The Working Girl

This is a continuation of my other stories The Lone Rider and The Man With the Gold. I haven't decided on a name for the collection yet, so you can find them on my page under Untitled Western. Let me know what you think, this is a new genre to me, so I'm looking for suggestions! As always thanks for reading.

The Working Girl

     Night had fallen over the town, drowning its excitement in a quiet ceiling of stars. The commotion the stranger had caused passed by the noon bell, and soon she found herself in his arms with a pocket full of gold. The room they lay in was lavishly adorned with tapestries and silk that she could have never afforded on her own. Business was good, but the town was small and their pockets even smaller. With the last of the cattle ranchers moving on for greener pastures, it was a miracle that the whole damned ruin hadn’t sunk into the desert. She had seen ghost towns made of less.

     In the distance a coyote howled, long and mournful. She turned over to look at the stranger that shared her bed. Despite the nature of their meeting he still slept fully clothed with his massive revolver not far from the bedside. His muscles flexed taught even when asleep readying for something. There was a nervous energy around him that made her uncomfortable.

     She stepped out of bed and walked over to a large mirror that stood on the floor. In its reflection she could see herself silhouetted with the image of the stars just outside the window. Her skin was pale, a trait that was coveted out in the badlands. Most people had grown tan and leathery from baking all day in the sun. The only way she had managed to avoid it was by carrying a heavy black umbrella with her every time she stepped outside.

     Her hair fell in long, red tangles over a dress that had become far too dirty. I’ll have to see Tom about that tomorrow. Tom was the local washer and tailor, and one of the only decent people among the lot of them. Living far from civilization had a tendency to bring out the animal instincts in people. On a regular basis there was fighting which often ended in bloodshed. Consequently the only businesses that were really booming were the mortician and coffin makers. It seemed that every afternoon there was a new funeral to attend. At the current rate the cemetery would grow larger than the town in a matter of years.

    She had never wanted to go out west, but the times had demanded for it. A tear rolled softly down her cheek as visions of home swam before her, clouding the mirror. It’s over and done with. This is home now. Life may not be kind to me, but it is better than the alternative. As she wiped the tear from her eye the sound of hoof beats echoed off the deadened streets outside. Her heart froze in her chest and a chill swept over the room.

     The rider was already out of bed and strapping on his gun belt. Visitors at night were never a good thing. Either someone had died, or it was a group of bandits come to ransack the town. The sheriff made a nice play at intimidating people, but against a formidable group of gunmen there was no point. One man could never outrun that many guns, and he’d be better off crawling into a hole and waiting to die.

     “How many of them are there?” His voice was gruff and cracked. Outside she tried to count the torches approaching. There was a good deal of them, an entire posse by the looks of it.

     “There are only five or so torches, but I think more are hiding in the darkness.”

     “Ok, in the next five minutes two things are going to happen. First, those men are going to call for me to come out and surrender, and second the town will try to give me up. Meeting their demands is not your best course. If you give me up, I’ll walk out there, and be shot dead in the street. If I’m lucky they’ll miss my head and my heart, and in a last dying breath I’ll be able to drag a few of them with me to hell. But that doesn’t end the hardship for your town.” He crossed the table to a small satchel that he had carried with him from the moment he arrived.

     “They won’t stop until they have found the gold that I carried in with me, and maybe not even then. These are some of the worst men that have ever walked on this barren earth, and they will strike this town from the map if they have to. So, what we need to do is find me a way out of this room that doesn’t involve me being forcefully dragged by angry townspeople.” He was smiling lopsidedly at her like an idiot.

     “You must fancy yourself some kind of fucking charming huh?” She pulled a knife from the folds of her dress and held it to him. “By your own admission, your escape wouldn’t do me or anyone else in this town a damn bit of good. So give me one good reason I shouldn’t chuck you out that window and throw your satchel out to those men, sending them on their merry way?”

     “Because that’s not all of the gold.”

     “You son of a bitch.” She stepped towards him with the knife and he cocked the hammer on his pistol.

     “Shooting you would cause quite the commotion, bringing those men here immediately after, and not to mention I had thought that we had become something of friends over the afternoon.” She spat on the floor in front of him, disgusted by his familiarity.

     “Get it through your thick skull. You paid me for services rendered. That makes you a client, not a friend. What we did may have seemed intimate to you, but I can assure you it was nothing more than a transaction for me.”

     “Daisy, I’m hurt.”

     “That’s not my name.”

     “Jennifer?”

     “Will you shut up?!”

     “You’re right; I suppose it doesn’t matter much anyway. The present issue is that you seem to have brought a knife to a gunfight, which puts us in an awkward situation. Murder was not my intention tonight, and I’d hate for such a lovely evening to take that turn.” The gun was menacing with its dark barrel pointed at her head. She could see the fire burning within it, waiting hungrily to claim her life. There was doubt that he would actually follow through with it, but life was too sweet to be gambled with.

     “What do you want then?”

     “As I said previously, a way out of this room would be nice.”

     “And how can I assure that you’re going to come back for us when you’re gone?”

     “You can’t, and frankly I might not, but I don’t see much in the way of options for you dear.”

     “You really are a bastard, and a stupid bastard at that.” She moved closer to the window, still clutching her knife. Outside the hoof beats had grown stronger. Any minute they would be in the middle of the town. “It seems to me that there aren’t a lot of options for either of us.”

     “How do you mean?”

     “Well, you aren’t going to let me leave this room, providing no other option than helping you escape.” She let him mull it over for a second, briefly savoring what he no doubt perceived as victory. “But on the other hand, you value your own life above all else, and ending mine would doom you to the same fate. Now, I’m not inclined to let my town perish on the account of some no-good stranger with a winning smile and bad intentions. They may be a bunch of crooks, but it’s my home none the less.”

     “Ah, I see. We’ve come to a bit of an impasse then, and time has become a commodity. What do you propose we do to end this strife between us?”

     “You will take me with you to find the gold, and then together we will return here to free this town. On the completion of this task you will be free to go about your merry way, robbing and fucking your way through the desert until you die alone in a broken down brothel somewhere.”

     “Harsh words.”

     “I think you needed them.” He chewed his lip, thinking the proposition over. She knew that she had the upper hand, and with the ever growing threat of the posse, he was over a barrel. “Well either shoot me or shake my hand. I’m not one for waiting.” He let out a frustrated sigh and stuck his hand out to her. She drew her blade across her hand and his before he could move away.

     “Jesus, what was that for?”

     “An agreement sealed in blood cannot be easily broken. You may not find it all that binding, but it’s not your own conscience you’ll have to answer to if you break it.” She grabbed his hand and shook, mixing the blood on their palms. When she was satisfied that the weight of the gesture had sunk in, she grabbed a brown riding coat from the closet and swept aside the thick rug on the floor. Beneath it was a trap door that opened to a series of tunnels older than the town itself. She stepped down into the dank air and looked up at the rider. “You coming?”

     “Christ almighty. Let’s get this over with.”