Fistful of Feet Read online

  “Sure thing, boss,” Ryan said.

  Nix grunted and watched as a stagecoach rode down the street. He always loved when a new batch of people came into town. It gave him the chance to recruit someone into his fold or at least give him the chance to show-off. As the stagecoach stopped in front of the hotel, Nix made sure to stand up straight and flex his muscles. If there were any ladies on board, he wanted them to see his manly physique. Then he remembered his black eye. There was no way he wanted anyone to see that.

  Nix quickly turned around and started walking. “What’re you jackasses waiting for? Let’s go see Lyons.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Rebecca Bywater looked out the stagecoach window and sighed.

  It wasn’t that she wanted to be a whore. It’s not like she woke up one day and decided that getting screwed by dirty men was her destiny. She just figured it was the quickest way to get the money she needed to move to California.

  Her cousin had told her about a town in Nevada called Screwhorse and how the brothel there was one of the most lucrative in the state. Men would pay good money for some weird things and some of those things weren’t even that difficult. Some men wanted to be spit on, some wanted to suck toes, and some men just wanted to smell a woman’s armpits. Rebecca didn’t think any of that would be bad at all.

  So there she was on a stagecoach from Phoenix, making her way into Screwhorse. Rebecca had seen a tribe of Indians on the way in and that made her a little bit nervous as she’d never had any good experiences with redskins. She always thought they were looking at her strangely, as if secretly wishing that they could roast her over a fire during one of their pagan rituals. At least she’d be protected in town, she thought. There was no way that the law didn’t offer protection against the possibility of attack.

  Her first stop would be BETTY BLACK’S, the brothel. From what Rebecca had heard, the woman who runs it looks out for her girls and provides them with a clean place to live.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw that the man sitting across from her was staring at her again. He had done it practically the whole trip. She didn’t mind all that much. The man was attractive enough though he was dressed strange, all fancy like a stuffy Englishman.

  When the stagecoach finally stopped, Rebecca quickly got off and put some distance between her and the man. She walked to the brothel, walked inside, and put down her suitcase. It wasn’t what she had expected. There weren’t naked women dancing all over the tables like she had imagined. In fact, the place was pretty classy for a brothel.

  A black man by the bar walked over and greeted her with a small smile. “Help you, miss?” he said. “You lost?”

  Rebecca didn’t smile back at the man. It wasn’t that she really hated Negroes but she grew up with a mild fear of them due to all the stories her father had told her about how they treated white women. She said, “No, I’m not lost. I’m looking for the lady who runs this establishment.”

  “Then you’re looking for Betty. That’s her over there behind the bar. Want me to hold your bag for you?”

  Rebecca quickly grabbed the handle of her suitcase and said, “No, thank you.”

  The black man shrugged and walked away.

  Behind the bar was a woman who was old enough to be Rebecca’s mother but lively enough to be a younger sister. She was pouring drinks for two very tall and very filthy men.

  Walking with her head held high, Rebecca approached the bar and said, “Excuse me. Betty?”

  The woman said, “Yeah, I’m Betty.” She looked down at the suitcase. “If you want the hotel, it’s across the street.”

  “No, I don’t want a hotel. Can we talk in private?”

  Betty nodded. She looked over Rebecca’s shoulder at the black man. “Stacklee, watch the bar, will you?”

  “Sure thing,” Stacklee said.

  Betty brought Rebecca to a back room. She motioned to a couch. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” Rebecca sat down, making sure she sat prim and proper. After all, she didn’t want the woman to think she was just some common street whore.

  “What can I do for you?” Betty said.

  “I’d like to work here. In your establishment.”

  Betty laughed. “Honey, you know how many girls have said that over the years? You know how many have begged to work here and then ran out two days later after some crusty old miner asked her to sneeze on his pecker? To earn you money you have to be willing to do more than just lie on your back and stare at the ceiling. This ain’t a picnic, you know. It’s not like one of those brothels back east. I have no room for lazy whores.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. I need employment and I am willing and able to fulfill the requirements. I’ve heard about this place. I know what goes on here.”

