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The town was a shithole.
Wait, calling it a town was an insult to communities that made an effort.
This cluster of five buildings around a dusty crossroad in the middle of Bumblefuck, Nowhere was a shithole.
There was a general store, an undertakers, a stable/blacksmith’s, a whorehouse pretending to be a hotel and the main draw, a saloon.
A saloon that didn’t even have a name because that’s how not a place of importance this sad little collection of humanity was.
However, its pathetic state of being did come with a major benefit.
No one who was anyone would end up here.
That made it a perfect place for those who didn’t want anyone, particularly anyones of a law enforcing nature, to find them.
As usual it was a man who thought he was god’s fricking gift to the planet who set the whole thing off.
The quintet was just trying to have a drink to wash the trail dust away as they headed back across the border to Flo’s after a series of jobs to top up the coffers of their collective sisterhood. It wasn’t just bringing the funds to their chosen family that was quickening their desire to get back to Old Mexico. Aubrey and Stacie wanted to see Bella again after their time away. Chloe wanted to get back to her garden and her sisters. Beca just wanted to return to a place where she didn’t have to constantly look over her shoulder, on guard against the next no good who wanted to make a name for themselves by taking the bandit down. A sanctuary where she could spend time with the woman she loved.
And Emily, well, Emily would follow the woman she idolized to hell and back.
They’d picked a table near the back of the establishment with a good view of the entrance and a whole lot of wall behind them. Chloe, Stacie and Beca were downing shots of what passed for whiskey in this dump. Chloe paced herself but Beca was engaged in yet another futile attempt to outdrink Stacie. It was not going well for the tiny desperado.
“You know, Rebecca, I’ve lost count of the times you’ve tried to outdrink my darling, and each time, it’s ended with you under the table and Chloe having to throw a bucket of water on you to rouse you next day.”
Beca scowled at the imperious blonde seated across from her. “Shut your trap Duchess. This is my time, I tell ya. I can feel it in my bones.”
Chloe just sighed and stared at the brunette affectionately. “Sweet pea, I love you to the moon and back, but you are sore de-lulu when it comes to outdrinking Stace,”
Stacie herself sat back in her chair, like a very relaxed jungle cat. Her hair was in a mermaid tail braid, and she was wearing one of Aubrey’s choker necklaces; one that really drew attention to her swan like neck. She’d unlaced the draw strings of her rawhide shirt all the way so more than a hint of her bounties were on display, something that Aubrey’s eyes kept sliding towards no matter how much of a ladylike front she tried to maintain.
“See something you like, Milady, ” Stacie uttered in a tone as smooth as honey as she pointedly avoided looking at Aubrey.
Once upon a time Lady Posen would have blushed demurely and looked quickly away. Bandit Queen Bree just let out a soft whistle and replied, “I’ll feast on your charms later, Stacie. Just win this inane contest as quick as possible so our little spitfire isn’t too hung over tomorrow. We’ve still got a long ride ahead of us.”
Beca’s cheeks flushed even more than they had been a moment ago. Her hair was tousled, pulled out of the braided ponytail Chloe had done for her that morning. Her eyes were unfocused slightly and her voice had a slurred edge to it. Her black shirt had a few wet spots on it where some of the liquid pretending to be whiskey had missed her mouth.
“I’ve got her this time, I swear to sweet baby Jesus. Your tall drink of water is doomed.”
Chloe and Aubrey exchanged a glance and shook their heads. When Beca got into her stubborn competitive mood, there was no reasoning with her. It was like trying to stop a stampede of buffalo by asking them politely to halt. You just had to let her steamroller on, consequences (and hang overs) be damned.
“Another shot of whiskey, you she devil” the brunette gunfighter snapped, her dark blue eyes fixed on Stacie’s. The Metis woman just smiled her slow smile as she raised the half empty bottle and topped up the shot glasses.
“I wish I could have a shot of whiskey” the fifth person at their table muttered under her breath.
Aubrey tut tutted. “Emily, you are still too young to indulge. Sarsaparilla is what you’ll have until you turn eighteen.”
Under her breath, the youngest of the group whispered. “Sarsaparilla tastes like cat’s piss. And I’ll be eighteen in two months time, MOM.”
Aubrey looked amused at Emily’s reply. “Almost eighteen isn’t eighteen. And I’m beginning to think we need to separate you and Rebecca more. One surly cowgirl is enough. We don’t need her training you up into one too.”
