DOUG
DONNAN
Executive
Editor/OMNI-GENRE+MAGAZINE
donnan.doug@yahoo.com
"LIZARD EYE"
(A WESTERN ACTION/ADVENTURE)
by
DOUG
DONNAN
CHAPTER 1
[ Poco Vista New Mexico/ 1888 ]
“Charlie… what?” the tall, angular cowboy spat out
in mock bewilderment as he
slammed
his whisky shot glass on the oak bar top. “Sounds furin’ to me,” he pressed as
he
glanced
around his flank for approval from his bar mates. “You from France or some
kinda’
Goddam’ place across the sea?”
Charlemagne could feel his disadvantage
growing and his patience thinning. This moron
was
pushing, goading with some cocky drunken purpose. He took a quick look around
the
interior
of the smoke filled barroom from his isolated position up by the free-swinging
wooden
front gates. The now overly curious, copper cuspidor spitting patrons seemed to
be sizing
him
up with various ‘yeh, what about it?’ looks on their bristled faces. The
portly bartender wiped
at
the massive back bar mirror with a tack cloth. He appeared indifferent at best.
“My apologies friend,” Charlemagne
responded with his own brand of artificial sincerity.
“I
must not have made myself clear to you. I go by Charlemagne. My pap’ hung it on
me way back
when
while I was kickin’ and pissin’ in the crib. He was a book reader. A learned
man you must
understand.”
Charlemagne presented this historical information with the
not so subtle implication that his
current
audience was, more than likely, of a lesser caste and conscience than his
father. He was alert
to
notice a reflective nod and wink from the handlebar-mustachioed bartender. The
newly arrived
silence
in the barroom was deafening.
“Oh!” the man replied softly, his mouth
forming a tiny puckering hole, like the entrance to a
vacant
birdhouse. A few chuckles and a snort or two came from behind him as he
stumbled to
regain
his teetering position of brashness. “Well, let’s see here Mr. Shar—Lee—Mane,
if you don’t
mind
me askin’, just what is it that brings you to our fair town of Poco Vista? We
don’t get many
of
your kind down around here.”
“And just what
kind might that be Arlie Wilcox?” A voice called from the splitting
double-
doors. All eyes snapped to attention as she slowly slipped inside, a large double-barreled shotgun
ported before an ample, leather vested bosom. A thick rope of tied about auburn hair hung down
in front of her like a long, wild horse’s tail. However, it didn’t cover the presence or points of the
silver badge she wore, nor did the sweeping bangs from beneath a cocked back tan Stetson hide the
intensity of her deep brown bedroom eyes
It was Sheriff Carmen Molina.
Her intimidating and room lighting presence did command respect. She was a beautiful woman
in
an unusual yet powerful position. Charlemagne lifted the flat-line brim of his
over-sized
Stetson to her
in a gesture of gratitude and admiration.
The Sheriff did a kind of careful, yet confident, side-step over to the bar and set her shotgun
down carefully atop the polished brass rail. She appeared satisfied that she had the situation
under control.
“Something for you mam?” the bartender said respectfully.
“No thanks Tom,” she replied without looking over at him. She was eyeing Charlemagne
n a discreet, but cat-like way that showed more curiosity than anything else. “Just makin’ the
rounds. Everything alright here?” she asked as she looked around and beyond Charlemagne at
the now shuffling bystanders.
“Yes mam, no problems here. I was just about to buy one for everybody. I try to run a fair
place here at The Wheel—you know how it is,” he declared as he grasped at a stand of beer mugs.
“C’mon all you guys, belly up to the bar, beer’s on the house—just one though you pirates,” he
added as the knot of men spread around the embarrassed Wilcox who was holding his empty glass
out to Charlemagne in a kind of ‘you won that round’ surrendering gesture.
Sheriff Molina brushed back her hanging tail and looked up at a perplexed, but thankful Char-
emagne. “Wanna’ go for a walk?” she asked with a slight smile.
“Is that an invitation Sheriff or a charge?” Charlemagne
said as he straightened up
somewhat.
“Don’t push it mister,” she flashed back.
“I ain’t got no ‘find me’ poster on you. I’m on your
side...
so far."
___ End Chapter
1 ___
___ Chapter 2 ___
Outside the powerful blow and pounding current of the Viento
del Diablo had its way with
the
unlikely twosome as they made their way down the town’s weathered clapboard
walkway.
The
turbulent gusts of wind did seem to come at them from all possible angles.
Walking was a true
challenge.
