Issue 7: "In for a Penny, In for a Pounding"

1870:

The two men stared each other down, neither willing to move an inch. A hush had fallen around them as the gathered crowd waited to see who would make the next move. Then one of the men, a large fellow known only as Smitty, finally spoke.

“I’m calling you out, Lash.”

The second man didn’t flinch, seemingly unaware of the building tension. Despite the high stakes laid before him, there wasn’t so much as a bead of perspiration on his brow, which was more than could be said for Smitty. It seemed a full minute slipped by before the second man’s fingers flew into motion, carrying out the actions they’d performed on so many other occasions, and always with the same devastating results.

“Straight flush, with the Queen of Hearts leadin’ the way.”

“Damn-nation!” Smitty slammed his fist down on the table with enough force to make the cards jump a bit, while a mixture of laughter and groans came from the crowd ringing the poker table. “I thought for sure you were bluffing.”

“See now, that’s your problem, Smitty,” Bat Lash told him as he began to rake the chips towards him. “You know thinkin’ ain’t your strong suit...an’ apparently, Five-Card Draw ain’t, neither.” He gave a wink and a grin to the crowd, which responded with more laughter.

“C’mon, Lash, you already beat the guy,” one of the other players said -- he’d wised up early and folded before he lost his shirt. “No need to rub it in.”

“I ain’t rubbin’ it in, I’m merely advisin’ him to sit the next hand out,” he replied as he stacked his newly-acquired chips into neat little towers. “My conscience would never forgive me if I sent him home a pauper.”

Smitty grunted as he got up from his chair, saying, “You don’t have to tell me twice.” As he stepped away, he gave the side of the table one last bang with his fist, causing the whole thing to shift and Lash’s earnings to fall into disarray.

“Awful rude,” the gambler muttered, and started over again -- call it superstition, but he liked to have his money in order before beginning the next hand. And it certainly was a good deal of money, more than enough to keep him comfortable over at the Empire Hotel for at least another week. It would probably be in his best interest to quit soon, before he completely wore out his welcome here like he’d done at so many other gaming halls. [/i]Maybe I should throw the next couple hands[/i], he thought, just to win back their confidence. Of course, the notion of doing such a thing was nearly as abhorrent as losing through normal channels, and he immediately dismissed it from his mind. Like Pappy always said: It’s good to be charitable, but remember that you’ve gotta eat too. “So,” he said to those still gathered near the table, “would any of you be so inclined as to fill that empty seat?”

A good deal of people muttered and backed away in response -- they’d seen Lash trounce too many players over the course of the night, and no one was interested in being his next victim. As the crowd shifted, it gave him a clear view of the front entrance, and he found himself witness to the entrance of a lovely young lady in a red velvet dress. Though he’d seen a couple other women around the saloon that night, there was no way someone could mistake this new beauty for just another soiled dove: she seemed to carry herself above the grit and roughness pervasive in a cow-town like this, setting herself apart from it both in her stride and in her choice of fashion, which was considerably more high-end than the majority of women in the West. Either she’d just gotten off a train from somewhere more civilized, or she refused to give up on the notion that a lady could live out on the frontier and still look like a lady.

Now this, Lash thought, is someone I’d like to get to know better. After managing to pry his eyes away from her velvet-clad curves, he said to the dealer, “I’m cashin’ out.”

“That’s not fair, you gotta give us a chance to win back some of our money from ya,” one of the men still at the table said.

“Boys, if you ain’t won it back by now, it ain’t never gonna happen.” He tucked the cash into the inner pocket of his crisp white suit coat as he left the table, a couple of the players grumbling very un-Christian oaths under their breath. He then made his way over to the bar, where the lady in red had taken up residence, her silk-gloved hands resting daintily on the bartop as she perused the selection of bottles behind it. He sidled up to her, leaned nonchalantly against the bar, and said, “It’s not often that I see a lady like you in a place like this.”

At first, it didn’t seem that she’d honor him with a response, then she turned towards him and gave him a bit of a once-over. He didn’t mind in the least: what was the point of him getting his clothes hand-made in San Francisco if pretty gals didn’t look him over from time to time? Once she was done, she smiled and said, “Considering the selection offered, I’m not surprised. Nothing but third-rate liquors as far as the eye can see.” Her voice had a smooth polish to it, free of the lazy, rounded syllables most Westerners spoke in.

Good taste in clothes an’ food, plus an Eastern accent...this is gettin’ interesting. “Yes, it is a sad state of affairs,” he replied, “but they’ve got some of the best gamblin’ tables in town, so I consider it a small price to pay.” He glanced around them, then said in a conspiratorial whisper, “However, I do know of a lovely place not too far from here that serves the finest in spirits this side of the Mississippi, not to mention a fantastic duck l’orange. If you feel so inclined, I could be persuaded to escort you there.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mister...”

