Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2012-11-26 01:01 am
ikissdhimbck) wrote2012-11-26 01:01 am
OOM: Buchel Bank & Trust, Cuero, TX -- 1888
The plan had been so simple.
Cuero's only about a five hour ride from Yorktown, across the Guadalupe by horseback. While the young Mr. Lehane, Mr. Adler, and Mr. Ferguson made themselves comfortable in Yorktown, Kate afforded two scouting trips. She only ever took Butch and Ace, her right-hand man and the lookout, leaving the other two to their devices. Folk remembered her — the young Mrs. Prudence Evans, whose husband the preacher was hoping to settle her somewhere kinder to her consumption — and Butch and Ace looked enough the part of two gentleman parishioners that nary an eye lingered in suspicion.
Everything was as it should be.
They were so confident.
It should have been easy.
11:17
on the morning of Saturday
JULY 28th
Kate's fine laced boots touch down in a shallow mud puddle. Beaut's skin twitches, and she sidles closer to Arrow, while Salty comes up on her right side. The mud draggles the blue skirts Kate wears on her way to the boardwalk. She's calm, and prim, hands gloved in brown leather, hair up in curls and bonneted. She enters the bank first, on business with Mr. Buchel.
The other boys will follow.
Cuero's only about a five hour ride from Yorktown, across the Guadalupe by horseback. While the young Mr. Lehane, Mr. Adler, and Mr. Ferguson made themselves comfortable in Yorktown, Kate afforded two scouting trips. She only ever took Butch and Ace, her right-hand man and the lookout, leaving the other two to their devices. Folk remembered her — the young Mrs. Prudence Evans, whose husband the preacher was hoping to settle her somewhere kinder to her consumption — and Butch and Ace looked enough the part of two gentleman parishioners that nary an eye lingered in suspicion.
Everything was as it should be.
They were so confident.
It should have been easy.
11:17
on the morning of Saturday
JULY 28th
Kate's fine laced boots touch down in a shallow mud puddle. Beaut's skin twitches, and she sidles closer to Arrow, while Salty comes up on her right side. The mud draggles the blue skirts Kate wears on her way to the boardwalk. She's calm, and prim, hands gloved in brown leather, hair up in curls and bonneted. She enters the bank first, on business with Mr. Buchel.
The other boys will follow.
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He’d had his concerns about the other men but really, everyone seems to be doing their part just fine. The money is theirs, they’ve got their escape route all lined up, it’s just a matter of finishing up in here and they’ll be on their way. He’ll get himself a real nice dinner tonight--and hey, he’s gotten a brand-new (or new to him, anyway) genuine Pinkerton gun. Won’t that make for a good story?
Oh, if only he could tell Sundance about all of this.
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He scans the shops in front of him. A woman with a young child clutching at her skirts moves slowly past, keeping her steps small to allow the boy to keep up. Two young men discussing the probability of work in Cuero lean up against a storefront, hands moving animatedly. The wind catches their voices intermittently so that Ace can only hear a word here and there.
Arrow drops her head and nudges at his pockets, clearly bored. Her tail swishes flies off her flanks with just a little more attitude than is really necessary and he turns half an eye to her, finding the ticklish spots under her chin and forelock where scratches will distract her from whatever trouble she's thinking of. The feeling of her breath on his fingers calms him as the woman and her child move out of range, the two young men (boys, really...) still talking. Across the way a lawman moves with a slow and purposeful gait in Ace's general direction.
His fingers freeze, and his breath with them. He can see the gun plain as day holstered low on the man's hip and knows what he's there for. Should he call out? Wait? The snakes come to life once more low down in his belly and the moments crawl past like molasses as the man comes closer, and closer still...
...and passes through the door to the apothecary, shutting it softly behind him. The tension moves out of Ace in one long wave and leaves his knees suddenly weak. Not coming for him, after all. They're still safe.
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"I knew it'd be somethin'. Look at it all, slicker'n a greased pig."
She touches his shoulder, with a smile meant for no one but him, and tucks her gun away so she can help fill bags.
"An' I've got you t'thank. For helpin' me with it all."
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And it’s something he’s better at than mucking out stalls; while that’s more honest, there’s certainly no excitement to it, not like this. And it certainly doesn’t have the same allure or give the same pride as being able to say that he went along on a bank robbery with Kate Barlow.
It’s just been a perfect trip, all round.
“Now, we just get to figure out how to spend it.”
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Kate smirks.
"Fancy hotels? A couple fine horses? Maybe a whole new wardrobe?"
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And by then, he’d probably have gone through all his money. Easy come, easy go.
(Little does he know he is about to meet the new mechanical love of his life...)
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She shakes her head at him. Not that it sounds like a half bad idea — she could do with a nice meal, and maybe a little celebratory drink. Maybe that's just the sort of thing they should do, once this is all over. She opens her mouth to say as much, but Ferguson's hollering has reached a new decibel. She looks up. Adler's watching the commotion, his weapon on Buchel and the Pinkerton as if it's an afterthought.
