Support Your Local Deputy: A Cotton Pickens Western (10 page)

Rusty Irons, he sure was sour, moping around my office like the whole world was against him. I knew the feeling. I didn’t have my heart set on any Ukrainian mail-order bride who was a Siamese twin, but I’d eyed a few ladies in my day, like Pepper Baker, only to have her father rush her off to finishing school. That pretty near finished me.

So Rusty was looking grim. He had a kid to raise and no woman. I deputized Riley, and gave him a badge, and the kid strutted around my office with an empty scattergun. Might as well teach them about weapons at an early age. We had him swab out the two jail cells, and told him he could be a jailer when he grew up, but he needed to know how to do it, and we’d help him practice.

Well, Puma County Supervisor Reggie Thimble blew his cork. He came roaring in, eyed Riley, and started yelling.

“What do you think you’re doing, Pickens? Making a little kid a deputy? Trying to screw the county, is that it? Trying to get us into big trouble? He’s too young to be handling weapons. You pull him off the force right now, or you’re fired.”

Reggie had been working for years to get me fired, but after I rescued the Glads, he clammed up a little, for a few days. But then he found a way to get around it: It wasn’t my ability that nailed the little hooligans, it was Belle’s apple pie, and Cotton Pickens had nothing to do with the rescue. Mickey the hooligan smelled the pie, and that was the end of it. Pickens just happened to be on hand to shut the little swine down. That’s what he spread all over Doubtful, and pretty soon half the town agreed. It was Belle’s pie that nailed the little turds.

I’ve heard that stuff all my life, and maybe it’s true, at least a little. My ma, she used to say . . . well, I couldn’t remember what she said. She was a fountain of wisdom, and I blotted it all up whenever I could, which wasn’t very often.

The Glads put the little criminals to work building fence. If they cooperated, they could dig the postholes, set the posts, and string wire. If they fought, then the fence wouldn’t get built and the Glads wouldn’t pay them wages. I heard somewhere that fences make good neighbors, but maybe they make good fence-builders if the two didn’t kill each other with spades or wire cutters.

Riley, he was a different sort of orphan, and between Rusty, and me, and Belle, we gave him a home and a way to grow up and get ahead. Belle and Rusty schooled him, since they didn’t trust me to do it. I always had to look up the big words. Rusty, he said I should join Riley’s class and maybe I’d learn to spell like he was. But I was in law enforcement, and didn’t need any classes in anything. What lawman ever went to school and got anything out of it?

It was going to be a peaceful summer in Doubtful until one June day the Pike Brothers Carnival rolled into town, twenty enameled red and blue and gold wagons, with Seventeen Sensational Exhibits and Forty-four Ways to Improve the Mind. There was Cleopatra, in the flesh, wearing exactly what Cleopatra wore when she was with her Roman lovers. There was Little Egypt, doing her famous dance. There was a genuine, live, two-headed calf, and the Blonde Bombshells, and the petrified remains of Irish Revolutionary Thomas Francis Meagher, who had turned into solid rock. The show ran two city blocks, the wagons drawn by slobbering oxen, and they paraded down Wyoming Avenue, stirring up some excitement, especially among the town drunks. After a lot of brown and tan and a little green that spring, some gold and red color brightened up the place.

The men wore white shirts with black vests, and bowlers, except for the majordomo, who wore a silvery coat with purple lapels. They were all smiling and waving at the rascals who were tossing horse apples at them and thumbing their noses. I thought maybe this outfit had seen that before. Two trumpeters and a trombonist were blatting away, making military sounds from the top of a gold wagon with P
IKE
B
ROTHERS
C
ARNIVAL
lettered on the sides.

