Alias Smith and Jones Writers
Would you like to react to this message? Create an account in a few clicks or log in to continue.

Alias Smith and Jones Writers

A forum devoted to writers of Alias Smith and Jones Fan Fiction
 
HomePortalGallerySearchLatest imagesRegisterLog in

 

 November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone

Go down 
3 posters
AuthorMessage
Calico

Calico


Posts : 873
Join date : 2012-04-22
Age : 59
Location : Birmingham

November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone Empty
PostSubject: November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone   November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone Icon_minitimeSun Nov 01, 2020 2:42 am

Hello,
Here I am - every hopeful and occasionally on time.

I did think about another lockdown type theme...
Or maybe another election type theme...
But, you know what - nah. My whiskers drooped.


Can a few of you ladies please re-perk my whiskers with a story touching on a quote from the show (almost :)


"We like to think there's a little bad in everyone ..."



Boost your blood sugar with a few leftover halloween sweeties and - type.

writing writing writing
Back to top Go down
RosieAnnie

RosieAnnie


Posts : 839
Join date : 2012-04-22
Age : 105
Location : The Comfy Chair

November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone Empty
PostSubject: Re: November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone   November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone Icon_minitimeThu Nov 19, 2020 5:39 pm

At least I got the right challenge prompt for November, but I couldn't seem to keep it under 3,000 words, so this is not for polling.

-----------------------------------------------------

Special Agent Harry Briscoe was tired. Weeks of organizing, and finally, executing his plan to destroy the Devil’s Hole Gang, were over. Although he hadn’t achieved his original goal – the missed opportunity to send Heyes and Curry to the Wyoming Territorial Prison was a bitter regret – he’d exposed the corruption within his own agency, destroyed another gang of thieves, and protected a valuable shipment. Now that the debriefings in Wyoming had concluded, he was on his way home at last. He felt himself nodding off to sleep as the Union Pacific train carried him the last few miles to his home base in Denver. As the train pulled into Union Station, the whistle screeched, and he jerked awake from dreams of whiskey and Gatling guns and blonde women with sweet smiles and lying tongues.

Around him, passengers were picking up bags, settling children, and lining up to exit the crowded passenger car. He caught himself looking intently at one stout woman in bonnet and shawl, wondering if she was really a disguised man. She noticed his stare and almost harumphed at him. Embarrassed, he tipped his hat. She frowned. Turning his attention to the frosted window, he saw that snow was falling. He looked up when he heard someone clearing his throat.

The conductor stood next to his seat. “We’ve arrived Union Station, sir. End of the line.”

Briscoe stood up, yawning. “Yes, thanks.” He reached for the carpetbag and bulging briefcase in the overhead rack and pulled them down, then followed the conductor to the exit. He hardly noticed the interior of the new train station as he walked through, concentrating only on finding the cab stand in the dark street and getting back to the boarding house where his comfortable bed and a hidden bottle of Kentucky bourbon waited to welcome him. When he arrived at his boarding house, he was surprised to find his landlady standing just inside the threshold.

“Mr. Briscoe! Thank heavens you’re alright! I read all about you in the newspapers, and I was so proud, but so worried, too.” She clasped both hands to her chest, in a pose that reminded him of the religious statues standing mute guard on her front lawn. He put down his bags and stamped his feet on the entrance mat, shaking off snow and slush.

“That’s extremely kind of you, Mrs. Clark, but there’s no need to worry about me. I’m a Bannerman man, after all. We’re professionals. We know how to take care of ourselves.” He seemed to stand a little straighter, chest out, chin up.

“Of course, you do, but still . . . all those awful people that you arrested! I think that train robbers are the worst of the worst.”

“Not necessarily, but it’s true, they aren’t the sort of people you’ll see at your Sunday Mass.”

“I certainly hope not!” She huffed, then reconsidered. “Although, mind you, sinners like them would benefit by hearing the Gospel.”

“Amen to that, Mrs. Clark. Amen to that.”

Her smile lip up her broad face. “And you are a hero, Mr. Briscoe. No, no,” she told him, “no false modesty. I read what you said in the newspapers, and I had Willy get all of them so the residents would know all the wonderful things you did, and I saved the newspapers for you, too. I only hope Mr. Bannerman rewards you for your bravery. I mean, to catch all those criminals in the act, and some of them Bannerman agents themselves – Why, I never!”

“Ah, yes yes,” he interrupted. “That’s as may be. I admit to being a little tired after all those weeks in Wyoming, and ---”

“Silly me! You must be exhausted, and hungry, too, I’m sure. Why don’t I make you a nice roast beef sandwich? Willy can bring it upstairs for you.”

The thought of his landlady’s fine food, with a tall glass of the contraband bourbon, almost revived him. “I’d appreciate that, ma’am, more than I could say. In all my travels, I haven’t found anyone who knows her way around a kitchen better than you.”

Nothing pleased Mrs. Clark more than praise of her cooking. “Bless you, Mr. Briscoe, it’s the least I can do for you, seeing as you risk your life for the greater good of society.”

