Rough Customers

It was 30 years ago, I figure, that me and my brother Little Bill walked through the door of The Secret Garden, drippin’ from the June rain, and our shootin’ irons out and ready. Hell, I don’t know who thought to call the place a “Secret,” seein’ as people knew about it well past McAlester. Hell, Jenny knew enough about it, yet the poor thing couldn’t avoid gettin’ caught up in its snares.

It was my first time in a brothel – the first time for me and Little Bill. Our ride there took 18 days from McAlister, but I must admit it was my own hard-headedness that caused it to be so. My old pal James Tanner told me tales of the Comanch that would scalp travelers in Western Oklahoma. I know now James Tanner was a fool, but back then I heeded his words, which turned a 14 day ride to Dodge City into 18. Luckily, we had good horses.

Me and Little Bill thought we were rough customers, and I’m sure that was the main thing keepin’ us goin’, so when we walked into The Secret Garden that evenin’, we were more than ready for a fight. But the fight wasn’t ready for us, and the people in the brothel disarmed us with their lack of hostility, so our shootin’ irons slowly went down by our sides.

As a matter of fact, for a while, no one paid us no mind at all. The place was filled with couches, lace curtains, and all that frilly nonsense that’s supposed to make a place seem relaxin’. A piano man was earnin’ his keep, and the patrons were fixed on the trollops.

“What are we goin’ to do, Everett?” Little Bill asked me. While I was mullin’ over the answer to that, this cute little blonde trollop shook her hips all the way over to me and Little Bill.

“Welcome to The Secret Garden. Y’all lookin’ for some company?” said the blonde trollop. “My name’s Annie,” she said and stuck the prettiest little hand I ever did see out at me.

I took her hand, but didn’t give it much of a shake for fear of breakin’ the delicate little thing. Next thing I knew, Little Bill was in her face barkin’, “You know a girl named Jenny Rose Dalton? We know she’s here. The girl ain’t but 15 for four weeks. Where is she?”

Hell, I had to push Little Bill back for fear that he’d bite the poor girl. Before I knew it, a tall man with more strength than you’d think be on such a slim fella was upon us and had Little Bill and me by the collar. I would later find out that this man was Henry Stampford, and I could just tell by the way he walked that he owned the place. “What’s goin’ on here?” said Stampford. “You boys got your guns out like you’re lookin’ for trouble.”

Before Little Bill could open his trap and get us in more of a mess than we were already in, I said, “No, sir. Me and my brother just get a little excited, is all.” He released his grip from our collars, and I said to my brother, “Ain’t that right, Little Bill? All these girls just got us worked up.”

I could see on his face that Little Bill was tryin’ his darnedest to trust me and piece together what the hell I was doin’. He said, “Yeah, that’s right, Everett. The whores just got us worked up, is all.”

Stampford said back to us, “Good to hear. Now you boys can hand over your six-shooters.”

“No, sir,” I said back to him. “We’ll keep ‘em holstered.”

“You’ll hand them over, or I’ll have Smokey Pete up there shoot you both where you stand,” said Stampford, and he pointed up to the rail of the second floor where a man smokin’ a cigar and cradlin’ a rifle was starin’ down at us. Stampford felt it necessary to add, “I’ve never seen Smokey Pete miss yet.”

“We don’t need to try his record,” I said, and before I could hand over my shootin’ iron, Stampford snatched it from my hand.

Little Bill brought his shootin’ iron behind his back, and Stampford said to him, “Boy, you better find some sense.” Little Bill brought his shootin’ iron round front again, and Stampford snatched it up, too. “So if you boys didn’t come here lookin’ for trouble, what did you come for?”

I motioned to the bar and said, “Whiskey and women. Same as everyone else.”

Stampford replied, “Best get to it.”

I walked over to the bar with Little Bill, and we ordered up a couple whiskeys from the keep. After Little Bill sucked his down, he asked the keep, “Hey, mister. You know a girl named Jenny Rose Dalton? She’s a little thing with black hair and blue eyes.”

The keep rubbed his stubbled cheek and said, “I don’t know no Jenny nothin’, but one of the gals here is a cute little thang, with hair like a raven and eyes like the sky. Goes by Scarlett.”

