, sometimes I'd see another fat letter sent off to Arcadia, sometimes I just guessed it had gone.

Then, after we arrived here in Hereford, he – he gave up.

It was the second telegram we'd had from Lom that did it. The second after we'd left Arcadia that is. The first had come through to Red Rock. Heyes had pounced on it, read it, re-read it, re-read it again. I saw his face had fallen more than the usual 'no change from our mutual friend' droop.

"You were expecting to hear from Nell? You told her a sure way to get in touch was through Lom, huh?"

He shrugged a yes, "I guess even I've not got SO dumb, Kid, that I don't realise I can't mail out an 'X' marks the spot of where we are ALL the time."

"It's not been long, Heyes," I'd said. "She might not even have got your letter yet."

I didn't really think that was likely but, it was possible.

But, by the time we got a telegram from Lom in Hereford, it wasn't possible. It's not really been possible for a few weeks now. I hadn't seen any letter heading out from Heyes for near on ten days.

He read the telegram from Lom. It told us no change so far as the Governor's concerned and to wait around if'n we could as he might hear from Colonel Harper. That was it. No message from Nell. Nothing. Not even something – what was it – oblique.

I saw the hope finally die outta Heyes' eyes.

Part of me knows the only sensible thing IS for him to give up, but…

Watching him…

"The trial's been over ages now," I say. "We could go back to Arcadia. Most likely all the folk we're avoidin' have left. We could scout it out first, make sure. IF Hanley did stay on with Sheriff Fraser for the fishin' – you could do what you did with Clitterhouse that time…"

"'Cos that worked out so dang well, huh?"

"Yeah, but we KNOW Hanley's got an honest streak. You could go see him, discrete like…"

"Kid…"

"We know he won't turn us in for the money. If'n he tells us to head outta town – what have we lost?"

"Kid…" There was a pause. Then, "Me being able to go back isn't really the point. If she really don't want me to…" Another pause. I think he didn't like saying it. "If she really don't want me, isn't the right thing for me to leave her alone? Not go raking it all up again."

I dunno. I guess. I dunno. His face looked so bleak.

"Maybe she's waiting for you to…"

"She's not, Kid. I…" I waited for him to carry on. "The last coupla times I wrote, I told her I wouldn't put her in that position. I'd stay away until she decided. I – I asked… Nah, I'll be honest, I begged her to get in touch. Just a word. Just to put me outta… 'Yes', 'no' or 'need more time'. That's all I asked for. A word. If it was no forever – to tell me…"

I don't say anything.

The silence goes on for a long time. His brow darkens. "D*mn her! D*MN her, Kid! I did my best to be straight with her. Sure, I was using the alias, but apart from that I didn't tell her nothing that wasn't true. Apart from… Not about me and her. Not about how I felt. Okay. She's decided I'm not good enough – but am I so...? She stood up at that dang debate and reeled off a speech 'bout how even criminals still deserved to be treated with dignity. And now… I'd understand a 'no', Kid. Couldn't blame her, huh? But, don't I deserve the courtesy of an answer? She said she loved… D*MN her! Self-satisfied, smug, stony-hearted…"

I still don't say anything. I guess I'm kinda surprised at the doc. Heyes isn't being what you'd call impartial as he sounds off, but – yeah. I reckon she'd'a done better to send a brief word if'n their last meeting left things a touch – unsettled. It's what I'd have expected of her. Mind you, I suppose if Nell IS nursing a grudge, I can understand that too.

"Look on the bright side, Kid," the eyes that met mine looked anything but bright, "…I'll be better company, huh? Like the old days. We can get back to the way we were. Women – leastways the kinda women that want more'n a few drinks and a few dollars - who needs 'em?"

That night was not like the way we were. Sure, on the surface, Heyes was back to playing poker into the small hours, letting the whiskey flow, using that smart silver tongue on the working gals, but…

The next night, I – I left him to it. Maybe I am getting old.

Nah, it's not that.

Listen; I like having a few drinks – followed by a few more, I like smoking cigars, I like playing poker, I like the company of a saloon gal good enough at her job to make you forget she's getting paid to pretend to enjoy your company, BUT, I reckon I'd rather spend every evening of my life swilling lemonade and listening to dull debating circles with a cheerful Heyes, than do all the supposedly fun stuff with this fella who looks and talks and acts like Heyes, but with none of the sparkle.

Getting happy drunk for the sheer pleasure of the thing – fine. Getting mean drunk to teach some gal a hundred miles away, who'll never even know anyhow, a lesson – count me out.

