When Big Nose Kate burst into the room, she expected to see two men in there. One, Cornelius Magnus, and the other, no doubt, his accomplice. How else could Mrs. Pearl been fooled into seeing her dead son?
But, no.
There was only Cornelius Magnus there in the dark room. Behind him, more of that black fabric with the gold five-pointed stars and planetary symbols and trails of dotted lines hung over the two windows. An open suitcase was on the bed and clothes were in his hands. He stood there motionless at the foot of the bed. She stood by the door, ready for his gawking look. Predictable. The brow knots at first as eyes focus and realize. Then the eyebrows raise. The forehead tightens. The eyes themselves swell, the whites thickening like a cooking egg. Then the bottom lip droops from the upper, hanging there dumb and limp. That was how it was whenever she met strangers. That was how it was when she first arrived in Esau three years ago. Especially before she could speak.
Yes, she thought. I am ugly, and my nose is gargantuan, but I am not the one who will look away. “I am demanding a refund,” she said, struggling against her humped back to stand as tall as she could. “$59.33. Cash Money. Paid to you by a Mr. Jesup Doolin.”
“You must be Big Nose Kate.”
Not many folks called her that these days. Maybe behind her back. But not to her face. Not when confronted by the Big Nose.
“Ms. Kate,” she said. “The town of Esau’s blacksmith.”
“My apologies. I was just repeating the epithet heard in the saloon. They spoke fondly of you Ms. Kate. High praises. Very professional.” A smile spread under the dark mustache. “You have such enrapturing eyes. The way they sit above your cheeks. Like a couple of sunrises over hills.”
She blushed and glanced to the floor, hiding within the long brim of her bonnet. “I believe Mr. Doolin paid you yesterday.”
“That he did.”
“He was drunk and desperate.”
“Yes. I remember. And it broke my heart.”
She tilted her head, peeking around the brim of the bonnet. He was standing right beside her. A flush of warmth coursed through her stooped body, like she took a shot of scotch. She moved away from him, seeking sanctuary at a nearby table, small and round, and picked up the bowl that rested on it.
“Looks like it is Indian made,” she said. “Pueblo? Apache? How did you come by it?”
The clay itself was white, but inside, along the bottom was a black raven. It stood in profile, painted with thin black lines. Concentric triangles ran along the curve of its spine and the swell of its belly. Its eye was a diamond with a tiny pupil in its center. She looked up when she heard footsteps.
Cornelius Magnus looked down at her. He was so much taller than her. She was like a child next to him. And he smelled of oranges. Not what she expected. What did she expect? Smoke, whiskey, and dirt, like all the other men in Esau. Sour. Sweaty. There was only a small amount of sweat around his armpits, horseshoes of purple on the lavender button-up. His hand was white and soft looking. Not like hers. Browned. Callous-ridden. Fingers short and fat.
“The bowl is an antique,” he said, his hand held open in front of her. “Very dear to me.”
Kate gave him the bowl and gazed up into his eyes. Dark, dark eyes. His lips still stretched in a warm smile beneath the dark mustache. “Yes, Mr. Doolin was so distraught because he couldn’t find his money, but I was able to help him. He told me it was $70, though. The scamp.”
She blinked, glaring at the back of his greasy head as he carried his Indian bowl over to the suitcase.
“You told him where I hid it?” She asked. “How on earth did you know?”
“Professional secrets.”
“I demand a full refund of Mr. Doolin’s fifty nine dollars and thirty-three cents.”
Cornelius pulled the black linens from the windows. Sunlight poured in. A flood of brilliant light that was far too much for Kate’s eyes to drink in. Her hard stare broke when she blinked.
Dr. Magnus, a blurry silhouette in Kate’s vision, neatly folded his drapery, set the bowl safely within the folds, and packed all of it into his suitcase. “I do not give refunds.” He fetched more things from the wardrobe behind him and stowed them as well. Kate could not see what kind of items.
