Welcome To The Bullpen
Thirteen Turns
By Kevin Blake
Torn between sleep and awareness Wyncock awoke to the now daily pounding of his sweat soaked temples announcing yet another headache for which there was no cure. Time, too many bone jarring days and nights aboard a four legged hurricane chasing every damned tribe known to the Almighty and all the horrors that came with it plus old man booze were taking more than their pound of flesh.
Manipulating his fellow mans’ sympathy had become an almost daily habit with Wyncock. Bumming drinks by embellishing his life’s story to anyone who would listen was now his game. It was always worth a drink or two from the naive new to town and guaranteed at least for an hour or two that he was the center of attention.
Wyncock, rising slightly to an elbow from his bunk in the adjoining cell, yawned and looked at Jensen in a knowing way. Rising, he sighed and exclaimed, “What’s for grub?”
As was his habit of late, Wyncock had slept through the supper hour.
Jensen stepped back from the window, the oily smoke from his just finished cigar following him like a fog back into the stultifying dead air of the cell. The jailer Tobes had given him the cigar earlier in the day.
Jensen, without turning said only, “same as always”. Wyncock, sighing again, started his nightly soliloquy that Jensen knew by heart. “Can’t wait for to get out of here next month.” Wyncock, lately a swamper by trade but town drunk by choice had pushed the law a little too far last time, not that he had remembered. Twelve days after today would find him free to return to his life such as it was. He had come to ask no more of himself.
Wyncock turned and gazed through the wall of bars they shared. Jensen knew what Wyncock was thinking as his next door cellmate looked at the platform now completed, still slightly illuminated by the last glow of the falling sun into dusk.
Thirteen hours. After nine tomorrow morning he would know nothing else; not of this cell or Wyncock not that there was more to learn of him, not this town or Tobes, Preacher Job, anyone or thing. Jensen had often wondered if that was the sky pilots’ real name. The sin twister had been faithful in his appointed rounds since the trials’ conclusion two week ago. Only thirteen hours. Job had ask him the first time and with each subsequent visit if he had repented. Jensen had repented but he could never answer the preacher when asked if he believed.
Suddenly, the hall door opened announcing the arrival of Tobes following his routine. Eight p.m. was the last round for Tobes for the night. “Anyone gotta go?” Tobes asked as he wiped the bitter plug juice from his mustache never looking directly as either of his charges.
Wyncock replied with gruffness in his voice that confirmed his irritation of being asked, “What fer?” “Missed supper and this here establishment don’t serve the good stuff” Tobes visibly stiffened at the remark and now stared at the old Indian fighter. It was enough that Wyncock constantly harangued him sunup to sundown but to insult his wife’s cooking was a new low.
“As God is my witness what did I ever do to have to put up with an old coot like you? “Now shut up and settle down”. Wyncock, grinning started to retort but Tobes shifted his stare from Wyncock and softened his eyes as he gazed upon Jensen.
“What you want for breakfast kid?” “Does it matter?” was the reply. Tobes immediately thought to himself, probably not, and said resignedly, “Then trout and eggs with coffee as always”. Jensen did not reply.
Tobes continued on, “You’re gonna maybe get a visitor later on Kid.” With that Wyncock dropped his grin as his head snapped around, his eyes stopping first on Jensen and then Tobes. “Molson!” Wyncock spat it out in a disgusted wince. From Tobes expression came confirmation. Wyncock knew he had guessed right. “Damm, didn’t think he had the nerve!”
Tobes, still looking at Jensen replied “If I know Molson he’s over at his favorite watering hole right now lodin’ up on some of that nerve as you call it! Wyncock returned to looking at the lengthening street shadows through his share of the cell window.
Tobes taking a bead on the spittoon, walked to the end of the corridor and picking up the crude handmade stool he proceeded to pull up a seat in front of Jensen’s cell door. In an uncharacteristic voice he asked, “How’d you get here kid?”
With that, Wyncock again snapped his head around his body following and balled his hands into fists to stare at Tobes. “Does it matter?” was Jensen’s reply. He never moved.
