Chapter 16
Posted: July 13, 2007 - 03:55:34 pm

Monday, I started my weekday ritual feeling too good for it to be legal. I made sure I told a beaming Molly that it was all her fault as I sat down to breakfast.

After I left Molly's, I dropped my laundry off with Clem and climbed up in his chair for my morning shave. As he was lathering up my face, I got to thinking about confirmed bachelor Clem and my sweet little landlady. Both of them were fine people and they had a lot in common. I had to wonder how they might take to each other if I played a little match-making.

From Clem's I hustled to the Toro to check on Pen. Pen seemed much better that morning. He said the salicylic acid powder (an early form of aspirin) the Doc gave him had eased his headache away, although it made him sick to his stomach. I told Pen I had a small errand to run and that I'd be back within the hour, and headed off to the bootmaker's shop.

I arrived at the small store front shop of the bootmaker about ten before ten. The bootmaker was a man in his forties by the look of him, medium height, and muscular. From the first few words we shared, I knew he was honest and straightforward. Anna arrived about five minutes after I did. It was funny watching the man's face light up when Anna came through the door. I guess Anna had indeed retired her widow's weeds, because she was wearing a dark blue dress that left no questions about what sex she was. Her hair was in a loose French braid.

Anna made introductions and I almost fell over when she told Joaquin I was like a son to her. Of course, her saying that made Joaquin liked me all the better. As Anna sat on a stool looking gorgeous and flirty, I told and demonstrated to Joaquin what I had in mind for a gun belt. My idea of a two gun rig with cartridge loops wasn't that radical, but my thoughts about the design of the holsters were new to him. I showed him a drawing I had made and he understood what I was trying for immediately. I wanted the holstered as stiff as he could make them so I could pull my pistol faster, and I wanted the trigger guard exposed for the same reason.

We agreed on a two and a half inch wide belt with the holsters attached in the Mexican way, which meant the holsters had loops at the back and slipped onto the belt. I told him the rig needed to be black, but he should use his own good judgment to decorate it. I didn't know at the time that Anna already had the decorating ideas for him.

I was back at the saloon by quarter to eleven and started organizing the joint for the week. Mondays were the day we received both beer and whiskey deliveries from Pen's supplier. Pen had a great working relationship with the distributor and received preferential treatment.

Mondays were also when Pen usually met with his staff to insure everyone was available and ready for the coming week. I met with the dancers first as they all trouped downstairs at noon. Thank goodness there were no problems on my first turn holding the meeting. Of course they all knew about Pen's condition, and had already worked out among themselves how to help take care of him. All of the women thought highly of Pen because of the respect he showed them. I tried to give them that same respect.

The barmen, floor man and guard came in next. It was payday for them. Pen did not pay anyone on Friday or Saturday, so they couldn't get drunk and not show up for work either night. I told the men to be extra alert that night, and on the lookout for George Howard or any of his men. I made sure the barmen had weapons available under their bars, and told the armed guard that I wanted him on his feet, patrolling the balcony all evening.

The last group who came in for payday was the Los Hombres Feliz (The Happy Men), the four piece mariachi band that played at the dancehall. Los Hombres were a great bunch of guys, not to mention first class musicians. While I was paying them, I had the thought of trying my hand at introducing some twentieth century music to Old El Paso. One song was my new version of El Paso, and, because the Hombres had a trumpet player, one was Ring of Fire; the last was Cielito Lindo (Pretty Ceilito). Even Anglos know that one; it goes ay, yi, yi, yi...

For two dollars, the boys stayed with me for an hour and let me practice with them. They were excited as hell about all three songs, because they fit into the mariachi repertoire of songs about passion and love. As a bonus, it turns out that with a little professional accompaniment, Ty Ringo McGuinn had a pretty decent, slightly baritone, singing voice. I mean there was no danger of superstardom on the horizon, but still, my Johnny Cash imitation on 'Ring of Fire', even impressed the Happy Hombres.

The Hombres felt comfortable enough with Cielito Lindo to want to try it out that night. Hell, they even said that if I was brave enough, I could sing Ring of Fire. El Paso was going to take some work, though, because I had lyrics in both English and Spanish and the song required a lot of finger picking on the guitar.

I went back to Molly's for just long enough to eat supper, then I hustled right back to the Toro. I felt a huge responsibility not to let Pen down, even though I was only doing what I normally did anyway, weird, huh?

So anyway, I worked my ass off for the next two days. On Wednesday, just when I thought I might have a handle on things, I received another note from the Clerk of the District Court. As directed, I marched my ass down to the jail and reported to Sheriff Faulkner. Faulkner started off the conversation this time on a much less suspicious note.

