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In the last episode, Buck tells us about how he’s always wanted to be a sheriff. With the brrkup, he’s the best man for the job, he figures.
Episode 20
Even compared to your finer saloons in towns like San Francisco and Chicago then, I'd imagine the Metropolitan would hold its own. It was a handsome place with its oak paneling, fine paintings, mirrors and crystal chandeliers. The only bit of sophistication and distinction for miles around, the fancy saloon was ready to accept money from the jubilant and discouraged alike.
The food was no better there than fare at the Contention Café, but somehow it tasted better while sitting amid the opulence. The same could be said about the drinks, which were neither better nor different from what you might kick back at the End of the Trail. The biggest difference was what you paid on your tab and the fact that they might tend to call the food a fancier name.
James S. Hardy, the owner, was proud of The Metropolitan's resplendent glamor and determined to maintain it. People spent more in a nice place, he believed and he swore it made him feel healthier to work in luxurious surroundings.
My interview for the job of Contention City Sheriff was held at the Metropolitan. In addition to serving as a restaurant, bar and hotel, the saloon was also the unofficial center of city government. The decisions in the fledgling community were made there behind it’s swinging doors.
It had been several years since I'd been inside a bar, so I couldn't help gasping when I walked into the Metropolitan and saw the light glittering off the crystal chandelier in the middle of the room. I was expecting a basic western bar, more like the End of the Trail. You never saw anything like the Metropolitan before the railroad. This town is going to see some more amazing things now that I had the brrkup.
"You understand that even though the people are clamoring for a new sheriff, you don't automatically get the job just because you've applied. We want to make sure we get the right man, so we'll wait awhile and bring in a sheriff from another part of the state. We know hiring the wrong man can have terrible consequences for the town," Hardy said.
I nodded, knowing full-well how desperate they were. "I wouldn't want you to hire anybody but the right one. But, I'm the man Hardy and I have the perfect law-keeping tool. Things will be better around here than they were even under Brucker."
Poker-faced, Hardy nodded. "You're a rancher, not a lawman. You up to this?"
"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
"Y'all having trouble with the drought? Going to lose the ranch?" Hardy said, prying at my motivations and testing me. "Thinking about moving to the town and get a job? You don't have to make up some story."
"No, though you could say that about my neighbor. I'll be buying his operation from him. Someday it's going to rain," I said. "That land is going to come back. It just needs to rest."
My swagger broke his façade. Hardy's eyes bulged in shock.
"That's him," Hardy said as we stepped outside, motioning toward a shabby tramp sleeping with his back propped against the outside wall of The Metropolitan. The tramp's hat was turned upside down in front of him in case a passerby got the notion to toss him a few pennies, like his hat was a kind of a wishing well. He had one coin in there, perhaps put it there by himself to give others the idea of what the hat was for. He was dirtier than sin itself.
When the tramp collected enough money, he'd take the day's proceeds and get a drink someplace else. Hardy banned him. Likely he went to the End of the Trail. But the tramp, Cletus Daniels, chose to beg in front of the Metropolitan because everyone coming in and out of its door had money. Some of them might be inclined to share with him, he figured. Sheriff Brucker would tell him to move on, but now Hardy wouldn't tell him to do that unless Daniels bothered someone. Nevertheless, he hesitated because he feared someone would be sympathetic to the tramp's plight and decide not to patronize the Metropolitan.
Though there were a lot of things wrong with Contention City, there were many optimistic and generous people who believed they were on the verge of finding their fortune. The Metropolitan was full of excited chatter at all hours: where the next big strike was likely to be; how they'd spend the money they'd see. Most men appreciated a stiff drink and were inclined to see that the least among them had the same opportunity for drunkenness they did. To do otherwise might jinx their search for fortune.
"Why doesn't that sorry bum go out and look for a vein like the rest of them?" I asked Hardy. I never understood mendicity. I'd rather go without than ask.
"Says he has a bad leg," Hardy replied. "Says he got it in the Army."