  “You do, do you?”

  “Yes, I do. I’m not just some farmer’s daughter who doesn’t know about the world. I have goals, too.”

  “Such as?”

  “I plan to make enough money to get to California and start a life there. Have a husband. Have children. To do that, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes even if that includes sneezing on a couple of dirty peckers.”

  Betty leaned over and patted Rebecca’s hand. “That’s good you want to get married but you know most men don’t want to marry a whore.”

  “Are you saying I can’t work here?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to give you a chance to see clearly so that you don’t end up blaming me for anything that happens later on.”

  Rebecca frowned. “I never blame anyone for my problems.”

  “That’s good,” Betty said. “Still, I’d like to think about it. Until then, you can stay here. You’ll have to pay for the room until I make up my mind. After that, your food and lodging comes out of your earnings. Understand?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Go talk to Stacklee and he’ll take you to the room. He’s the one who greeted you when you came in.”

  Rebecca’s eyes widened. “May I ask what he’s here for? It’s a little strange seeing a Negro working in a place like this. Should I be worried?”

  “If you have any problems with Negroes you best get rid of them before you even think about working here. Stacklee’s here to protect the girls and he works with me just as if he was a white man. He’s like family. You don’t have to worry about him.”

  “If you say so,” Rebecca said. She wasn’t entirely at ease but knew that if she said any more about it, Betty would definitely decide against offering her the job. So she went out front and asked Stacklee if he’d take her to the empty room. He obliged and brought her up the stairs.

  When she walked into the room, the first thing Rebecca noticed was the stains on the walls. She could only imagine where they came from but she knew that inquiring about them wouldn’t be in her best interest if she wanted employment. It never paid to be too critical.

  After putting her suitcase on the bed, Rebecca sat down next to it. She looked at the streaks on the wall in front of her and thought one of them looked like blood. Was it safe staying here?

  Though she never considered herself a religious woman, she hoped to God that she wouldn’t be in danger. Rebecca had practically given up on any sort of religion after that reverend back in Phoenix had tried to rape her in the name of the Lord. Though she managed to get away without being violated, she lost all faith in religion and in so-called holy men in general.

  Rebecca sat in the chair by the window. The stagecoach ride had been tiring and she wanted nothing more than to relax for a few minutes after which she’d try to impress Betty by flirting with some customers. She looked out the window at the town below. Though it had all the qualities of every other western town she’d seen, there was something strange about Screwhorse. Rebecca couldn’t readily identify it but it tugged at her gut like bad whiskey. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea, she thought.

  * * *

  On the stagecoach ride, Bluford Barnes
had tried his best to hide his erection but that woman was just too damn arousing. He had stolen glances at her whenever he could get away with it. When he wasn’t looking at her face or her cleavage, he snuck glances at her dirty boots. He imagined himself underneath them, the heel of it digging into his forehead.

  He thought that it was dangerous for a woman to ride unescorted for such a long way. Though he considered himself a gentleman who would never hurt a lady, Bluford understood how some men might take an opportunity like that to get themselves some pussy.

  So Bluford didn’t make any move to talk to the lady since he knew that she was probably unescorted for a reason. Maybe she knew how to handle herself pretty damn well and had a revolver hidden somewhere on her, cocked and ready to blow a hole through any man who tried to get fresh. Bluford wasn’t about to risk his life just to relieve his erection. No sir. Instead, he decided that he’ll get it taken care of when he reached Screwhorse. The whores there were supposed to be top-notch. He had heard that there was one lady who could spit whiskey out of her cunny and right into your mouth. That amazed Bluford. They didn’t have women like that back east.