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"Shame that no account government muggins ain't on this side'a the fence, I'd split 'im clean open an' you fine ladies could use his entrails as glove warmers."
Both the men and women are shocked. Ferguson whirls on one employee, and delivers a swift kick to his side.
"What'd I tell you? Keep your ass sat down!"
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Kate's voice cuts through the raucity. She gives Adler a warning glare, nodding in the direction of his two hostages. She's beginning to wonder if the two are wholly sober.
Ferguson ignores her.
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This isn’t good. He’s seen men act like this before--this is why he normally just robs with his own gang, with men he knows and trusts. They’re close, so close to being done here, and everything’s gone so well so far--they just need to hold it together a little while longer, and they can be away and the tension will be gone.
“Hey, let’s everybody just stay calm,” he says.
Which goes for their men as well as for the hostages.
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Kate touches Butch's shoulder as she hauls herself back to her feet. His voice does seem to carry enough authority to salve some of the tension, but not at the source. With a nod, she gathers the gun he collected off the Pinkerton.
Coin clinks in the sack she abandons.
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He kicks the banker again, the toe of his boot landing squarely against his pelvis.
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This time the outlaw does stop, turning around to eye Kate as she storms around the counter, skirts in her hand so they won't catch her boots.
"I told you no violence! Yer jus' s'posed t'watch 'em an' keep 'em quiet."
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He narrows his eyes at her.
"Don't forget this isn't my first rodeo."
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Kate grits her teeth, fire and brimstone barreling from her eyes. The man will be all right, as far as she can tell, and so she keeps her focus on Ferguson.
"It seems t'slip your mind on a regular basis. I don't want any fuss here."
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There's a quick movement from behind him.
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But before she can say anything, that movement catches her attention. She looks around the other outlaw, seeing the man on the floor wriggle to lever a derringer from a vest pocket. Kate thrusts out her empty hand.
"No! Don't shoot!"
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The air splits.
People scream.
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Ace is absently adjusting Salty's bridle when the gunshot splits the sky, a crack that sounds like holy thunder in his ears. Salty and Beaut barely move, ears coming forward and heads rising but otherwise still. Arrow jumps and skitters backwards, hits the end of her tether and comes forward again with pinned ears to snap at Ace's arm.
The sharp pain of the bite jerks him out of his jackrabbit-frozen reverie. His eyes sweep the street frantically; he can't think that no one has noticed. He imagines stampedes of people, everyone hearing, everyone knowing. How can they not?
Across the street the two boys have stopped talking. Heads up, they glance in confusion around them as though trying to source the noise. An older gentleman with a wagonfull of dry goods has stopped and is doing the same thing. Ace whips his head around to the apothecary just in time to see the man he'd noticed earlier, the man who just about stank of law, open the door and poke out his head.
No time to think. Ace swallows, tries to force moisture enough into his dry mouth to speak and forces his knees to carry him the few steps to the building so he can poke his head inside the door. "Look alive, ma'am! There's lawfolk headed this way!"
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Is this the problem with hiring strangers? Is this just how most men are, and Butch’s carefully-chosen gang is some outlier? What is it about robbing banks that makes men turn violent?
It’s only money. Not worth a man’s life or his health.
“This wasn’t part of the plan!” Butch snaps, his usual easygoing manner gone, in favor of a grim determination as he hurries to stow the rest of the money in the sack.
They’re going to finish this and get out of here before anything else can go wrong.
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(Sam slumps against her, blood warm,
the sheriff crumples in his seat,
Doc hits the floor, stops breathing,
wet fireworks, a florid explosion.)
The moment passes, and quicker than anyone can react she's swinging her six, barrel warm in her hand. It connects with Ferguson's jaw with a wet thud. Gathering her skirts, she steps over him once he's on his knees.
"I think what y'meant t'say instead'a ‘ma'am’ was ‘boss’."
He groans as if her breath in his face pains him, hand clamped against his jaw. She's past him without a second glance, coming to her knees beside the wounded.
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Ferguson beats the floor, headache rising sharp behind his eyes.
The laughter has well and good stopped.
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The laughter may have stopped, but the screaming hasn't. A woman recoils from Kate as she ungloves her hands and reaches for the man's shoulder, leaving the gun in her lap. He's bleeding awful fierce and trembling.
"You're Kissin' Kate Barlow," he mumbles hollowly.
"Hush up," she says, the words directed at the woman.
She continues to wail.
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"Grab the bags!" he shouts at Lowe, fear turning to anger in his gruff voice.
He whirls on his two hostages, a startled Buchel and the wary Pinkerton, and debates shooting them right now.
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“You do that, you’ll regret it,” he says, quietly enough that only Adler can hear him, but in a tone that isn’t about to take any arguing. “Either in the hereafter, or here with me.”
This isn’t good. They need to get out, away from here. He glances to the poor injured man, hoping he’ll be okay.
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