Briscoe was stumbling with fatigue by the time he unlocked his door. He dropped his bags next to the wardrobe and lit an oil lamp. He pulled out the bourbon from its hiding place underneath his socks in the bureau drawer and, settling into the overstuffed Queen Anne chair, took a long, satisfying drink out of the bottle, and allowed himself to feel good. Even with the unexpected turn of events– dishonest agents, those two men who posed at agents and turned out to be fine fellows, and even getting accurate descriptions of Heyes and Curry with details sure to identify them – everything had worked out. The job would be a feather in his cap. Tomorrow, he’d debrief with his superiors at headquarters, accept their congratulations, and move on to his next assignment, maybe with a nice, fat bonus.

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie. “Mr. Briscoe, I got your sandwich.” Quickly, Briscoe hid the bottle behind the chair cushions.

“Door’s open, Willie.” The boy entered, carrying a tray with a sandwich piled high with roast beef and peppers. Briscoe’s stomach growled. He’d sleep well tonight, stomach full, feet warm, and ready to face life as a hero.

00000000000

When Briscoe woke the next morning, the sun was high in the sky. He looked at his watch on the bed table and made a face. He overslept. That meant no breakfast, since only the army had a more rigid attachment to schedules and rules than Mrs. Clark. He’d have to buy breakfast today, an expense that he tried to avoid.  A Bannerman man was expected to be the best of the best in law enforcement and investigation, he reflected, while earning a salary barely higher than the lowest beat cop.

Mrs. Clark met him at the base of the stairs.

“Mr. Briscoe, are you going out without your breakfast? That’s not like you.”

He blinked in confusion. Suddenly, he noticed wonderful smells wafting out from the dining room.

“Aren’t I too late? You always tell the residents to be on time for meals if they expect to eat, and I overslept.”

“Oh Mr. Briscoe! You are so sweet! I can always count on you to follow the rules, can’t I? But this time, I want to make an exception. I thought you’d need to sleep late, after your hard journey. Go to the dining room, and I’ll lay out a full plate for you. Just don’t tell the other residents”

He bent down to whisper in her ear. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Briscoe lingered over his meal, savoring the fine cooking. Between the delicious food and the hot, sweet coffee, he felt his energy return. By the time he put his overcoat on, picked up his briefcase and stepped outside, he felt as good as he had for weeks. The sun shone brightly, melting the snow and making a slushy mess on the wooden sidewalks. He decided to splurge and take a taxi to the Bannerman offices for his meeting.

The new headquarters office of the Bannerman Agency dominated the block of buildings it stood on. Briscoe felt proud he worked for such a prestigious organization. Sometimes it seemed like the criminals were winning the hearts and minds of the public. Whenever he saw a dime novel glorifying Hannibal Heyes or Kid Curry some other miscreants who fascinated a gullible public, he felt a surge of anger that only made him more determined to do his job well.

He checked his pocket watch – right on time. Punctuality was an important asset as a Bannerman, he always said. You had to be dependable.

Mr. Worthington’s secretary was seated at his desk when Briscoe entered.

“Morning, Steven. Mr. Worthington is expecting me.”

“He’ll be a few minutes yet. Why don’t you take a seat? I’m sure he won’t be long.”

Briscoe hung his hat on a rack and sat on a comfortable chair, straightening his suit as he did so.

“Oh,” Steven said, as if he’d just remembered, “Mr. Phineas Bannerman will be joining the meeting. I hope that’s not a problem for you.”

“Not at all. The more the merrier.” The thought of meeting with George Bannerman’s uncle and right-hand man, as well as the head of the Denver bureau, was surprising and not surprising. It could only mean that the rewards he anticipated would be even more generous. He tried to push down his rising excitement and maintain a calm, professional demeanor.

It was only a few minutes till the door opened and Clive Worthington appeared. “Come on in, Briscoe. We’re ready for you.”

Inside the lavish office, a coffee service was set on the round conference table, along with folders and newspapers.

“You remember Mr. Phineas Bannerman, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir, I do. It’s an honor and a pleasure to see you again.” Briscoe shook hands with the elderly gentleman and, sitting down, put his briefcase next to him on the floor.

“Will you have coffee, Briscoe?” Worthington asked.

“I will if you gentlemen will.” Worthington poured coffee for each man, added sugar and, once they had all taken a sip, sat back and folded his hands over his expansive chest.

“The purpose of this meeting is to discuss your recent – ah, shall we say, adventure – in Wyoming. We’ve read your interviews in the newspaper and copies of the reports filed by the other agents. Since this was your job, Briscoe, from the outset, we want to hear the story of what happened once that train left the station. Never mind what you told the newspapers. Give it to us straight.”

Thus encouraged, Briscoe spoke. The nods and occasional smiles he received from the other men increased his relaxation and confidence. Their only interruptions were occasional questions and observations, none of which disturbed his narrative flow.

“Well, well, well,” Bannerman said. “Very interesting. Of course, we already had a lot of information from the interviews you gave to the newspapers. We do have some concerns that we need to address.”

“Of course. A lot happened.”