I was all for it. Doubtful, it was a nice town, but a little remote from the rest of the world, and now a genuine carnival show was setting up, and we’d have a fine few days. Probably a minor crime wave, but that came with the territory, and I’d deal with it. Sure enough, they rolled in, dusky Cleopatra in pantaloons and a sort of vest and fez, and the two Blonde Bombshells side by side on a wagon, smiling at the gathering crowds, and a veiled wagon that said
TWO-HEADED CALF INSIDE,
and a wagon rigged up as a hearse that was supposed to contain the petrified body. Little Egypt swayed languorously and rotated her hips. A sign said
EDUCATIONAL EXHIBITS FREE; RARITIES AND ODDITIES, TEN CENTS. I
figured the outfit would make a few dimes in Doubtful, and pull out in a day or two. There weren’t a lot of dimes around town, and maybe they’d be spent on flour and beans rather than two-headed calves or peep shows.

“Open at dusk!” the majordomo shouted into a megaphone, “Sensational sights, and uplifting exhibits.”

I wondered where they would set up camp, but shouldn’t have. They needed a creek, and set up along Doubtful’s little stream, which was fine except for the mosquitos. I eyed the Blonde Bombshells, certain thoughts trailing through my mind, and decided to have a closer look at them. They sure were sitting tight together, and when they stood up, acknowledging the crowds, they rose and sat together. Could it be? Had they been kidnapped by this here outfit?

I’d know soon enough, and maybe get them back to Rusty, assuming he’d want them and they’d want him. Carny ladies didn’t enjoy the loftiest of reputations, and Rusty might have second thoughts. On the other hand, heartbroken Rusty Irons might just have his heart mended before this outfit blew out of town.

I drifted along with the show, and watched them settle on a spot, and begin throwing up the tents. These lined both sides of a concourse, grassy now but soon little more than clay. The roustabouts put up tents with amazing speed. A tent went up every few moments, and soon there were big signs in front, advertising its exhibits. You could pay ten cents to see any exhibit, or a dollar to get a pass that would let you into them all. There was also stuff for sale, and a beer garden, food, and candy. The stuff for sale, it was mostly gimcracks, like decks of cards with half-naked girls on them. I didn’t know how a feller could concentrate on poker if he was looking at acres of bosom, but each to his own tastes, I thought. They probably would be popular with cowboys, and would vanish into the bunkhouses of all the local ranches.

There were games of chance, too—hit the bottles with a ball and collect a prize of some sort, or a box of licorice. There was a game like horseshoes, in which you had to flip a ring over a spike, and if you tossed three rings just right, you got a teddy bear, or maybe a stuffed monkey. Those all cost extra, and didn’t come on the pass that got you into all the exhibits.

Pretty quick, a rough customer in a bowler headed my way, and I knew I was about to meet the manager. He had a corrugated face that looked like it had been picked over by smallpox.

“Sheriff?” he said. “Something wrong?”

“Nope,” I said. “Pickens here, and you?”

“Heliotrope Pike,” he said. “My show. We run a clean outfit.”

“You having a good season?”

“Nah. Country’s gone to the dogs. Depression. I got performers quitting me because I can’t pay them on schedule. These are tough times.”

“We’ve had a mess of shows through here this summer. Even an end-of-the-world outfit.”

“That’s what I should do. Scare the crap out of people and walk away with the loot. That’s as good as it gets. Well, sheriff, if there’s anything you want, you holler. You get a free peek. Just flash your badge. You’ll like Cleo; she’s got a lot of tit.”

“Sounds like a good evening,” I said. “Say, tell me about the Blonde Bombshells.”

“Oh, them. Hot stuff. Pair of Russians, joined at the hip, and they like to show it a little.”

“Where’d you get them?”

“Bought them, I don’t know where.”

“Well, think about it. I’d like to know who sells Russian blondes.”

Pike smiled. “Everything’s for sale,” he said.

“I’ll be talking to ya,” I said.

That was the first clue I’d gotten since the pair were kidnapped coming this way. I wondered how I’d talk to them. I didn’t speak Ukrainian, and never heard a Russian, so I’d need some help for sure. I wondered whether to fetch Rusty, and see his heart break, and decided not to for the moment. He’d find out soon enough.

