Resolution

10.

Maybe Wolfson was right.

It was a Thursday night, raining hard outside, when two wet whores from Polly Patterson’s house came into the Blackfoot and sat down at a table near my end of the bar. Wolfson didn’t allow any whores but his own in the saloon, so after a minute I took my shotgun, barrels toward the floor, and went and sat down with them.

“Sorry, ladies,” I said. “Unaffiliated whores ain’t allowed in this establishment.”

“You’re Everett,” one of them said.

I nodded. It was hard to guess age in a whore, but this one looked to be in her forties, and kind of fat. The other girl was younger but no slimmer.

“We heard about you,” the older whore said.

I nodded again.

“All good things, I’m sure,” I said. “But unaffiliated whores are still not allowed in the Blackfoot.”

“We got trouble, Everett,” she said. “We need to stay here.”

“What kind of trouble?” I said.

Four men in hats and slickers came into the saloon. They stood inside the door, looking around. A couple of them took off their hats and shook the rain off them. Then all four looked at us. I nodded my head at them.

“That kind?” I said.

“Oh, Jesus,” the younger whore said.

“The one in front,” the older whore said. “With the beard, he paid for one hour with me and Roxanne. We gave him everything he paid for, and when he was through, his friends came in and used us and nobody paid nothing.”

“Unaffiliated whores are also not allowed to bring their troubles into this establishment. You steal something to get even?”

Roxanne nodded.

“I got his watch,” the older one answered. “And I ain’t givin’ it back. He owes us more then that.”

I nodded. The four men walked over to us.

The guy with the beard said, “These whores with you?”

He didn’t look like he washed the beard much.

“They are,” I said.

“They don’t work here,” he said.

“No.”

“I thought whores had to work here to be in the saloon.”

“I was just discussing that with them,” I said. “They been put on notice.”

“You throwing them out?” the man said.

He was a thick fella, miner probably, had the sort of overmuscled bow in his back that pick and shovel work can give you.

“I told them I would,” I said. “If they ain’t out of here by Monday.”

“Monday?”

I smiled and nodded.

“Don’t tolerate rule-breaking,” I said.

The bearded man looked at the shotgun across my lap.

“You Hitch?” he said.

“Yes, sir, I am.”

He looked at the shotgun again.

“That an eight-gauge?” he said.

“Yes, sir, it is,” I said.

One of the other men said, “Christ. Pellets must look like billiard balls.”

“These whores got something belongs to me,” the bearded one said.

“You owe us,” the older whore said. “You owe us a lot more than we took, don’t he, Roxanne?”

Roxanne nodded silently.

“See,” the bearded one said. “See, she even admits she took something.”

“I don’t care,” I said.

“She give it back and there won’t be no trouble,” the bearded one said.

I stood up.

“Or if she don’t,” I said.

The bearded man didn’t seem to know what to say. His three companions shifted uneasily. The whores sat perfectly still.

“You ladies sit right there, where I can see you, make sure you’re not stealing any business from our girls,” I said. “You gentlemen step to the bar and I’ll buy you all a drink ’fore you leave.”

The men sort of looked at one another, then at me. Then the bearded man nodded.

“I could use a drink,” he said. “Night like this.”