Chapter Text
Somewhere, it was August. That’s how the man always starts it. Something about the sun coming over buildings - nothing ever so big as the city.
It was hot - not like it is to him now. What’s he thinking? What’s his brain doing in the cold?
She always used to say something about how you're never gonna know a person as they were before they met you, cause you met them. They're different cause of you.
He coughs.
"You alright?"
What was she like before? He's been guessing, really. Thinking of all the years before, but it's getting more impossible. At best, he can try for the minutes before he walks in, letting the sun in on her face. Just the first moment of seeing her, when she didn’t catch his eye yet. That was her before him.
It's too damn cold in here.
There's the creaking of a wood panel, there's the man in his wrinkles saying something. A man blinking in the doorway.
"You sayin something?"
A name. He coughs again.
"...You want me to go and get her?"
He nods and waves. Can't have a pretty name without the pretty girl.
Time doesn't move here. That's a good thing, probably. If he looks to see another gray hair.
"Princesa, gotta-get me the mirror."
He sniffs.
"...I was just gonna go and get her."
"Then go and get her."
Why ain't nobody listening to him? Just go...can't have a pretty name without the pretty girl. No grey hairs.
Never mind, time should be moving - how can you get to him otherwise?
It was August, it's August now. But it wasn't far away.
The man goes and reaches out a hand. Eyes watch. Birds go ahead and chirp.
XX
You shouldn't have picked this dress. You're gonna get drink all over it. But at least it’ll be refreshing for how hot it is. You wipe your forehead. At least there’s only one or two customers to see you sweat.
"Stop looking at your chest, missy.”
You feel your cheeks burn. No, not today - none of that worry today. If it isn’t good worry, no point in having it at all. You have to believe that, even when you can’t help but ring your hands together.
“I’m not! I’m just trying to get the whiskey out of my dress.”
Darla’s head lowers.
“It would be better if you were wearing your working dress, nothing of this lace. You know what Fring is gonna say?”
Nothing. That’s how you know you’ll be in real trouble.
It’s black velvet and lace. Sleeves at your elbows and a neckline that scoops, nothing for working at the saloon. It’s what you would’ve worn to the dance, but now it’s something that’s gonna get you in trouble. You’ll say if you want to make the best of it, this being your biggest problem really is no problem at all. Simple days, even if they get your cheeks heated.
“Let me see the shoes.”
You do, knowing that there’s nothing you can say to convince Darla that you don’t look like some mess of a woman coming into work. You pull up the hem of your dress.
“My girl, you’ve got those shoes the women up in Persia wear. Ain’t no way your daddy coulda bought that on his own.”
You sniffle. No, he couldn’t have. But you’ll be working much harder with the money you spent for them on your own.
“I bought them.”
“...Missy, my girl - that is not a good…the term. Lyle - what’s the term?”
“You mean budgeting?”
Lyle, light in his hair, turns to both of you. He cleans a glass in his hand. Somebody comes stumbling on the stairs behind him. The dark wood of the building always has you thinking it’s an hour later then it is. Maybe you should be cleaning the windows if that’s the case.
“Yes! Your funds. You should be saving up. You had good shoes. It’s not like you’re going anywhere to be wearing anything that ain’t your working shoes.
You sniffle again, something coming over you. You allot upon calling them nerves, you were learning about that the other day in a book Lyle gave you. Medicine. You don’t know what you’re doing learning about it, but reading something while you’re making a dress badly makes you feel you’re working the day off.
“...I just thought they looked pretty, is all.”
“You talkin’ about Paris, Darla. Please, just leave the girl alone.”
“They ain’t the same thing?”
You wish your leather and lace shoes weren’t something to argy over.
You pick up a glass, cleaning the mouth over when Darla decides to help the stumbler by pushing him out. The sun hits you for just a second until the doors swing back. “My shift is almost over, isn’t it? I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get home, but I think I’ll be talking to Mr. Fring to give me more time.
“Unfortunately. But you know he’d want you around for work. There’s never enough of a worker. And hey, you alright?”
You nod. “Of course?”
“I know. But you know…can’t have Darla running you out.”
You scratch your wrist in the cleaning.
“No, no. Trust me, Lyle. I can handle. Something said about my shoes isn’t enough to leave the only place that’ll take me.”
Lyle makes a face, he pulls all the parts of it in the middle and wipes something on his unbuttoned vest.
“Lot’s of places would take you.”