Wyncock, sweat now running off his nose and cheeks and almost in a rage roared out. “Fer Christ sake Tobias, leave him alone!” “Ain’t he suffered enough?” Tobes continued to look at Jensen and stated “ Not fer some”. “Molson has been making sure of that.” Tobes asked the question again this time with a quivering softness in his voice and a pleading look in his eye. Jensen knew he owed Tobes an explanation. Tobes had been a good friend to him ever since this mess had started. Tobes had gone out of his way at the trial and since for him.
In a flash, it had come back to him. It began thirteen years ago in a fourth street parlor in Abilene. Circumstances had forced him to make a decision and he had chosen poorly. A God fearing Christian family from Indiana with roots from Pennsylvania had raised him. He had been raised to know right from wrong, moral from immoral. Nightly Bible readings had instilled in him that the plowshare was mightier than the sword so why had he chosen the sword? The sword in this case being a Patterson .36 brought into play by too much whiskey and hooraying and a friend’s honor that needed to be defended. Ever since then he had been on the run.
From there he had spent the next two years hiding, never trusting anyone, never trusting his own self control. In those two years he had lost all contact with his old friends he used to ride with at the KBL. Two years of floating, staying away from all the towns and rail stops and sheriffs. He had turned rustler now and then in order to stay alive. Odd jobs along the way had helped. When he felt people were asking too many questions or were looking at him sideways, he upped and left unannounced whether his help was needed or not. Yes, during those two years he lost contact with his family as well. He had often wondered if they knew. He felt branded. In that two years he had hardened, withdrawing so deep within himself the he became lost. To look at him you would never know that something, almost everything deep down inside was gone.
Rustling, card sharpin’, stealing from a sodbuster’s farm. Why? For what purpose? He had been scared and stayed scared for two years. But he hadn’t changed for the better.
‘77 had been a hell of a year. It was a worse version of the previous two. He shouldn’t pick friends while drinking. He’d met Colson at a hell -hole mining camp tent bar. Two days of constant imbibing found him and Colson battered and bruised and in what passed for a jail in Bisbee. They were charged with attempted robbery of the Acme Mining Consortium Stamping Mill safe. The sheriff told them after the trial that they were lucky to be alive saved only by the fact that they were “drunker ‘n skunks”. Colson would get seven years and to his utter surprise Jensen would only serve two. The Judge said he deserved more but “but two years in the limit for sheer stupidity”. Jensen knew that he had dodged a bullet on two accounts. Strangely that fact made him feel invincible those two years at Yuma.
With a decided shrug Jensen looked at Tobes. “Took me thirteen years to get her Tobias”. By the blank look on his face in was plain that Tobes did not understand. But Wyncock did, so much so he began nodding his head in affirmation seemingly lost in remembrance of his own past. To Wyncock, Jensen had never looked the part of a criminal what with his baby face and mannerisms. Wyncock had seen and known his share of criminals both Indian and white in the Army while chasing down renegades, greasers and other assorted desperados from Montana to the hell- holes of border Mexico. Jensen was a mystery to him and would remain so.
“Ya know kid, you was framed” stated Wyncock. Yes Jensen knew. What’s more he knew he would be. It would have been worth it all to him if Molson had gotten his.
“Kid, we all know you were framed,” offered Tobias, disgust registering in his voice. He was about to add to that when a commotion in the office stopped him short.
Tobias continued,” Reckon that be Molson right on schedule!” “You want me to let him in kid?” Jensen relaxed and let out a deep laugh. “Sure, let him in and then send some one to get that rag publisher.” Wyncock, thoroughly perplexed arched an eyebrow in uncertainty. “What fer? He ain’t been no friend to you. “I got something to tell him” Jensen replied.
Yuma Territorial Prison had it all. From career criminals to husband killers to deserters and others. The guard had told him to “just be a good boy and follow the rules”. He had done just that. By the time his two years were up he had managed to pick up a new career of sin. Johnny Three Fingers liked him and taught him all the tricks of the trade. Now he could run a bluff with the best. He had become very skilled in the various games of cards and could turn a hand with the best. What he used to cheat at he now could do legal like at his choice. Turning cards now came naturally.