---oooOOOooo---

He's at the saloon now. Well, I guess he is. He missed supper. Again! Mrs. Flowers is getting used to Heyes missing meals. We've paid for full board anyhow – so, I guess she don't mind. He was full of the usual charm before the telegram arrived, so I reckon she still sees him that way. She has this kinda fantasy he's out on business. I smile, give the occasional 'uh huh' or 'yes ma'am' and try to make sure she don't hafta see his portion of her good food going to waste.

I'll go join him later. Must digest first. And, I'm going because someone oughta watch his back – it being a Saturday night – not 'cos I want to. Still early yet. Too early for anyone to have lost their week's wages, that means too early for trouble to start. I'll just relax for…

Vaguely I hear the sounds of someone tapping at the front door, sounds of female voices in the hallway. It will be one of Mrs. Flowers' friends, probably come for a game of whist and a glass of elderflower…

A squeak of excitement. Boots running up the stairs, sounds like they're being taken two at a time. My eyes snap open; not that I was drifting off to sleep, you understand, just thinking. The door to our room bursts open before I can do more than swing my feet to the floor and make a grab for my gunbelt.

"Joshu…Oh! Hello, Thaddeus."

It's NELL! It's HER! She looks… She don't look too good.

"Nell! You're here!" Okay, it's not the brightest of remarks, but – hey – I've been caught on the hop here. I forget the gunbelt and hurry to tuck in my shirt and re-button my pants with a bit of an effort – digesting remember?

She's saying, "Where's Joshua?" and looking around the room as if I mighta hidden Heyes under the bed, or in a cupboard, when another set of footsteps – heavier and slower – reaches the top of the stairs.

"Mister Jones!" explodes Mrs. Flowers, "…I told both you and Mister Smith, I do not allow gentlemen boarders to receive visits in their rooms from lady friends! As for YOU, young lady…"

"Dr. Meredith," says Nell, cutting Mrs. Flowers with a friendly smile. She holds out her hand, politely, "How do you do? I am SO sorry, ma'am. You see it is a long time since I have seen Mr. Jones and I was so happy to discover I had found the right place…"

Mrs. Flowers stares hard at Nell and calms down a little. I think Nell musta rushed past her so fast when she heard she'd found the right place, Mrs. Flowers didn't get a good look at her. Now she can see Nell looks like a lady and hear she talks like a lady. I reckon the fact whatever expression I've got on MY face, it sure ain't 'amorous' helps too. She takes the offered hand.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure. But, you see the thing is, I have my house's reputation to…"

"Of course, ma'am. Do you have a parlour where your boarders may receive guests? Then Mister Jones can join me." One of the old Nell grins appears. "Once he's got the right buttons in the right holes," I glance down; she's right, I am crooked as a card trick, "…And pulled his boots on. AND, unless you have a vacancy yourself, ma'am, could you recommend somewhere respectable I can get a room? I'll be staying in Hereford, for tonight at any rate."

Another appraising look from Mrs. Flowers. Another friendly smile from Nell. She looks – I dunno what's been happening to her. Maybe looking plain as a pikestaff does her no harm at all with our respectable landlady.

"Certainly," says Mrs. Flowers, "The parlour is the second door on the left as you came in. You're welcome to it, I'm sure; and I'll make you some coffee. As for a room, I only take gentlemen boarders…" She scans Nell for any sign of disappointment, finds none. I think she finally decides Nell is okay. "My cousin Mrs. Roddick, on South Street, takes lady paying guests. I'm sure she could accommodate you."

"Thank you, ma'am. Thaddeus, I'll wait for you downstairs." Her eyes command me to hurry up, then Nell leaves.

"Is this lady an old friend, Mister Jones?"

"Er – kinda. Well, not that old, I guess. She's my – or rather she WAS my doctor… I was laid up after an accident back in April, in Arcadia…"

Mrs. Flowers blinks in surprise. "Your DOCTOR?" Then, "Arcadia?" I guess it IS one hell of a distance to travel. "She's gone to a lot of trouble to come visit you."

"I guess…" She is clearly hoping for a little more. "I better go down, ma'am."

I do go down. I spot a small carpet bag dropped in the hall, which hasta be Nell's. I get followed into the parlour, but once Mrs. Flowers has done fussing that Nell is comfortable, she heads off to make not coffee, but – at my request 'cos I know what the doc likes – a pot of tea.

"Oh, Thaddeus…" The doc interrupts herself, "You don't mind me still calling you Thaddeus Jones, do you? Even when we're alone."