“Truer words were never spoken. First – what prompted you to discuss Bannerman business with newspapers before you reported to me here in Denver? Why did you speak to newspapers at all, when you were not authorized to speak for the Bannerman Agency?”

The sudden change in Worthington’ tone made Briscoe sit up straight, mouth slightly open in surprise. The other men stared at him until he recovered himself enough to stammer.

“I, I . . .”

“You, you. You shared all the details of a job in a public forum before reporting to me. Nor did you have permission to represent the Agency as you did.”

Briscoe tried to defend himself, but he couldn’t find the words.

“Well?” demanded Worthington. “Have you anything to say for yourself? You certainly weren’t short of words when talking to reporters.”

“My aim was to correct the inaccuracies that the press was printing, sir. I felt that the Agency’s reputation might suffer otherwise.”

“Are you sure you weren’t more interested in promoting yourself than protecting the Agency?” Bannerman asked.

At this implied insult, Briscoe’s spine stiffened. “I’m a Bannerman man, sir, to the very core of my being. I know I’m a representative of all the hard-working men through this entire country. My only desire was to ensure the Agency’s good reputation. If it came across as self-promotion,  I’m sorry, but that was never my intention.”

“Haven’t you ever heard the saying, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, Detective?”

“Yes, sir, I have.” Briscoe felt sweat break out on his forehead.

“Did you think you were protecting the Agency’s reputation when you told the world that the criminals involved in this case were Bannerman agents?” Worthington said.

“How do you think the Agency’s good reputation is protected now that, thanks to you, our detectives are shown to be criminals? How many companies will hire this Agency, knowing that we cannot guarantee that our own people won’t conspire to rob them?” Bannerman said, quietly. “Do you know what’s being said about us now? The Pinkertons are soliciting our clients, saying that their agents are vetted and investigated, while our hiring practices are so lax as to promote and hire the very people we’re supposed to protect our clients against. They’ve gone so far as to say Bannerman’s slogan is ‘We like to think there’s a little bad in everyone.’ All because you decided to ‘protect the Agency’ by talking to the newspapers.”

Briscoe was stunned. He could only stammer. “No, sir, I didn’t know that.”

“Let’s move on to another topic. From what the other agents – the honest, competent agents you managed to bring aboard – tell us, you accepted Sara Blaine’s lie without question. She told you that you’d bagged Kid Curry, when it turned out to be some petty thief named Henry Louis Jenkins. And the only reason you discovered her lie was the presence of two grifters who successfully imitated agents, who, through intervention of what must have been the angels, identified this Jenkins. Meanwhile, the agents under your supervision and control were getting drunk. You had to fill those agents with coffee, trying to sober them up, when these two strangers, Smith and Jones, demonstrated that Daly and Blaine were liars. Is that a fair and accurate representation of the events?”

“Well, if you put it that way, I guess – “

“And these two grifters, Smith and Jones,” Bannerman went on, relentlessly, “supposedly knew Heyes and Curry so well, they could provide you with accurate descriptions.”

Briscoe took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweaty face. “Yes, sir, they did.”

“Which they did after they warned off the Devil’s Hole Gang.”

“Yes, sir, that’s right.”

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd,” Worthington said, “that they warned off the gang and then betrayed the leaders by providing accurate descriptions, with details that no one else knew?”

‘I hadn’t thought of it that way, sir.”

“I mean, really, a gold tooth? A neck scar?” Worthington shook his head in mock sadness. “We don’t have accurate descriptions of Heyes and Curry because they are ordinary. If Heyes had visible scars and a gold tooth, we would’ve nabbed him years ago.”

Briscoe coughed into his handkerchief.

Worthington looked past Briscoe. “Do you have various reports in your briefcase?”

“I do.”

“Good. You’re going to spend the next week at your home. Write up a single, coherent report on all the events. Organize all the witness statements. If you want to use a typewriter at the Agency, one will be made available to you. When your report is complete, leave it with Steven. Then Mr. Phineas Bannerman and Mr. George Bannerman will decide what kind of future you have with the Agency, if any.”

“If any?” Briscoe’s voice rose. “But, I thought . . . “

“Thought what?” Worthington asked. “That you’d be welcomed as some sort of hero? That you’d receive rewards for what you did?” The two officers exchanged grim looks. “You sold this job to George Bannerman as a surefire way to destroy the Devil’s Hole Gang. That goal was not achieved. While the Wash Valley’s shipment was secured, it was only through a series of random events that had nothing to do with your management. In fact, only the appearance of Smith and Jones saved the shipment and, by extension, your job. And along the way, your propensity for self-promotion harmed the Bannerman Agency’s reputation and cost it business. We can only hope that clients, and the Pinkertons, will forget about this embarrassment as we achieve success in other ventures.” He leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “So yes, let me say thanks, Detective Harry Briscoe. Thanks for nothing.”

Briscoe felt his face get hot. His stomach was turning flip-flops. He took a drink of the coffee. It was cold and bitter.

“Is there anything else you want to say?”

“No, sirs. I guess I best get started on my report.”