“Lash. Bartholomew Aloysius Lash...but you may call me Bat.”

“Well, Mister Lash,” she continued, “I am flattered by your invitation, but how do you know I’m not waiting here for someone?”

Without missing a beat, he said, “I considered that possibility, but to be honest, any man that would ask a delicate flower like yourself to meet him in such a disreputable establishment probably ain’t worth waitin’ for.”

“Touché.” She playfully ran a finger across the bartop, coming very close to Lash’s elbow before skirting away, and said, “You’ve very quick, Mister Lash.”

“When you make your livin’ the way I do, you have to be.”

“And how exactly does a man of your obviously refined stature make a living?” He noticed her eyes wandering down to his waist, and after he pushed his ego aside, he realized she was looking at the pistol strapped to his hip. “A gun-for-hire, perhaps?”

“Mostly by the turn of the card, though I have been known to pull leather when the need arises. In fact, I was involved in a harrowin’ adventure just a few weeks ago out on the trail to Two Pines. Made a new friend, saw justice done, and managed to earn a little money in the process.”

“Really...” She moved a little closer to him, her blue eyes sparkling. “I’d love to hear about it. I do so enjoy a good story.”

“Well, it’s a rather gruesome tale, and not really proper conversation for a lady such as yourself.” He took a couple steps closer himself, until there were but a few inches between them. “But if you would be so kind as to take me up on my previous invitation, I’m sure I could be persuaded to spin a yarn or two.”

“Then I’m afraid I have no choice but to accept.”

“I’m honored, Miss...”

“Penelope Dreasney,” she said, and offered Lash her hand. “But you may call me Penny.”

“With pleasure, my dear Penny,” he replied and, after taking the hand offered, led her away from the bar.

The next morning, Bat Lash was awakened by the sun streaming through the window and smacking him right between the eyes. With a groan, he pulled the feather pillow over his head and cursed the dawn for being so dang bright. Normally, he wasn’t such a grump in the morning, but he had a respectable hangover at the moment, and that was enough to make anybody surly. Reckon it serves me right, he thought as he inspected the underside of his pillow. I should’ve known better than to keep poundin’ back the wine...but we was havin’ such a good time last night, I didn’t want to stop. Not that he could remember much of it now: in his mind, it had degenerated into a blur of laughter and booze and tangled bed sheets. A smirk came to his lips as he recalled that last part. That Penny sure is a feisty one...I hope she doesn’t feel as awful as I do, ‘cause I could go for another round of that.

Lash screwed up his courage and removed the pillow -- the light still smarted, but he could stand it. He then turned on his side and reached out for his lovely companion, only to find an empty spot on the mattress. “Penny?” he said groggily, then sat up and took in the room, but she was nowhere in sight. Maybe she went down to the bath to freshen up, he thought as he slipped out of bed and searched for his clothes. After making himself somewhat presentable for anyone who might see him, he stepped out into the hall and headed for the bath, but found the room empty. “Awful peculiar,” he mumbled, then saw a bellhop coming up the stairs at the other end of the hall. “Boy...hey, boy!” he called out to him.

The bellhop made his way to Lash, taking in his rumpled look as he did so. “Do you need me to draw some hot water for you, sir?”

“Actually, I was hopin’ you could help me in another matter. You seen a dark-haired woman in a red velvet dress walkin’ about the hotel this mornin’? Or maybe down in the restaurant?”

The bellhop shook his head. “No sir, nobody like that. I could check with the front desk if you like...do you know what room she’s in?”

“As of last night, she was in mine.”

“Oh.” The young man got a sympathetic look on his face. “Your lady-friend gave you the mitten, eh?”

Lash’s own expression soured. Though he was loath to admit such, it was beginning to appear that Penny had left him without so much as a fare-thee-well -- hard to believe, considering how well they’d hit it off last night. He padded back down the hall in his stocking feet, mulling over the situation, and decided to finish getting dressed and take a walk about town in the hopes that he’d stumble across her. When he returned to his room, however, he found that the answer had been right in front of him the whole time: his hat was hanging on the bedpost, and in place of the flower he normally kept tucked under the band was a neatly folded piece of paper. Plucking it out, he sat down on the bed and read it:

My Dearest Bat,

Please forgive my leaving so soon, but my train is set to depart early this morning, and I am terrible at saying good-bye. Do not think me rude, for I wanted to tell you last night, but I was afraid it would ruin our time together if you knew it was to be cut short. I hope you will look upon the brief moments we shared with fondness, for I know that I shall be thinking of you often in the coming months, and of all the thrilling tales you told. Perhaps someday we shall meet again, and talk of more adventures. Until then, be well, and thank you for your kindness.