"Nope," I say. "Suits me just fine. I'd like you to stick with that ALL the time. Please. I think you should call Joshua, Joshua all the time too."

She grins again, 'cos it's pretty clear I really, really mean that!

"It's SO good to see you, Thaddeus. I tried Twin Forks and Woodford and…" She is taking off her hat as she says this, setting it down on the table.

"Sheesh, Nell!" I exclaim, "What the Sam Hill happened to you?"

"Oh!" She touches her shorn head, self-consciously. "I've been ill. Which is ridiculous for a doctor! They cut off all my hair while I was in a fever." Her hand strays for a moment to her face, "…The spots are fading, and the chances are my eyelashes will grow back. Maybe they will, anyhow. Am I hideous? Will Joshua think I'm… Will he be back soon?"

No. The chances of Heyes coming back at all before the small hours – if then - are pretty small.

"I'll go fetch him," I say.

"Thaddeus," she touches my arm, "…Is it all true? He's been trying to live up to everything I could ever hope for – all these months?"

I think of the last week. I draw my hand back behind my leg, cross my fingers. "I guess." It's mostly true. I mean, it's been true mosta the time. "I dunno, Nell. You'd better ask HIM, huh? I'll go fetch him," I repeat.

Please be half-ways sober and not nekkid under the covers with a saloon gal when I find you, Heyes, 'cos I don't guess Nell will put up with being lied to twice. And you and me might not see it that way, but I reckon she sure will.

"Yes, I must speak to him. What must he think of me, ignoring his letters? Refusing to respond to a plain question. You see I haven't…"

Then, Mrs. Flowers comes back in with a laden tray and Nell shuts up.

"Nothing for me, thank you, ma'am. I'm gonna go find Joshua; tell him we have a visitor."

---oooOOOooo---

Once I'm out in the street I take a deep breath of the cooling late evening air. Wow. She's not written, she's turned up in person. AND, it sounds like he was wrong to think she'd been stone-walling his letters. AND, it sounds like she's been on the road looking for him a fair few days. Wow.

I stride off towards the rougher end of town, where the saloons are clustered. Last time Heyes mentioned Nell's name, there's no getting away from it, he was one bitter, angry man. If he blows it now… I'll… Well, I guess I'll do not much, 'cos what can I do? But, before I do nothing much, I'll flatten him. Again!

He's in the Broken Arrow. It's getting real crowded in there, but I spot him at one of the tables. He's winning. Not big yet – but the pile of money in fronta him's starting to grow. His hat's pushed back and his mouth's smiling, but... When he glances over at some tough-looking fella calling him – no. There's no smile in the eyes. One of the working gals has smelt a winner and is cosied up to him, cooing away as he lays down a full house and pulls the pot towards him. She gets pulled close and kissed real long and deep, then his eyes go back to the deck he's shuffling. I glance at the bottle beside him – near empty; then I take another look at the eyes. Sheesh.

Edging through the press of bodies, I work my way over to his table.

"Joshua." Nothing. "JOSHUA!"

His glance comes up. The look stays cold, even for me. We haven't been getting on too well, this last week. He's taking it out on me – 'cos, I guess, who else is there? And I've made it pretty dang plain what I think of the 'if-she-don't-care-neither-do-I' act. Leastways, I've made it pretty clear of what I think of the act when all it does is leave him so miserable he wants to climb inside a bottle.

He raises his eyebrows, "What?"

"You got a visitor – back at the boarding house."

For a moment there's a fleeting glimpse of the old Heyes. If there is one thing me and him don't like it's a surprise visitor. He tenses, reads my face, relaxes. I'm not here on a 'we're-about-to-be-spotted-let's-ride' errand.

"Tell him I'm busy."

"I think you should come back…"

"Are you deaf, I SAID – I'm busy!"

"Listen, fella," this is the tough looking fella in a buckskin waistcoat talking, "…We're playin' poker here. Your friend told you – he ain't going nowhere. Now, why don't you run tell this visitor to call again in the mornin' and stop interruptin' our game."

I'm not here to start no trouble so I let this pass with no more'n a look.

"Joshua, it's…"

"He don't care WHO it is," says buckskin-waistcoat. The fella has a point, 'cos Heyes ain't even listening to me. He's dealing; the tapered fingers flicking cards expertly across the table. "Smith's staying to give us all a chance to win our money back. You go tell this other fella to wait. And, if he don't like that, tell him to go **** himself."