“But, you are leaving,” she said, squinting through the gaps between her fingers of the hand that she raised to shade her face. “Leaving you incapable of performing the service, which, frankly, Mr. Magnus…”
“Doctor, if you please, ma’am.” He slammed shut the lid of the suitcase and snapped the two brass latches closed.
“You are no doctor,” she said, following his sandhill crane-like movements as he picked up his suitcase, walked from the foot of the bed, passing in front of her to the wall on the left (no longer was he back lit by the sun filled windows, but dulled in shadow) where his snow white suit jacket and top hat hung on a coat rack. “And your services are nothing but a ruse! But either way, if you are not present then you can not render the sham that you were paid for. Therefore, it is only fair that you refund Mr. Doolin.”
Suitcase on the ground, he unrolled his purple sleeves. “And I thought we were becoming friends.”
“Most certainly not.”
“All the more reason to deny your reimbursement then.” He donned his hat.
“It wasn’t Mr. Doolin’s money to give. I earned that money through honest work, while he has been out searching the empty mines! That is our money he spent! All we had to live on!”
He could only glance at the blazing suns that were Kate’s eyes. “That is a sad tale, Ms. Kate. But it is Mr. Doolin that has hurt you. Not me.” He moved to the door, turned the knob, opened it, was about to step through, but then closed it. “Could I perhaps interest you in a séance?”
“The gall!” She stomped her foot and glared at the wall beside her.
“No, you misunderstand. In lieu of Mr. Doolin, why don’t you partake of the purchased service? Put your money toward your desire. Is there someone you would like to speak with? A dearly departed? Or perhaps something you would like to know? A prophecy? A glimpse into the Future? Maybe there’s something cloudy concerning your Past? Something that you need assistance recollecting?”
Kate saw a gleam in the man’s eyes. A knowing kind of sparkle deep in the dark orbs. Folks talk. No doubt he was aware of her unorthodox arrival to the town of Esau.
“Do not tempt me, Mr. Magnus. I would love to witness your occultish ritual just so I can prove it all hogwash. But, right now, I wish nothing more than to be rid of your presence.”
He stared at the door. The curls of his mustache wiggling as he chewed on his bottom lip. “At least take my stock of Thaumaturgical Tincture. I am sure it remains on the Hotel porch. It has done me little good. But, perhaps the sales could return some of the loss incurred by Mr. Doolin’s unfortunate actions.”
He opened the door.
“Dr. Cornelius Magnus.” Sheriff Bull Pearl stood in the hall. He was as tall as the swindling medium, and with his thick shoulders, boxy head, and the way the brim of his Stetson hat curled up along the sides, it was easy to see how he came about his name. “You are going to have to come with me.”
“Am I under arrest, Sheriff?”
Kate stepped behind Cornelius, seeing horseshoes of sweat permeating the armpits of the white suit jacket.
“You made my wife cry with your conjurations,” the Sheriff said.
“Only at her request.”
The Sheriff narrowed his small eyes, sharp as slivers of glass.
Dr. Magnus pulled at his own collar. “She was the one with the gun, sir.”
“And I have two. Bigger ones.”
“It is not right what you are doing. An abuse of that bronze star.” Dr. Magnus glanced back at Kate with pleading eyes.
“Would you prefer that I break your jaw?” The Sheriff growled.
“No. That I would not. Am I to be detained?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long?”
“Till I’m no longer wanting to stomp you into livermush.”
“Could you coax him into refunding me my cash money?” Kate asked the Sheriff.
“I’ll see what I can do, Ms. Kate,” Sheriff Bull tipped his hat to her. “After you, Mr. Magnus.”
Kate smirked when Dr. Magnus didn’t correct the Sheriff and then said, “There was another. An accomplice I am assuming.”
“Where?” The Sheriff’s large hand grabbed hold of Dr. Magnus’ neck, yanking him back into the room.
“In this room.” she said.
