Sundown Sinners

Chapter Nine: Bubbles and Whiskey

Madame Destiny did not get her name purely from her profession. As most people know, the matron of a brothel was often referred to as a Madam or a Mother, but as Madame Destiny whispered to me confidentially over a glass of cool rye whiskey, she had been named Madame for practically as long as she could remember.

As the late eighteen hundreds bled into the twentieth century, there was a sudden rise of interest in the strange and unusual. Circuses and houses of the macabre began to pop up like pimples on a teenager's chin, soon becoming both a place of refuge for those with nowhere else to go, and an oddity for common society. Tarot cards and fortune tellers were often not given the time of day, but as it got less and less certain what the future held, more people began to turn to these services for an answer.

Madame Destiny began reading cards when she was just nine years old, living in a separate bedroom in a whorehouse by the very same name as her current establishment. She had been taught by an old hag named Nonna, who got twice as many regulars as that of the rest of the girls in service.

"I'm quite good at it, you see." Madame Destiny leaned back into the plush arms of the couch, her thin legs folding neatly over mine. "I wasn't made to be like most women, scraping by for a cent." Her gaze followed the girls who flitted around the room like buzzing flies, desperate to land on a meal before their shelf-life expired.

I watched these same girls, each of them dressed completely different from the other. Some women were almost entirely naked, and seemed to be getting less attention from the patrons than anyone else. The patrons, too, were also a sight to see. There was everyone from every walk of life present in the House of Fate, from lawmen, to clergymen, to butchers, bakers, and prospectors. Most of the clientele were white, but surprisingly, not all of them.

"I'm not sure I need to know what my future has in store for me." My head was swimming. I lost count of how many sips of whiskey I had now had. It was hard to not drink in a place like this with a woman like her by my side. Each new sight made my mind reel, and I had to keep my mouth busy or risk saying something that could raise her hackles.

"You are a wise man indeed to not be tempted by the call of the cosmos." Madame Destiny leaned toward me. Her breath smelled more of cinnamon and cloves than it did of whiskey. A quick glance at her glass told me that she hadn't sampled her wares. Her goal was to get me drunk, I realized dully. By god, she was certainly good at it.

"It's not that I'm not tempted." I mumbled, raising the crystal glass to my lips again. I didn't sip, forcing myself to hold onto a modicum of restraint. "But the answers I'm looking for are in the past and present more than in the future."

Madame Destiny's eyes flicked from my lips to the drinking glass. Her smile curled into a sardonic smirk, as if she had been waiting for me to realize her ploy. Her fingers gently plucked the glass from my grasp, placing it on a small table beside the couch decorated with a lace doily. Once the glass was safely out of the way, she used her same chilled fingers to grab my chin again, forcing me to face her. Up close, her eyes were a mesmerizing myriad of colors, like a kaleidoscope. I found it difficult to look away.

"I knew that you boys were here for more than just booze and fun." Her nails were long and painted a bright red, like blood on the snow. She traced their tips against my bottom lip in an almost threatening dance. I was beginning to feel much too hot.

"We need information." I whispered, even though I had no reason to lower my voice. The men and women around me were plenty loud with their singing, laughing, and storytelling. If that weren't enough to drown me out, there was an old phonograph tucked away in the corner blaring an upbeat melody.

"That's a common theme in the House of Fate." Madame Destiny teased. "But information costs dearly, my love. And one dollar doesn't stretch nearly far enough to cover the cost of what you want to know."

I narrowed my eyes at her. She not only knew how much money we had, but potentially what we were looking for. If she knew that information up front, she could charge whatever she wanted for it.

"Jacks has a habit of stretching one dollar into ten." I replied with a confidence I didn't quite feel.

"He has a much bigger habit of losing all of his money before he asks for a service." Madame Destiny's nails were digging into my skin now, stinging painfully. She was watching me closely, as if waiting for me to snap. I didn't know her game yet, but I knew that giving in would be a mistake. It was more than likely that she was testing me.

"He knows what's on the line." I told her, keeping my gaze on her own instead of glancing around for my newfound partner. "I trust he'll come through."

Madame Destiny didn't answer for a long moment. Her eyes narrowed and she leaned in as if she was going to kiss me, before she suddenly let me go. I didn't squirm away from her, no matter how much I wanted to. Her gaze was sharp. Knowing. Her benign grin settled back onto her red lips before she turned to face the rest of the room.

"You are going to be so much fun, my love." She pushed herself to her feet and offered me an arm. "Come now. I'll lead you to your friend. It will cost you, though."

I stood skeptically and glanced at the whiskey glasses, but they were already gone. I hadn't seen any staff come by, but then again, I hadn't really been paying that much attention. Slowly, I turned to face her. Touching her, for some reason, made my skin crawl. Even still, I offered her my arm and allowed her to lead me into the dense crowd of people.

"You're well aware of the amount of money we have." I spoke in a light, conversational tone, bowing my head at each bystander who glanced our way. It seemed like practically the entire building was watching us now, even though they had been avoiding me before. She had quite a bit of control over this population of cowboys and miners. That was alarming.

"Yes, I am." She giggled quietly, hiding her mouth with her hand in a ladylike gesture that seemed to not fit her. "I wouldn't be very successful if I couldn't read my marks, after all."

"I suppose that's true." I scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of the latino horse whisperer. Panic rose in my chest, but I pushed it down forcefully. This wasn't a trap. Caleb knew this business well, there would be no reason for us to be in danger.

"Why don't you pay me back for this favor by telling me a bit about yourself?" Madame Destiny stopped walking and looked up at the high ceiling. I stopped as well, unable to move without her. My gaze followed hers and my stomach lurched. There was a woman on the ceiling, seated on a bench decorated in flowers. She hung by two ropes tied on either armrest. She was completely nude, flowers covering her nipples and between her legs as she waved at the patrons below. Beside her sat a bucket overflowing with flower petals.

"What do you want to know?" I asked, bewildered. If that woman fell, it would be at least a ten foot drop. She could break something. Hell, on this stone floor, she could break everything.

"Your name." Madame Destiny adjusted her hold on my arm, subtly signaling me to look at her. I tore my gaze away and glanced back at the woman who had made all of this possible. Was the woman on the ceiling just a commodity? Or, was there some service being offered that I didn't understand?

I considered lying to her, but it was more than likely she knew the answer to every question she was asking anyway. Once again, this was probably a test.

"My name is Elliot. Elliot Marsh."

"Oh, that's a wonderful name." Madame Destiny's eyes crinkled as she rolled my name around her mouth with her tongue, tasting it. "Elliot. Ell-i-ot." She sighed. "And are you a doctor, Elliot Marsh?"

I hesitated. "I... suppose I am now." I glanced back up at the woman on the ceiling. Her long, brown hair tumbled down her back and hung past the seat of the bench, flowing like a waterfall. Madame Destiny snapped. I looked back at her, feeling slightly annoyed.

"So, you're a doctor for the Reeves? I should've known a man as pragmatic as Caleb would replace poor Hank as soon as he could." She placed her hand on her chest dramatically, as if her chest was aching. "Poor man. Left the army to join that little gang, and now they just leave him behind."

"Do you know where Doctor Mallory is?" I asked quickly. I was growing tired of these games.

Madame Destiny looked surprised, though I was pretty sure it was all for show.

"Why? Did you lose him?" She tilted her head innocently to one side. I almost grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, but one quick glance around the room informed me that touching her roughly would not go over well. In most brothels, you checked your guns at the door. The fact that you didn't in this establishment signaled that they had no need to deal with unruly guests, at least not in the normal way.

"He may have been misplaced." I grumbled, trying to keep my annoyance to myself. "Do you have any information that could help us locate him? It would help us out a lot." I knew that my main purpose in coming to the House of Fate was to find information on the railroad men, but I was sure that Caleb and Silas would be more than happy if I brought them news of Mallory. After all, it was clear that he meant something to them, let alone the rest of the gang. I remembered how Caleb's hand rested on my hip as he rode with me slung over his horse from my rescue. He had thought I was Hank. Clearly, something had been going on there.

"I have some information that might help you." Madame Destiny led me from the main room and to a door covered in paintings of opaque white circles. "But first, I think you should have a chat with your friend."

Before I could offer her a response, Madame Destiny slid her pale hand along the doorknob and twisted it open, allowing the door to swing into a dimly lit room that stank of incense and oils. I glanced inside.

"Oi! Gabacho!" Jacks sat in a bathtub casted in beaten copper. Its sides sloshed and overflowed with fragrant bubbles. I furrowed my brow as I took in the details of the room, from the second tub and bottle of whiskey waiting just beside Jacks', to the flickering lights of dozens of candles seated on shelves, window frames, and tabletops.

"What is this?" I asked as Madame Destiny released me.

"This is what you paid for." She whispered as she pushed my inside by a gentle tap on my ass. "I'll come speak with you when you're done. And maybe, you'll let me read your cards after all. Come on, now. Best not to keep him waiting." She laughed as I stumbled into the room. Unsurprisingly, the door shut behind me with a satisfying click.

"Well?" Jacks raised a crystal glass to me and grinned widely. "Is this place amazing or what?"

Gingerly I stepped into the room, glancing around for anything that looked off. Jacks' clothes sat in a crumpled heap at the base of an antique chair, his gun and knives laid respectfully out on the table next to his hat. Also on the table was a variety of different refreshments, from a bottle of champagne to hard lemon candies, dried fruit, and even candied nuts.

"The food isn't going to bite, little doctor." Jacks laughed to himself, taking a heavy drink from his glass. His face was flushed, though whether that was from the booze or the steaming bath water, I couldn't be sure.

"I just had a very interesting conversation with one of the Madames of the house." I told him. "Forgive me for being a little on edge."

"She'll do that to you." Jacks waved a hand at me. "Can we continue this conversation in the tub? I would hate to spend so much money on hot water just to have it be cold before you jump in."

I glanced at the water dubiously. It felt uncomfortable taking anything from these people, what with the vaguely threatening presence that Madame Destiny exuded since I walked through the door. Then again, she was a businesswoman. If I died from a service she was offering, that would probably hurt her profit margin. Then again, if no one found out about it because they dumped my body in a lake, there would be no harm, no foul.

Against my better judgement, my stiff limbs began to complain. The adrenaline of the main floor of the House of Fate had taken away most of my discomfort, but now it seemed to be flowing back inside of me as if I were the ocean at high-tide. With a sigh, I stripped off my clothes and stumbled over to the copper claw-foot bathtub. Jacks watched me, or more specifically my ass, closely as I eased myself inside.

The water really was hot, so hot that it felt as if I was being cooked alive. Instead of standing, however, I grit my teeth and eased my body underneath the layer of perfumed bubbles. My skin prickled and stung with heat, but slowly it began to adjust.

"So, how much did you spend on this experience?" I asked, my voice betraying a tiredness that I didn't realize I had been feeling.

"Seventy-five cents." Jacks answered, grabbing a dried apricot from a dainty plate and popping it in his mouth. He moaned with delight at the sudden sweetness, allowing the flavor to coat his tongue before he downed the rest of his glass of whiskey.

"Jesus, that's expensive." I groaned. In modern money terms, that was at least twenty-five dollars. Then again, I couldn't name a place where you could buy a room with two baths, bubbles, alcohol, and snacks for less than a hundred in most places.

"It's not a big deal." Jacks' grin widened, if that was even possible. "We have plenty left over. If you wanted, we could probably get a room tonight. Maybe some dinner? Some company?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Can twenty-five cents buy us that much?" I asked, raising my own eyebrows. The bath smelled like lavender and something spicy. I reached for the table of snacks that Jacks had chosen and helped myself to a candied pecan. It was crunchy and pleasant without an overwhelming stickiness that I came to associate with sugary sweets.

"No." Jacks paused for dramatic effect. "But another dollar can. And another dollar after that can buy us a good breakfast and plenty of information tomorrow. Plus, we'll have three more to bring back home with us."

I blinked at him. "Did you really turn one dollar into five?"

Jacks cackled with drunken laughter. "I turned one dollar into six!" He held his hands up, showing me six fingers. "I am the best man to ever gamble. No others need apply. I win everything I try." With a self-satisfied chortle, his hands fell into the water, causing a small splash.

"I'm impressed." I admitted, opening the bottle of champagne. Since he already bought it, it would be a shame to leave it untouched. I poured the bubbly liquid into a flute for Jacks, then poured one for myself. I offered him his glass and raised my own.

