Episode 79
In Search of Mr. Thaddeus Jones
“We will pay five dollars American for each of three rooms for two nights,” Arabella said to the barkeep. “I’m sure the ladies can make other arrangements to entertain their clients.”
The barkeep blinked hard in his attempt to follow her. He managed to pluck one significant meaning from her words.
“Five bucks? Each?” he said. “Sold, lady.”
“We’ll take the keys then,” she said and held out a gloved hand.
“Keys?” The barkeep slapped the bar top with mirth.
“Perhaps you might offer us assistance in another matter,” Arabella said.
“God damn, lady. You talk as pretty as you look.”
Geoffrey emitted an outraged stammer before Arabella placed a hand on his wrist.
“Most kind of you, sir,” she said with a wincing smile. “We’re looking for a Mr. Thaddeus Jones. Might you know where we might find him?”
“Thad?” The barkeep rubbed a hand across his stubbled chin. “Might be sleepin’ one off somewheres.”
“Does he have a permanent residence where we might visit him?” Geoffrey put in.
“Far’s I know, Thad just sleeps wherever he drops.”
“But he is in Eagle Flat.” Arabella was losing patience.
“Can’t wander so much no more with his bum leg. Hey, fellas!” The barkeep turned to the men occupying the tables. “Any of you seen Thad Jones today?”
The card players muttered their regrets, barely looking up from their game. The smaller of the two men at the other table stood at the question, eyes narrowed to get a good look at the newcomers. And he was very much the smaller of the two, a sawed-off runt of man next to the blonde, bearded giant who remained seated.
“What’choo need with that cripple, girlie?” the man slurred, swaying like he was aboard a ship at sea. “Ain’t none of us good enough for you?”
“I have a specific requirement to ask of Mr. Jones,” Arabella said, replacing her parasol on her shoulder in preparation for her departure.
“Well, look at you! Lordy!” the drunk said, releasing his grip on the chairback to take a stumbling step toward the bar.
“I don’t want no trouble here, Bob,” the barkeep said. “You and Johnny mind your manners.”
The drunk ignored the caution to come to rest against the bar front with bleary eyes locked on Arabella.
“Where’d you hire this one, Sammy? She look like she come outta a painting.” He slid along the bar toward her.
Arabella planted the tip of her parasol in his chest to arrest his progress.
“I will regard that as a compliment. But I am not employed at this establishment.”
“Then where do you work, sweetie? Whores as pretty as you don’t work outta no tents.”
“Sir!” Geoffrey said and laid a hand on the drunk’s shoulder to shove him away. “You are speaking to a lady!”
“Speakin’ to her, not you, mister!” The drunk slapped Geoffrey’s arm away and aimed a sloppy punch his way.
Geoffrey stepped away from the punch to drop into a boxing stance as he’d learned at school. Knees bent and fists presented before him. The drunk regarded this action with swimming eyes before snatching a bottle by the neck to swing as a weapon. Geoffrey ducked under the wild swing with ease before stepping closer to land a left hook to the side of the drunk’s head. Geoffrey spun into the blow, remaining so as the drunk struck the floor only to scrabble on the planks to regain his footing.
“Geoffrey!” Arabella cried.
He turned, following the gaze of her wide-open eyes, straight into the hurled fist of the Viking giant.
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