Heliotrope Pike was off a way chewing out someone for putting up a tent backward. But mostly this outfit seemed to know what to do, and the midway rose with amazing speed. It looked dreary in late light, but I could see roustabouts carrying oil lamps out, one in front of each tent, at the ticket window, and one for the show inside. There wouldn’t be enough light to get a gander at Cleopatra in her undies, but maybe the next day I’d do better.

Sure enough, about dusk the workers lit all the lamps, a hundred or so, and the whole midway got lit up, and looked almost merry. That’s when I spotted Rusty boiling my way.

“Where are they?” he asked.

“We get to see them when the shows open, few minutes.”

“About six people told me these are my women.”

“Well, these women have been sharing their charms for a while, Rusty.”

He glared at me. But I was glad he would be forewarned.

About the time the Doubtful people came boiling in, the barkers got setup, with their megaphones, and began barking.

“Step right up, folks, show your pass or part with a dime, and see the greatest sight ever to surprise mortal eyes,” said one. He sounded like he was from the South. “We got a sight in here never seen before in Wyoming. We got Cleopatra herself, in all her beauty, the one and same as romanced Caesar, and Marc Antony, and ruled with an iron hand the great nation of pyramids. Come see Cleopatra, and see the self-same curves that enticed the emperors and caesars to her bedside. It’s something never before seen, a tableau out of history. Women can see her for five cents, but all men must pay the full price, no discounts allowed. Step right up, folks.”

Fellers were lining up to lay out a dime. Some had tokens, ten for a dollar, that couldn’t be redeemed anywhere else, but them cowboys sure wanted to see Cleopatra, and I was tempted myself. But Rusty, he just glared, and went hunting for the tent that sheltered the Blonde Bombshells. That was down the midway some, but we got her located. It was a big, lofty tent, and had two lamps at the door flap, and a dapper little huckster and ticket taker outside.

“See a sight you’ve never seen, folks. See two beautiful ladies, their flesh connected at the hip. They’ll show you how it is, pull back the drapes and let you see this wonder, this freak of nature, this marvel. Brought especially from Europe for the Pike Brothers Carnival. We should be charging twenty-five cents instead of one thin dime, folks. It’s worth fifty cents if it’s worth a penny. And we’re raising the price tomorrow, but tonight, our big opening in Doubtful, Colorado—ah, Wyoming, it’s one thin dime to see one of the wonders of the world.”

Rusty, he balled his fists, but I put a hand on him to quiet him, and got us in on our badges. The ladies were sitting on the stage in there, smiling at their audience. And Rusty couldn’t stop staring.

Rusty, he looked so wound up I thought he was a clock spring ready to break. The blonde beauties were sitting on a makeshift stage in that dark tent, not quite side by side, but facing each other a little. They were plain good looking, with ample curves beneath two gowns that somehow were slit at the side. Grecian gowns, you might say, diaphanous and womanly. One wore a nice seashell necklace. Both had rings on their fingers.

I couldn’t say what Rusty was thinking, but he didn’t doubt these here were his Ukrainian mail-order brides, and now they were on display in a freak show, and it was shameful.

When the tent was full up, maybe thirty people sitting on wooden benches, that huckster at the door came in and climbed onto the platform.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, you will see one of the wonders of the world, two beautiful women, joined from now to eternity, at the hip, and fated to live their lives in sublime union. Look hard; they will show you this wonder for only a few moments. And then tell your friends and neighbors to come here and see for themselves.”

He eyed the silent crowd, gauging its interest.

“Now, they don’t speak a word of English. They’ve come over the seas to these shores, so you can’t talk to them. They get about three proposals a day, but they turn them all away, because their fate in life is with each other, beloved twin sisters, bound together. Now, we don’t know their names, so their friends here in the carnival call them Tiddlywinks. On the left, there, is Tiddly, and next to her is the beauteous Winks.”

“That’s Natasha,” said Rusty.