“Good thought. You’re dismissed until one week from today, same time. Keep the details of our discussion today private, if you can resist talking to your friends on the newspapers. So far, the press has focused on capturing train robbers instead of the Agency’s humiliation. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I will, sir. You can count on me.”

“Can I, Detective Briscoe? It’s going to take a long time before I can believe that.”

Outside, on the sidewalk, Briscoe had to lean against the building, trying to catch his breath. The briefcase was heavy in his hand. He wanted to throw it into the street and let some carriage run over it. Best to walk home, he thought. Sometimes it was easier to think if you were moving.

He didn’t see any of the residents or staff when he arrived, but he heard activity in the kitchen. He went upstairs to his room. After hanging his coat and hat, he sat down in the wing chair and pulled a file out of the heavy briefcase. He flipped through a few pages aimlessly, then threw it across the room and watched the pages flutter to the carpeted floor. He noticed, among all the papers, an envelope near the door. That hadn’t been in his file. He went to pick it up. It contained an elaborate card and was signed by what seemed to be all the other boarding house residents, as well as Mrs. Clark and Willy.

It read, “You have the thanks of a grateful city and country.” He sat down again and tapped the card against his knee, thinking hard. He hadn’t been outright fired. That was a good thing. The difference between the reality of his situation and his earlier expectations suddenly hit him hard, and he reached for the bottle of bourbon still concealed behind the cushions. He let the briefcase fall to the floor, unnoticed. He leaned back in the chair and just stared at the ceiling, occasionally lifting the bottle to his lips and drinking long. Bannerman’s “thanks for nothing” kept echoing in his head. The weeks of planning, coordinating, and finally, pulling all the threads together seamlessly and what was his reward? “Thanks for nothing.”  And Pinkertons saying that he, and all his brother agents, were proof that “there’s a little bad in everyone?” That required another long drink. Suddenly, a new thought came to him; he blinked hard and sat up. What if the Pinkertons were right? What if there was a little bad in him, too? Being good brought him “thanks for nothing.” Maybe it was time to find out if there was a little bad in him as well.

_________________
"If it's worth doing, it's worth doing badly."

"The failure in doing something is stopping too soon."

Penski likes this post

Back to top Go down
Calico

Calico


Posts : 873
Join date : 2012-04-22
Age : 59
Location : Birmingham

November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone Empty
PostSubject: Re: November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone   November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone Icon_minitimeSun Nov 29, 2020 4:11 am

Just some nonsense...



Tiers for Fiers


Calico ingested another mouthful of scone. Tea was slurped. The remote control was pressed.
News. Nope.
More news. Nope.
US presidential election update. Snicker. Nope.
Cheesy Hallmark Christmas Movie. The twelve kittens with bandaged paws of Christmas save the Orfanlage. sorrykitty Ahhhhhh.

A bottom clad in comfy pull-ons snuggled a little further into the cushions.
More tea was slurped. In a totally elegant and lady-like way, clearly.

Outside in the wet-leaf strewn front drive the rain pattered monotonously. The motor of a passing car purred. A chicken masala filled urban fox barked. Hooves clip clopped. A horse whickered…

Hang on! The mute button was pressed. Hooves? What the…?

Scattering carbohydrate crumbs, Calico slipper-shuffled over to twitch back the curtains. A familiar face under a floppy brown hat grinned at her. A second familiar face, attached to an ex-outlaw currently hitching Clay to the wheelie bin, dimpled at her over his shoulder.

Wishing her outfit was just a tad less – relaxed, Calico trotted to open the front door.

“It’s you two!” she chirped.

“Sure is,” grinned the Kid. “It’s us.”

“You’re here!”

“We are, we’re here.”

“No slipping one past you, is there, Cally?” smiled Heyes.

“You haven’t visited me for - for ages!”

“It sure has been a while,” agreed Kid Curry

“Listen, if you and the other fella mean to carry on this stating the obvious contest – any chance you can do it inside? I’m getting soaked out here.”

“I’m not really supposed to let you in.”

“But - you always let us in,” protested the Kid.

“Yes, but that was before – well, it’s the new rules…”

Kid Curry blinked, “New rules about harbourin’ wanted outlaws?”

“No! Those haven’t changed. It’s the rules against mixing households…”

“C’mon,” urged Heyes. “We’ve been isolating, honest.”

“Where?”

“Mostly in the 1880s.”

Calico pondered for a moment. The 1880s certainly weren’t on the list of places with a high R rate.

“You’re not bubbling with anyone else?” she checked.

“We’re not fixing on opening the bubbly – or running the bubble bath – with anyone except you, Miss Cally,” Heyes assured her. Chocolate brown eyes melted with honesty. “Would we?”

“Would we?” Chimed in Kid Curry. He swept off his hat. The rain drops glittered enticingly on his curls.

Now, Calico would, of course, never be swayed by the thought of bubbly, nor of bubble baths. Perish the thought. But, her kind and hospitable heart could be swayed by the pitiful sight of two handsome ex-outlaws getting sopping wet. Yeah, let’s go with that.

“So,” she asked, “what brings you over the pond.”

“We came because we heard you were so down…” said the Kid.

