Jailbait Justice Read online

  ‘Look, Jezebel, I’m really sorry OK, I dragged you out of here and got you shot and bust up. It definitely wasn’t fair of me to be so mean to you. You’ve saved my life so many times now, you’re my hero you know that? It’s the heat, the walking, no food or water, that turned me so mean. I really didn’t mean what I said. I suppose I’m also jealous that you got it to flaunt it.’ She unhooked the canteen and passed it to me. ‘Friends?’

  I took the canteen and held it for a moment feeling pretty shitty.

  ‘Look Alice, the reason why I was gonna make that damned fool suggestion was that, you’re…’ I closed my eyes and bit my lip. ‘We needed food and water, both of us. I was just trying to get us water and…’ I clenched my bad leg sending a sharp pain right up to my spine. ‘… look, I’m filthy, I smell real bad, and I thought – I thought you’d be a better prospect ’cos… you’re…’ I shut my eyes about as tight as they’d go and forced it the hell out, though it hurt so bad ‘… and, despite your cussing I just don’t feel like no intimate relations right now. Besides, I reckon you look in better shape than I do.’

  ‘No I don’t,’ Alice said, all soft.

  My eyes flew open, ‘Oh shut up.’

  The next thing I knew I was being wrapped up with a bony set of arms around my waist, one with only a stump, and having that pointy body pressed up against me with its murky warmth.

  ‘OK we good?’ I asked, holding out my left hand. She put her stump in it, which made me feel guilty a little but I swallowed it and we shook. Alice wiped her nose and nodded her head.

  28

  As we travelled that bust-up old road the sun was above us with a mean spirit in it. We rocked along on the back of that dizzy animal and I felt like every nerve in me was on fire and my skin bit bitterly with burn.

  ‘What you ladies doing out here anyhow?’ called Tyrone.

  ‘Alice is on the hunt for Old Man Elliot and wants to take vengeance on him for killing her momma and two sisters,’ I reeled off with no emotion; so doggone tired with this whole caper as I was.

  ‘You two want to take down Old Man Elliot?’ said Tyrone, shaking his head.

  We both didn’t say nothing to that write off.

  ‘You might know Old Man Elliot,’ Alice eventually responded. ‘Anything that might help us get at him would be much appreciated.’

  ‘Know him? Not personally miss but everyone heard of him ain’t they?’ Tyrone whipped off his hat and wiped his brow. ‘Story I heard, you might have heard it too, was that he was some kind of mischief maker with them computers back in the old world. In fact, he had a lot to do with whatever brought the big change: him and his mischief.’

  ‘Whoa, I never heard that story,’ said I.

  ‘Others say he’s a demon and can’t be killed, but I’m inclined to believe the first story, if that helps any.’ Tyrone finished, putting his hat back high on his head.

  ‘Why do you suppose him and his boys are going around trashing townships and slaughtering people in the name of government? Just devilment?’ I asked.

  ‘No man, I heard they call it a “cleansing process” to make way for the new rule coming out of Houston. They get rid of what they like to call savages that they reckon are uncontrollable due to too much independence. They level their homes, re-build the townships and move people back in. ‘Cept this time it ain’t the person living there what owns the homes, it’s the state. Old Man Elliot and all the other hired bandits get riches and privileges for doing the dirty work, as do the building bosses and contract workers. Them powers what be in Houston get to keep that hefty amount of power they love wielding and increase its geographical influence.’

  ‘Houston don’t wield no power over me,’ I said. After all, I’d taken care of that weasely agent Cecil, hadn’t I?

  ‘Yep, that’s what they all say,’ he sighed.

  ‘They came up as far as New Mexico; that’s what happened to me,’ mumbled Alice.

  ‘Damn,’ Tyrone uttered.

  ‘Hey man,’ said Alice, ‘I’m gonna get down and stretch the old legs, OK?’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ I said, all matter of fact. Though inwardly I was rejoicing.

  As we progressed in that cooking sun, me swaying in the saddle, Tyrone and Alice began to chatter. I couldn’t quite hear what they were saying up there on the horse, especially as the damn thing kept issuing loud snorts. I began wondering about how easy it had been to get them to agree to me sitting up here, in supposed comfort, while the two of them walked the trail.