With Love,
Penny

He folded the note back up, saying to himself, “Hard to stay mad at a gal that can sweet-talk as well as that.” It was a shame she’d given no hint as to her destination, or else he’d catch a train himself and surprise Penny at her next stop. That such a thought occurred to him was rather strange: it had been a long while since any woman had struck his fancy enough for him to want to continue the relationship beyond a night or two. Perhaps he was starting to mellow with age.

“What a horrible notion,” Lash said, and continued getting dressed for the day.

One month later:

Penny Dreasney made her way up the stairs of her hotel, eager to get back to her room and start jotting down notes. She’d arrived in this little California town a few days ago, and had just about given up hope on finding anything print-worthy, but then she came across a drunk vaquero in a saloon who was spinning a wild yarn for everybody within earshot. He claimed that he’d had a run-in with someone (or something) called El Diablo a couple weeks back, and the event had left him so shaken that he’d gathered up his bedroll and fled the ranch he’d been working at. The tale was absolutely implausible, of course -- he claimed the man was bulletproof and that his horse snorted fire -- but with the proper write-up, Penny was sure she could sell her editors on it. All it needed was the right angle, a good hook to suck the readers in and make them plunk down a dime for the next installment. Like the Bat Lash stuff....who knew the folks back East would eat up stories about a guy like that?

A man tipped his hat and smiled at her as she approached her door, and she gave him a flirtatious look in return. Never hurts to cast out an extra line, she thought, you might reel in an even bigger fish. For the moment, he’d have to wait until she got her latest acquisition down on paper. She entered the room, her mind fixed on the story, and was halfway to her writing desk when a voice said, “Y’know, I really don’t see how anybody can make a livin’ off writin’ this garbage.”

Penny whirled around to see Bat Lash reclining on her bed, leafing through a fistful of manuscript pages, occasionally tossing one on the floor. Her first impulse was to yell at him for messing up her work, but she composed herself and said in her sweetest voice, “Why, Bat...my darling, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“You mean you never expected to see me again at all.” He stopped shuffling papers and held one close to his face, squinting at the handwriting. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I never saved any Indian princess from a band of marauding Rebels,” he muttered.

“It’s called artistic license,” she retorted, and ripped the pages out of his hand, then proceeded to pick up the rest scattered about the room. “A few of your tales needed a little punching up.”

“‘Artistic license’? Is that Yankee talk for bald-faced lyin’?” Lash got off the bed and walked over to her, intentionally standing on a piece of paper she was trying to pick up. “Do you realize how much grief your stupid dime novels have caused me? I got a couple of friends that want to make me the guest of honor at a necktie party, thanks to you.”

“So they want to throw you a party, is that so bad?” She yanked on the paper, which promptly ripped in half.

“It means they want to hang me, you little...” He balled his hands into fists, fighting the urge to call Penny every dirty word he knew -- she may have conned him, but she was still a lady. Regaining his composure, he said, “You’d think that somebody that writes ‘bout the West would pick up on the lingo.”

“I do my best,” she said as she stood up, running her finger up the front of his vest as she did so. “Maybe you could teach me a little more. It would add some authenticity to my stories.”

He took hold of her hand gently, then pulled it away from his vest -- her feminine wiles were not about to sway him this time. “Considerin’ how badly you botch up the plain truth, I don’t think it’d help any. What in the world possessed you to go an’ malign my reputation like that, anyhow?”

“I did it with the best of intentions, darling,” she replied, pulling free of his grip. “Besides, I thought a man so full of himself like you are would be flattered to see his name in print.”

“Maybe I’d be more flattered if you’d actually asked permission, did that ever occur to you?”

“Well, it never has in the past...”

Lash cocked an eyebrow. “You mean I ain’t the first fella you done wiggled your hips at for a story?”

Penny turned away from him, saying, “A lady never tells,” then walked over to the door. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind excusing yourself, I have some more work to do.”

The gambler hitched his thumbs in his vest pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Oh, I think your work is just about done,” he said.

Now it was Penny’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “Now, Bat, I know you’re upset about how I tricked you, and you have every right to be...but the stories are out there now. It’s not like I can travel across the country and retrieve every copy. You’ll just have to be satisfied with my promise that I’ll never do it again.”

“I know for a fact you’ll never do it again,” he said, still rocking. “Not to me, an’ not to any other poor sap that comes along. Y’see, darlin’, before I traveled all the way out here to California, I sent a wire to your lovely editors at All-Star Western Library, tellin’ them about how one of their writers had the unmitigated gall to use the names an’ experiences of both me an’ my friends in her stories without givin’ us the least bit of compensation. I then said that I was fixin’ to hire some fancy Yankee lawyer an’ sue the lot of ‘em for libel unless they resolved the issue right quick.” He reached into his suit coat and pulled out a telegram. “It’s amazing what sort of response you can get when you mention lawyers: not only did they wire me a healthy sum of money for my pain an’ sufferin’, but they also promised me that they would no longer accept any material from the writer responsible for this whole debacle.”