“Where can we find her?” I asked.

“Well, if you don’t see her down here, she most likely satisfyin’ a customer,” replied the keep.

“What room are they in?” said Little Bill, slammin’ his hands on the bar.

The keep paid him little mind, and said to me, “There plenty gals down here for you boys. Have ya met Annie over yonder?”

“Yeah, we met Annie,” I said. I checked my watch – a gold watch that once belonged to my daddy, sucked down my shot of whiskey, and said, “Fill ‘em up. We’ll wait for Scarlett.”

Three whiskeys later, me and Little Bill were still waitin’, when there was a commotion comin’ from the second floor. “The whore had it coming,” yelled some cowboy, as he was bein’ dragged down the stairs. “I’m telling you, that bitch’s a thief. Get your hands off of me!”

I saw Stampford and Smokey Pete throw the cowboy outside, and they made their way over to the bar. “I don’t want you sellin’ whole bottles no more,” said Stampford to the keep. “That son of a bitch just cut up my newest whore.”

“I sure hope you’re not talkin’ bout Scarlett,” said the keep, and the son of a bitch actually did seem concerned.

“Yep,” said Stampford. “What good is a whore with a cut up face? Goddamnit!”

The keep turned to me and Little Bill and said, “Sorry, boys. Lookin’ like y’all have to go for another gal after all.”

Before I knew it, my hands were gripped on Stampford’s shirt, and I said, “Where is she?” The keep knocked me on the head with a rifle, and I held myself against the bar as he pointed the business at me and Little Bill, who was ready to pounce first chance he got where gettin’ shot wasn’t a certainty.

“Boy, you must be out of your goddamn mind,” said Stampford. He cocked his hand back, and just as the stars were beginnin’ to clear from my view, Stampford gave me a back-handed slap across the face that brought ‘em right back.

“You touch my brother again, I’ll kill you,” said Little Bill, tryin’ to make his balls out to be brass.

“You two don’t leave my establishment, and I’ll kill you both,” replied Stampford.

“We’re not –” started Little Bill. After gettin’ knocked about twice, my senses were comin’ back to me, so I pushed Little Bill back before he could finish sayin’ somethin’ stupid.

I turned to Stampford and said, “Sell us the cut-up girl and we’ll leave.”

Stampford grabbed my shirt by the collar and said, “You’ll leave cause I said you’re leavin’.”

“We’re leavin’, we’re leavin’,” I said as Stampford began to pull me away from the bar, “but that cut-up girl is no good to you. You said yourself. We’ll pay you good money for her, and that’ll be one less trouble on your back.”

I was no longer bein’ pulled, but Stampford’s grip was still around my collar. He looked me in the eyes and asked, “What’s your idea of good money?”

As it turned out, my idea of good money wasn’t good enough, so me and Little Bill ended up givin’ Stampford all our money down to our last plug nickel, plus my daddy’s watch, and the horse I rode into town on. He never even considered given’ us our shootin’ irons back.

When I seen what that cowboy did to my poor sister Jenny, I almost threw up. You’ve seen the way folks get uncomfortable lookin’ at the scars on her face and her missin’ eye. I’ve seen the way you get around her, too. Well, I promise you it was much worse when it was fresh. A couple of the girls workin’ there helped us patch her up best we could, and me and Little Bill took her away.

We sold Little Bill’s horse so we could pay for a train ticket home and food so we wouldn’t starve along the way. It was dark and had stopped rainin’, and as me, Little Bill, and poor Jenny walked to the saloon to see if we could get a room to spend the night, I saw a man stumble out its doors. I’d seen that man before; seen him dragged out of The Secret Garden by that asshole Stampford and Smokey Pete. It was the cowboy who cut up poor Jenny.

I don’t know if Little Bill didn’t recognize him, couldn’t get a good look at him, or was too focused on poor Jenny, but he didn’t pay the man no mind. But I know it was him, and I can still picture the face clear as a June day. The drunk bastard could hardly stand, and there was no one else outdoors around us. I wanted to kill him, and maybe I should’ve, but I was done tryin’ to be a rough customer. I let the man be, and the next day me and Little Bill took poor Jenny home.