  ‘You all right up there?’ enquired Alice after a while, patting my thigh like the beast and me had suddenly become one and the same.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, sucking to death my last wad of chew and eying her with suspicion.

  Off in the distance we noticed what looked like some kind of wagon heading our way. I could just about make out, above the pony’s heavy breathing, Alice and Tyrone prophesising excitedly what it could be, like damned children.

  As it got closer it was clear it was a wagon, in a heck of an ill state, being led by two nags destined for the gluemongers.

  Closer still, and we could see that sitting on the buckboard was an old vagabond encased in rags with the reins in his hand and, next to him, was piled an oaf with a shotgun in his embrace.

  The wagon looked like it had been fashioned from anything they could get their hands on. Rags, leather, steel, iron and wood formed a shelter over a similarly constructed chassis and frame. The wheels were two odd-sized rubber tired things that gave the wagon a lopsided gait.

  The old man was a wizened critter, with a stovepipe hat that looked like it had doubled as a trash can in the past. He had two brown teeth to his name that jutted out at odd angles from opposing sides of his thin, cracked mouth.

  The oaf had a face like a side of prairie hog with two eyes that appeared to be failing to focus on anything. His own mouth was small but thick-lipped and drooping and his teeth looked like someone had run riot in an old graveyard with a sledgehammer.

  I put my left hand on my gun and I saw Tyrone put his hand on his own, too.

  29

  The wagon came a clattering on and then halted with a sigh.

  ‘Howdy,’ said the old’un, peeling his hat off and lifting it to reveal a dusty, crusty scalp. ‘I’m Doc Johnson and this here’s my boy Jethro T. Billy Bob Jebediah.’

  Alice and Tyrone both gave wide smiled ‘howdies,’ and I just laughed.

  This mouthful-named ‘tard tried to focus on me I guess but, every time his eyeballs fixed on mine they’d flutter upwards and I wondered at the wisdom of giving this’un the gun. Doc Johnson just looked at me all unamused.

  ‘Yeah well, I got drugs of the finest right here. Uppers, downers, sidewaysers and things that’ll make you see your own dear grandmother crawl up your leg with amorous intentions in her one good eye. I got some of them there neegra remedies too,’ he said, nodding at Tyrone who just shook his head at that. ‘Damn well everything is for sale and I could make a Jew part with gold. So, you just state your fancy ’cos I sure as hell got it.’

  ‘Are you looking for trouble, sir,’ I asked, nodding at my compatriots with my hand still on my gun and trying to stifle my chuckling.

  ‘No ma’am, but if you are my boy here’ll suit your needs.’

  I just shook my head and smiled.

  ‘Got anything that would sweeten a sour redneck,’ said Tyrone, nodding at me.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘We get cussed, you get cussed,’ Tyrone grinned.

  ‘Don’t think we’ll be needing anything today, good Doctor,’ purred Alice.

  ‘What about food?’ said I; ever the one to keep our priorities in mind.

  ‘Don’t have food miss. That’s the one thing we ain’t got. Anything we got we eat, see. Least, my boy does.’ The old man looked sadly off into the distance. ‘Even eats the damned food what’s in my mouth already.’ Then he looked at me all watery eyed and weary.

  ‘Say, what’s that big long
wire thing atop your wagon?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, that there’s a little hobby of mine; seeing if I can’t find an old internet connection and make my fortune.’

  ‘A what connection?’ I laughed.

  ‘Back in the old world we had this thing: the internet. You got it on your computers and even your phones. You couldn’t see it but it contained the knowledge of everything. Reckon it’s still out there, some place, awaiting me to discover it.’

  It was too hot for me to deal with the ravings of a mad old man.

  ‘Shall we continue on our way or what?’ I turned to Tyrone and Alice.

  ‘In old world time the year’s 2062,’ the tinker rambled on. ‘I been keeping count these past 50 years. Knowledge like that is important. Ain’t done me no good though; nobody seems to care none.’