“Elmore, my assistant, is outside somewhere,” Dr. Magnus said, trying to pull himself free of Bull Pearl’s grip. “Not in here.”
“Not Elmore,” Kate said. “Someone else. Had a clappy, slapping kind of voice. I heard them before I entered.”
“There is no one else.”
“Check inside the wardrobe.”
Sheriff Bull shoved the huckster against the wall by the open door and let him go. Dr. Magnus rubbed the back of his neck, as the Sheriff sauntered over to the wardrobe, the floorboards bowing and groaning under his boots. He opened the wardrobe doors. “No one.”
“Because there is no one else here,” Dr. Magnus said.
“Under the bed,” Kate said.
The Sheriff stepped toward the bed. “Come on out if you are under there. If you make me kneel, I will shoot you.” He looked to Kate.
“Like I said.” Dr. Magnus clutched the suitcase. “She is mistaken.”
She frowned. “I heard them, Sheriff. His accomplice has to be under there.”
Sheriff Bull lowered slow, same as any bovine with a lot of heft to let down. The bed creaked as he braced against the mattress, his knee eventually touching the floor, then the other. Then he lifted the bed skirt. “Ain’t no one under here.”
Kate huffed, stomping her foot. “I know what I… Sheriff!”
Cornelius Magnus was gone.
He didn’t get far, however. Sheriff Bull had a Deputy waiting in the lobby and another around back. Dr. Magnus was picked up when he tried to sneak out the kitchen door.
The townsfolk of Esau streamed out of the saloon upon witnessing Cornelius Magnus being dragged down the dusty street by the Sheriff’s two deputies. They laughed and pointed and encouraged the Sheriff to give him special attention. Kate followed in the crowd, her knees aching from her efforts of keeping a straight posture. She ended up hobbling along after everybody like a three-legged coyote.
Once at the Sheriff’s Office, Sheriff Bull Pearl turned around and told all the townsfolk to go about their business. They, of course, groaned, wanting to see a show, most of them imagining a good old fashioned tar and feather situation, but eventually they all went back to the saloon. Kate, however, shouldered her way through the current of the crowd onto the porch of the office. Sheriff Bull was about to enter through the door, but turned around.
“Ms. Kate?”
She straightened as best as she could. “He still has my money.”
“You made a purchase?”
“Mr. Doolin. He paid for a séance that Mr. Magnus, I assume, will not be able to perform this evening.”
“Correct,” he said. “I believe Mr. Magnus will be disinclined to render the services paid for.” He stepped aside, holding the door for her.
Upon entering, she heard the jail cell clank shut, and, as soon as she saw the huckster behind the iron bars, a grin dug itself into her cheek. In the center of the office, in front of the jail cell, Sheriff Bull dropped the suitcase on the table and opened it, rummaging through the contents. Kate walked around him, past the two deputies as they moved from the cell to the table to aid the Sheriff in examining the innards of the suitcase.
“Mr. Doolin forged these bars,” she said, tapping her fingernail on the cold iron.
“I’m sure the craftsmanship is masterful,” Dr. Magnus was too concerned with all the hands rifling through his belongings to really pay her any attention. He gripped the bars. “Please tell your Deputy to be careful with my bowl. It’s priceless.”
“It’s only an Indian bowl,” the Deputy said. This one had a mustache that was like a broom, covering his entire mouth. He walked over to the window to study it in the sunlight. “That supposed to be a Crow?” He fumbled the Indian pottery, but caught it just inches from shattering on the floor.
“For God’s sake, man!” Dr. Magnus begged.
“Give it here, Deputy,” Sheriff Bull said.
Deputy Broomstache cradled the bowl with two hands and walked back to the table, his eyes fixated on the bowl, yet stumbled on a loose floorboard. Dr. Magnus swore. Kate smiled. And the Sheriff took the bowl from the Deputy.
“It’s only an Indian bowl,” the Deputy mumbled through his mustache.
