Free Gaffney, Patricia by Outlaw in Paradise Page B

ruined her pleasure in the room, not at all. But it had
set her to thinking.
    She jumped when a hard knock sounded at the back door.
"Ow." Boo, startled too, dug his claws into her thigh before jumping
out of her lap. "Ow. Damn it, Boo." She retied her
dressing-gown sash and went to the door. "Who is it?" No answer.
"Ham, is that you?" She opened the door a crack to peer out.
"Ham? Are you—"
    "Why, if it ain't Miz Cady." Warren Turley leered at
her, at the same time he shoved the door open before she could get her foot in
front of it.
    "Hey!"
    "Hey? That how you greet old friends? Me and Clyde just came
by to pay our respects." She stood in his way, but he muscled past her,
jostling her aside, grinning the whole time, and sure enough, Clyde Gates was
right behind him.
    "You two can just march yourselves right out of here. What do
you think you're doing? You want a drink, you go around to the front like
everybody else. Listen here, Turley—"
    "Now, now, Cady, simmer down, we just wanna talk to you.
Ain't she looking pretty today, Clyde? And looky here—this what you're wearing
tonight? That is one fine—"
    "Get your paws off that." She shoved him away from the
bed with her hip, slapping at his hands on her taffeta dress. "Wylie sent
you, didn't he?" She kept trying to herd him back toward the open door. It
wasn't easy without touching him. She was more mad than scared, but something
told her it would be dangerous to touch him.
    "Mr. Wylie gave us a message for you, yeah," Clyde said.
He was a big, tall, dumb-looking cowboy from someplace like Texas or Oklahoma;
she liked him a little better than Warren Turley, which was to say she didn't
hate him like the bubonic plague. He worked for Wylie, though, same as Turley,
so in no way was he welcome in her bedroom.
    "I'm telling you both to clear out right now."
    "Or you'll what? Plug us with your peashooter? Where's it at,
anyway?" A light came into Turley's squinty little eyes. He had a mean
smile to begin with; it got downright diabolical when he started walking toward
her. How had Clyde gotten around behind her? "You wearing that peashooter
now, Miz Cady?" said Turley, pointy nose twitching. "Let's see if you
got it on now."
    Cady knew a lot of curse words. She only got a few out before
Clyde clapped his hand over her mouth and Turley grabbed her, grinning like the
very devil.
    ****
    "Keep your shirt on," the black-skinned bartender, whose
name was Levi, muttered under his breath to the cowboy at the end of the bar,
who kept yelling at him to hurry it up, step on it, get a move on.
"Impatience," Jesse could have sworn he added while he poured out a
glass of beer, "shows up the ego. Patience counteracts egocentricity,
because everything is impermanent and substanceless."
    "Huh?" said Jesse when Levi moved back over to his side
of the bar. "Say what?"
    Levi folded his big, bony-knuckled hands on the edge of the bar
and looked at him. Jesse stared back, a little unnerved by the bland,
half-smiling peace-fulness in his face. He looked like he had a secret,
something really good, and he might tell you about it or he might not.
"Everybody suffers," he said slowly, his voice soft and deep,
rumbling. "Suffering doubles when we resist it. You push against something
hard enough, your hand hurt. Put your hand gentle on a wall or a door,
you got no pain. Resisting and wanting—that's where all our suffering come
from." He smiled with his whole face, all the straight lines and sharp
angles turning up, and Jesse couldn't help smiling back.
    "Is that right?"
    "Yup."
    "Where'd you learn that?"
    "From the buddha."
    "Bartender!" some drunk called out across the way.
"Gimme a whiskey! Move your sorry ass!"
    Levi lifted his calm, dark gaze. His smile stayed on, but it
looked a little pained. "And sometime," he said even softer,
"you want to push your hand real hard on somebody head, and fuck
suffering."
    Jesse chuckled. "Wait," he called, and Levi stopped
partway to the drunk, bottle in hand,