Page 26 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot
Owen could feel every pair of eyes on him. He was never this ill-tempered. He got what he wanted by talking people around with jokes and bullshit, but Elmer’s behavior stood directly on his rawest nerve. Even if you had a strong reason to turn your back on a woman—like marriage to another—you didn’t abandon her to fend for herself when it came to feeding your child.
Elmer took his time gathering his limbs from their sprawl in the oxblood armchair and meandered to the door.
“It won’t take long. You don’t need your coat.” That was a dirty trick on Owen’s part. The wind off the glaciers was dropping frost across the city, but the colder Elmer was, the quicker he’d want to end this conversation.
“What’s so important?” Elmer crossed his arms as they stepped onto the porch. He scowled and shifted to the corner, trying to escape the stiff breeze.
“I thought you’d like to know you have a son. Freddie.”
“What—? Katherine’s not far enough along yet.” The blue light of the moon fell on Elmer’s befuddled features. “Has something happened?”
“Only that now I know you’re an even bigger pile of dog shit than I thought you were five minutes ago.” His wife was pregnant and he was in the cathouse, gambling? “I’m talking about Mavis.”
“Pfft.” Elmer rocked back on his heels. “Is that what she told you?”
“She didn’t have to. You did, when you introduced her as a friend from Springfield. She followed you here, didn’t she? And you left her to work in a saloon, carrying your baby, while you married Katherine.”
“Come on, Owen. You know there’s girls you play with and girls you marry.”
Owen was a lover, not a fighter, but he really wanted to punch Elmer’s nose to the back of his pompous skull right now.
“Has she got family back in Springfield?” Owen asked.
“Mavis? I don’t know. An aunt, maybe?” Elmer was shivering, shoulders huddled up to his ears, looking like he wanted to brush by Owen and get back to where it was warm.
“All right, then. I’ll buy her a ticket on the stage. She has to leave right away, or she’ll be stuck here through the winter.”
“Good thinking. Get her on her way before she makes a nuisance of herself. Thanks, Owen. I’ll pay you back.” Elmer offered his hand.
Owen ignored it. “Hell, yes, you will, along with two hundred and fifty dollars?—”
“Two— Fuck, no! That’s extortion, Owen.”
“Not for me, you sorry, dumb, cock-headed shit-for-brains. For her, to keep her until she’s on her feet.”
“How am I supposed to come up with two hundred and fifty dollars?”
“Work it off at Quail’s Creek.”
“I’m not doing that.” Elmer shook his head, firm.
“Well, you’re in here gambling every night so I know you have money. I’ll take a draw from Madame Beauville. You can pay it down in installments. Generous ones, or I’ll send your Daddy in here to clean up after you.”
“Don’t do that.” Elmer dropped his voice, grave. “He’ll shut the place down.”
“And everyone will know it’s your fault. I’ll make sure of it, so you’d better make your payments.” Owen turned to head inside, considering the matter decided.
“What the fuck is it to you, anyway?” Elmer muttered.
Owen swung around and grabbed Elmer by the shirt front, lifting his limp, drunken ass onto his tiptoes.
“What is it not to you, Elmer? How the fuck do you live with yourself, bringing a child into this world and not looking out for it? Show me you’ve learned from this, or I’ll put you in the ground right now and spare your wife her future misery.”
“All right. Fuck.” Elmer knocked his hands off him and gave a shudder of cold, adding, “Asshole,” under his breath.
Owen had been called worse for less so he ignored that and took Elmer inside where they made their arrangements with Madame Beauville.
Chapter 8