Jensen had gone to prison a drifter and left a professional gambler. He gambled himself to Shreveport where he spent time in the waterfront dives making enough money to buy passage on a packet bound up the Mississippi. From there up the Missouri gambling all the way to the mining camps. The packets became his home. The mining camps often closed as fast as they opened but that was where the real money was. Where ever there was talk of a strike Jensen would follow up. From the Dakota Territories to Colorado to Arizona Territory Jensen had seen it all: both sides good and bad.
By the time he got to Bullfrog district in the Panimints it was the fall of ‘82. He had done well for himself. Long gone were the days of sleepless nights in flophouses and reliance upon a good hearted Madam for a bed in her bordello. Now, he could afford to stay in the best a town had to offer and the class of whiskey and women were better. Now, the Madams sought him out not only for his baby face but also for his gambling skills. He had made many a madam and saloon owner rich while running their tables for a percentage. That gave him more time with his two favorite pleasures.
All that ended. The Bullfrog district was much like any other mining district; an amalgamation of tents and cheap hastily put buildings scattered amongst the canyons and mountains of the Panamints and crammed full of humanity that ran the gamut of conditions. Full of promise, much vice and little virtue and like any mining district the sin dens never closed. The daily or nightly routine was always the same. Work late, drink even later then sleep until mid afternoon.
Bullfrog was new and fresh. Jensen was no longer either. Now he drank while gambling. His choice for morning breakfast now consisted of most of a pint of good bourbon in order to get him going for the nightlife to come. The booze was slowly dulling his senses as well as his skills. It had begun to show in his dress and mannerisms.
It was something easily enough seen for those looking so it wasn’t hard for the four of them to spot him. They quickly palavered for the setup. Each would slip into the game at different times. They would let him win to start then start clipping him every third fifth and seventh hand. Goings first then Brararo and Hunt. Though they didn’t look the part they had done it a hundred times before. Jensen, now into his second pint of the day never sensed the setup until it was too late.
An hour and a half into the game all hell broke loose. Although Jensen had been losing steadily, down three hundred. he wasn’t worried. They had worked him into a false sense of security with their friendliness and stories of back home. He figured his luck would change as it always did. His luck did change but for the worse. It started when Hunt, who had gone to the crapper, brought back the town deputy with him. “That’s him deputy” He slicked the cards!” Clegbourne the sheriff and the fourth of the gang knew his part well. “Get Up”. Jensen too stunned to reply stood up as Hunt grabbed his card hand. “Look deputy what I pulled out of his sleeve” he exclaimed as the crowd watched. “Take your money boys”, growled Clegbourne. A wave of nausea had swept over Jensen as he now realized what had happened. Just take the money. Any honest deputy would have stopped right there and had someone count the cards. By the time the deputy had gotten him to the jail Jensen had put it all together. The contempt in Clegbourne’s eyes and smirk on his face confirmed the fact. It also sealed the deputy’s fate. Clegbourne’s own arrogance had led him to fail to put the Darbys on Jensen at the table. Jensen had snapped, catching the deputy off guard. Jensen knew there was no turning back now.
The screaming match outside the jail door brought Jensen back to his cell. “Here they come kid” “You sure?” Tobes and Molson followed by the town’s only printer and self-anointed moralist August Schildkraut entered the narrow corridor. Jensen mentally braced himself. That Molson had been drinking was obvious to all as he barreled up to Jensen’s cell door barking out in a nasty whine. “So how does it feel Jensen?” “How does it feel knowing your gonna hang tomorrow for what you did?” Molson was now pushed hard up against the cell door bars, his angular chin jutting through the squares and the liquor on his breadth further polluting the air of the cell. There was a shining hate deep in Molson’s eyes.
“Hello Molson.” “I’m glad you brought your lapdog with you!” They were face to face through the bars. Molson taking a step back and clearly more angered replied. “ This so called jailer wouldn’t let me in to see you until Schildkraut got here. Schildkraut grunted his acknowledgement as Wyncock sprang forward next to Jensen. “ You son of a bitch Molson”. Molson clearly taken aback took an involuntary step back falling into Tobes who took the opportunity to immediately pushed Molson back up against the bars in front of Wyncock.