Emily’s eyes widened. Beca Mitchell was her idol. She tried to dress like Beca, talk like Beca, think like Beca, and, god willing if they ever let her, shoot like Beca. No way was she going to mess up spending time with the shootist.
Chloe spoke up again. “Emily don’t fret, child. Bree is just teasing you. You’ll keep your Beca time, promise. Just member, she’s got bad as well as good habits. So watch the ones you pick to adopt. And I say that as the woman who adores every inch of her tiny person.”
“Damn right you do, Chlo” Beca interjected. “And just ignore Snooty Britches. I’m gonna mentor you up to the toughest bandit since…..well…. since me!” Beca was definitely sozzled as this proclamation was followed up by a hearty burp.
Chloe and Stacie laughed. Aubrey made a small moue of distaste.
The blonde picked up her bottle of Croizet Cognac Leonie 1858 and poured a healthy dollop into her brandy snifter. She endured endless teasing from the other women about her habit of bringing her own tipple and her own glass into the saloons they frequented but Lady Posen was a woman of particular and discerning tastes and just because she was riding the range as a wanted woman did not mean she had to relax her standards. There were limits to what she’d endure and drinking the liver rot that passed for liquor in the saloons they frequented was one of those limits.
She took a sip and let her eyes move around the room. As always she stood out like a sore thumb in her fancy riding clothes (emerald-green silk with embroidered vine accents), looking like a refugee from royal ball back in London, England. She didn’t mind a bit. Presenting like a rich spoilt brat had fooled more than one man who’d then underestimated her and got the group out of jam because of it. Plus Stacie seemed to like what she saw, if the heated glances being shot her way were anything to judge by.
Aubrey still felt uneasy. She put down her glass on the sticky, rickety table and let her hands slide to her waist. Instead of the familiar comfort of heavy steel, she felt empty holsters. She glanced at the door, where an old crusty bearded coot with a hand made sawn off across his knees sat resting his feet on a steel box. Rules of this house were all shooting irons went in the box, and the old timer would look after them for the duration of your stay. Aubrey did not like being that far from her Peacemakers. She did not trust the watchman, she did not trust the barkeep, and she most certainly did not trust the other customers.
And it turned out she was right.
It began when Beca requested a song.
And only one person could sing well enough to satisfy Beca’s wants.
“Chloe my darling, my crimson songbird, sing me a song, please” . The brunette’s attempt at a puppy dog look, resulted in nothing more than her crossing her eyes, such was her inebriated state.
Chloe , who can never say no to her paramour, patted Beca on the cheek softly. “For you, heart of mine, anything”
The redhead stood up, steady on her pins in spite of the amount of rotgut she’d consumed and sauntered up to the makeshift stage in the back of the saloon.
It wasn’t only the eyes of her companions that followed her passage.
Other eyes, hungrier eyes, were watching as well.
And this was to be the root of the problem.
Stepping up on the stage Chloe adjusted her stance and got ready to sing.
Beca’s eyes were glued on her, all thought of competing with Stacie gone.
The redhead might have matted hair and dust on her face from their long ride.
She might be wearing a linen shirt with stains under the arm pits, and with more than one hole clumsily sewn shut.
Her dungarees might be dirty and more practical than high fashion.
But to Beca Mitchell, well, she was the most beautiful thing the bandit had ever seen.
Chloe opened her mouth and her voice rang out clear and true, filling the rank air of the saloon with gorgeous sound.
From this valley they say you are going,
I shall miss your sweet face and bright smile.
For they say you are taking the sunshine
That has brightened my pathway awhile.
I’ve been thinking a long time my darling,
Of those sweet words you never would say,
But the last of my fond hopes have vanished
For they say you are going away.
Now as has been previously noted, this establishment attracted a certain type of clientele: bandits, chancers, cowpokes and countless ruffians. Men who lived life on the fringes of polite society and had the attitudes to match.
Close to the stage sat a group of cowboys: loud, boisterous and dumber than the cattle they minded. They had the air of men who were used to taking what they wanted from those who were weaker than themselves, taking up more space than they deserved in a world that had never taught them they weren’t worth spit.
It was one of these buffoons that kicked it off. Tall and thick with a red face and a body that was already running to fat, a belly starting to hang over his belt buckle. He had big hands and a big voice and a very inflated sense of his own importance.
It started with a catcall.
“Sing a song, little birdie. Then after’n you’re done I’ll make you sing another pretty tune” Here he grabbed his crotch to the rough laughter of his companions.
Chloe ignored him and kept on singing, directing her words to her companions. To Beca in particular.