“We know we like to think there’s a little sad in everyone,” said Heyes. “But…”

“But we don’t like to think of our Miss Cally in tears.”

“I’ve not been in tears.” Light dawned. “OH, you mean in tiers… Tea. Eye. Ee. Are.”

“Like wedding cake?” checked Heyes.

“Yup. Only no dancing. No Champagne. No dressing up. And no fun.” Pause. “And not even any dang cake, because you can’t get the flour.”

“So you’re in – tiers?” asked Curry.

“Tier three. The worst one. At the moment we’re locked down – but, come Wednesday, we’re in tier three. We WERE in tier two – so we could meet one other household, but only outside, and it could only be six people…OR, we could go out for a meal all by ourselves, unless someone was in our bubble…”

“Meet OUTside? In England? In late November?” Heyes rolls his eyes. “What do they think you are – waterproof penguins?”

“Now we’re in tier three, so we can’t go out for a meal at all, and we can’t meet another household… BUT, I think you can get your hair cut so long as you keep your mask on. Only after Wednesday though. Before Wednesday, we can go out and buy food – but not clothes, unless the clothes are sold in a food shop. OR, unless the clothes shops start selling boxes of vegetables, which some have.”

“Do you have to wear the vegetables?” The Kid is puzzled.

“I don’t think so – but, that may be postcode dependant. I usually dangle a French bean from my mask, just to be on the safe side.”

“Cally,” Heyes hands go to his hips, “I know we like to think there is a little mad in everyone – but, whoever made up these rules is…” He searches.

“A politician?”

Heyes grinned. “Or, is the wearing of vegetables more of a fashion thing?”

Calico grinned back, “I do like to think there is a little fad in everyone.”

“Shouldn’t that be a tad of a fad?”

“Indeed. And, if worn by one of you – at a stretch – a tad of a fad for a lad. And, if you were in your own home – a tad of a fad for a lad in his pad.”

“And, if you did one of those Alex Heyes stories you’re so fond of – a tad of a fad for the dad of a lad in his pad.”

Kid Curry groaned, “Enough. Sheesh.”

Calico beamed at him, warmly. “Whatever the rules, I’m glad you’re here.”

“We think there’s a little glad in everyone,” smiled Heyes. “Now – aren’t there strict rules about frequent washing?”

“Hand washing? Yes.”

“Wouldn’t all over washing be safer? And, in bubbles – with bubbles - like the rules say?”

“Naughty!” Pause. “I’ll get the Badedas, you get the Fizz.”

There is, after all, a little bad in everyone.

THE END






Back to top Go down
Penski
Moderator
Penski


Posts : 1804
Join date : 2012-04-22
Age : 62
Location : Northern California

November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone Empty
PostSubject: Re: November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone   November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone Icon_minitimeMon Nov 30, 2020 6:09 pm

Here's more to Sheriff Jones and Deputy Smith's story...


November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone


“Sheriff, come quick!  The store’s bein’ robbed!”  A boy shouted as he burst into the jail.

Sheriff Jones quickly rose from behind his desk and hurried out the door.  “Which store?”

“McGregor’s Merchantile.”  The youth followed behind.

“Deputy Smith is makin’ his rounds.  Find him and let him know.”  Curry picked up the pace down the block.

“Will do, Sheriff!”  The boy turned down a side road.  “Deputy Smith!”  He stopped a friend.  “Have you seen Deputy Smith?”

“Yeah, he was goin’ into the Golden Nugget a few minutes ago.  What happened?”

“McGregor’s bein’ robbed and the sheriff told me to find Deputy Smith.”


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Sheriff Jones backed against the wall of the store and pulled out his gun.  He slowly took a step to peer into the window and then frowned.  Holstering his weapon, he went into the store.  “Mr. McGregor, I heard you were bein’ robbed.”

“Sheriff, I’m glad you came so quickly!  Here they are!”  Mr. McGregor held tight to the shirts of a boy and a girl; both had tears running down their faces.

“These kids were robbin’ you?” the Kid asked.

“Yes!  And…”

Deputy Smith rushed into the store with his gun drawn.  “What’s going on?”

“It appears these children were robbin’ Mr. McGregor.”

“Oh, I thought…”

“Me, too.”  

“Are you two going to do something?” the storekeeper asked, exasperated.

“Of course.”  

Deputy Lobo ran into the store.  “I heard the store was bein’ robbed so I came over to see if you needed me, Sheriff,” he panted, out of breath.

“Good timin’.  Can you both take these kids over to the jail while I talk to Mr. McGregor?”

“Sure thing.”  Heyes took the young girl by the shoulder.  “Lobo, you bring the boy.  Let’s go.”

“We’re sorry, mister,” the girl sniffled.

“Yeah, sorry you got caught, I bet,” McGregor said.

Heyes and Lobo escorted the two children down the street.

“So, tell me what happened.”  Sheriff Jones crossed his arms in front of him and leaned against the counter.

“Well, I was helping one of the miners with his order.  I turned my back for a few minutes when I noticed them both pocketing something.”

