Hell to Pay by Butts J. Lee

Author:Butts, J. Lee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Beyond the Page
Published: 2016-04-25T00:00:00+00:00

11

"I'll kill you where you stand."

As the end of my life rapidly approaches, I've given the events that led me into murderous habits some considerable thought. Have come to the undeniable conclusion that nothing short of heavenly intervention could have stayed me from my appointment with destiny. Certainly not the incident in Mexia.

Yessir, if I had to suggest a single episode in the blood-drenched years between my birth and where I find myself now as an object lesson in how not to live out your days, Mexia might well be the worst of it. Hell, I'm pretty damned certain missionaries could use my Mexia tale as an example of how to scare kids back into the arms of the Lord.

The tiny settlement was no more than a wide spot in a dirt road when I arrived—kind of community most Texans would refer to as a Saturday afternoon town. Refers to one where folks gather on Saturday, but where there isn't much going on any other time of the week. A place so small, you could miss it even if you didn't blink. Looked like an outstanding spot to lay low at the time.

A bank, general mercantile, barbershop, livery, six-room hotel, café, four saloons, telegraph office, damn near nonexistent jail, and a church comprised the entire, whole, and complete hamlet. Total population couldn't have amounted to more than two or three hundred on the busiest market day of the year. Best of all, the nearest law was almost forty miles away in Waco.

I took the best room available at the Metropolitan Hotel. In spite of its impressive name, that's not saying a whole bunch. But it served a single traveler like me well enough. Discovered in pretty short order, from an overly friendly desk clerk named Tobias Greeb, that a nonstop poker game in the Palace Saloon drew semiskilled card benders and some fairly good money for the patient player.

Being as how I didn't have anywhere special to go, and had plenty of cash in my pockets, figured I could sleep till noon, have lunch across Front Street at the Crescent Café, play poker for a year, and still have change left even if I lost at every hand. And if the cards fell the way I actually expected, my stash of ready money would grow into an even larger pile for future use.

Morning after arriving, I strolled two doors down Front Street to the Palace for a gander. An elegant entrance was the grandest thing about the joint. Set of beautifully fashioned mahogany batwing doors greeted thirsty visitors.

Like many cow-country saloons, the Palace sported a fine-looking bar on the right side of a long narrow room. Tables and chairs sat on a rough-cut board floor and lined the left, no more than three or four steps away from easy access to the liquor. Sign over a separate area at the back of the room indicated it had once been reserved for dancing, but from all appearances, any available women had vamoosed for more rewarding climes.

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