A few sniggers. I still don't rise to it – 'cos if I wanna have a fight with a dumb, bad-tempered ass who's letting the whiskey talk – hey! – I can do that with the fella in the black hat any night of the week.

"It's a lady, Joshua," I say, real low, but not low enough.

A few whistles. More sniggers. Pouting and snuggling from the saloon gal.

"Tell you what, you go **** HER! Keep it warm for me! I'll be along when the game's…"

That's it! I grab him by both shoulders, drag him and his chair around so he's no longer facing the table, he's facing me. "I don't think you heard me, Joshua! I said, a LADY. I meant, a LADY. If you got one more dirty word to say, you come an' say it outside! Now!" He stares up at me, black fury in his face at first, then – as it sinks in; hope, fresh anger, stubbornness, disbelief.

"You don't mean…?"

"Uh huh. Now come on…"

A mulish look settles on his face, "I ain't so sure I wanna be whistled to heel after…"

"This visitor's been ill. That's why she's a little – a little behind in her correspondence. Now, geddup!"

That sinks in too. Hope, hope, hope, disbelief, hope, fear, hope, hope. He gets up; not too steadily. He can play poker by instinct. Walking straight, that might be a shade too complicated right now. He gathers his winnings.

"HEY!" This is buckskin-waistcoat talking. "I dunno about not hearin' your baby-faced friend, here, you're sure not hearin' me! You're not leavin' with forty dollars of my money! Not after you said you were stayin'! Not just to go sniff after some cheap piece o' tail…"

D'you know what? If he hadn't said that last bit, I reckon I'da kept my temper. As it is, I wheel round. "Y'know what I just said to HIM, I reckon it goes for you too! You got one more word to say – you come say it outside!"

Buckskin-waistcoat jumps to his feet, face purpling with anger. His right hand hovers over his gun. Chairs are pushed back. Folk move from behind me and from behind buckskin. A hush falls. The gal that was wrapped around Heyes looks scared. The usual kinda scene when trouble starts. He looks at me, at my tied-down scofield in the well-worn holster, back up at my face, calm now as it always is when I'm waiting for the other fella to draw. A long pause. He gulps.

"No offence meant," he mutters. He sits down, eyes flicking between me and the table.

Fine. I nod a silent 's'orright'. I'm sure not here to pick a fight. "Gimme that money, Joshua," I say.

Heyes opens his mouth to object – I reckon that's instinct too – remembers he don't care the snap of his fingers about money right now, hands over the crumpled pile of notes. I hand twenty dollars to the saloon gal.

"I want you to go fetch this table a few bottles of the real good stuff – courtesy of my friend Joshua Smith here…" Sounds of thirsty approval from the other players. I peel off another twenty, toss it onto the table, "This is from him to keep the pot warm, since he does hafta leave kinda sudden."

Buckskin-waistcoat shuffles in his seat. Once you've been made to look small the other fella being nice is no dang comfort, is it?

"And this…" I tuck another ten dollars into the working gal's hand, "Is for you to go buy yourself somethin' real pretty, Sweetheart."

Pocketing the rest – which I'm guessing is not too much more'n what Heyes arrived with – away. I touch my hat, "Enjoy your game, fellas," and lead Heyes away to cheerful murmurs from all bar one of them.

Once we're in – not a quiet corner; there AIN'T a quiet corner – a corner where no one's paying us no mind, Heyes puts a gloved hand on my shoulder. "She's really here, Kid?"

"Uh huh."

"Why?"

Why?! What does he mean – why?

"I guess to give you that answer you were asking for – yes, no or …"

Oh. I kinda see what he means. Is he thinking she's come just to give him a 'no' to his face? You never know with women – especially clever ones. She might think face-to-face is the decent thing to do.

"I think this is your last chance, Heyes. If it's what you want, don't blow it."

""Let's get back…" A belch interrupts him.

"I think we oughta get you sobered up first."

"I'm fine."

I give him a look, "Pfftt!"

A rueful grin appears. "Maybe we oughta get me sobered up first, Kid."

I go up to the bar, "You got any coffee in the back?"

"Fella, we got beer, whiskey and water. We don't sell water."

Sighing, I fold a coupla dollar bills between my fingers, hold them up. "Me and my friend really got a thirst for a pot – no, make that TWO pots - of strong black coffee."

My two dollars are taken. The barkeep looks thoughtful, "TWO pots?" he muses.

Sighing, I produce another two dollars. "AND, bring us some salt before you brew it, would ya?"

