Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

He shook his head as he thought of the carnage. “I can imagine. It must have taken days to clean up the mess.”

“One more question. What about my girls? Do they stay?”

He wasn’t aware she ran prostitutes. He idly wondered what they took for pay. “You still don’t understand, Murdock. I don’t have a problem if you’re doing normal stuff, and not causing trouble. I’m not going to run the oldest profession out of town, unless they are spreading disease or robbing drunks and causing trouble. Just keep it clean.”

“Well,” she said. “I’m not sure the local parson would consider our normal stuff very normal, but I appreciate it just the same.”

He noticed her eyes were riveted on the door. Looking around he saw a cluster of men around the poster he had tacked on the post. One of the men ripped it from the wall and threw it down on the deck.

He sighed and started for the door. “Well, time to go to work.”

Murdock called to him. “The big man is the one they brought just for you, Trent. Be careful. He likes to stomp, and he’s a nutcracker.”

He walked out and straight into the arms of a human bear. So much for conversation. As he passed through the door, the man jumped forward and wrapped him up, picking Trent’s feet off the porch and trying to break his back. He knew if he didn’t end this fight now, he was a dead man. He struggled to free his left arm, his right hand pushing the man’s chin back and up. Finally, his arm came free and he opened his palms and slapped the man on both ears. The first time the man just whined. The second time his grip loosened. When he slipped down in the giant’s grasp, he kicked the man on the instep and slid out of his arms. The man howled in pain.

He suddenly found himself propelled into the street and surrounded by a ring of spectators. Most were shouting encouragement to the giant. It was hot and humid, and Trent was fast losing his temper. “Mister, I don’t know you, so you’ll get one warning. No more of this.”

The big man smiled, showing gaped teeth. Blood was trickling from both ears. “The name is Big Waters, lawman, and I’m going to kill you with my hands. I’m gonna break you like a stick.”

The man was clumsy, but a monster of strength. He sighed, knowing he just couldn’t chance a long fight, not in this heat. He also knew he couldn’t use his gun or he’d lose what little respect some people might have for him. “All right then, Mr. Waters. Come and get it.”

The big man rushed him. When he was an arm’s length away, Trent straight-armed his pointed fingers into Water’s throat. When the giant lumbered to a stop, gagging for air, Trent slipped sideways and kicked in the man’s right knee. With a grinding snap, the leg broke, and the giant went down like a felled tree, screaming and holding his leg. Trent stood looking at the rest of the men and women. “Anyone else?”

The crowd was stunned. Not at the violence, they were used to that. They’d seen men crushed in Big Waters’s hands. It was the casualness and quickness. Waters was defeated with no more effort than taking out the garbage. And that was what he intended. He wanted to shock them.

One man dressed in a partial camo uniform spoke up. “Tell it to Pagan Reeves. He will skin you alive.”

Trent singled him out. “No. You tell him. Right now.” He stared at the man until he turned and left.

“All right, move out of the way.” A woman’s voice broke in.

He turned to see Murdock pushing her way through the crowd. She was carrying a black bag.

“Jesus, Trent. You should have just killed him.” She knelt looking at the bent leg.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but asked anyway. “Why?”

“After I set his leg, we’ll have to cut down a tree for him to use as a crutch. None of us are big enough to carry him around.”

“Use a horse.”

Later that afternoon, after one of the townsmen found him an empty building to use as an office and place to live, Trent was standing in the empty room wondering what to do with it. A knock on the door saved him.

“Mister?” A young boy was at the door.

“What can I do for you, son?”

“Preacher Stephens wants you should come down to his place for dinner.” The towheaded boy stood at the door, trying to see inside.

He opened the door wider. “C’mon in. You got a name?”

“Tommy.” The boy shifted from one foot to the other as he looked around. Maybe he was looking for bodies?

He held out his hand. “My name is John, Tommy. Nice to meet you.”

Tommy stood looking around, ignoring the outstretched hand. “Not much of a place.”

What? “I just got here.” He shook his head. “The decorator hasn’t arrived yet.”

Wrinkling his nose, the boy finally looked at him. “No kiddin’. Know what my dad says?”

Trent raised his eyebrows in question.

The boy rocked up on his toes, and then retreated a couple of steps. “He says you got a bullseye painted on your butt, and people are goin’ to be linin’ up soon for target practice.”

He grinned. Out of the mouths of babes…

“Your father sounds like a wise man.”

“My dad say—”

He raised his hand to stop the continuing avalanche of ‘dad says’. “Tommy, you are depressing the hell out of me. Why don’t you show me where this Preacher Stephens lives, huh?”

“That’s easy, Marshal. Next to the church.”

The boy left shaking his head, undoubtedly wondering why someone wouldn’t know the preacher lived next to his church.

Trent tied his horse to the white fence bordering a small white house—a white house that sat next to a white church. Purity?

He doubted it.

He loosened the girth on the saddle, and hung on a feedbag. Unlatching the gate, he let it swing shut behind him and walked up to the porch. Looking at the white church again, the whole place looked bleached.

The man who opened the door was a tall, lank man who held himself erect and proud. Although he appeared to be pushing sixty, his hair was as blond as Katie’s. “Reverend Stephens?”

“You must be Marshal Trent. Come in. Come in.” The preacher opened the door and Trent passed through into a spare room, with a few chairs parked against the walls. An ancient sofa seemed to be the main gathering place in the room. As they stood, sizing each other up, the reverend spoke in a voice meant to carry to the entire congregation. “My daughter seems quite taken with you, Marshal. She talks about you all the time. I’m surprised a man of your age would encourage that.”

Well, no beating around the bush here. “Your daughter seems to have a mind of her own, Reverend. I think she’s capable of making up her own mind about who keeps her company.”

The man stared at him a moment, then nodded slightly. “Perhaps. And she is headstrong. But even strong minds can be changed. How old did you say you were?”

He smiled and replied with icy calm. Tread lightly. “I didn’t say, Reverend. But since you are asking in such an oblique way, I’m thirty-six.”

The preacher folded his arms across his chest, and then turned slightly away. “That would put you about twice my daughter’s age, wouldn’t it?”

He was beginning to dislike this man. A lot. “Reverend, you are grinding this ax a little thin. If you have got something to say, spit it out.”

Katie cut any reply short as she entered from the kitchen. “I see you two have met.” She cast an amused glance at him. “I hope you are playing nice.”

“Hello, Katherine.” Suddenly he was tongue-tied as a schoolboy on his first date. Dressed in a full-skirted dress, with ruffles at the shoulders and a dip in the front that went way below her open throated tan line, she’d gone from beautiful to breathtaking. He was suddenly aware of his clothes, still dirty from the trail, and the fact he hadn’t had a bath in days.