The woman suddenly went very pale. “You didn’t...”

“Oh, yes I did.” Lash stepped forward until he was right in her face. “You made the same mistake that most folks make about me: y’all see the nice clothes an’ the better nature an’ you think I’m harmless, a real easy mark that you can walk all over. Truth is, if you push me far enough, I can be just as mean an’ hard as anybody else. I don’t like it one bit, but I can do it. An’ you, little missy, pushed me a mite too far, abusin’ my trust like that, so I pushed back where I knew it would hurt you the most.” With that, he took the telegram and slapped it in her hand, saying, “Congratulations, my little Penny Dreadful...you’re out of a job.”

Penny didn’t respond right away. She merely stood there, looking at the telegram in silence. Then her lower lip began to quiver, and Lash thought for sure she’d burst into tears. It broke his heart to know he’d driven her to that, but he meant what he said about being pushed too far...and the fact that the majority of the money the dime novel house had sent was now in the hands of Ke-Woh-No-Tay and Hex didn’t exactly help his mood either. Let her cry, he thought. Considerin’ the embarrassment she’s done put me an’ Lord knows how many other fellas through, a few tears is nothin’ much.

But to his surprise, she didn’t cry. She did, however, begin screaming. Not a grief-stricken sort of scream, either, more like a bloody-murder sort of scream, which caused Lash to jump back a few steps in surprise. Then she grabbed hold of the neckline of her dress and tore at it savagely. Okay, this is a bit too much, Lash thought, and put out a hand to calm her down, only to get his face slapped, her fingernails actually gouging his cheek. He cried out himself and stepped back even further as Penny grabbed the door handle and rushed out into the hall, still screaming. “Good Lord, I done drove her over the edge,” he said aloud, and followed after her.

He’d barely taken three steps away from the door when he heard Penny cry out, “There he is!” Down the hall, he could see the woman pointing in her direction, and flanking her were two rather large men, one of whom had an arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. “He’s the one that attacked me in my room!” she continued, a hand clutching at the rip in her dress that she herself had made.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that skunk for ya,” the man coddling her said, while his companion cracked his knuckles.

Lash zipped back inside Penny’s room as quick as a wink and slammed the door, thinking, That gal missed her callin’...she should’ve been an actress. He then grabbed hold of the writing desk and dragged it in front of the door -- it wouldn’t hold those two gorillas back for long, but it would at least buy him some time to climb out the window and make an escape. He ran over to it, tossed up the sash...then remembered that Penny’s room was on the third floor, and had no ledge or balcony to speak of. “If it ain’t one thing, it’s another,” he muttered as he stared down at the street. There was a chance he could jump from that height and be fine, but it was outweighed by the chance that he could break both his legs in the same attempt. Now them is some lousy odds, he thought.

There was a crash behind him, and Penny’s pair of “saviors” barreled into the room. One of them grabbed hold of Lash and hoisted him by the front of his shirt, growling, “Never would’ve figured a skinny runt like you to be a masher.”

“Sir, I’ve been called many things, but ‘masher’ is definitely a new one,” Lash replied as he dangled in the man’s grip. “I take it any attempt at a reasonable explanation for this mess is useless?”

“After what you did to Miss Penny?” the other man said. “You’re lucky you’re still drawin’ breath yet.”

They’re on a first-name basis with her...lovely. “Then you’ve left me no choice,” he said, and swung his leg up to connect with the first man’s crotch -- dirty pool, to be sure, but there was no way he could beat a fella that big in a straight fight. The moment the first man loosed Bat from his grip, the other man tried to wrap his own meaty paws around him, but the gambler dropped flat to the floor and tripped him up instead. “Sorry I can’t stay, gents,” Lash called over his shoulder as he bolted for the door, “but it looks like me an’ a certain lady still have unfinished business.”

Penny had long vacated the hallway, so Lash ran for the staircase in the hopes that he could catch her before she hit the street. He took the steps two at a time until he reached the second-floor landing, which overlooked the hotel lobby, and found his luck hadn’t all run out just yet as he spied Penny heading for the main doors. “Somebody stop that woman!” he hollered, and went to continue on down the stairs. Then he heard something very large thumping on the stairs behind him, and turned just in time to see one of the men from upstairs sailing through the air at him.

If I live through this mess, I just might kill that woman, Lash thought before getting knocked backwards down the stairs and cracking his head on the floor below.