“What did they take?” asked the Sheriff.

“This here on the counter.”  McGregor pointed to some food items.  “The girl had some cans in her pockets and the boy had a few apples and some jerky.”

“About how much do you figure they tried to take?”

“Oh, I’d say maybe $2.00.”  The man did a few calculations in his head.  “Actually, $2.05.”

“Anything you can’t sell now?”

“Those apples are probably bruised.  Will be hard to sell them.”

Kid Curry pulled out a dime.  “This should cover the apples, right?”

“That’ll cover them.”  The man took the coin.  “What are you going to do to them?  Bad upbringing, if you ask me.”

“More like just hungry,” muttered the sheriff under his breath.

“What was that?” the storekeeper asked.

“Just commentin’ how there’s a little bad in everyone, Mr. McGregor.”

“Well, maybe, but you have to come down on them hard.  Show them a life of crime doesn’t pay.”

“First I gotta find out where they belong.”  The sheriff pushed off the counter, tipped his hat, and took the apples.

The sheriff sighed as he walked out of the store and towards the jail.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Heyes sat the two kids in chairs in front of the desk.  “When was the last time you ate?”

The boy looked up to his sister.

“Yesterday mornin’ we found some eggs,” she said with her face downcast.

“Found eggs or took some?”  Heyes sat on the edge of the desk.  “Deputy Lobo, can you go to the café and get some sandwiches?”  He pulled out some money.

“Don’t you worry none.  I got this.”  Lobo left the office just as the sheriff entered.

Curry joined his partner and leaned on the other side of the desk.  “What’s your names?”

‘I’m Tillie and he’s Tommy.”

“Got a last name?”

“Barton,” the girl whispered.

“How old are you?”

“Eleven and seven.”

“Almost eight,” Tommy said quickly.  He scooted closer to his sister and grabbed her hand.

“Where’s your folks?”

“Gone.”  Tears streamed down Tillie’s face.

Heyes pulled out a bandana and handed it to her.  “What happened?”

“The wagon tipped and they were killed.”  Tillie began to cry in earnest.

“Do you know where?”

“We…we came into town from that way.”  Tillie pointed towards the east.  

“We’ve been walkin’ for several days,” Tommy added with a sniff.

“Must be towards the pass.  Lobo and I’ll go check it out when he comes back with food.”

Kid Curry nodded.

“What’s gonna happen to us?” Tommy asked, fearful.  “Are we goin’ to prison?”

“No, we don’t send kids to prison for stealin’ some food.  What you did was wrong, though.  Do you understand?”

Tillie and Tommy nodded.

Deputy Lobo arrived.  “Here’s some sandwiches.  I got them some milk and a cookie, too.”

“Wipe your eyes and take the food from the deputy.  Here’s some apples, too.  We’ll be right back.”  Sheriff Jones motioned with his head for his deputies to follow him outside.

“Did you find out anything?” Lobo asked.  “Who are they?”

“Tommy and Tillie Barton,” the Kid informed him.  “Both of you are goin’ to ride out to the pass.  Sounds like there was an accident and their folks died.”

“I’ll get a wagon from the livery.  We may have bodies or belongings to bring back.”  Heyes took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.  “Hope we don’t find what I’m thinking we’ll find.”

“Me, too,” the Kid agreed.  “Meanwhile, I’ll keep them here with me.”


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

A wagon pulled into town and stopped in front of the jail.

Heyes dismounted and tied his horse to the back of the wagon.  “Thaddeus?”

Sheriff Jones came out of the jail and sighed.  He looked down into the wagon and lifted the four blankets one by one.  His concern deepened as he saw the small bodies beneath the last two.  “Damn. They lost their whole family.”  He turned to his partner.  “We know how that feels, don't we?”

Heyes nodded.  “Where are the kids?”

“I took them over to the boarding house and asked Mrs. Tucker if she’d mind gettin’ them cleaned up.  I didn’t want them here when you pulled up.”

“Good idea.”

“It was bad, Sheriff, real bad.  I’ve never had to do that before and hope I don’t ever have to again,” Lobo commented as he climbed out of the wagon.  “Not just their folks.  The two young’uns were the hardest to see.”

Curry silently nodded.  He knew.

“Salvaged what we could from the wagon.  There’s some clothes that’ll fit Tillie and Tommy.  I got a few things they might want to have, like the family Bible.”  Heyes went towards the wagon.  “May as well unload those things here before taking the bodies to the mortuary.”

The three men unloaded a few small trunks from the wagon with the Barton’s belongings into the office.

“I’ll take them over and then return the wagon and horse to the livery,” the deputy volunteered.

“Thanks, Lobo.”

Heyes and the Kid walked into the office and sat down.

Curry threw his hat on his desk and sat down.  “What’re we gonna do with those kids?”

“I don’t know, Kid.  Heyes shook his head and sighed.  “I don’t know.”


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Incline thine ear, O Lord, unto our prayers, wherein we humbly pray thee to show thy mercy upon the souls of thy servants, whom thou hast commanded to pass out of this world, that thou wouldst place them in the region of peace and light and bid them be a partaker with thy saints.  Through Christ our Lord.  Amen."