Schildkraut’s sense of intellectual arrogance took over ratcheting up the tension. ”I assume you brought me here for a reason other than to insult me” he stated in a thick Austrian accent. Schildkraut had taken what little funds he could scrape together and immigrated through Philadelphia five years ago seeking to build his fortune and just important , his fame. He found that his position as an owner of a newspaper put him in a unique position to control information in both directions. The townspeople had come to rely on him to tell them what was important to know. Human nature being what it is had taught Schildkraut the importance of stroking the egos of others to serve his own purpose. He cared very little for the daily happening of the townspeople. His ink more often than not sought tribute to men like Molson and Burns and Schneider, supposed leaders of the community who readily accepted the platitudes of the printer as verification of their owns thoughts. Schildkraut was willing to play the stooge and be used for it was economic benefit that he sought.
He had covered the trial from start to finish building the county’s case against Jensen in print weekly and with special editions when needed. Molson had seen to it that Schildkraut printed only one side of the story. The printer took as gospel Molson’s version knowing all too well the penalty for looking else were for other sources of information, not that he would. Deep down, there were things he did not want to know and dangerous lines he did not want to cross.
“You done Molson?” inquired Tobes as a look of disgust crossed his face. “ Far from it” replied Molson who now seemed to have regained his composure. “I’ve made sure you will hang and now I’m gonna make sure you’re not in the same cemetery with her Jensen”. “Your kind don’t deserve a descent burial with folks like her”. “And thanks to our good friend Schildkraut everyone’s gonna know it”. As he said it the hate returned to Molson’s eyes and a sneer formed on his lips.
Sliding towards Wyncock Jensen met Molson’s stare and stated,“Your “good friend “ ought to know a few more things Molson,” retorted Jenson. Jenson now seemed to relax and with a sigh turned to face the printer. Now staring Schildkraut eye to eye through the bars Jensen said, “While you were getting his side of the story did you happen to ask yourself where Molson had been that night?” “Seems like a logical question to ask oneself don’t you think Schildkraut?” “Why didn’t you ask Molson that question?” The editor, unsure of how to answer unconsciously glanced at Molson no doubt seeking an unspoiled answer. Molson ignored the printers’ glance.
But Wyncock exclaimed! “Saints Almighty, ya don’t expect an answer do ya Jensen?” Jensen replied with a raised eyebrow and before Molson could restart his diatribe Jensen continued, “And dear editor, did you ask yourself or anyone for that matter, who really knew anything about her? “Was she really enamored of him?” The Austrian, now clearly rattled and sweating replied in a shaky accent, “These are questions that should have been asked by your lawyer Jensen” but Jenson continued. “Maybe you should have talked with our own charitable Florence over at Bartingales.” “She knows where all the skeletons are buried doesn’t she?”
As Molson, now thoroughly enraged started to object, Schildkraut started to back away. He’d had enough. He had come to the jail fully expecting to see a broken man whose confrontation with Molson would be more grist for his mill. Instead, he was sickened with the knowledge that before had only been rumors. Rumors that he did not want to know about. He would rather be the fool for Molson and his ilk than have to expose himself in print as a fool doing the devils work. “ I will not be insulted by your wild accusations Jensen.” “You were tried and found guilty and as sure as the sunrises you must pay the agreed upon price.” His sense of superiority seemingly restored Schildkraut now thumbed the latch on the corridor door that he had backed into and promptly left without daring to look at Molson. Tobes now laughed. “Where’s your friend going Molson?”
Molson, stunned and feeling abandoned by the printer now used the only tactic left to him. “ How dare you Jensen”. “Tobes, is this how you run this jail?” Almost before he had blurted out the insult Tobes had reached across the narrow hallway that separated them and grabbed Molson by the lapel and collar of his fancy imported waistcoat, his momentum carrying him into and lifting Molson up against the bars. “I didn’t demand this meeting Molson, you did!” “And by God now you’re gonna get what you deserve.” Tobes with one hand still holding Molson up backhanded him twice and then planted an upper cut to Molson’s soft belly not once but twice with his left fist. Molson dropped like a poll- axed steer banging both knees and then his chin on the rough loblolly pine floor. Wyncock, now thoroughly enjoying himself said,” Do ‘er again Tobey” “Let me out and I’ll help ya!” “How ‘bout you kid?” “Want a piece of him?” Jenson only smiled.
