PLAYIN’ WITH THE QUEEN OF HEARTS

PLAYIN’ WITH THE QUEEN OF HEARTS

You never know if the hand you’re dealt really belongs to you




On a flat track of rail outside Wilcox Wyoming, the Union Pacific Overland Flyer chugs its way up the last incline to Stovepipe Canyon. Onboard, Hank and Orley Mills fight for dominion over a shared seat in the crowded passenger car, elbowing each other until their exasperated Aunt Beatrice, seated directly across, shoos them off, gaining herself some blessed peace.

Giggling, they push and shove their way down the aisle, soon reaching the lavatories, which are lavish and inviting to a couple of smart-aleck kids who have smuggled two of their father’s tobacco cigarettes aboard. Settling themselves into the most comfortable public toilet accommodations they ever laid eyes on, Orley fishes for a wooden match.

Up ahead, draped lazily on a granite out-cropping, two rough-hewn cowboys chaw tobacco while chewing on the state of the west and most particularly, their place in it. One displays a shock of hair like un-mowed wheat, the other, a grin that could lure the devil himself into a game of two-handed draw. Butch runs his hand through his dried-cornhusk thatch and comments dryly, “Gettin’ a mite dangerous ‘round these parts, you bein' so damn infamous and all.”

“I seem to recall your ugly mug on a poster right next to mine.”

“Maybe, but mine didn’t have any damn silly title under it. Who picks a fool name like ‘Sundance’ to hang around a neck that’ll more’n likely get hanged someday?”

“’I Ain’t worried. Me being the hero of Sundance Wyomin’ and all.” ‘Least I got mine from rustlin' there, not butcherin’ pigs like you. Anyway, Etta says, makes me even more desirable. One of the reasons she loves me!”

“Desirable? That what she thinks? Only a mother could love that kisser!… She your mama?”

“No, but I’m planin’ on makin’ her my wife, soon as this job’s over…”

“WHAT? This ain’t no life for any woman!”

“Etta ain’t any woman.”

”True enough, but she’ll never consent. She just finished sayin’ how she‘d had enough… Shhh! Listen, ...Hear that?”

The Overland Flyer hauls payroll for Union Pacific employees, changing delivery dates every month, but yesterday, Butch had spoken "real purty" to secretary Luzy Bell gaining the useful information that this was indeed, payday. The train’s whistle signals his gang to scramble for mounts, and high-tail it around the bend.

As the ‘Wild Bunch’ approaches, Hank puffs rings of smoke over his little brother’s head, eyes slitted in dream-like wonder. “Ain’t this the life?” He murmers.

“Surely!” Orley agrees, smoke spiraling from his fingers... “Some day I’m gonna have money. Lots!”

“How? By bank robbin’?” smirks Hank.

“Bet the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang has enough money to buy this railroad fifty times!” quips Orley.

“Bet the Wild Bunch Gang has enough money to buy it a hundred!” counters Hank.

“Just because ‘The Kid’ is your HERO, you think he can do anything,” taunts Orley.

“He’s the best shot in the world, ain’t he? And a dead-eye at knife throwin’ too!”

“IT’S OCCUPIED!” Hank bellows to a tap at the door.
“Wanna play five card stud? I borrowed Uncle Nat‘s gilt-edged naked girly deck” he offers.

“LEMME SEE!” squeals Orley twisting them out of Hank’s fist.

“Hell!” Howls Orley as the train screeches to an abrupt halt, sending cards flying and the boys slamming against the john. It flushes, dumping the trap contents onto the track below. Gunshots split the air.

“Don’t open that door!” Hank hisses.

Outside, outlaws line up passengers at gunpoint, fanning away the stench of human excrement with their revolvers. Elzy collects valuables as Ben and Harry exit the train, guns drawn on Union Pacific agents lugging heavy sacks.

“Holy shit! What’s that smell?” Ben snorts.

“My boys!” Screeches Aunt Beatrice, “Where’s my boys?” Hysterical, she prepares to swoon.

“What boys? Someone still on the train?”

“Oh Baby Jesus! No, I mean, Don’t hurt them! They‘re just baaabies” she shrieks.

Eyeing the steaming pile beneath the train, Sundance signals Butch, “Think I know where they’re hidin’!” he grins.

Climbing aboard they assault each door marked ‘Gentlemen’ hollering, “Come on out!”

Hank and Orley whimper as the adjacent door caves in with a sickening crunch.

“Someone in there?” Butch shouts, raising a snakeskin boot.

Orley squeaks, shrinking against the toilet.

“Open up.”

The door swings open. Two wide-eyed boys stare skyward.

“Recognize us?” drawls the Sundance Kid.

“Yesss….” weasels Orley.

“Then we’re gonna have to kill ya’.” Butch Cassidy replies.

“We won’t tell…” wails Hank

“How do we know ‘fer sure?”

The boys turn toward each other like stricken bookends

“Well PAY you!” Squeals Hank

“What you got?”

“Nothin’ really, no money” The two look downcast.

“Well, it’s time to meet your maker then.” Butch fingers his gun.

“Wait! We’ve got cards! Girly ones! Pure gold on the edges!” Hank squawks.

“Those them?… All over the floor?” the Kid asks squatting to look.

“Yep!” Both boys scramble to gather them.

“Only that one“, The Kid points.

“This one? Orley asks, offering it upward…

“Yeah” the Kid confirms. Sundance pockets the card, then stands, “Best be getting out of this shit-house, Butch,” he chuckles. “Nice doin’ business with you boys!”

Riding hard, the gang splits north, south, east and west at the mouth of the canyon, leaving a disabled train in its dust. “This place ain’t safe for us anymore, Kid!” shouts Butch. “Pinkertons will be all over this one. Change of plans…” He reins his horse around… “Follow me!”

Late that night, under a starlit canopy, Sundance slips from his bedroll and rides out alone. Sometime after midnight, Etta Place, startled awake by a heavy object splintering her front door, scrambles out a back window to find, protruding from it, an Arkansas toothpick with a hand-scrawled note tethered to the handle.

“Marry me. If yes, use this ticket. If no, Always remember-
You are my Queen of Hearts.”

Hoofbeats fade in the distance.

On February 20th, 1901, Ethel Place, handing the dockman a one-way ticket, boards the British Steamer Herminius, bound for Argentina. Mounting the gangplank, she caresses the outline of a gilt-edged playing card tucked snugly into her white leather glove.


~© by taree Belardes 8/15/2010

NYCMM Flash Fiction Contest
Genre; Historical Fiction
Location; A public Restroom
Object; A deck of playing cards