Alex Bledsoe - Burn Me Deadly

When she saw someone coming she drew the cloak around her and hunkered down, like an armadillo curling in on itself. “It’s okay, Bella Lou,” I said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She recognized my voice, frowned at my new appearance and said, “It’s okay if you want to. I’m just waiting for the king’s soldiers to come take me away.”

I crouched beside her. “They’re not coming. The king doesn’t care about you. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s true. Things will go a lot easier when you understand that.”

She said nothing.

“Where are Toy and Stick?”

“They’re safe. They can take care of themselves.”

“Bella Lou, they’re kids.”

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “We’ve always prepared them for the day when their parents would be taken away from them.”

I dug out the bag of money I’d taken from Frankie’s saddlebag. I’d finally found a use for it that wouldn’t make me nauseous. “Bella Lou, listen to me. I want you to take this, round up your kids and get a room somewhere. This will pay for it for at least a week. I know another woman who just lost her husband, who also has a bunch of kids to raise on her own. That’ll give me time to get in touch with her and make some arrangements.” I offered her the bag.

“I’m no one’s servant.”

“No, but do you think you could be someone’s friend?”

She said nothing for a long time. The dog returned, sniffing at her feet. I kicked at it, and it scampered off. Above us, the branch creaked as Buddy’s corpse slowly turned.

Finally she said, “I haven’t had a friend since I met Buddy. He said they could only hurt us.”

“He was wrong about a lot of things.”

She took the bag. “It may take a while, but I’ll pay you back.”

“I’m easy to find.”

There was nothing else to say. I made the long walk back down the street, ignoring the disapproving looks. It was bad form to consort with the family of the condemned. No one had the bad sense to say anything, though.

Inside the tavern, the regulars at the counter were augmented by people carousing after the hanging. These men and women could barely stand or speak, but they showed no sign of stopping. They were country folk determined to have great stories of summer debauchery to tell around the winter hearth. Callie and two emergency barmaids I didn’t know looked exhausted, having worked the hanging rush nonstop. It always amazed me that these young, vapid girls had the physical stamina I’d wished my infantry possessed back when I commanded troops. Angelina handled the bar with her usual cool efficiency.

The stools were all occupied, and I was about to go upstairs and wait in my office when a piece of biscuit bounced off my head. I looked up, and Angelina gestured with the rest of the biscuit toward the kitchen. We went past Rudy into the storeroom I’d used to spy on Marantz the day before.

She shut the door, which did little to cut the noise. Her work outfit, as always, emphasized her bare shoulders and exquisite cleavage. For not the first time I wondered what spark was actually missing between her and me, because I knew she’d be a wildcat in bed, and you couldn’t ask for a more loyal friend. But its absence was undeniable.

“Guess you weren’t able to help your friend,” she said. “They strung him up right on schedule.”

“Turns out he deserved it.”

“Then you probably feel pretty foolish.”

I nodded. “And that’s not the only reason.”

“That haircut will grow out.”

“Very funny. No, it’s something else.” I paused, knowing that if I said it aloud, it would have an independent reality outside my own head. “Liz lied to me.”

“Wow,” she said evenly. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

She ran a hand through her luxuriant hair and paced as much as the room allowed. Finally she said, “Eddie, I don’t know what to say. It doesn’t sound like her at all, but you wouldn’t make a mistake about something like that.”

“No. Have you seen her today?”

She shook her head. “I gave her your note yesterday at lunch. That was the last time.”

She stood quietly for another long moment. I leaned against the wall and watched a spider scuttle under a barrel. Finally she said, “There might be a good reason, you know.”

“I know.”

“I mean, you’d lie to her if you had a good reason, wouldn’t you?”

“No.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” She looked down, fingered the fringe along her sleeve and said, “She’s the best thing that ever happened to you, you know. I was skeptical of her at first, but she convinced me. She was good to you and brought you out of that stupid ‘I’m so tough’ act, and that was enough for me. If you’re right, it means she made a fool of us both.”

“If you want to look at it that way.”

A firm hand knocked on the door. Callie opened it and presented me with a plate of eggs and biscuits. “Here you go, Mr. LaCrosse. Figured since you’d been asleep all day, you’d want breakfast.”

I took it with a smile, and a grateful nod to Angelina. “Thanks. Looks busy out there.”

Callie blew a strand of hair from her face. “You might say so. I can’t feel my ass from all the pinches and gropes. But the tips’ll pay me back for the money that no-account Tony ran off with, so it’s all fine with me.” She turned to go, then stopped. “Hey, someone went up to your office earlier today. Haven’t seen ’em come down, so they may still be there.”

I took a bite of the eggs, and at the first taste my appetite roared back full strength. I quickly shoveled more into my mouth, forgetting all the etiquette drilled into me as a boy. Between mouthfuls I said, “Let me guess: some old guy with big weird gloves on?”

“Actually, yeah,” she said, and went back into the tavern.

It took a moment for that to sink in. “Holy shit,” I said through another bite.

“What?” Angelina asked.

“Tell you later,” I said, and handed her the plate.

I rushed up the stairs, opened the door to my outer office and stared at the man curled up asleep on the visitor’s bench. It was indeed the man described by Mother Bennings, who I’d glimpsed with Liz the night of the fire. I stood very still; after everything that had happened, I half-expected him to fade into nothingness if I disturbed him.

He was old, all right, and had long white hair gathered in a ponytail. The ribbon holding it had loosened, so strands fell wispily about his face. He needed a shave, and his clothes were wrinkled like he’d slept in them several days running. His hands lay across his stomach and were covered in big gloves like mittens that seemed to be padded on the inside. Even in sleep his face creased into an expression of sadness and pain, and his snoring was mostly little whimpers, like he was about to cry. The room smelled faintly of burnt, rotted meat.

I shut the outer door with enough force to wake him up. He opened his eyes, squinted at me and raised a gloved hand to block the afternoon sun. “Mr. LaCrosse?”

I nodded. “And you are…?”

He sat up and yawned. “Chester Lesperitt. You’ve met my daughter.”

I said nothing.

He waved one gloved hand at my inner office. “Can we talk privately? There are many things I need to tell you, and I’m sure you have many questions.”

I escorted him to the inner office, closed and locked the door and sat behind my desk. He went to the window and discreetly peered out, as if watching for anyone spying on us. Satisfied, he sat in the guest chair.

“First, I want to thank you for trying to save my Laura. I wish you had succeeded, of course, but I also appreciate the effort.”