Then come sit here awhile ere you leave us
Do not hasten to bid us adieu,
And remember the Red River Valley
And the cowboy who loves you so true.
I have promised you, darling, that never
Would words from my lips cause you pain;
My life will be yours forever
If only you will love me again.
“Hey, you bitch, I’m talking at you” The man had pushed his chair back and was approaching the stage, self righteous in his demand for attention. Chloe had halted her singing and was warily watching him as he got closer.
“Shit,” Beca whispered from the back of the room. Everyone at their table was focused on what was happening on the stage. It was like cold water had been thrown on them. They were icily alert. Beca and the others watched like wolves ready to pounce. Chloe could handle herself. But they were there to back her up if needed. And given this buffoon had come into the bar with a rowdy group of fellow idiots, a ruckus was definitely brewing.
The man had clambered up on the platform and was now no more than an arms length away from the redhead.
Chloe’s brow was furrowed and she had a puzzled look on her face, like she’d just noticed this disturbance. She stood still; her hands folded behind her back.
“Can I help you mister? I’m gonna have to say sorry, I don’t take requests” Her voice was soft, but it carried with some authority.
“Oh, I got something else you can use that sweet mouth for, whore” .
Chloe froze.
A change came over the redhead’s face. Her eyes glazed over and went blank. All light was gone from them as her face went rigid.
Then he reached for her.
And Chloe moved.
In an unexpected manner.
The redhead dropped to her knees in front of him in the blink of an eye. The ruffian’s eyes widened in surprise.
From behind her back, Chloe’s hands appeared, each holding a long thin file blade she’d had tucked into her back waistband. Blades she’d crafted and honed herself until they were lethal spikes.
She brought her hands down in one swift, strong movement. Sharp steel drove through leather, skin, muscle and finally into wood as she pinned each of his feet to the ground with a savage thrust. The howl he let out rivalled the call of the loudest coyote out there. But it was cut short as she brought her forehead sharply forwards into his crotch. Eyes rolling back he hit the ground hard, held in place by his skewered parts. Chloe stood slowly, eyes still dead, then lent down and yanked each blade out with a sharp tug.
The man’s companions who had stood up to come to his aid were frozen in place.
Standing between them and Chloe suddenly stood a tiny brunette dressed in black and holding a Bowie knife longer than her forearm; a darker skinned Amazon clutching a buffalo skinning knife with a wicked hooked blade; an elegant lady of means wielding a slender stiletto in her elegant, gloved hands and finally a young mirror of the black clad bandit clutching a smaller version of said bandit’s Bowie knife. All of them looked like they were comfortable holding their steel. And most importantly, comfortable drawing blood with it.
The men froze. They knew they were outmatched.
As three of the women kept their eyes on the men, the smallest, Beca, climbed up on the stage and slide her arm around the trembling redhead’s waist, whispering words of endearment to her. “Come my love, let’s leave here. Let’s go home.”
Chloe shook herself out of her daze, out of the memories of her long buried past.
And smiled again.
“Agreed, my heart. Let’s got home”
Leaving the cowering men behind them in the now silent room, the quintet walked over to the door minder and gathered their weapons from the chest. Filling their holsters, they checked to make sure they were ready to deliver a storm of lead if need be.
Beca reached into a pocket on her duster and pulled out a hand full of hand rolled cigarettes.
“Smoke to settle the nerves, ladies?”
She passed one each to Stacie, Chloe, and Aubrey, keeping one for herself. Emily reached for one, but Aubrey checked her with a touch of her hand.
“No smoking for you, Emily. It will stunt your growth.”
“Gosh darn it,” the youngster grumbled “ I’m almost as tall as Stacie already.”
“Not until…”
“Not until I’m eighteen, I hear ya. Y’all better be ready because my eighteenth is going be a hell of a day.”
Aubrey adjusted her cigarette into a mother of pearl holder and leaned in to get a light from the match Beca had lit. “Ladies, shall we bid this eyesore adieu?”
Stacie nodded. “I’m ready to see our Bella”
Emily chimed in. “I’ve got some reading to catch up on. That Moby Dick was just getting good when we left.”
Beca looked at Chloe with a smile. “I’ve got some canoodling to catch up on”
And Chloe, eyes shining again, “And I’ve got some catching up to do with my sisters.”
“And my love” as she leant in and kissed Beca’s cheek.
Smokes tucked into mouths, weapons back in holsters and eyes set with the same purpose, the desperados stepped out into the sunlight of the street, leaving the darkness behind them.
Walking in unison.
One step close to home.