Free Cera's Place by Elizabeth McKenna

times. “Where the hell is this guy anyway? The saloon closed half an hour ago.”
    “Who knows, maybe he’s playing with the bitch. There’s nothing we can do about it—unless you want to tell the boss man you got tired of waiting.”
    “Hell, I ain’t that crazy. I just wish he’d hurry up and come already.” Quinn laughed at his own joke. “Get it? Come already?”
    Lewis grunted in reply and hunkered farther down into his coat.
    Quinn cleared his nose and spat the phlegm on the sidewalk. Taking the tip of his boot, he smeared it back and forth on the dusty wooden planks. “Dammit all to hell! How long are we gonna have to stand here?”
    “Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” He nodded at a lone figure in the distance. “There he is now.”
    *****
    As he walked back to his boarding room, Jake hummed a lighthearted tune that a private used to play on his pipe during the war. The cheerful notes fit his mood as he thought of Cera. She had sparked something inside him and he was grateful for the chance to feel alive again. Now, if only she’d cooperate.
    Perhaps if he hadn’t been so lost in thought, he would have noticed the two men following him. Half a block from the boarding house, they made their move. Jake threw a few hard punches before Lewis pinned his arms behind his back. The grunting of the men echoed in the deserted street as Quinn hit him repeatedly in the ribs and face.
    Struggling to break free, Jake yelled for help when the front door of the boarding house opened. The owner, George Talbot, shuffled out onto the porch, herding a mangy cat with his cane. Alarmed at the commotion, the owner shouted back, “Hey! Leave that man alone or I’ll call the police!”
    Lewis pushed Jake to the ground, kicking him in the stomach before running off with his cohort.
    Hurrying as much as his crooked legs would allow, when the old man reached Jake’s prone body, he asked, “Are you all right, Mr. Tanner?”
    Groaning, Jake rolled onto his side and spat the blood out of his mouth. “God, I hate a dirty fight. Can you help me to my room, George?”
    Holding him under the arms, the old man boosted him up. With Jake wincing at each step, they went into the boarding house and climbed the stairs to his room.
    “Do you want me to call a doctor?” George asked, lowering Jake onto his bed.
    “No, I’m all right. I’ll be fine in a minute,” he panted. When the ceiling spun above him, he squeezed his eyes shut, willing it to stop. “I need…” was the last thing he said before blackness fell over him.
    *****
    When he opened his eyes, Jake couldn’t remember where he was. Since this wasn’t the first time, he didn’t panic—but then he heard voices nearby. He listened for a moment, trying to decipher the murmuring. With a grunt, he pushed himself up until pain seared his sides.
    “Whoa, now, hold on there, soldier. Don’t be undoing my handiwork.” A hand held him down. “Good to see you awake, but you need to stay still. What’s your name, son?”
    “Jake. Jake Tanner.” He tried to wet his lips with his tongue, but his mouth was as dry as a desert.
    “Excellent, nice to meet you, Mr. Tanner, I’m Doc Goldman. I have a few more questions before you can go back to sleep. I need to know if the beating you took caused any damage to your noggin. What year is it?”
    “1869. May I have some water?”
    “Of course.” The doctor lifted Jake’s shoulders and held a glass to his lips. When Jake drank greedily, he cautioned, “Slow down, now. You don’t want to vomit. Do you know where you are?”
    He finished the water and looked around the room. “San Francisco. Mae’s Boarding House. Room 25. How long have I been out?”
    “It’s almost ten o’clock in the morning. George here fetched me late last night after he helped you upstairs, and it’s a good thing he did. You have some mighty fine bruises all over your body. You don’t have a concussion, but I would strongly recommend you