"I was right sorry to hear about your boss, Counselor, he's a good man and runs an honest saloon."

I thanked him and told him Pen was on the mend. I couldn't help getting in a dig about the men who beat him going free.

When I mentioned George Howard's thugs, his jaw tightened.

"I enforce the law McGuinn, I can't enforce common sense. I can't do a damned thing about it when your boss is stupid enough to jump two roughnecks that were twice as big as him. But if it's any consolation to you, your new client had better luck than Mister Smythe."

At my inquisitive look, Faulkner explained that my client, one Carlos Trujillo, had been involved in an altercation with the same two men that beat down Pen. Mister Trujillo, however, had pulled a knife and showed great skill with it as he carved some impressive pictographs on the hides of the two cowboys. The incident had taken place at Cowboy Heaven, the most notorious saloon in El Paso. It was rumored that Cowboy Heaven was such a bad place that they checked you for guns at the door, if you didn't have one, they gave one to you.

"There won't be any help from me on this one McGuinn; the District Attorney is after blood. Your boy in there cut them cowboys up pretty bad; they'll be scarred for life most likely."

I nodded, went through the ritual of handing him my Colt, and eased on back to cell number two to visit my client.

Carlos Trujillo was a man of medium height and weight, with a full black mustache that covered much of his lower face. He had a hawk-like nose and piercing black eyes. Yet, for all his ferocious appearance, he was a surprisingly soft spoken man. We had a brief conversation centering on the reason for the altercation at Cowboy Heaven. I hid my surprise that it wasn't over whiskey, women or gambling. Instead, it was over salt.

The Trujillos were sheep ranchers, with a flock of about five hundred head. Last week, as he had once a year for as long as he remembered, he and his father had headed up to the salt flats to cut some salt licks for their flock. They were stopped by a band of armed men who accused them of trespassing on private land. To make there point, the men had roughed up Carlos and his father and shot one of their sheep dogs.

Carlos had come to El Paso trying to purchase the salt licks their stock needed and saw the two cowboys entering Cowboy Heaven. Yes, he had attacked the two men in the saloon, and furthermore, he had no remorse for doing it.

I spent a few more minutes with Carlos and then headed over to see the DA. The District Attorney's name was Percival Davenport, and he was Charles Howard's hand picked man. Davenport let me cool my heels in his outer office for over half an hour before granting me a few minutes of his time. I didn't waste anymore of either of our time as I cut to the chase.

"What are you looking to ask for a sentence if a jury finds Trujillo guilty?" I asked.

"The maximum, seven years in Huntsville," he replied unhesitatingly.

"What if he pleads his case out?"

"Seven years in Huntsville," Davenport repeated. "Trujillo's attack on those men was savage and unprovoked. He deserves no leniency."

"Some jurors might consider beating his elderly father and shooting his dog as provocation, Mister Davenport."

Davenport clenched his jaw and waved towards the door.

"I repeat, Counselor, no deals, now if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend. I'll see you in court."

I walked out of his office shaking my head at Davenport's refusal to even consider a lesser term. With nothing to lose anyway, it appeared that I was headed for my first trial.

Wednesday night marked my debut as a singer at the Toro, as I belted out my version of Ring of Fire while strumming on a guitar I'd bought from one of the Happy Hombres. The song drew some cheers and applause, I suppose mainly because it was such a catchy number. I made it through the song without messing it up, thanks to having rehearsed twice more with the band by paying them to show up an hour early.

We had also finally beaten my version of 'El Paso' into submission. I had a plan for that song for the following night. My plan was one of those over the top romantic gestures that Mexican men in love are known for. It was going to take some coordinating, but the Happy Hombres were going to handle the details for me.

Wednesday night, Pen's regular poker game with his friends was of necessity turned into a meeting in his rooms. Pen was getting stronger daily and was chaffing at being forced to stay in bed. He didn't have much say in that matter though, because Big Liz wasn't taking a chance on him injuring himself further by not following Doctor Willis's orders.

As I escorted Clem the Barber back to Pen's apartment, I asked him if he knew Molly Dean. Clem said he'd seen her around, and that she was a fine looking lady. I had casually asked Molly the same sort of questions about Clem earlier that day. Molly only knew that Clem had a reputation for being a gentleman and an honest businessman. Since they both had good impressions of the other, I just needed to find a way to get them together to see if anything developed between them.

Thursday morning found me back at the jail giving Carlos the bad news from Davenport. He took the news stoically. I asked about his family and if he minded if I talked to them. He didn't, and gave me directions to the family's spread. The Rancho Trujillo was about ten miles outside of town, so I couldn't possibly go out there until Sunday.