  ‘Bully for you,’ I said.

  He gave me that weary look again, for longer than was pleasant.

  ‘OK, guess we’ll be on our way then, sir,’ Alice interrupted his reverie.

  ‘Suit yourselves,’ said the fella, and off they went on their wonky way and I wondered, to myself, how they would fair against a pack of lanky’uns.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he called back to us, ‘there’s some trouble back there in Brenham. Be warned.’

  The three of us looked at each other and me and Tyrone checked our weapons to see that they were ready for action. Alice just looked at both of us, all frightened like.

  30

  It was late afternoon by the time we reached Brenham and, after what that old tinker claimed and what Tyrone had said about Elliot and his ilk, I was fully expecting to come up to pile of smouldering rubble. But that weren’t the case.

  Although walled we could still see the buildings fully intact, with people going about their business hanging their washing out and such. At the gate leading to the main street the way was guarded by two fellows and, on a walkway above the gate, a sniper enjoyed a cheroot.

  My butt hurt like hell from that damn bony horse and I was feeling awful nauseous and totally baked. I was wondering if I might have fared any better hobbling along as before.

  The two idiots I was with had been getting on famously though, and I was feeling kind of left out. It wasn’t helping my mood any.

  When we got nearer I could see the guards looked nervous. Tyrone addressed ’em by name and they opened the gate and let us pass without so much as a word.

  Ambling slowly down the main street I considered Brenham to be mighty civilized. In the air was that old hum of gennies working away, and people were heading back and forth all over. I did detect the faint air of fear though, and the folks that laid eyes on us did so none too friendly, for a second, and then hurried on.

  ‘I knows ya’ll probably are hungry and in need of rest, but I want to take you to the wellbeing centre and get your wounds tended to first,’ Tyrone said, his voice rising above the sound the horse was kicking out and the general bustle.

  It was a good thing that the wellbeing centre was only a block along. We came to a halt outside a big old building that was dirty white and had a red cross painted onto the front door. Tyrone began to tether the horse to a post in front of it.

  Finally, I had the chance to dismount and I promised myself it’d be the last time I sat astride a pony or, so help me, I’d take Comeuppance to myself.

  I winced as my boots hit the dirt. My legs were as stiff as hell and they didn’t want to close proper. I swear it was like I had been up to rambunctiousness for a full week the way my crotch and butt felt, along with my wobbly pins.

  We all scaled the ramshackle wooden steps leading to the main door of the wellbeing centre together and Tyrone, ever the gentleman, held one of the battered double doors open for me and Alice to step inside.

  They gave a knowing look at each other as she uttered a prim, “thank you”.

  I was surprised at how clean and orderly it was within. Curtains and screens separated six little areas, three on one side and three on the other, where each patient could be treated.

  Only two were in use; one by a miserable looking little boy and the other by a moaning old man who was kicking up a pitiful fuss and calling out for the carers with every breath.

  Five said carers, who looked like they were just regular folk, were busying about the place and seeking advice from two serious looking sawbones who were decked out in white coats. One of them was a sagely bespectacled old fella and the other a hard faced, humourless looking woman who I placed in her late thirties.

  ‘I’ll go and have a scout around town and see what’s up, while you two get yourselves looked at,’ said Tyrone, tugging his hat at me. Him and Alice just stood there looking coyly at each other a while, before he eventually departed. I may have taken that ugly scene into more consideration but, right then, I had only two things on my mind: a hearty meal and some chew.

  First though, me and Alice were led into opposite treatment areas and were seen to pretty quick by the doctors on hand. It was just my luck I got the sour faced bitch.

  Glory be, my leg was not infected and it turned out that my broke arm was just very badly sprained.

  ‘But I heard, like, a crack,’ I protested.

  ‘You heard like a crack or did you hear a crack?’ the snooty piece asked.

  ‘OK, I heard a crack.’

  ‘Well it is just sprained. Maybe you just landed rather heavily on something that was on the ground. I’ll bind it up for you properly and you can pay me 20 bits for the privilege.’

  ‘Well, I ain’t got no money…’ I protested.