I looked at him questioningly.
Hardy furrowed his brow and snapped, "I don't know if it's true. I didn't know him all his life."
"This shouldn't take long," I said, looking over the tramp. I thought about using the pleebk on him, but reconsidered. You can't hypnotize a sleeping man. I had it handy in case he woke up.
Even though he looked like he was asleep, I had trouble getting the brrkup where it needed to be, according to Graax's instructions. The weight of the raisin-sized mind controller was uneven. It kept slipping off of the tip of my pointing finger when it brushed up against the tippler’s nostril. Also, my fingers weren't as nimble as Graax's. I couldn't help fumbling.
It would have been so much easier if Graax had shown me how to actually insert it rather than just tell me about it in his broken English. I was sidetracked, fighting with Mrs. Renner, when Graax was installing it in Ike.
At the K-10 we didn't have anyone who needed the brrkup. Guzmán and Nuñez weren't volunteering and I didn't blame them. I wouldn't have either.
I put the silver chip at the base of the tramp's nostril several times. I dropped it on the boardwalk twice. Daniels stirred and brushed it away, out of my fingers. It dropped onto the boards and rolled away. That time it was harder to find. I had the little factory box to make more, but it still would take a few days to replenish my supply. I wanted to get this over with. If I got to be sheriff, I wanted to be sure to have more brainclips on hand.
Daniels had a cold - which I didn't find surprising considering how he slept outdoors, subject to drafts. The brainclip's buglike legs would have to wend its way around a lot of gunk in Daniels's nose in order to get up into his sinuses. I didn't know if it could, but I figured if Graax's people could travel from planet to planet they could make a device able to move past a human’s nose hair and boogers.
I spied the clip, partially buried in dust, picked it up, spat on it to clean it and placed it in position again. "There we go," I said. The little legs came out and started walking the device up to where it needed to be. "We'll soon have ourselves a new man here."
I spoke too soon. Daniels wheezed and sneezed mightily on my fingers. The brainclip flew out of my tenuous grip, skittering onto the dirt of the street, trailed by what must have been several tablespoons of snot. I cried out, surprised.
The tramp stirred, changed position and went back to sleep.
Hardy stamped his foot. "Do you know what you are doing?"
"Yes," I said.
"Could have fooled me. It's cold out here. My idea of a good time isn't standing here and watching you fumble."
"Sorry," I said, forcing an apology out of my throat, while wiping my fingers on a handkerchief. You're lucky to be watching this. Whether or not I became sheriff depended on his vote, unless another person on the Council unexpectedly voted another way. I had to be accommodating if I was going to get the job. "I've never done this without Graax. Wish I had his help, but he's in Tucson at the university."
Arms folded, Hardy brooded. "Why didn't he come? Doesn't he want the job enough to show us what he's going to do?"
"I'm the man for the job. He’s sort of my partner. Graax already has another job on his home planet, Squaattoos. He's doing that job at the university. I'm going to get a lot better each time I install one of these things. It's hard to do this when someone has a cold," I explained.
Finally, after dropping the clip a few more times, I placed it successfully. Daniels didn't sneeze anymore - he must have been tapped out of snot. The clip reached Daniels's brain. Just like Renner had done, Daniels's eyes opened wide before shutting tightly again.
"Looks like it reached his brain," Hardy said.
"Looks that way," I agreed.
"Good. We can go in now."
"You can go Mr. Hardy," I said, tired of the man. "Like I said, I've never done this by myself before. I want to make sure it's done right."
"Sorry I snapped," he said, once again the cheerful, prosperous saloon owner. He may have realized he irritated me and maybe even cared, a guy like Hardy looks at everyone like a dollar sign, a potential customer. "You look to me like you're a good man. When you're sure you have everything set up, come in, have a drink. It's on the house."
The brainclip didn't come out. I went in fifteen minutes later and gladly accepted the drink he offered. Daniels was gone when I finished.
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