Tobes now grabbed a moaning and bleeding Molson by the scruff of his neck and seat of his trousers. Molson had just enough strength left to threaten Tobes job which started all three of them laughing. They were still laughing as Tobes escorted Molson personally out of the jail and through the front door of the office promptly depositing him in the dust and at the feet of the self rightous printer who not only look stunned and confounded but contemptible of the deposit at his feet.
“Print that “Kraut!” Not waiting for an answer that was not to come, the jailer slammed the office door shut and locked it before returning to the cell. “There goes your job Toby,” said Wyncock in a light- hearted way. “He’s gonna raise hell with the sheriff for sure.” Tobes just laughed. “ Sheriff feels the same as I do. Hell, he’d a-done the same”
A long silence ensued in which the light heartedness of the past few moments slowly evaporated. Wyncock, spying the pint asked Tobias, “You drink’ in alone or are you the sociable type?” With that Tobes pulled out the key and opened Wyncocks’ cell and then bringing the stool with him he moved to Jensen’s cell, unlocked it and deposited himself, the stool and the pint inside, Wyncock following right behind. Tobias sat the stool while Wyncock used the bunk. “Takin’ a big chance aren’t you Tobias?” grinned Wyncock as he reached for the bottle. “ They can’t hang me Bernie.” “Hey kid, want a pull?’ Shaking his head no Jenson said, “I want to be clear headed when my time comes.” “That stuff has brought me only misery” Jensen seemed more relaxed. Something in him had changed..
Tobes, the bottle half way to his lips stopped and said to Jensen, “You know kid, tomorrow don’t have to come.” “You can get along ways ‘fore tomorrow”. Jensen just shrugged. “They’d only come after me.” “ Besides, people got to know.” Wyncock, reaching for a cheroot from Tobes vest pocket chimed in, “You’d be a fool not to leave kid “You know kid that everybody but that dammed fool lawyer of yours knew what happened but how the hell are ya gonna prove it?” Jensen turned and looked at Wyncock. “There is someone beside Florence who’s pieced it all together and they got the proof.” “ Remember Scooter Stevens that orphan boy the girls took in last winter?”
Tobes, puzzled, could only grunt his reply while Wyncock rolled his lit cigar from side to side in his mouth waiting patiently for an explanation that might confirm his own suspicions. “Scooter brought those dozen cigars for us from Benes General last week,” as Wyncock nodded in agreement. “ Well Tobias, that’s not all he brought.” Intrigued, Tobes leaned forward on his stool in anticipation. “Seems as though Flo’s cottontailed bookkeeper Ingrid had her doubts about Flo and Molson too.” “A little looking around by Ingrid and a few well place favors by the twins picked up the trail.” It goes all the way back to ‘76 in Abilene and me. Thirteen years ago.” Tobes sat, stunned. “ Thirteen years ago?” “What has thirteen years ago in Abilene got to do with Molson?” Jensen did not elaborate.
Tobes, still not fully understanding again urged Jensen to leave. “Leave kid, we’ll go to the sheriff and the court”. “ Whores or not, they got the goods on them two and who ever else is involved”. You’re innocent and…” Wyncock’s gravelly voice interrupted. “ “Thirteen years is a lot of time Tobias and thirteen years can build a lot of guilt.”
“Christsake! For what? What the hell you talkin about? Wyncock, knowing that he’d have to be blunt simply stated, “ the Kid’s dammed Tobias, pure and simple.” Looking now to Jensen Wyncock asked, “You want me to tell him kid?” Jensen cut him off with his eyes.
“Tobias, I’ve lived in hell for thirteen years. In Abilene, I killed a man. I ran. For two years I ran, scared of my own shadow. I spent two years in Yuma Territorial and learned how to gamble. Made my liv’in gambling up and down the rivers and the mining camps. I got sloppy in Bullfrog and ended up killing a sheriff.”
The sudden silence that ensued was too much for Tobes. He could only look away. He was completely lost.
“It didn’t stop there Tobias”. “I had brushes with the law in Utah twice, once in El Paso, two more times before I came here.”.