  When they finally reached Screwhorse, he let the lady get out first and then he stepped down off the stagecoach with his suitcase in front of his crotch. He saw the woman walk in the direction of BETTY BLACK’S and then thought that maybe she was a whore. If he’d had only gotten the courage to talk to her on the ride over, she might’ve thrown him a free one. Shit, it was just his luck riding all those miles with a woman like that without even knowing it.

  Bluford had more urgent plans, though. He had to get a room and then scope out the town. He knew that many of the citizens were supposedly pretty tough but figured he could probably swindle a few of them out of some cash before he moved on to the next town. After all, that was his area of expertise, wasn’t it? The Barnes clan had spent years honing their craft and they passed on that knowledge to Bluford who turned out to be the most successful confidence man in the family. He hustled and schemed his way through all of the towns he’d been through with no problem at all.

  With a spring in his step, Bluford walked over to the hotel, making sure to greet everyone who crossed his path. He found that most townspeople are suspicious of strangers unless they’re friendly and outgoing. The women especially warmed up to polite, clean-shaven young men and so that’s who he became: a handsome charmer. He had spent a lot of money on his suits, buying them from an English tailor in New York City. Appearance was everything and dressing fancy was what allowed Bluford to get far in his occupation as a cheat.

  As he made his way down Main Street, Bluford walked by a short man with a bald head. His skin had an orange tint and his teeth were too big for his mouth. The man said, “Hey you.”

  “Yes, sir?” Bluford stopped and smiled.

  “See that motherfucker over there?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  The man pointed across the street. “See that motherfucker?”

  Bluford politely shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. All I see is a horse.”

  “That’s the motherfucker I’m talking about. See him?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “You know what nerve that motherfucker had? He was talking about me again, spreading rumors.”

  Bluford slowly took a step but stopped when he saw the man raise his fist.

  “You going somewhere?” the man said. “And why the hell you dressed like that?”

  “Dressed like what, sir? I don’t understand.”

  “All clean and fancy like you’re one of those pretty boys from England. You from England?”

  “No, sir,” Bluford said. “But if you’ll excuse me, I do have to leave.”

  “Then get the hell out of here.” The bald man turned and looked at the horse across the street. “Yeah, that’s right, motherfucker! I’m talking about you!”

  Bluford quickly walked away and went into the hotel. At first sight, he wasn’t that impressed with it. He was used to finer accommodations. Still, he wasn’t about to make a fuss about it since the purpose of his visit to Screwhorse was not relaxation. He was there to work.

  Looking at the man behind the counter, Bluford said, “Hello, sir. I’d like to arrange for some lodging.”

  Kersey nodded.

  As Bluford signed the register, he said, “Is this the only hotel in town?”

  “Afraid so. Why?”

  Bluford smiled. “Oh, no reason, sir.”

  “You want to stay here or not?”

  “Oh yes sir, I certainly do,” Bluford said. “I do have a question, though. There was a man outside, seemed like something was wrong with him. He was threatening a horse. Should the sheriff be notified?”

  Kersey’s face turned pale. “That’s the Hard Candy Kid. You best stay away from him.”

  Bluford nodded. “That little man a bully, then?”

  “Don’t let his size fool you,” Kersey said. “He’s a killer.”

  “Oh,” Bluford said. “Well then,” He cleared his throat. He was glad that he hadn’t given the Hard Candy Kid a difficult time.

  Kersey said, “One piece of advice. You might want to pick up some sucking candy from the General Store. Next time you run into the Hard Candy Kid, just give him a piece and he’ll be more likely to leave you be.”

  “Thank you. I’ll look into that.” Bluford went up to his room. He wasn’t impressed with that either. There were huge stains in the rug as well as on the walls. It wasn’t worth making a fuss about it. That would just attract the wrong kind of attention.

  He unpacked his bags, took out his gear, and headed off to BETTY BLACK’S. It was time to get to work.

