William W. Johnstone Read Online Free PDF Page B

getting real close to a lot of Doubtful fellers. Most of those gals were all gussied up, and wearing lip rouge. My ma, she used to tell me never get interested in a gal wearing enamel on her face because she’d be after my money. Well, these gals looked pretty nice if you didn’t look too close at the varicose veins. Some had gotten their hair all bleached up, and most were showing plenty of neck and a little chest. But they was just being virgins there at the Sampling Room. Like ma says, I might not be the brightest light in town, but I could see they was working all the locals to come to the show the next night. And there were a couple of the gents there too, but nobody paid them any attention. No one bought the blackhaired one a drink, or the redhead juggler a glass of beer.
    I got the drift of the action pretty quick. These show people weren’t just having a good time after a hard trip; they were aiming for standing room only, and they’d do most anything to separate a feller from his wage. I reckoned I’d do some sheriffing that night.

C HAPTER F IVE
     
    The Sampling Room sure was the place to be in Doubtful that eve. Just sitting there I seen half the town. I saw Reggie Thimble wander in, and Mayor George Waller, and the postmaster Alphonse Smythe. Even Ziggy Camp, who was more or less married. Those fellers hardly ever went to the Sampling Room, but there they were, catching an eyeful of those show people. And then Lawyer Stokes ambled in, and that sure was news. I’d never seen him in a saloon before, and then I spotted my own deputy, Rusty, pokin’ his head in just to get an eyeful. And it didn’t quit there, either. I actually saw Doc Harrison wander in, eye the crowd, and belly up to the bar. That was like the pope showing up at a Baptist revival. Sure enough, there was Maxwell of the funeral parlor, Turk of the livery barn, and Leonard Silver, who had the emporium.
    I just sort of hid out at the rear, watching the show. Cronk, who ran the poker table, was sitting near me and getting no players at all and shuffling the worn-out deck with one hand, looking sour. So I just sat there looking like a fixture that came with the place, but I wasn’t lacking for entertainment with all those show people getting right into it with all the citizens of Doubtful.
    And then one of the prettiest of the showgirls, or maybe they were show women, seeing as how some had crepe flesh and varicose veins, came drifting my way, drink in hand. She was all enameled up like the others, but younger and didn’t look quite so worn-down as the other ladies. She was tall and curvy and knew it. And it was clear she was heading straight toward me, so I stood, wanting to be civil. My ma always told me to stand when women came around, because it was the thing to do. But my pa never did it, and I was sort of half-hearted about it. Sometimes I couldn’t make much sense of being civil.
    But there she was, with a glass of amber fluid.
    “You the sheriff?” she asked.
    “I was last I knew, but maybe not,” I said.
    She eyed me and my badge like I was loony. “You gonna offer a lady a seat?”
    I hastened to pull over the empty chair next to me, and she settled in, eyeing me like I was a fiveyear-old. My ma had that look.
    “I’m Viva Zapata,” she said.
    “Ain’t that some Mexican bandit?”
    “I wouldn’t know. That’s a stage name my agent gave me. Just call me Viva.”
    “You got a real name?”
    “I was born with one and don’t ever want to remember it again.”
    She looked kind of sad.
    “Can I buy you a drink?” I asked. “I’m having sarsaparilla.”
    She eyed my sorry glass and laughed. “Ain’t you the prim and proper.”
    I didn’t know what she was laughing about, so I just clinked my glass to hers. I’d never met a show person before, so I didn’t know what to expect. But they seemed like other people, only more so.
    “Are you Mexican?” I asked.
    “No, half Bohunk, half Croatian. That means one half of