"I'm looking for the watchmaker."
The pistolera glanced around at the faces gathered in the little shop. In the far right corner was a lone barber's chair occupied by a rotund little man having his sideburns shaped by an aging barber. Opposite that in the far left corner was a cluttered work desk covered in fine tools and pocket watches in various states of repair. Up front was a long counter, a small scale, and a chalkboard listing the going rates for minerals such as silver, tin, and copper. In the middle of all of it, crowded around a small table were a trio of men playing dominoes.
"That's me. I'll be with ya as soon as I'm done with Eddie's cut here." The barber never looked up from his work but did spare a hand long enough to give a waving invitation for her to have a seat at the table.
"He's the barber and the watchmaker?" The pistolera shook off her hat and coat and hung them by the door before crossing behind the counter to join the domino players. None of the players appeared armed so she took her revolver off her belt, still in its holster, and laid it on the table. No need to be rude, she figured.
"And he's the silver buyer and he can pull a tooth if you're in need. Beer?" The pistolera nodded so, and the youngest of the players with the greatest of beards traded her a bottle of beer for a ten centavo piece.
Eddie's cut lasted long enough for the pistolera to enjoy three rounds of dominoes with the trio. Once he'd paid for the work, said his goodbyes, bought a beer for the road, reflected on local politics, finished his beer, and commented on the war he was on his way and the old barber turned his attention to the pistolera.
"Okay, miss. What can I do for you? Buying a watch or needing one fixed up? If the case and chain are tarnished I can take care of that for you, too."
"No watch. Just this." The pistolera held up her left hand bearing one finger less than her right and clad from fingertip to elbow in deerskin. She flexed her hand twice and let the deep mechanical squeaking and grinding speak for itself. "Seems I could use an adjustment."
An hour later the pistolera was sitting next to the workbench, her glove unlaced and hung over the back of her chair, her elbow resting on the bench and most of her forearm and hand disassembled and carefully arranged by assembly order on an oiled cloth.
"Well, it looks like the main problem is your number six extensor pin. I can straighten it, but it should really be replaced. If I order the pin today from Flatrock we'd probably see it here by the end of next month. Where you staying at? I'll send someone over to let you know when it comes in. Sam, get me the Flatrock Brassworks catalogue will ya'?"
"I'm not staying in town. I have a claim a few miles north on Bear Mountain. I'm back in town once a month or so for supplies. I'll check in then. In the meantime, I could use another beer."
The barber compared her pin to a few sketches in the catalogue and made a note when he found a listing that was satisfactory. That done, he used a small hammer to gently straighten the pin and then started the process of reassembling the arm and hand. Once he was done the pistolera made a few test flexes, squeek free.
"Nice work. What do I owe you?"
"Well, let's see. It'll be fifteen centavo for the clean and tune, and I'll need five peso fifty as a deposit on the new pin."
The pistolera dug a twenty five centavo piece out of her pocket. "That's for the work and the second beer. The pin will have to wait until my claim shows a little color."
"Put it on credit, if you like. You seem like the trustworthy type."
"Thanks, but I'd rather not become a debtor. I'll be back once I make a strike." She finished lacing up her glove, put her revolver back on her hip, and moved towards her coat and hat. "If you're prices are good I'll even come back here to sell."
"Breaking rock is gonna be rough on that pin, miss. If it breaks you're gonna have a bad day of it. And it just so happens that I know a way someone like you could make twenty five pesos this afternoon."
The pistolera stopped at the door and chewed her lip for a minute. She was sure she wasn't going to like the work but twenty five pesos would get her arm fixed and replace her busted oil lamp. She didn't really need it, but it sure as hell would make things easier on her now that the days were getting shorter.
"What kind of work are we talking about?" She didn't take her hand off the door or turn around.
"Debt collection. There's a brother and sister here in town owe me over fifty pesos from last year and I'm pretty damned sure they don't intend on paying. If you'd collect in my name I'll split it with you."
She ground her teeth and thought about that lamp.
"Is it on paper? The debt? You have notes?"
"Yup. right here. All signed by either Trubor or Emmie Lake."
The pistolera turned the handle to open the door. She didn't need this crap. She came to the mountains to stake a claim, not to be some kind of debt enforcer. She opened her mouth to tell the barber...
"Give 'em to me. I'll be back in an hour."
By the time she realized that she had committed herself, she was back out the door with the notes in her hand. Damn it all.
"I'm looking for the Lake siblings. Are they here?"
"Why the fuck are you asking me?" A gob of chicken laden spittle flew off the fat man's mouth and onto the ledger he was scribbling in with his free hand. The pistolera could smell the grease on him even over the stench of mold and rot that was coming from the common room of his tenement building.
"You're the landlord of this rat nest, aren't you? The foreman at the lumber mill said that Trubor Lake and his sister Emmie keep a room here."
"Well they're not here. If Trubor isn't at that mill then he's probably out drinking. Probably at the same hall his sister dances at." The fat man apparently thought the idea of a brother visiting the hall were his sister dances worth laughing at. Or at least worth making a choking grunt at. It was difficult to tell for sure if the noise he made was a laugh or not.
"Trubor was fired from the mill today and Emmie from the dance hall two days ago. They haven't been to either place today. Now, if they're not in their room where would they be at?" The pistolera leaned in and raised the brim of her duster.
The landlord looked down from his stool and caught her gaze. The blood ran from his flabby cheeks and he tried to look away from her, look at anything else, but failed. He was certain she'd kill him the moment he looked away. He could feel it.
"I haven't seen either one today, ma'am." He tried to gulp down the saliva that was pooling under his tongue but only succeeded in choking and coughing instead.
"Give me your master key."
"I don't have... " The well-worn lie died in his mouth when he caught sight of his own reflection in her eyes. Years later he'd swear he saw the very specter of death coming for him in those eyes.
In the end he didn't even remember giving her the key. But the thong he kept it on was snapped clean off and his hand bled from where it had cut him.
That evening, after the sun had set behind the mountains, two shadowy figures moved through the halls of the tenement and up all four flights of stairs to the top floor. They would have been silent if not for their constant shushing and giggling at each other. Occasionally there'd be a little clinking noise from the bottles of bourbon they were carrying.
At a door with the name "Lake" crudely carved into it the two stopped and looked around and examined the door knob. Satisfied that no one was observing them and that their room remained undisturbed, the taller of the two pulled a heavy iron key from her breast pocket and unlocked the door.
Once they were both inside and the door closed behind them, the pistolera made her move. A mule kick to the legs of the taller one followed by a sap to the jaw of the smaller and it was all over.
Finding and subduing the Lake siblings hadn't been difficult at all. But it appeared that they were near broke. Or possibly completely broke now that they'd bought all that bourbon. The pistolera bound their arms and ankles then found a comfortable chair to wait for them to wake up.
By the sound of their snoring she was afraid that she might be in for a long wait.
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