Walking with someone else was damn near impossible! The normaly
unflappable
Charlemagne
had taken to stutter stepping and grabbing at the intermittent shop roof
support
posts
as they made their way. His hat had blown off and he soon found himself being
whipped
mercilessly
by his own long blonde streamers of hair, and being garroted by the rawhide
chin strap
of
his sweat stained Stetson. He felt his masculinity put to the test as he
awkwardly grabbed for one
of
Sheriff Molina’s outrigger positioned arms. Her self-assurance and strength
were becoming
embarrassingly
apparent to him. He began to feel more like some trembling form of handicapped
person
than any kind of independent individual.
“JEEZUS!” he called out as he struggled
along somewhat behind her. “This blusterin’ is blowin’
the...
eyes right outa’ my—say missy, where’s my horse?”
Sheriff Molina came to an abrupt halt. She
threw him an irritated look there on the windswept
walk.
“That Appaloosa pony of yours was looking all but done in Mr.
Charlemagne. I had Peck,
my
hapless deputy, escort him over to the town livery stable down the street.
He’ll be cared for good
and
proper there. Mr. Cadwalater knows all horses and their needs. Town is fairly
small cowboy, but we
got
all the basics here.”
She took a daring step towards him and
looked him square in his good eye. “And, before we go any
further
mi amigo, let me give you one little piece of free advice.”
“What’s that?” Charlemagne asked as he
squinted into the wind.
“Never call a woman, especially this
woman ‘missy’, unless that happens to be her real name!
Comprende?”
“Yes mam,” he nodded submissively. “Mind
if I ask where you’re taking—where we’re going?”
“Down to my office,” she said turning back
into the wind, “Got sumthin’ you might wanna’ see.”
“I’m all yours…Sheriff!”
Charlemagne replied with a sweep of his open palm.
Finally, they came to the end of the
boardwalk. At this point, the wind had let up a bit
and
all seemed manageable. Charlemagne had latched onto the final support buttress
as if his
very
survival might depend on it. He felt as if he had been physically beaten.
“Here
we are then,” Sheriff Molina declared as if they had just taken a leisurely
stroll in
the
park.
“Thank God!” Charlemagne coughed out from
a crumpled bandana he was using as a facemask.
“Remind
me never to go mountain climbing with you miss…Sheriff.”
“I’ll remember that request,” she
snickered as she opened the door to the ‘Jail House’. “Take
the
load off!” came next with a sturdy kick at a side chair. She snapped the
shotgun into the wall
rack.
“Looks to be like Peck has perked up some relatively fresh coffee.”
“Sounds good,” Charlemagne exhaled deeply
as he shuffled in.
The two settled down in their chairs;
Sheriff Molina behind her plank and box desk and a
hat-in-hand
Charlemagne off to the side. They studied each other, seemingly trying to
decide what
to
do or say next. Charlemagne took a cautious sip from the tin mug of steaming
coffee and then
broke
the contemplative moment;
“So please, won’t you tell me,” he sighed
as he squinted a curious look over the edge of his cup,
“what’s
a nice sheriff like you doing in a place like this—Poco Vista I mean?”
“You’re a curious mule now aren’t you?” She
said with a puckish grin. “I was just about to ask
you
a similar question, but you knew that didn’t you?”
“So many questions,” he said as he set the
cup on the desktop. “Listen Sheriff Molina—”
“Carmen—please!” she cut in quickly
as she raised her cup and bent forward. She slid open a
side
drawer of her tired wooden desk.
“Okay,
Carmen then,” he replied as he settled back into the arms of the guest
chair. “Listen, I
don’t
want any trouble here in your little town and I truly do appreciate you getting
those clowns off
my
ass back there at the saloon. I’ll be honest with you, I’m just passin’
through. I only stopped
for
a drink, maybe a meal and a bunk for the night. I’ll be on my way at first
light tomorrow.”
Sheriff Carmen nodded acceptance of his
little declaration and then slowly positioned herself
back
in the well of her spring-loaded desk chair. She crossed a pair of curvaceous
blue denim legs
atop
the blotter and looked out at him from behind a V of pointed, tan-suede cowboy
boots. “Fair
enough,”
she said, “but, now that you’re here and as long as you’re being honest, would
you mind
looking
through these and see if any of them seems a bit unusual to you?” she
asked as she tossed
a
small stack of dog-eared wanted posters his way.
“Hey, wait just a minute now. You said
back there you didn’t have anything on me. What’s this
all
about? I got no history on me. ‘Cept this and that which don’t add up to diddly-do.
Trust me, I’m
clean
sheriff!”