Sheriff Bull placed the bowl on his desk which was situated over in the corner, where, when he sat behind it, he could see the front door and the jail cell. Kate moved to the table, seeing the pile of clothes and the empty suitcase. She found a pocket in the suitcase and dug around in it.
There was a knock at the door.
The second Deputy, who wore a handlebar mustache so long that its ends dangled well below his narrow chin, answered it. “It’s the baggage boys from the Hotel, Sheriff. They brought all of the conman’s swill.”
The two traveling trunks were outside. A handful of the Hotel boys gathered around them. They had one of the trunks open and were inspecting the Thaumaturgical Tincture, that is, till the fattest of the boys uncorked a bottle, sniffed, and immediately retched. They shut that trunk mighty quickly.
Sheriff Bull Pearl was about to speak when Kate answered. “He gave it all to me.”
“Is that true Mr. Magnus?” The Sheriff asked.
Dr. Magnus laid on the little cot in the jail cell. He waved a careless hand. “Do whatever you want with it.”
“Dump the contents,” Kate said, removing a dingy envelope from a pocket sewn into the fabric of the suitcase. The envelope read: To Cornelius Magnus, for future augural services desired by Jesup Doolin. She opened it.
“What do we do with all the glassware?” Deputy Handlebar asked, still standing at the open front door.
“I take it Ms. Kate doesn’t want it,” Sheriff Bull said. “See if they will take it at the saloon. A donation from Mr. Magnus to amend for the trouble he’s caused our fair town.”
“Doctor,” Dr. Magnus mumbled from the cot.
“There is only $3 here,” Kate growled, marching toward the cell, holding the one dollar bills up for the prisoner to see.
“The Faro dealer was unkind to me,” Dr. Magnus said. His eyes were closed.
Kate grabbed hold of the bars and spat on his face (needing, of course, to angle her face up so she wouldn’t spit on the underside of her own huge nose). “You would think that a prognosticator would have an advantage,” she said.
“You have proved me a fraud.” He wiped the spittle from his cheek. “Are you not satisfied?”
She bared her teeth like a dog, shaking with anger. Dr. Magnus scooted backwards along his bed, his back against the wall farthest from the bars. A massive hand laid on Kate’s humped back. “I think it’s best that you leave, Ms. Kate,” Sheriff Bull said.
“He must have the rest of it hidden somewhere else,” she shook off the Bull’s hand. “Where is it?”
“In the hands of the Faro dealer,” Dr. Magnus said. “Take it from him.”
“Check his person!”
“Kate,” Sheriff Bull tried a gentle hand, but when Big Nose Kate wouldn’t let go of the bars, he applied a little more force. He picked her up at the elbows, pulled her grip free of the iron, and lifted her so that her boots floated several feet above the floor. He carried her out to the porch and set her down gently. “Go home, Ms. Kate.”
He closed the door behind him after going back inside.
Kate stood there on the dusty street, watching the Hotel boys (they pinched their noses or held their breath) pouring bottle after bottle of the Thaumaturgical Tincture in a hole they dug there alongside the Sheriff’s Office. They stacked the empty bottles inside the traveling trunks. Chink. Chink. Chink. A metronome, of a kind, accompanying the bubbling hum that came from across the street, from behind the general store, that drifted out of the lazy waters and up the steep banks of the river, Twist of Fate.
Jesup Doolin woke up late. His head hurt and he thought he should lay off the drinking, but his mouth was dry and, though there was a bucket of water in the kitchen, the four ounces at the bottom of his whiskey bottle there on his bedside table possessed more appeal.
The whiskey went down rough. He gasped as if he swallowed fire. Next, he checked his pocket watch that was also there on his bedside table.
Three o’clock and with sunshine coming through the tiny window in his room. He took another sip of whiskey. It burned like a smoldering coal in his belly. He was desperate for that water in the kitchen. Standing up out of the bed, he stumbled down the short hall into the kitchen
A crash came from the open air shop outside. Metal on metal. Agan and again. The terrible clanging split Mr. Doolin’s head in two. He flung open the door to the open air shop. “What in blue blazes?”