Tobes coming to some sort of understanding in his mind asked, “How’d ya find out kid? She tell ya?” Jensen nodding said “Yes and she died for it.” “Somehow Molson found out. I’m sure that’s when the plan came to him.” Tobes, realizing the full impact of what was just stated looked at Wyncock with questioning eyes. “Yes Tobias, he could have left but he made a choice to stay. Jensen told me that she deserves at least this. Tobes asked. “Did she know about the kid’s history.” Wyncock nodded and looked away.
Dammed kid, for God’s sake leave! Go now. My mounts outside! He was begging now. Please!” Jensen now grabbed Tobes by the shoulder. “You’ve been a good friend Tobias and you deserve better. Sittin in jail ain’t gonna put food on your table and clothes on the kid’s backs. Men like Molson and his goons have to pay. I have to pay. I’ve written it all down Tobias. The girls have a copy and they will see to it that the Governor gets a copy.”
“It’s my choice Tobias. I don’t deserve more. She doesn’t deserve less. Make me a promise. Make sure I’m by her side will you?” With that, Jensen took a cigar from Tobias, lit it and returned to the window to view his fate now lit by the eerie glow of the gas lamps.
Rubbing his wetted eyes and whiskered face and with a nod towards Tobes, Wyncock asked Tobes if the sheriff still had the good stuff in the office safe and if he did could Tobes get it. Tobes readily complied.
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REVIEW 1
This is a pretty good story. I would work on my punctuation. You have quite a few quotation marks where they don't need to be. Also, your dialogue could be separated out from the text a little better as well.
Keep trying, you'll get it figured out.
Review 2
The story is fine, but I think it tends to ramble in places. You need to tighten it up a little get rid of superfluous material. There are far too many errors that detract from your writing, simple grammatical mistakes. You don’t need quotation marks after every sentence of dialogue.
You should, IMO, spend a lot more time cleaning up your work. Should you wish to get this story published as it is, I feel any editor would dump it after the first few lines. To submit to any magazine requires diligent editing from the writer. I feel you have the talent to do much better. Please take this advice as helping to improve your writing.
Good luck.
L. Roger Quilter.
Manipulating his fellow mans’ sympathy apostrophe in wrong place - Manipulating his fellow man’s sympathy
Jensen, without turning said only, “same as always”. Capital S required.
Jensen, without turning said only, “Same as always”.
since the trials’ conclusion - apostrophe in wrong place - since the trial’s conclusion
never looking directly as either of his charges. - as should be at - never looking directly at either of his charges.
“What you want for breakfast kid?” “Does it matter?” was the reply. Tobes immediately thought to himself, probably not, and said resignedly, “Then trout and eggs with coffee as always”. Jensen did not reply.
Should be rewritten.
“What you want for breakfast kid?”
“Does it matter?” was the reply.
Tobes immediately thought to himself, probably not, and said resignedly, “Then trout and eggs with coffee as always.”
Jensen did not reply.
“Fer Christ sake Tobias, leave him alone!” “Ain’t he suffered enough?”
Quote marks need removing
“Fer Christ sake Tobias, leave him alone! Ain’t he suffered enough?”
“ Not fer some”. “Molson has been making sure of that.”
Quote marks need removing
“ Not fer some. Molson has been making sure of that.”
hell hole - lose the space - hell-hole
deserved more but “but two years lose the but and add a comma - deserved more, “but two years
to the hell- holes of border Mexico again, lose the space - to the hell-holes of border Mexico
liquor on his breadth typo - liquor on his breath
Molson taking a step back and clearly more angered replied. “ This so called jailer wouldn’t let me in to see you in to see you until Schildkraut got here.
Changes.
Molson taking a step back and clearly more angered replied, “This so called jailer wouldn’t let me in to see you in to see you until Schildkraut got here.”
“ You son of a bitch Molson”. Molson clearly taken aback took an involuntary step back falling into Tobes who took the opportunity to immediately pushed Molson back up against the bars in front of Wyncock.
Changes
“You son of a bitch Molson.”
Molson clearly taken aback, took an involuntary step back falling into Tobes who took the opportunity to immediately push Molson back up against the bars in front of Wyncock.
seeking to build his fortune and just important , his fame.
