Pearl River Junction: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

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Jeb Collier stared across the table at his brother Ben, who was fidgeting in his chair.

“Ben,” he said, “go to the bar and get us four more beers.”

“Anythin’s better than just sittin’ here,” Ben said.

As Ben left, Jeb said to Clark Wilson, “If he don’t sit still, I’m gonna shoot him.”

“Ben got like that when you got put away, Jeb,” Wilson said. “Antsy. He can’t never sit still. Maybe it’ll change now that you’re back.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“So what’re we doin’ here?” Wilson asked.

They were about a week out of Pearl River Junction in a Texas town called Waco.

“We’re waitin’,” Jeb said.

“For what?”

“We takin’ the bank here too?” Dave Roberts asked.

“No,” Jeb said, “we ain’t. You got any money left from the last two jobs we pulled, Dave?”

Roberts hesitated, then said, “Some.”

“You’re gonna have to learn not to spend it all on whores and booze so fast,” Jeb said.

“And gamblin’,” Wilson said.

“I can spend my money on what I want,” Roberts said grudgingly.

“I ain’t sayin’ you can’t,” Jeb said, “just not so damn fast. You and my brother go through your money so fast…we ain’t gonna pull a job every week, ya know?”

Ben came back with four beers, spilled a little out of each of them as he put them down.

“What’re ya talkin’ about?” he asked.

“Spendin’ money,” Wilson said. “And I asked your brother what we’re doin’ here.”

“What are we doin’ here?” Ben asked.

“He says waitin’.”

“Waitin’ for what?”

“And now you’re all caught up, Ben,” Wilson said.

“Just shut up and listen, all of you,” Jeb said. “The last town we stopped in I sent a telegram.”

“When’d you have time to do that?” Ben asked.

“When you were spending the last of your money on whores and booze,” Jeb said.

“And gamblin’,” Wilson added. He turned his attention to Jeb. “Who’d you send a telegram to?”

“Vic Delay.” He pronounced the name Dee-lay.

“Delay?” Wilson asked. “He’s a cold-blooded killer. Why’d you contact him?”

“I just want a little insurance when we go into Pearl River Junction after Belinda and my kid,” Jeb said. “Struck me that the town—and the local law—might not take too kindly to us grabbin’ a little kid and a woman.”

“We don’t know what kind of law they got there,” Wilson said.

“All the more reason to have some insurance.”

“Vic Delay,” Wilson said, again, shaking his head.

“Vic’s okay,” Ben said. “I like Vic.”

“And some of his boys,” Jeb said. He was ignoring Ben’s remark and responding to Wilson’s.

“Jesus.”

“Hey,” Jeb said, sitting forward in his chair, “if the Pearl River Junction bank looks good, we’ll probably take it while we’re there. Vic and his men will come in handy.”

“I never understood why you became friends with him,” Wilson said. “We’re thieves, not killers. That’s why you only got two years in Yuma, ’cause we never killed anybody during a job.”

“I killed people,” Ben said. “I killed plenty of people.”

Jeb and Wilson continued to ignore Ben, as did Dave Roberts, only he seemed to be ignoring everybody. He wasn’t included in any decisions and was never asked any questions or opinion, so he generally just sort of wandered off in his head until his name was called.

“Dave!” Jeb said.

“Yeah? Huh?”

“Go out in the street and watch for Delay and his men,” Jeb said. “Show ’em in here when they get here.”

“Sure, Jeb.”

“Ben, go with him,” Jeb said. “You’re drivin’ me crazy in here.”

“What am I doin’?” Ben complained.

“You can’t sit still, damn it!” Jeb said. “You’re makin’ me feel like I’m in a stagecoach.”

“Aw, Jeb—”

“Get up and git.”

Both men stood up and walked out the batwing doors of the little saloon. Jeb picked it because there was no music, no gambling, and no women.

“They’re probably gonna end up in another saloon,” Wilson said, “or a whorehouse.”

“Between ’em,” Jeb said, “they ain’t got the price of one whore.”

“Jeb, you sure about Vic Delay?”

“I’m sure, Clark,” Jeb Collier said. “A little bit of insurance never hurt nobody.”