“...Maybe, but not one of those schools out to the left of the country that would love to have you.”
You feel bold. Simple talk you would’ve never had with anybody the first time coming here, especially not a boy. But coming into the routine, the people coming in and out - Lyle and Mr. Fring…it’s easier, you only worry about everything else now.
“Please, Missy, you know I’m only fit for here. This town.”
“I wouldn’t know how to live anywhere that wasn’t by a river.”
You wonder if Daddy is still home.
Lyle smiles and sets the glass down. He wipes his neck. He’s a good sort of friend and you wish you were better being one to him.
“Well, if you stay long enough, maybe you’ll come around to showing up to one of the dances. Only if you want, of course - I am perfectly able to be a bar dog with you.”
You don’t know why you haven’t accepted anything like going out with him or Darla, coming around to other saloons, like the one not too far that serves Ice Beer. Drinking down like that, you can’t because there needs to be a clean person in the house and you know it won’t be your father. But you don’t have to spend your days being odd with your heart, all your thoughts. Worrying too much and then just going home after work to do nothing.
“I-”
The sun hits you again and just by the way the door swings gently, you know it’s not a patron.
“Afternoon, Mr. Fring.”
He pushes up his glasses, dark and leather vest buttoned up over his cuffed shirt. His tie is tucked in and his small hat is off before the door swings back. He’s always so clean, hard-eyed. You guess that’s what it takes to be an Auger.
Your heart beats fast against your chest when he steps forward. Eyes don’t move. You sniffle and swallow.
You’ll call yourself stupid for the way you can’t get past the way he can stare, all those nerves.
You press your nail against your palm when Mr. Fring’s eyes give you a simple up and down.
“I saw those shoes in Red River. I believe that dress was supposed to have to have a collar along with it.”
…Oh.
“Ye-yes. But I couldn’t afford.”
Mr. Fring doesn’t blink.
“You can be off now.” He hands the saloon key to Lyle. “You’ll be the one closing up.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Your eyes can only meet the floor when Mr. Fring goes up the stairs, door clicking closed in the middle of the second story.
You’re not in trouble, if only for your lack of what you can buy.
“He seems to be in a good mood today.”
Your hands curl. “I guess I’ll be off.”
“Right. But…if you ever want to try ice beer. Course, you can bring another lady friend - Darla, make it a thing.”
Another friend. It’s embarrassing how the words sink you. You smooth over the waist of your dress, feeling the velvet.
“Maybe, Lyle.”
You take your carpetbag from the counter. You’ll just try and enjoy your early day, a walk from the town to the river. Simple days with nowhere to go, you’ll feel worried and wrong that your life isn’t moving, then feel wrong for thinking too hard for a girl.
“Alright then, I’ll see ya.”
“Bye, missy!”
“See ya, Darla.”
You’ll remember to not wear these shoes ever again.
You sniffle, going to walk out into the sun - just before it hits you again.
The door in front of the swing doors opens, then the swing doors swings. Light comes in.
It’s just black eyes in front of the sun, a red scarf hiding the rest of this man.
Your mouth parts, stepping back. It’s the eyes that get you, black under a dark straight rimmed hat - a long duster coat that looks too warm for today. A vest is buttoned loosely over a collared shirt. You see dark waves under his hat.
Nerves wash over you and your heart beats quickly from simply looking at him. And you don’t know how long you’ve been looking at this man until you only notice there’s another man behind him after you’ve noticed the gun.
Darla screams.
“Hey now, this-” You hear Lyle say your name, but every call still has you frozen - just looking at this man who holds a gun against you. “You get out of here.”
It’s Lyle trying to be loud. The man, this man with the gun, tilts his head. You watch his breathing slow as yours quickens.
Now you’ve realized that even if his eyes take you, it’ll be the gun that hurts.
“Hola.”
His voice. It’s warm. Low - he’s not from here, it strikes you the way you hope a bullet doesn’t.
“Good afternoon. Nacho - get out your gun, you know what to do, huh?”
It’s a man who covers his face with a brown necktie that comes in with his gun, pointing it at a terrified Darla - you try and turn to see what’s happening because what’s happening? But you jolt at someone holding your chin.
“It’s okay. You’re not gonna bite the ground today, miss.”
You don’t want to, you don’t want to feel what you’re feeling, but people are screaming and shouting and you think that man he sent in is shouting. And there’s a gun to your stomach.
“Some place you got here. Nothin’ like a doggery.”