“Relax,” she said with a pass of her hand.
“Just flip through them, slowly. I’m on your side—
remember?”
Charlemagne reached across the desk and
lifted the stack of handbills. He thumbed through them
slowly,
studying the faces and particulars as he held them up to the light of the
façade window. It
wasn’t
too long before he held one out in front of him and showed it to her. Sheriff
Molina smiled
back
in satisfaction.
“Any kin to you?” she asked as she looked
wistfully out the window.
“You got good eyes Sher—Carmen,” he
said with a crafty double meaning. “Unlike yours truly
here,”
he pointed at his faulty left eye. “A fairly good memory too, I’d say. This
here ‘want add’ is
well
over four years old!”
“I know my job. I had a good teacher too!”
she hooked a thumb over her shoulder at a framed
daguerreotype
image of a stone faced, raven-haired man dressed in a long khaki duster. His
lantern
jaw and chin held high, he was porting the very same double-barrel shotgun that
Sheriff
Carmen
carried about and handled so deftly. She sealed her pretty mouth and raised her
chin with
obvious
pride. Nice lookin’ guy—for a sheriff, wouldn’t you say Charlemagne?”
“Your Pa?” he asked with a gasp of
disbelief, as he squirmed about the circumference of the
low-back,
wooden chair.
“Augustus Caesar Molina—The good and
stalwart Sheriff Auggie to those who knew, and respec-
ted
him on the dusty roads and ways of little giddy-up Poco Vista way back when...
My dad.”
“I’ll be damned!” Charlemagne blew out as
he threw up his slender hands. “You inherited this
whole
thing, this town, from him?” he nodded up at the looming picture.
“It wasn’t quite that easy my wayward friend,”
she fired back, obviously not liking his quick and
rather
blunt summation of things. “I was duly elected!”
“No offense meant,” he stumbled as he met
her glowing brown eyes with his lone wide open
blue
one. “I guess I just never met a— that is…”
“A woman that’s ‘officially’ in charge of
something?” she finished for him with a wry smile.
Charlemagne dropped his head in a pose of
embarrassed defeat and frustration. He felt as if
he
had been reprimanded by some school marm from long ago. “I apologize mam.”
“You give up rather easily Charlemagne,”
she said as she reached over and snatched up the
wanted
poster in question. “That could be good or a bad, depending on the
situation.”
Now he was totally bewildered, but equally
fascinated by it all. His lips parted as if he were
testing
the purpose of his mouth. “I don’t know what to say!” was all that came out.
“Tell me about this man here,” she said as
she glanced over the handbill. “Gotta’ be related
to
you somehow—hmm? I mean for one thing he’s got that…well, his left eye, like
yours, you’ll
pardon
me, is kind of—”
“Strange?” he finished for her.
“Called ‘lazy eye’ by most. The hurtful prefer Lizard Eye. Any
way
you look at it, ‘we got one shade pulled down some!’ he would always tell me
with a little
laugh
and a shrug of the shoulders. My ol’ man was quite a character.”
“You speak of him in the past,” she seemed
to soften somewhat, “should I go ahead and tear this
up
then…Charlemagne?”
He leaned up and did his best to stare at
her straight and true. “I guess that’s up to you sheriff.
He
never really was ‘wanted’ for much all his natural life, ‘cept by his
family—mother and me.
That
piece of paper there doesn’t do him any justice. Look at that thing— 'Wanted
for ‘questioning
and
possible deceptive personage... Reward: Negotiable'! He wasn’t a criminal
Carmen. He was an
explorer,
an adventurer! We haven’t seen or heard from him in two years. I’m
afraid he’s no longer—
“I think I understand,” she cut in
considerately as she balled up the paper and tossed it into a tin
whicker
waste basket off in the corner. “Rest in peace Lionel Copeland Albright. I hope
you found
what
you were looking for!”
Charlemagne settled back in his chair and
awkwardly dabbed at his good eye. The left eye had
closed
completely. It seemed that that shade had drawn tight in a silent moment of
reflection and
sorrow. Finally, with the wind whistling and
thrashing just outside, “He did!” Charlemagne said.
“Did what?” she asked after a sip of her
coffee.
“Find exactly what he was looking for,”
Charlemagne came back with a deflated, but proud air of
satisfaction.
“And I guess that somehow gets us to the
point of this little investigation,” she smiled.
Charlemagne took some furtive passes over
his shoulders and then bent over the desk as if he
were
going to try and kiss her somehow. “Gold, Carmen! He found… Gold!”
___ End Chapter 2
___
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