“Now, folks, it is time to prove that this phenomenon is real. There is a bridge of flesh; indeed, they share some organs, the doctors tell us. And I will ask them to stand and draw apart their robes just enough so you can have one discreet look at this oddity of nature.”

He stepped aside and gestured. The twins stood, and each tugged the split gown away from her side, baring the connection that began at the ribs and continued through the rest of the torso of each.

“Step right up, folks, and have a closer look. You don’t need to be glued to the seat. Come up and see for yourself, but don’t touch. We’re a respectable company, and this is an educational exhibit.”

Several of the audience, all male, sprang up, studied the oddly shaped bond that connected the women, as if it were gun cotton ready to ignite. Then they drifted back, satisfied that the joining was real, and not some carny trick.

The women stared nonchalantly at the spectators, even as the citizens of Doubtful stared back, and then they rearranged their skirts. It wasn’t indecent, but it violated them anyhow, and it made me boil up. Rusty, he just clenched his fist, struggling to keep from hammering that huckster, who was smiling blandly.

“Now the ladies will walk in a circle, to show you how beautifully coordinated they are, and that will conclude this amazing exhibit, the most amazing sight ever seen in, ah, Doubletree, Iowa.”

Again the twins walked a tight circle on their little stage, and sat down together, and people stood up, stared at the women, and drifted out in a pensive mood. Then the women exited through the rear of the show tent.

Rusty, he corralled that huckster, who was standing blandly as the tent cleared.

“Where’d you get them?” Rusty asked.

The huckster eyed him, and eyed me, and saw the badges.

“We purchased them not long ago, and no, the act is not for sale. It’s the top draw in our lineup. Man, it’s the hit of the carny.”

“What do you mean, you purchased them?” Rusty asked.

“Oh, I’m sure Mr. Pike has the contract in his files,” the huckster said.

“These women are wanted by the law,” Rusty said. “They were stolen off a stagecoach.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that. I’ll refer you to our manager, and he can answer your questions. They ladies certainly enjoy the attention. They earn a nice income for doing nothing at all but draw the draperies aside a bit. Man, that’s a rare sight.”

“You’re a pimp,” Rusty snapped.

“Oh, I’m worse than that,” the huckster said. “That’s the least of my crimes.”

“These ladies were kidnapped, and we’re holding them here,” I said.

“Go talk to the manager. He’s over in the Little Egypt tent. That’s his sweetie.”

“Come on, Rusty, we’ll talk to the women later. We got law business to do,” I said.

Rusty, he just sat on that bench, poleaxed. But I pried him up and we headed down the midway to the Little Egypt tent, where we spotted Heliotrope Pike selling tickets and chewing on a cigar.

“Pike, we want to talk to you, right now,” I said.

He started to protest, saw the look on my face, and nodded. Some lackey stepped in to sell tickets to the belly dancer show.

“You got a couple captive women that got kidnapped off a stage to Doubtful, and we’re keeping them here.”

“But you can’t. That would be entirely illegal, sheriff. They’re an act we purchased.”

“They got removed from a coach at gunpoint, and vanished until now,” I said. “We’re taking them in.”

The manager nodded, and we followed him to a sort of office wagon, and he led us in. He lit a lamp, opened a file drawer, and extracted a handwritten page. I couldn’t make heads nor tails of it, and it sure wasn’t using any letters I’d come across.

“This is their contract. They were sent to us by a booking agent in the Ukraine. It details their salary, term of service, and special quarters. We’ve got them for three years at ten dollars a week plus feed. It’s expensive, feeding two women.”

“They were kidnapped off a wagon, Pike. They were to be mail-order brides.”

Pike beamed, and pushed his bowler back. “That’s an old racket. Get some love-struck groom to pay the passage. Then when you get here, ditch him.”

Rusty, he sure was looking thunderous, but he kept his trap shut.

“Who talks Ukraine around here?”

Pike shook his head. “No one in the outfit.”

“We’re going to find a way to talk to them ladies, and I’m bringing over some witnesses that saw them get taken off the stagecoach, and if those ladies got kidnapped, they’re staying here until we get it sorted out. That clear, Pike?”

