A Hanging at Cinder Bottom by Glenn Taylor

Author:Glenn Taylor [Taylor, Glenn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tin House Books
Published: 2015-07-13T03:00:00+00:00

APRIL FOOLS’ HAS COME AND GONE

April 25, 1910

He’d walked the long way back to town in the darkest part of morning. He carried no lantern, for Sam had told of lawless night-men who made sport of shooting out fire from great distance. By the burn in his ears, he could tell that it was below thirty-five degrees. He walked from the woods to the creek bank and looked up at the chalk-white moon. It came free of the clouds, full as he’d ever seen. And though he thought his eyes deceived him at first, he held his stare and watched them descend—snowflakes, few and fitful. He reckoned summer had not come two months early after all, reckoned a Bibled man would tell him that snowflakes in April marked the coming apocalypse. He stuck out his tongue to catch one and in his mind was the word cosmoplast.

In his little room above the saloon, he took a powder for the ache in his head. He touched his fingers to the twin knots, still tender from the blows. When he touched them, a soft roar sounded way down deep in his ear canals, a deep-tunneled call, like a blast furnace. He touched and listened, touched and listened. He wondered at his own sanity then, wondered if he might follow the course of Jake, of the man in the flophouse doorway.

He shook it off and took stock of himself in order that he might be prepared for all that could come his way. Vest pockets, hidden pockets. Small money, big money. Nail-dagger, spur-trigger, lock-picker, nut-stabber. This time, his ritual worked. He shot his cuffs. No man could best Abe Baach.

At eight AM, he transacted at the telegraph office, sending coded word to Ben Moon and Tony Thumbs both, the latter with an indication of possible future travel.

At a quarter past eight, he stood out front of the Alhambra Hotel. Its face had stood the test of weather. A man was paid good money to once a day scrub down its bricks and wash its windows. It showed.

Railroad Avenue was peopled thick farther on at the station, but it was quiet at his present juncture. He’d half expected armed doormen on the hotel stairs. He stepped around the side of the building to see about the entrance there. Not a soul was guarding it. The awning under which he’d bumped Floyd Staples seven years prior still hung, bleached by sun and striped by dirty rain. A scabied cat scavenged a wad of newspaper spilling fish bones. Abe proceeded, aiming to see about the building’s rear. He spoke to the cat as he passed, holding his hand low for a sniff, but the cat showed its teeth. It sounded a hiss and then a low rumble.

No man stood at the building’s backside. It was only the double-bricked husk of the longest game of poker in the land.

He returned to the front of the building and opened the big door.

The lobby shined in straight dark lacquer. Abe nodded to the men at the tall front desk.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.