The doctor reached from the floor and batted his hand about the surface of the bar until it found the edges of a bottle. He brought it down and examined the label, then uncorked it with his teeth.
Outside the jail, one deputy reloaded while the other kept his gun on the door. Sugar was moving around inside, but hadn’t fired in some time. The sheriff must have been dead. The other deputies were dead. The youngest, their dear friend, was gut shot and slung over the splintered railing that marked off the jail’s porch. It bowed toward the earth. At any moment it would come down.
The deputy finished loading and looked to the other from behind his cart. The other deputy was curled up behind his barrel, bravely peeking out every so often to determine what they were up against. They summoned their courage. They spotted the strength in one another’s eyes, and the fears. They would stand together. They would avenge their partners and protect this small town. They took their pistols into each hand, gave one another a final look, then rose to rush the doorway.
They moved several crouched steps before Sugar stepped onto the porch and fired upon them. One received bullets to the chest and gut. The other, a bullet to each leg. Scrambling on his back like a beetle, he gathered one of his guns from where it had fallen and brought it up to meet Sugar. Sugar kicked it from the man’s hand and sent a stray bullet into the body of the young deputy slung over the porch. The railing rocked with the impact and came cracking, splintering toward the earth, where it deposited the limp body of the young ranger.
Sugar put a boot on the deputy. Sugar was still naked from the waist down. The deputy decided in the brief moment it took for Sugar to arrange himself above him that he would tell the killer everything he wanted to know. When Sugar asked, who are you? who sent you? what’s my crime? the deputy would proudly spill his guts.
“Which way is the desert?” said Sugar, pointing out the various paths leading from town. “Which way the woods?”
The deputy nervously pointed to one path, winding its way past the jail and on out toward a wasteland of red rocks and spiked lizards. Then he thumbed in the direction that lay before Sugar, leading down through the heart of town and back out the other side.
“That way is the woods,” he said.
Sugar was loading his pistol.
The deputy could not help but notice that, without his pants, without his unders, this man looked entirely female.
“Thank you,” said Sugar. He fired one shot into the eye of the deputy then retreated to the jail to retrieve his clothing.
When the gunshots ceased, Martha worked her way to the window. The three of them, Martha, Mary, and Bird, were on the floor of the inn. The innkeeper had been kind enough to bring them in at the sound of gunfire. When the shots kept up, they took to the ground to avoid stray bullets and being spotted. The innkeeper received an unexpected end after being met with a ricocheted bullet sent through one of the front windows. She was bleeding and propped up against the fireplace, not long for this world.
Against the pleading of Mary, who was clutching Martha’s hand and curled up against her body, Martha rose and went to the porch to retrieve her rifle.
The killer emerged from the jail, buckling his belt with a sinister blankness. He was too far down the main drag to get a good shot, so Martha stepped back in to check on the children.
“The man who killed our savior is out there,” explained Martha.
“How do you know?” said Mary.
“How many murderers could be out in this area wreaking havoc at once?” said Martha.
Bird did not hazard to answer that question.
“That is the survivor of those men who shot John,” said Martha. “He is still bleeding from the wound I left him with.”
“What are you going to do?” said Mary.
“I think I’ll wait until he’s worked his way down here a bit and try to put one in his back,” said Martha.
“That’s cowardly,” said Mary.
“He’s a killer,” said Martha. “There’s no sense in giving him an opportunity to express himself.”
Sugar was rounding up pistols and bullets from the dead men scattered in front of the jail. The rest of the town was shuttered and gathered to the ground.
The sheriff had taken the child somewhere and was vanished now. It was likely he was hiding in an alleyway or behind a box somewhere. He would be waiting for Sugar to make an effort to pass. The safest choice, as far as leaving went, would be to take to the desert. To skip the walk through town and its possible dangers. To take to open territory, with the knowledge that he would be hunted.
But Sugar did not want to die in the desert, without food or water, as a hunted man. He stepped a straight line down the middle of the road, which led through the center of town. He watched each window as he passed. The first building was shed-like, possibly home to some tools or some dry goods. He couldn’t tell from the facade. The bar was next. He saw movement from deep within, but nothing directly at the window. He stepped onto the porch and pulled the hammer back on his pistol.
He opened the door and saw the bar was empty. He heard nose-breathing. Maybe a hand over a mouth. He moved toward the center of the room and then there was a shot from outside.
“Come out,” said the sheriff. He was alone, a rifle at his shoulder and a pistol in his hand. “You’ve had your fun. We’ve got men posted on the rooftops and we will burn that building down to bring you out.”
“Where’s the child?” yelled Sugar.
He heard something then from behind the bar and turned slightly to greet it.
“Come out,” said the sheriff. “Toss out the guns and come out.”
“And what?”
“And nothing,” said the sheriff.
Sugar stepped forward and set himself at the edge of the bar’s window. The tables around him were still stacked with chairs, as if it were the end of the day. But the door had been unlocked and there was movement from within. So someone was in the room with him, or someones, and they were keeping to themselves, at least for now. He peeked around the edge of the glass and saw the sheriff standing there, alone, his gun held firm on the exterior of the bar.
Sugar examined the bottles lined up behind the bar, checking for reflection.
“Now,” said the sheriff.
“Don’t think I will,” said Sugar.
“We will burn you out,” said the sheriff.
“You may do that, but you’ll be burning whoever’s in here with me.”
“Who’s in there with you?” said the sheriff. His tone was flat, uncurious.
“Looks like a young child and two old men,” said Sugar.
“You’re a liar,” said the sheriff.
The bartender rose up then, his hands above his head.
“He’s not lying, Sheriff,” yelled the bartender.
Sugar trained a second gun on him.
“I believe you are in there, Lloyd, but not the child,” said the sheriff, from outside.
“You should believe him,” said Lloyd.
“Son of a bitch,” said the doctor, rising from behind the bar as well. He cast a punitive gaze at his feet then redirected his energy on Sugar.
“There is no child,” said the doctor.
“Roy?” said the sheriff.
“Yes,” said the doctor.
“It’s a little early,” said the sheriff.
“Bold words for the only man among the four of us who has failed to perform his job this morning,” said the doctor.
“I am doing my job,” said the sheriff.
“That’s enough,” said Sugar. “Bring me the child.”
“There is no child,” said the doctor.
“I can see her reflection in the glasses,” said Sugar.
Alice flinched but did not bring herself up.
“You are mistaken,” said the doctor.
“Bring her up and over here now or I will kill you both and fetch her myself.”