Kate was out there. In a dress. Wearing a bonnet. She rarely wore them. She flung a pair of tongs across the shop, which collided with a row of hammers hanging on the wall. Three of the seven hammers fell.
“Stop that!” Mr. Doolin hollered, holding his head.
“$3! That’s all we have left.”
He squinted. It felt like one of those hammers was pounding on his head.
“Blasted Faro!” She threw a file. Only two hammers remained hanging on the wall.
“Stop throwing the tools!”
Kate’s molten eyes burned through him, scalding his naked soul. “Cornelius Magnus is in jail.”
“What?”
“That’s right Mr. Doolin. The man you spent all our money on is in jail. So much for your research.”
Mr. Doolin pinched the bridge of his nose. It was far too bright, even in the shade of the shop. “How? Why?”
“Because he swindled the wrong person.”
“But what about the séance tonight? I already paid for it.”
“Mr. Magnus does not offer refunds.”
“You met him? That’s why you are all gussied up. You met with him.”
“Trying to get our money back!” Kate was over by the anvil. Her hands on the order for the leather working shop she had just finished yesterday. A set of awls. “And now we only have $3. Three dollars to pay the rent. Three dollars to pay the credit at the general store. Three daggum dollars to pay your tab at the saloon!” She pounded her fists on the anvil, rattling the awls. “How did he know where I hid the money?”
Mr. Doolin blinked. “If you had not met with him, then we still would have had the séance. Would have learned where that gold vein was.”
One of the awls spun through the air like a dagger, right at his cherry nose. He ducked and it stuck in the wooden post behind him. She marched off.
Stars filled the night sky when Mr. Doolin’s headache finally dissipated. He put his hat on and stepped out the door. Their last three dollars were in his pocket. He looked across the dark yard to the livery stable, at the shadowed double doors of the hayloft. Kate was up there. No doubt. That’s where she went when she was upset. He started off in that direction, but stopped among the shadows caught in the carriages and wagons.
Give it to the morning, he thought. She may sleep it off.
He spun back around. Halted again.
She does not let anything go. I have to be a man about this. Talk it out. Come to an understanding.
He turned back toward the stable, started walking, cleared the carriages, and was about to open the stable door.
After I go see Dr. Magnus, he told himself.
He pivoted and walked out of the yard. Over the bridge. Along the darkened curves of the street. Frogs croaked and the river ran. He knocked on the door to the Sheriff’s Office and let himself inside.
Deputy Broomstache was asleep, leaned back in a chair. His head against the wall. Boots on the Sheriff’s desk. It was only the one room and the one lantern, set on a stool, flickering in the little jail cell across from Mr. Doolin. Cornelius Magnus’ hair shined like a bowling ball and shadows danced in the curlicues of his mustache.
“I’ve come for the séance I’ve paid for, Dr. Magnus.”
“Mr. Doolin. What a surprise.” Dr. Magnus laid on the cot, his eyes closed. “At least you honor my title.”
Mr. Doolin rattled the bars.
“What?” Dr. Magnus moaned.
“I’ve paid for your service, Dr. Magnus.”
“Your point?”
“I do not see how a jail cell would hinder you.”
“My desire is all that is hindering. Leave.”
“Please. I gave you all we had. I need to find some gold.”
Deputy Broomstache snored in the corner.
“Ms. Kate. How is she?” Dr. Magnus asked, sitting up.
“Mad as a hornet.”
“She does not seem the type to sulk.”
“No, sir.”
The doctor twirled the curly cue of his dark mustache. “Get me out of here and I will perform the séance.”
“No, sir. Perform the séance and then I will let you out.” A smile spread between his bristly jowls.
Dr. Magnus sighed. “I need my bowl. Over there. On the Sheriff’s desk.”