You swallow every question and all your confusion when he puts the gun in his holster.
“What’s your name?”
You sputter it out and it’s where you realize you’re shaking. The man looks you over, but you just watch where his gun is, until he takes your chin again.
There’s this…buzz, just in your head. It comes to your chest when he says your name.
“I’m Lalo, that’s my friend Nacho - and we’re not here for money. We just wanna talk to your boss. The big man.”
The man, Lalo - Lalo with dark eyes and a soft voice against his gun, he looks up. “That must be his place up there, hm? That’s all we’re here for.”
“Stop fucking screaming! You can go and get your boss.”
You watch the other man point his gun at Darla, looking at Lyle. “And I know you’ve got a gun down there. Try it and you’re not leaving this place.”
“Mr. Fring! Mr. Fring!”
“You see? This is gonna be easy for all of you, you can go home…hey.”
The words, first they’re a fake sort of soothing, like Lalo’s making sure you don’t scream or cry like Darla does. But his last word, it’s as if he’s going ahead and realizing something.
He takes your shoulders and this is the first time a man has ever touched you like this. It’s pooling over you, a buzz in your hot panic.
“I’m just here to tell him something. That’s it…you’re something else.”
“I-I-please don’t do anything.”
“I’m not gonna do anything, sweet thing. Not to you.” You shudder and shake when a hand takes your cheek. Fingerless gloves and hot…hot hands.
Why is he doing this? Why are you feeling like this?
“You’ve seen yourself? Can’t…how long have you been working here?”
“Don’t do an-”
“I ain’t gonna do nothing to you.”
Your eyes glance at a stare. Nacho staring hard. And under it all, you can hear a creak of the door. Everyone looks up.
“Fring…Chicken Brothers saloon. Really? It sounds worse in English.”
Mr. Fring doesn’t have a look of anything on his face.
“Put down your guns. The police will be notified.”
“Notified? What-” Lalo scratches his chin. “I’ve heard word of something called a telephone that has people getting to talk to each other from one place to another. But here, what? You just throw a rock as far as you can to the police station?”
Mr. Fring doesn’t say anything.
“Leave. Now.”
“Not until we talk. Nacho, point your thing to him.”
Nacho points his gun up.
“Nothing will happen today. I have no reason to know you. I don’t know who you are. You want money?”
“Please…don’t do anything, please.”
You beg still. Just to try, just because you can’t do anything else.
But then it’s just silence, a breath on your neck.
“Take a step forward for me, huh?”
“Lalo-”
Lalo shushes the higher, harder voice of his friend.
“Just one, then. If you don’t want me to do anything.”
You do, it’s all of your body and tears silently fall as you make one step.
You gasp when a hand comes on your waist.
“Good, then just a couple more. You know what, Fring? Yeah, I just want money tonight.”
“What, Lal-”
“Nothing is wrong with a change of plans, Ignacio.”
…Ignacio sounds more like a name. You swallow and sniffle and shake.
“Just one more.”
And you take another under his touch, feeling like this is wrong. That it’s happening and that it’s warm in your stomach. No. You don’t want this, what’s going on?
“Just take some money out of the cash drawer. That’s it.”
You look up at Mr. Fring, you don’t want to do anything wrong.
“What are you lookin’ at him for?”
You shiver.
Mr. Fring nods.
You reach for the register, Lyle helps you open it and gives you as much as his hands can.
You feel your fingers brush Lalo’s giving him the money.
“Good girl. You don’t gotta ask anybody to do anything.”
And you think that’ll be the last of your nerves, that he’ll let you go. But Lalo lifts the cash in the air. “Later then, Fring.”
And he holds your hand.
“Lalo…let’s go then.”
He doesn’t let go and you can’t pull away. It feels wrong that you can’t.
That you don’t want to.
“Lalo.”
And your name is said just after, Lyle calling out to you the way Ignacio calls out to Lalo.
You don’t know how long you both ignore them. The black finally blinks away.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Lalo lets go. He walks out quickly and the swing doors slam open with Ignacio running out first.
“Hey, you alright? That wasn’t - sit down. Mr. Fring! We gotta get the sheriff!”
Lyle’s hand on your shoulder feels like nothing.
When you realize you weren’t breathing, you only take the deepest, hardest breaths. You can’t hear the screaming or the questions, just your breathing against your heart.
Wind finally picks up. You watch all the cash Lalo grabbed in the air, like it was thrown.