  ‘It’s OK, Jezebel,’ I heard Alice call. ‘Tyrone left us with some money. I’ll settle the account at the end.’

  What, when was that arranged? Feeling indignant, I decided devilment was called for.

  ‘What? You changed your mind about giving out blowjobs for favours – ow, goddamn it.’ Doc snooty pulled the bindings she was laying down right tight on my arm and glared at me.

  ‘Come on Jezebel, let’s not start this off again,’ called back Alice.

  ‘OK, OK, I’m just playing. Anyway, once we’re out of here we can head to the baths, get cleaned up and get some grub ’n’ drink yeah?’

  ‘Sounds great – aaagh that stings – but ain’t there supposed to be trouble around here, according to the old tinker?’

  The quack asked me to flex my fingers and, ‘oh man,’ I was mighty happy to feel movement in my gun arm again when I did; all be it awful stiff and sore.

  ‘That old geezer was full of seven kinds of shit,’ I reassured Alice, confidently.

  I was only half right.

  31

  No sooner had I had the wrist and forearm bound like a wayward hog than the doors of the wellbeing centre were kicked open and in stomped Skinny Pete, Paulie Bastard and the Colonel; mighty pleased with themselves they were, too. Skinny Pete looked ridiculous though; squeezed into my long lost dress that I had bought myself at the trail agency in Austin. Then, followed by six or seven rangers, was none other than Old Man Elliot hisself.

  He dumped poor Tyrone before him. Although he looked like he was a goner he coughed and spluttered and started scratching around on the floor feebly.

  Elliot just looked at me with those stone cold blue eyes from behind his spectacles and said: ‘Lol.’ Whatever the hell that meant.

  They all gathered around. I saw, from the corner of my eye, the old doctor tending to Alice had shut the curtain, which went unnoticed ’cos this hellish posse’s eyes were all on me.

  ‘Jezebel Misery St. Etienne,’ began Elliot, through that thin wide mouth of his, ‘you will hereby be taken into custody for the murders of twenty men, including a government agent. You will face trial tomorrow morning. The court will see to it that you get hung by lunch recess, so help me.’

  ‘Some kind of fair trial that is. You…’

  Skinny Pete grabbed my arm and hauled me over to Paulie Bastard, who then clapped irons around my wrists. I felt a pain in my right arm so great when he
tightened them that I nearly passed out.

  Then, your humble narrator was dragged ungraciously across the street to what I took to be the courthouse and, you can rest assured, I was kicking up a hell of a fuss along the way.

  After dragging me though the building for a while they took my belts and my gun, my knife too, and hurled me bodily into a cold, brick room; like the kind you bake pots and plates in. The big iron door was slammed shut behind me with a curse.

  There I was fucking starving hungry; shot leg; sunburnt to hell and tired; filthy as a pig with my arm in agony; irons still around my wrists and all on my own. There weren’t no bedding, no bucket of water to wash with; no nothing.

  All kinds of thoughts were running through my mind like clouds whizzing overhead or a fast running river. Things just came and went, and I had no focus on none of it. I clutched at the cross pendent I wore, which my momma had given me. But it did no good nor brought no comfort.

  Later, I sat there on the floor cradling my legs and rocking; seeing if there was any way I could break out of there. The walls looked like they were several feet thick and it felt like I was a ways underground. It was dark as hell with only a narrow, oblong hole in the middle of the door providing any light.

  I watched the dust particles dance around and thought back, as I had before when things were desperate on this god-forsaken trail, to my old lover, who had set me upon a righteous path. I was sixteen and was already a long time orphan, a bandit of some note, and a murderer. He was a grizzled old ranger, righting wrongs and levelling the odds for the hardworking folks being dogged by the likes of me when they were just trying to go about their business.

  He came across me and my gang at rest one day and he wiped ’em all out, in the most graceful of fashions, leaving just me. I remember looking at him all in awe. I don’t know why he spared me but he took me in and introduced me to my conscience. I say he taught me right from wrong. Well, I already knew that in myself, but it was more about understanding how our actions affect others and the importance of accountability, responsibility and empathy.