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For the immediate moment, I’m left with observation to try to work her out. The train tracks are one piece of the puzzle, but what happened after interests me more.
Most women’d panic at having to kill a man, then be wracked with guilt. Hell, most boys are that way to start off with. She barely blinked an eye when she shot that bounty hunter, and I don’t detect a hint of guilt in her. She’s not worried about explaining herself to her maker, and she’s not wrestling with any internal demons about it either, if the way she’s eating that meal is any indication.
She doesn’t look the type to go about killing men. She looks like she should be on a homestead somewhere, baking for a family. I guess it’s a wholesome look, though I’ve learned that out here, wholesome is pretty much always a front for something dark and depraved.
“What are you looking at?”
Her question is abrupt and rude, and it makes my irritation flare.
“Just tryin’ to work you out, seeing as you don’t feel you owe me a straight answer.”
“Mister, I don’t owe anybody anything,” she says with great conviction. “Not you, not the devil, not nobody.”
I thought she might be in a better mood after more food and drink, but apparently it has just recharged her feistiness. More than ever, I’m thinking she needs a lesson in manners. There’s no gratitude in her, no acknowledgement of the favors I’ve done her.
“Don’t you think you should tell me the reason you nearly ended up dead today?”
“Life’s a b… unch of bullshit,” she exclaims. “What can I say?”
“I’m getting mighty tired of these evasions, girl.”
“Stop asking then,” she smirks.
“I’m not going to stop asking until I get some answers.”
“Yer not getting answers,” she says, chewing a mouthful, but putting her spoon down. She’s starting to bristle like a little beast, and I get the feeling I’m about to see a display of temper she’s going to regret if she tries to pull it on me.
“I reckon I am. And I reckon I’m about to be done asking nicely, if you catch my drift.”
“Just leave it, Orion.”
Oh hell no. Nobody speaks to me that way. No man, and certainly no girl.
“You’re going to talk, and you’re going to talk now,” I tell her for the last time. I’m about to make an example of her, show her what her attitude really gets her. Given the position I found her in, I could have taken anything from her. I’m not asking for a lot. Just the truth.
Josie’s eyes narrow as that temper I’ve been sensing all along flares into wicked life. She whips the bowl across the street, sending ceramic and slugs crashing into the gutter.
“You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you what happened. I was robbed. My husband was killed, our money was taken, and…”
“I’m not buying it,” I interrupt her before she gets too far off into her cockamamie lie.
“What? Why not? Because I’m not some fancy lady? You think poor people can’t be robbed?”
“I think you were tied up and left to die on train tracks, and that’s personal. Nobody bothers to do that to a girl they just robbed.”
“Well, they did it to me.”
I bend down until we are nose to nose. She’s shivering a little. Don’t know if it is cold or fear. Probably both.
“I know you’re lyin’,” I drawl softly.
“Not lyin’,” she whimpers back.
“Putting someone on train tracks is personal.”
“No, it ain’t. It’s just like tyin’ fireworks to a cat. It’s what sick fuckers do for entertainment. That’s why they were so close. Why they shot at you. They were mad you ruined their fun.”
“Still not buyin’ it, darlin’. They didn’t just take a few shots at us. They came after us, and they weren’t a gang. They were paid men. So again, I’m sayin’ it was personal.”
“Say what you want. Stop asking me questions if you don’t believe the answers. You don’t think paid men can be sick? You think a man who takes money to kill and rob doesn’t enjoy it?”
“Stop lying to me and I might believe you.”
“There’s no honor in thieves, Orion Steelbane. I’ll lie if I want. It’s nothing worse than anything you’ve done. Believe me if you want. Don’t believe me if you don’t want. It’s all the same to me.” She huffs and looks at me. “Now you’ve spoiled my dinner.”
“I’m not the one who threw it in the dirt, girl. How’s about you act like something other than a spoiled brat? You say you’re a grown woman. I’m not seeing much grown about you right now. I don’t think you’ve ever been with a man, let alone been married.”
Those last words make her blush to the roots of her hair, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. This girl isn’t a widower. She’s a sassy little virgin trying to navigate a world full of rough men with her virtue intact.