  * * *

  Unknown to Bluford Barnes and Rebecca Bywater, someone was watching them from afar. It was someone who felt flushed with rage when Rebecca walked into the brothel and when Bluford tried unsuccessfully to cover his erection.

  One of them would have to die. The woman could be cut or drowned. She could be made to lick her own boots, spitting and drooling until they were completely covered in thick slop. Then she could be made to choke on her own boot leather, the foot stench filling her nostrils until her last breath was gone.

  The man could be stabbed and drowned in piss. He could be humiliated and tortured. He could be made to eat desert sand until his ass burned and bled.

  Someone was watching with glee, thinking about Rebecca’s breasts being sliced open and left there for the scorpions.

  Someone was giggling, savoring the thought of seeing the man beg as his torture increased.

  That someone was a killer.

  And the killer would kill again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Calamaro reached for his money, Stacklee pushed his hand away.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “As much as I think you did a dumb thing, I do appreciate it. Least I can do is pay for your drink while you’re still breathing.”

  “Guys didn’t seem so tough.”

  “It’s not those guys you should be worried about. It’s William Lyons, the man they work for.”

  Calamaro shrugged. “That name supposed to mean something?”

  “He’s made a name for himself over the years mainly for being a cold son of a bitch. He was in the army. Killed lots of Indians, Mexicans, and basically anyone else ain’t like him.”

  “But he leaves you alone?”

  “He pretty much just ignores me. I’m just a dumb nigger to him, I guess. Lyons ain’t going to just walk up to a black man and shoot him. He wouldn’t want to waste a bullet. He’d feel it was like stomping on a bug. It wouldn’t be worth his time.”

  Calamaro sipped his whiskey and savored it. “What happened tonight, would that be a good reason for him to stomp on you?”

  “Don’t know. I’ve messed with those boys before and Lyons doesn’t seem to care all that much probably on account of them being dumb as shit, figure they can’t help but piss people off. What’s he going to do, kill everyone who does
n’t get along with those guys? He’d have to kill everyone in town.”

  “I’d still keep my eyes open, I was you.”

  “I always do,” Stacklee said. “But don’t get the wrong idea. This town is full of good people even though our mayor is a son of a bitch. And then there’s the Hard Candy Kid. He’s one to stay away from. Even William Lyons has enough sense to tread lightly around him.”

  Calamaro nodded. “Sounds to me like this town is full of tough guys.”

  “Maybe so,” Stacklee said. He knocked on the bar. “Hey Betty, come give us another bottle, will you?”

  Betty said, “Sure thing, Stack.” She set down a fresh bottle of whiskey in front of them. She locked her eyes on Calamaro’s. “Listen….what was your name again?”

  “Calamaro.”

  “Calamaro what?”

  “Just Calamaro.”

  “Listen, Calamaro,” Betty said. “I appreciate what you did for Stacklee. He’s a good friend and a good worker. But you’re not from around here. You don’t know this town or the people in it. It was mighty stupid of you to get involved. Stacklee here could’ve handled himself.”

  “I know that. I didn’t do it because I thought the man needed protecting. I did it because I’ve no patience for assholes who run their mouths.”

  Betty laughed. “Fair enough, fair enough.”

  One of her girls walked downstairs and told Betty that Mary wanted to speak to her.

  “Mind watching the bar, Stack?”

  “Sure thing,” Stacklee said. “You mind if I put our new friend to work? Maybe he can sweep the floor or something.”

  Betty winked. “If you can get him to do it, go ahead.”

  “I haven’t swept a floor in years so I can’t promise you I’ll do a good job,” Calamaro said, smiling.

  Stacklee laughed and patted the stranger on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you all you need to know.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mayor Douglas lived in a two story building just outside of Screwhorse. Many of the townspeople criticized the fact that the mayor didn’t live in town but none were brave enough to actually voice their grievances publicly. Therefore, Mayor Douglas was able to peacefully go about his business which mainly consisted of drinking expensive liquor and screwing his Mexican whore, Ana.