The sheriff, his two deputies, Mrs. Tucker, and Mr. Grove, along with the two children stood around the grave and said in unison, “Amen.”  Tillie and Tommy silently cried at the graves of their family.

“What… What’s gonna happen to us now?” Tillie asked, tears streaming down her face.

“Well, you’re coming back to my place, if it’s all right with you, Sheriff?”  Mrs. Tucker hugged the children close to her.

“We’d be obliged to you, Mrs. Tucker.”  Curry knelt so he was face to face with the children.  “Tillie, where did you say you came from?”

“Illinois. Peoria, Illinois.”

“Do you have any relatives there?  Maybe grandparents?”

“Grandma and grandpa died, huh, Tillie?”  Tommy wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve.

Tillie nodded.  “Last year they died from the flu.”

“What about an aunt or an uncle?  Maybe a cousin?”

“Aunt Ginny is ma’s sister.  She lives in Kentucky.”  Tillie heaved a deep sigh and looked down at the ground as she added, “But she don't want us.”

Curry frowned.  “What makes you think that?”

“'Cos I heard ma say she's got more kids than she can handle.”  She raised tear-filled eyes to look into his.  “Why would she want two orphans to take care of?”

The Kid smiled at her.  “Well, you don't know that for sure now, do you?”

Tillie sniffed.  “Well...no.”

“Do you know where in Kentucky?  I’m sure she’ll want to know what happened.”

Tillie bit her lower lip and furrowed her brow.  “I think Lexington.  Or Louisville.  It started with a L.”

“You may want to check the Barton’s Bible and see if there are pages with family information in it that will help,” Mrs. Tucker suggested.

Curry stood up and put his hat back on.  “That’s a good idea.  Lobo, you do the noon rounds so Joshua can go back to the boarding house and get some sleep before the night shift.  I think the Bible is still in the office.”


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Heyes walked into the office with a covered dish.  “Mrs. Tucker said to bring this to you now since she’ll be busy with the kids later.”  He placed the plate on the desk and sat down.

“Good, I’m hungry now.”  Curry pushed aside some papers and pulled the plate closer to him.  He removed the towel.  “Mmm… roast beef, potatoes, and carrots.”

“It was delicious.  There’s a piece of pie in the kitchen for you when you go back, too.  Heyes glanced at the paperwork.  “Any luck finding relatives?”

Curry pushed the Bible towards his partner.  “Has the deaths of the grandparents and an uncle in it.  I sent telegrams to Mrs. Virginia Stanton in Lexington and Louisville.”

“And…?”

“Got this telegram back.”  He pushed a piece of paper towards Heyes.

Heyes read it and threw the paper down.  “Sad to hear about her sister but unable to take the children.  Possible uncle on father’s side.”

“Who is dead, according to the Bible record.”

“So, we’re back to what to do with the children.”

“Yep.”  Curry cut his meat and ate.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Kid Curry yawned as he entered the Tucker’s Boarding House that evening.  He took his dirty plate to the kitchen and rinsed it off before eating his berry pie.  As he climbed the stairs to their room, he heard Mrs. Tucker putting the children to bed.  He went to the door and watched as they prayed:

“Now I lay me down to sleep;
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
May God guard me through the night,
And wake me with the morning light.”

“Good night, Tommy.  “Good night, Tillie.”  Mrs. Tucker kissed them on their foreheads as she pulled the blanket up under their cheeks.  

Curry smiled and quietly went to his room.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Kid Curry walked into the office the next morning with a big smile.  “Joshua, wait til…”

Heyes poured a second cup of coffee and handed it to his partner.  “I’m glad you’re here.  I came up with a plan about Tillie and Tommy.”

“Mrs. Tucker!”  They said in unison.

“She’d be perfect!  You should have seen her tuck the children into bed.”  Curry took a sip of coffee.

“At dinner, she had the children laughing,” Heyes added.  “And it sounds like she has the means to provide for them.”

“Both can help with the boarding house, too.”

“We just have to somehow make her see that she’d be the best parent for raising those two kids.”  Heyes started pacing.

“Better than sending them to an orphanage.  They’d be separated and they're all each other has.”  The Kid sipped his coffee.

The office door slowly opened while someone knocked.  “Sheriff Jones?  Deputy Smith?”  Mrs. Tucker stood at the doorway.  “Are you busy?”

“No, no.  Come in, Mrs. Tucker.”  Heyes ushered her in as he closed the door and offered her a chair.  “Please sit down.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt...”

“You’re not interruptin’ us at all, Mrs. Tucker,” the Kid assured her.  “How can we help you?  Are the children okay?”

“I’m glad you are both here to talk to.  It’s about the children that I came.”  She looked around the office.  “Have you found relatives to take the children?”

Sheriff Jones shook his head.  “No, we haven’t.”

“No relatives at all?” she questioned.

Heyes sat in the other seat in front of the desk.  “Mrs. Barton’s sister lives in Kentucky but can't take them.  According to Tillie, she has a lot of children and two more would be too many.  She asked us to check with Mr. Barton’s brother, however, according to the family Bible, he died before their trip.”