"To the gambling god of Hangtown." I tried my best to smile. I still hadn't forgotten what Madame Destiny had said, but this was clearly a lull in the story. I would have to sit through this in order to hear the good bits, and quite frankly, this wasn't the worst place to be.

Jacks raised his own flute and clinked it against mine. In the same, fluid motion, we wrapped our arms around each other and downed our glasses. The liquid was cold, sweet, and clear. I hadn't cared much for alcohol in the real world. It was always too expensive, and when you were alone, it wasn't much fun to drink. However, alcohol had a way of lying to your body like a master con-artist. Just for a while, it could trick you into believing that there was no such thing as pain or regret in the world. For once, I needed that.

The more that we drank, the more that Jacks and I got to know each other. I learned that Jacks had been a dayworker with his father, Carlos. The two of them had lost the rest of their family on a trek to Mexico. They weren't dead, Jacks had insisted, just separated. He would find them eventually.

Separated from their family, Jacks and Carlos got work cleaning out stables, breaking horses, and running cattle. Carlos didn't speak much English, but Jacks had been raised in California and was perfectly fluent, so they got by. He said that it helped him learn the price of a dollar much quicker than most, and I believed him. It was hard enough for modern day kids to translate for their parents. Back then, knowing that if you said the wrong thing you could get your parents killed and no one would care? That had to be a different story.

Jacks said that everything was fine for the two of them until they got to Honeydew Ranch on the cusp of Nevada and California. There, a man who ran the stables and the bunkhouse didn't much care for anyone with skin darker than a canvas bag. Jacks and Carlos had been hired by the ranch owner, however, so it wasn't really his choice. Jacks tried his best to make friends with the man, as he always did when they went somewhere new, but it only served to piss their new boss off more. So, Jacks and his father kept their heads down and worked.

"The money was really, really good." Jacks mumbled, watching intently as the condensation slid down the side of his glass. "And the boss' daughter?" He whistled. "She was even better."

The way he told it, Jacks had fallen head-over-heels in love with Miss Martha Jamie May, whose daddy cracked the whip over Jacks and Carlos every day. The two of them would flirt from the moment the sun came up, to the second before she had to go inside for dinner. Sometimes, she would even sneak into the bunkhouse and climb under his covers, showing him just how skilled she was with her silent tongue.

The boss had been looking for any reason to get rid of Carlos and Jacks. When a sack of flour had gone missing from the storehouse, that had been the final straw. Men had dragged Carlos out of his bunk and beat him within an inch of his life, and Jacks had had no idea. Instead, he had been tumbling around in the hay bales in the barn, searching for a button off of Miss Martha's corset.

Jacks had been caught by her father himself, and was dragged by a noose around his neck to a big old tree outside the barn. Martha May screamed and wailed, beating against her uncle's and brother's arms as they strung Jacks and his barely-conscious father up.

"How the fuck did you survive that?" I hiccuped, laying so low in the bath that I had to spit bubbles out of my mouth. I was beyond drunk, my aches and pains long forgotten and the water now lukewarm. I glanced at the skin of my fingers, now wrinkled and pruned. I grinned. Bertie even got that right.

"Luck." Jacks downed the rest of the champagne directly from the bottle and let out a loud burp. "Caleb and Silas had been working with me over there. We hadn't talked much except to mutter insults behind the foreman's back. They came out because of all the screaming, and without even fuckign blinking, they shot the bastard where he stood." Jacks made a gun with his hand and pretended to shoot a picture off of the bath room wall.

"Damn." I breathed. "You're one lucky bastard."

"Hey," Jacks reached for me and grabbed my hand. "You are too. Don't forget, luck is just as important as being a fucking badass out here." He chuckled and squeezed my hand.

I rolled my eyes. "Uh huh."

"No, man!" Jacks faced me. "Seriously. It's so important. Like, how else did Silas worm his way inside of you? It had to be luck!"

I splashed Jacks with water and laughed as it hit him square in the face. Most of his bubbles had already dissipated, though I had a feeling a majority of them were on the floor.

"Don't be gross. It takes more than luck."

"Like what?" Jacks sounded more serious than he had before, but one glance at his face told me that he was still very, very drunk. "Come on, you gotta tell me."