First we give Heyes salt water to make him retch. Out back, I hold his head as he brings up mosta the whiskey he's sunk over the last few hours. Then I hold his head under a cold pump.

"I could do with a shave," he hiccoughs, as he soaks his bandana and uses it to wipe his face.

"You could do with a shave, a soak in a tub with a bar of soap, a fresh shirt AND someone knocking some sense into your skull – but we're gonna hafta settle for none of the above, huh?"

His brow furrows for a moment. A tentative sniff – which I reckon picks up whiskey scented sweat with a toasting of stale cigar smoke. He opens a coupla shirt buttons, resoaks the bandana and scrubs at his armpits.

Back inside he swallows cup after cup of back coffee. He gargles with it too, to get the smell of vomit outta his mouth.

"Another!" I order. "One more!"

"No more. I'm about to bust."

"One more! Then go p*ss…." And they say romance is dead, huh? "And hurry up! She's gonna think you've ridden out on her three times runnin'!"

---oooOOOooo---

NOTES TO CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

(nb: there is no need to read the notes - just to show I am actually looking things up, smile)

What Judge Hanley means about the Comstock Act being rushed through:

"A series of scandals involving financial schemes profiting prominent Republicans and their business cronies had cast a pallor over Washington politics and fueled the reformer Horace Greeley's unsuccessful bid for the presidency in 1872. Laboring under a cloud of suspicion, the Forty-second Congress now worked overtime to end the session with a spate of creditable legislation, as presumably befitted hardworking politicians worthy of the public trust. In the final hours of the term, Congress passed some 260 acts, the precise provisions of which remained unknown to many members. So impressed with their industriousness were these gentlemen that one of the last things they did before adjourning was to vote themselves a pay raise of twenty-five hundred dollars, retroactive for two years.

One measure passed in this last-minute frenzy was an anti-obscenity bill approved in the early-morning hours of Sunday, March 2. Commonly called the Comstock Act after its chief proponent, the morals crusader Anthony Comstock, the statute, embedded in a broader postal act, passed after little political debate and was signed into law along with 117 other bills on March 3. The Comstock Act defined contraceptives as obscene and inaugurated a century of indignities associated with birth control's illicit status. Invoking its authority to regulate interstate commerce and the U.S. postal system, Congress outlawed the dissemination through the mail or across state lines of any "article of an immoral nature, or any drug or medicine, or any article whatever for the prevention of conception." At the time, the act largely eluded public comment. Over the next century, however, its impact on birth control would be profound…

The Comstock Law thus continued a policy of federal obscenity regulation that in 1873 was more than thirty years old. It expanded the scope of the 1872 law by eliminating loopholes and codifying an extraordinarily long list of "obscenities." Ominously, contraceptives made the list for the first time. The decision to include them was Anthony Comstock's." From"Devices and Desires" by Andrea Tone

The Comstock Laws were variously case tested, but courts struggled to establish definitive thinking about the laws.

The text of the federal bill reads:

"Be it enacted... That whoever, within the District of Columbia or any of the Territories of the United States...shall sell...or shall offer to sell, or to lend, or to give away, or in any manner to exhibit, or shall otherwise publish or offer to publish in any manner, or shall have in his possession, for any such purpose or purposes, an obscene book, pamphlet, paper, writing, advertisement, circular, print, picture, drawing or other representation, figure, or image on or of paper or other material, or any cast instrument, or other article of an immoral nature, or any drug or medicine, or any article whatever, for the prevention of conception, or for causing unlawful abortion, or shall advertise the same for sale, or shall write or print, or cause to be written or printed, any card, circular, book, pamphlet, advertisement, or notice of any kind, stating when, where, how, or of whom, or by what means, any of the articles in this section…can be purchased or obtained, or shall manufacture, draw, or print, or in any wise make any of such articles, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and on conviction thereof in any court of the United States...he shall be imprisoned at hard labor in the penitentiary for not less than six months nor more than five years for each offense, or fined not less than one hundred dollars nor more than two thousand dollars, with costs of court."

Comstock clearly hinges on definitions, particularly of obscenity. Though the law was originally based on the Hicklin test, definitions were mostly settled in Roth v. United States, in which it was determined that obscenity was material whose "dominant theme taken as a whole appeals to the prurient interest" to the "average person, applying contemporary community standards," and was, "utterly without redeeming social importance."

Perhaps Judge Hanley has a time machine and was there, or perhaps he simply echoes the Roth v. United States case by some strange fictional co-incidence?

(From good old Wickipedia and from "Devices and Desires" by Andrea Tone.)