“Oh, I see.  I was just hoping they could go to a relative.”  Mrs. Tucker stood up.  “I would hate to see them go to an orphanage.”

“So would we, Mrs. Tucker.”  Kid Curry stood up, too.

“I should get back to them.  They’re in bed and Mrs. Bell said she’d watch them for a few minutes.”

“I’ll escort you home since I’m goin’ back, too.”  Heyes stood and put on his hat.  “Have a nice day, Thaddeus.”

“And you have a nice sleep.”

Heyes escorted Mrs. Tucker to the door and crossed his fingers behind his back so only Curry could see before closing it.

The Kid sat down at the desk and sighed.  “More paperwork.”


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The following day, Heyes and Mrs. Tucker came into the jail office in the late afternoon.

The Kid glanced up, a questioning look on his face.

“Mrs. Tucker says there’s something she wants to discuss with us, Thaddeus,” Heyes offered as a reason.

Curry stood and offered a chair.  “Please sit down, Mrs. Tucker.”  

“Thank you, Sheriff.”  The widow sat down.  “And thank you for taking the time to talk with me.”

“Of course.”  The Kid sat back down.  

“About the children…” Mrs. Tucker hesitated.  “I’m just not sure it is good for this current arrangement to continue.”

Heyes quickly sat down beside her.  “No?”

She shook her head.

Curry let out a breath he was holding.  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Tucker.”

“You see, it’s just not fair to me or the children.  You do understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Heyes said, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice.

“Sheriff, do you know when the judge will be in town again?”  She smiled.  “I would like to ask permission of the court to adopt Tillie and Tommy.”

“You would?”  Kid Curry’s eyes lit up.

“That’d be wonderful!” Heyes grinned.

“Yes, I've given it a lot of thought, and even prayed about it, since we talked last.  If the court, and the children, are in agreement, I would like to become their mother.”

Deputy Lobo walked into the office.  “All’s quiet in town, Sheriff.  Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t know we had company.”  He removed his hat and smiled.  “Mrs. Tucker, ma’am,” he acknowledged.

“Perfect timing, Lobo.”  Heyes stood up.  “Mrs. Tucker just told us her intentions of adopting Tillie and Tommy.

“Oh, ma’am, that wonderful news!  You’ll make a great mother to those two.”

“Thank you, Deputy Lobo.”  Mrs. Tucker blushed.  “That’s if the court will approve it and the children are willing.”

“I’m sure they will be, ma’am.  They’re the happiest I’ve seen them since the loss of their family.”

Mrs. Tucker turned toward her boarders.  “I was hoping you could both be with me when I ask the children.”

“We’d be happy to.”  Kid Curry looked towards his deputy.

“Go!  I’ll be good here by myself for a few hours.  If I need you, I’ll send someone to get you.”

“Thanks, Lobo.”

The trio left the office and headed towards the boarding house.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tillie and Tommy sat on the couch.  Sheriff Jones leaned against a nearby wall and Deputy Smith and Mrs. Tucker occupied chairs facing the couch.

“Tommy and Tillie,” the sheriff started off.  “We tried real hard to find relatives for you to go live with, however, the only living relative is not able to take you in at this time.”

Tillie and Tommy looked downcast.

“But,” Heyes added quickly, “We think we have a solution to where you’ll live.”  He motioned to Mrs. Tucker to continue.

Mrs. Tucker took their hands and smiled.  “Tillie and Tommy, I would love for you to live with me, if you’re willing.”  

Both children looked up.

“With you?  Here?” Tommy asked.

“Both of us?” Tillie questioned.

“Both of you, here with me, if a judge will allow me to adopt you.”

Tillie looked towards the lawmen.  “Is there a reason a judge would say no?”

“None that we know of.”  Heyes grinned.

The Kid smiled.  “I never answered your question before, Mrs. Tucker.  I think the judge can be in town at the end of the week.  He sent me a telegram this morning asking if there was a reason for him to come to town.  I’ll let him know there is.”

“So, you’ll be our new ma?” Tommy asked, grinning from ear-to-ear.

Mrs. Tucker nodded.  “I'd love to have you as my son and daughter.”

Both children jumped up and hugged their new mother.

Sheriff Jones and Deputy Smith looked on, then turned to each other and shared a look.

_________________
h
"Do you ever get the feeling that nothing right is ever going to happen to us again?" - Kid Curry

calicole and rachel741 like this post

Back to top Go down
Sponsored content





November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone Empty
PostSubject: Re: November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone   November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone Icon_minitime

Back to top Go down
 
November 2020 - We like to think there's a little bad in everyone
Back to top 
Page 1 of 1
 Similar topics
-
» November 22 - A Sneaky Signal
» Awestruck comments - May 1st 2019 to ... April 22
» November 24 - Locked
» November 2012 - Democratic Process
» November 2018 - Fragile

Permissions in this forum:You cannot reply to topics in this forum
Alias Smith and Jones Writers  :: The Writing Spot :: The Story Challenge-
Jump to: