David Robbins - Twin Cities Run

“He did that to her?”

Bear swallowed. “Yeah, but instead of throwin’ her in. Maggot put a beam across the top of the pit and hung her from it so she was just out of the rat’s reach. Some of the bigger rats, though, could get her legs if they jumped real hard. Maggot kept her there for three days, until she got away somehow. The next we heard, she’d joined the Nomads.”

“How’d she get away?”

“Don’t rightly know,” Bear responded. “Maggot thinks someone helped her escape.”

“Who would do that?” Hickok asked, smiling.

Bear didn’t notice the smile. “Beats me. If Maggot ever finds out who it is, they’re dead.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Hickok said. “It sure explains a couple of things about Bertha.”

“You say you’re friends?”

“Yep.”

“Where is she now?”

“I wish I knew.” Hickok said sadly. “The last I knew, she was with me, fighting the Wacks. I don’t know where she is now.”

Bear glanced at the closed door, then at Hickok., “Listen, bro, and listen good! Your life ain’t worth dirt here. Maggot is goin’ to kill you. It’s only a matter of when. Don’t let him convince you otherwise. He will kill you!”

“Real hospitable to strangers in these parts,” Hickok muttered. “Are all the Porns so ruthless?”

“No. There’s a lot who don’t like the way things is done.”

“Then why don’t they do something about it?” Hickok asked.

“Lake what?”

“Like kill Maggot and take over?”

Bear’s eyes widened fearfully. “Shut your mouth, honky! You got to keep thoughts like that to yourself!”

“Why don’t they?” Hickok insisted.

Bear checked the door again. “Because Maggot’s men got all the guns, and no one is allowed to get close to Maggot with a weapon. Even if Maggot were killed, there’s no tellin’ who would take over the Porns. Might be someone worse.”

Hickok was digesting that bit of information when the door opened and Rat entered, bearing a tray of food.

Bear quickly stood.

“I got the food,” Rat announced. “And I ran into someone at the food pots. He wanted to come back with me.”

Hickok didn’t like the way Rat’s eyes were gleaming.

“Who?” Bear asked.

“Me,” said a growling voice, and another man filled the doorway, a huge, obese mass of a man, bald on top, wearing baggy pants and a shirt sewn together from numerous other garments. Sweat covered his face, beads of moisture dripping from his thick double chin. He was carrying the Henry, and the two Pythons were tucked into his waistband.

Bear backed away several steps. “Maggot!”

“You were expecting Reverend Paul?” Maggot rumbled.

Rat laughed, reaching the cot and handing the tray to an aching Hickok. The meal consisted of soup and a glass of water.

Maggot lumbered up to the cot. Behind him, four other men, armed to the teeth, came into the room.

Maggot’s bodyguard, Hickok reflected. He took a sip of the tepid water, feigning indifference to

Maggot’s presence.

“You know who I am?” Maggot demanded.

Hickok slowly looked up at the pumpkin head glaring down at him.

“From here, you look like a giant mound of horse shit. Paler, of course.”

Everyone in the room glanced at Maggot, their faces terrified.

Maggot took the insult in stride. “You’re a real smart ass, aren’t you?”

“Proper grammar for once,” Hickok cracked. “Hardly expected to find you were the literate type.”

“My parents taught me to read and write,” Maggot said, smiling, “just before I strangled them to death.”

Hickok grinned at Maggot’s feeble attempts at intimidation. “Too bad it wasn’t the other way around.” He picked up a spoon and tasted the watery soup. Yuck.

“A real smart ass,” Maggot repeated. “I hear your name is Hickok.”

Hickok glanced at Rat, who was grinning from ear to ear. “You got it correctly.”

“Where you from?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Oh?” Maggot’s fingers tightened on the Henry. “What if I insist?”

“You know what they say,” Hickok said, trying another swallow of soup.

It was better than nothing.

“No. What do they say?” Maggot asked, enjoying their game of cat and mouse.

“Insisting is a lot like playing with yourself.”

“How so?”

Hickok grinned. “Neither do you any good unless you’re sure you can get satisfaction out of them.”

Maggot chuckled, his rolls of fat bouncing. “You’ve got a keen sense of humor, Hickok.”

“Thanks.”

“But a deplorable grasp on reality.”

“Oh?” Hickok gulped the soup directly from the bowl. It was amazing how docile starvation could render your taste buds!

“Yes.” Maggot began to pace. “You see, I’m accustomed to getting what I want, when I want it. I can make your life very pleasant, or I can make it very painful. The choice is yours, based on your degree of cooperation with me.”

Hickok finished the soup, deliberately smacking his lips, pretending to ignore Maggot. “Not too bad. What was in it?”

“It was boiled rat,” Rat answered.

Hickok felt his stomach jump and he nearly regurgitated his meal.

“Do you still refuse to tell me where you are from?” Maggot asked insistently.

“I sure do, pard. But…” Hickok lanquidly stretched. “I might answer your questions if you’ll answer some of mine.”

“I’m a reasonable man,” Maggot announced. “What would you like to know?”

“About the Porns. Who are they? Where did they come from?”

“You’re not from the Twins,” Maggot stated, turning to the others.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

They all nodded.

“As far as your questions go,” Maggot continued, “I can’t answer all of them. There aren’t many books left in the Twins. Most have been burned during the cold weather. From what my parents told me, and what I’ve learned on my own, the Porns began as a group of people who stayed behind in the Twins after the war. They took over the west part of the Twins for themselves, and they have been fighting the Horns ever since. That’s the way things were until about seven years ago, when that damned Zahner started the Nomads. They took part of the Horns’ turf away from them, set up their own territory, and vastly complicated our life.”

Hickok was puzzled, still lacking the answers he needed to understand the situation in the Twins. “Why are the Porns and Horns always fighting each other?”

“It’s always been that way.”

“But why? You need to have a reason to fight.”

“You do?” Maggot grinned. “We don’t. We love to kill the Horns! Those bastards look down their noses at us, like we’re the scum of the earth! Them and their lousy God.”

“Their God?”

Maggot raised the barrel of the Henry and smacked it into his right palm. “Enough from me,” he said impatiently. “Now’s time for you to come up with some answers.”

Hickok nonchalantly placed his hand behind him and leaned back.

“Okay. Shoot.” He wondered how Maggot would react to what was coming.

“Where are you from?” Maggot asked.

“Somewhere else,” Hickok casually replied.

“I know that! Where?”

“Deadwood.”

“Deadwood?” Maggot repeated, frowning. “I never heard of it,” he added doubtfully.

“You’ve never heard of Deadwood?” Hickok asked in fake astonishment.

“No. Where is it?”

Hickok tried to estimate the extent of Maggot’s familiarity with geography and history. If the books were destroyed, Maggot’s knowledge would be extremely limited. Maggot would have no way of knowing Wild Bill Hickok was shot and killed in Deadwood.