Carlos told me his father had come to town looking for him the afternoon before, so his family was aware of his plight. It spoke well for Carlos that his major concern was for his wife, sons and daughter.

Thursday night I dressed up in my charro suit so that I'd match up with the Happy Hombres usual attire. Mariachi musicians wore a highly decorated version of the charro suit, because mariachi music was created in the Mexican State of Jalisco, the same as the first true western cowboys (charros) and tequila. The first mariachis were in fact charros who traveled from rancho to rancho playing music.

At ten that night, I put Lester, the floor man, in charge for thirty minutes while the Hombres and I took care of a little business.

We walked the block and a half to Rosa's Cantina and entered the place as a group. Everyone looked up as we walked in. Rosa's three piece band was in on our scheme and took a break as soon as they finished the song they were playing.

Feleena was sitting at a table with her same three friends, and was looking at us as curiously as everyone else. I handed her the rose I'd bought earlier in the day when we walked up to her table. She took the rose without comment as we positioned ourselves facing her.

I think Feleena was expecting some traditional vaquero love song being sung to her by the Hombres, so her eyes widened in surprise when, after the guitar riff intro, I started singing.

    "Out in the West Texas town of El Paso,
    I fell in love with a Mexican girl.
    Nighttime would find me at Rosa's Cantina,
    Music would play and Feleena would whirl."

Feleena looked even more startled when I sang her name. She blushed as her smiling friends all looked at her.

    "Blacker than night were the eyes of Feleena,
    Flashing and laughing while casting there spell.
    I was in love with this beautiful maiden,
    But my love was in vain I could tell."

After a short musical interlude by the Hombres, I segued into the Spanish verses I'd written for the song. The Spanish version had some poignant lyrics about unrequited love and heartbreak; it was a soulful lament that resonated with the Mexican penchant for melodramatic romanticism. I finished up the song in English.

    "So my unreturned love I will take to the desert,
    And sing my sad song to the stars in the sky.
    But my heart will stay at Rosa's Cantina,
    So, one last kiss Feleena, then good--bye..."

Well it wasn't Shakespeare, but it sure had the señoritas all misty eyed... all of them except Feleena that is. Feleena just watched in expressionless silence as the Hombres and I exited.

So Feleena came rushing after me professing her love, right? Not on your freaking life. But an unintended consequence was that by the next afternoon, I had become the hottest commodity in El Paso with the señoritas. Word of me singing my love for Feleena, and her subsequent shooting me down, spread like wildfire. Instead of laughing at me, the women were lined up ten deep wanting to console me. It started Friday afternoon, as soon as a few of the dancers from the Bull came in from shopping.

One of the shoppers was Conchita, the shy young woman I'd saved from the mountain man. Conchita was strictly a dancer, and the other women usually protected her from being manhandled. She wasn't the prettiest girl in the place, but to me, she was exotically attractive. I thought she looked a lot like the singer Cher with her hooked nose and crooked little smile.

The gaggle of women had barely made it through the door when, Muriel, their self appointed spokeswoman started in on me.

"So, Señor Ty, we heard all about last night, your singing is the talk of the town. Why is it that you had to go to Rosa's to find someone to sing to, are we not beautiful enough for you?"

I didn't hesitate for a second before replying.

"Oh, each and every one of you is more than beautiful enough, Muriel. The problem is our working together. If I went after one of you, everyone else would be mad, thinking I was playing favorites. So sadly, I must sacrifice my own happiness for the good of the cantina."

As I bullshitted them, an idea struck me right between the eyes. I whirled around and picked up Conchita and set her on top of the bar. As the other women stood gawking at me, I dashed over to the little stage, grabbed my guitar off it and hustled back.

"If it weren't for my duties, I would have fallen hard already for the beautiful Conchita, and I'd be a hopeless wretch, doing nothing but sighing and making up songs to sing to her all the time."

I pretended to think for a few seconds then started picking out that distinctive da-dum Johnny Cash beat. For good measure, I threw in that Hummmmmm he starts with too. I mean if I was stealing, I might as well get it all, huh?

    "I keep a close watch on this heart of mine,
    I keep my eyes wide open all the time,
    I keep the ends out for the tie that binds,
    Because you're mine, I walk the line."

It wasn't a flawless performance by any means, as I misremembered a couple of verses, but I swear I might as well have been Tom Jones in Las Vegas. By the time I finished, the women were all squealing and hugging on me and Conchita was blushing with her hands covering her face. I gallantly picked her back off the bar and set her on her feet. I bowed deeply to her, kissed her hand, slung my guitar across my back and walked away. I was discovering that coolness was like gambling; it was always best to quit while you were ahead.
Joe J & Wet Dream-Girl
Chapter 17