Losethe space before the comma.
seeking to build his fortune and just important, his fame.
verification of their owns thoughts.
Lose the s.
verification of their own thoughts.
else were change to elsewhere
“Your “good friend “ ought to know a few more things Molson,” retorted Jenson.
Changes
“Your ‘good friend’ ought to know a few more things Molson,” retorted Jenson.
“Maybe you should have talked with our own charitable Florence over at Bartingales.” “She knows where all the skeletons are buried doesn’t she?”
Changes. Possible statement rather than a question.
“Maybe you should have talked with our own charitable Florence over at Bartingales. She knows where all the skeletons are buried doesn’t she.”
“ I will not be insulted by your wild accusations Jensen.” “You were tried and found guilty and as sure as the sunrises you must pay the agreed upon price.”
Changes.
“I will not be insulted by your wild accusations Jensen. You were tried and found guilty and as sure as the sunrises you must pay the agreed upon price.”
Molson, stunned and feeling abandoned by the printer now used the only tactic left to him. “ How dare you Jensen”. “Tobes, is this how you run this jail?” Almost before he had blurted out the insult Tobes had reached across the narrow hallway that separated them and grabbed Molson by the lapel and collar of his fancy imported waistcoat, his momentum carrying him into and lifting Molson up against the bars. “I didn’t demand this meeting Molson, you did!” “And by God now you’re gonna get what you deserve.” Tobes with one hand still holding Molson up backhanded him twice and then planted an upper cut to Molson’s soft belly not once but twice with his left fist. Molson dropped like a poll- axed steer banging both knees and then his chin on the rough loblolly pine floor. Wyncock, now thoroughly enjoying himself said,” Do ‘er again Tobey” “Let me out and I’ll help ya!” “How ‘bout you kid?” “Want a piece of him?” Jenson only smiled.
Complete rewrite please. Suggest
Molson, stunned and feeling abandoned by the printer, now used the only tactic left to him. “How dare you Jensen. Tobes, is this how you run this jail?”
Almost before he had blurted out the insult Tobes reached across the narrow hallway separating them and grabbed Molson by the lapel and collar of his fancy imported waistcoat. His momentum lifted Molson up against the bars.
“I didn’t demand this meeting Molson, you did! And by God now you’re gonna get what you deserve.”
Tobes with one hand still holding Molson up, backhanded him twice and then planted his fist to Molson’s soft belly, not once but twice. Molson dropped like a pole axed steer, banging both knees and then his chin on the rough loblolly pine floor.
Wyncock, now thoroughly enjoying himself said,”Do ‘er again Tobey. Let me out and I’ll help ya! How ‘bout you kid, want a piece of him?”
Jenson only smiled.
depositing him in the dust and at the feet lose the and - depositing him in the dust at the feet
“Print that “Kraut!” change to - “Print that, Kraut!”
Tobes, still not fully understanding again urged Jensen to leave. “Leave kid, we’ll go to the sheriff and the court”. “ Whores or not, they got the goods on them two and who ever else is involved”. You’re innocent and…” Wyncock’s gravelly voice interrupted. “ “Thirteen years is a lot of time Tobias and thirteen years can build a lot of guilt.”
“Christsake! For what? What the hell you talkin about? Wyncock, knowing that he’d have to be blunt simply stated, “ the Kid’s dammed Tobias, pure and simple.” Looking now to Jensen Wyncock asked, “You want me to tell him kid?” Jensen cut him off with his eyes.
Changes.
Tobes, still not fully understanding again urged Jensen to leave. “Leave kid, we’ll go to the sheriff and the court. Whores or not, they got the goods on them two and who ever else is involved. You’re innocent and…”
Wyncock’s gravelly voice interrupted. “Thirteen years is a lot of time Tobias and thirteen years can build a lot of guilt.”
“Christsake! For what? What the hell you talkin about?”
Wyncock, knowing that he’d have to be blunt simply stated, “The Kid’s dammed Tobias, pure and simple.”
Looking now to Jensen Wyncock asked, “You want me to tell him kid?”
Jensen cut him off with his eyes.
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