“No, it’s not. I paid good money for the act, and I’m keeping it.”

“I want that contract. You’ll get it back. But I am going to get her translated.”

“It ain’t yours, copper.”

“I have the feeling if I don’t take it now, we’ll never see it again, and it’ll vanish from sight.”

Pike, he stared at me, stared at Rusty, who was looking like hell unloosed, and handed over the contract—if that was what it was. It was a sheet with a lot of foreign stuff on it.

“Is there a translation?” Rusty asked. “You got a contract in your file you can’t read, and you say no one in this outfit can speak Ukrainian?”

Pike, he sort of smirked. “Show people, we got our own language,” he said. “Look, gents, this is no big palooza. This is carny biz. These lovely gals, they’re happy as corks in wine bottles. They can speak a little bitta English; go on over and have little talk with ’em. Now, I gotta get busy. We got a nice crowd here, and I got work to do. So if you’ll excuse me . . .”

Rusty, he didn’t wait. He headed for the Ukrainian blondes, who were in their own special wagon, awaiting the next show. Lots of people from Doubtful were wandering the midway now, trying games of chance, and flocking to see Little Egypt. Some of the town ladies, they were a little put off, but curiosity got the best of them, and I watched them pay up, and slide into the show tent to see the famous belly dancer, and no doubt cluck their disapproval.

This was the first carny show I’d been to, and I wanted to see the whole works. But Rusty, he stalked through the place like a torpedo, and knocked on the door of those blondes, and pretty soon they opened. Together, of course. They had to do it all together.

Rusty, he actually removed his sweat-stained hat and held it to his chest. “I’m looking for Anna and Nastasha,” he said. “I’m Rusty.”

“Rusteeeee,” squealed one of them. “Rusteee,” squawked the other. They motioned us in to a tiny dark bunk room.

“This here’s Sheriff Cotton Pickens,” he said, dutifully.

“Pleased to meet ya,” I said, thinking I’d marry whichever one was left over.

“Who’s my bride?” Rusty asked.

They laughed. “Bride, what’s dat?”

“Who did I send for?”

One of them sighed. “You don’t send for one. You send for two. That was the trouble.”

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am Natasha. Too bad, Rusteee. We were coming to marry you, but the bosses got to us first.”

“The bosses?”

“Ah, Rusty, Pike. He sends men to chase us when we were going to marry you.”

“He kidnapped you?”

“Oh, no, Rusteee. We tried to sneak away so we could marry you.”

“So his men made you get off the stagecoach?”

“Oh, no, Rusteee, we thought it was good, he sends a wagon to get us, and we joined the carnival. We laughed all the way to the show.”

Rusty, he didn’t know what to make of it. Me, I thought maybe Pike’s story was probably the right one. Rusty had gotten milked for a ship’s passage.

Rusty, he wasn’t buying it. “Hey, you read this in English,” he said, and handed her the contract, written in some foreign language.

“Oh, Rusteee, this is a letter from our mother. She is saying that he should take good care of us, and not send us back to Lvov, and pay us promptly, and send her a tenth of it. She says we’ll be in Cheyenne soon.”

“This is your mother’s letter? Not a contract?”

“Oh, Rustee, you are such a simpleton.”

Rusty, he was starting to deflate. I could see the hot air leaking out of him. I was about to tell him he should be content with Riley, but I kept my trap shut for a change. Rusty was hurting. A lot of dreams were sliding into the outhouse vault. A man needs his dreams, and Rusty had been alive with this one for many months. And now it was gone. Two blonde twins had taken him for a ride.

“Hey, Rustee,” Nastasha said. “We’ll marry you, but you gotta join the show. We’ll both marry you, and you join the carny, and we’ll have a lot of good times, right, Rustee?”

Rusty, he wheeled out of there into the night. I shrugged, nodded, and followed him out the door. The next act was about to begin, but Rusty wasn’t going to stick around to see it.