The Accident - Cover

The Accident

Copyright© 2016 by Old Man with a Pen

Chapter 16

The Inn was built like a fort ... or the best log cabin you ever imagined. The few windows were high up under the eaves and the door wouldn’t look out of place on a vault. The construction was squared off logs and probably two feet thick. That made me realize the forests here were prime timber cutting territory. Dense and first growth.

They had one of those bristle brushes on a little platform that a caring fella could use to brush off the road filth acquired by walking anywhere in town.

Folks must not have cared because the area surrounding the appliance was the only clean (relative term) place on the boardwalk in front of the inn.

I got to thinking about the nasty shit in the shit and decided I didn’t want to be breathing ... or eating it.

I used the brush. Something told me I was going to get static from somebody about that.

Inside, something was wrong. The place was packed. Men shouting and nobody saying anything ... that could be heard. I stepped back out and shut the door ... couldn’t hear a thing. Like I said ... built.

While I was getting ready to make a second attempt, the rag pile I had sent to the livery with My horses stepped up and handed me two freshly washed belt pouches.

“What’s this?”

“Their goods,” the pile said.

“You retrieved ‘em ... they’re yours.”

The pile shook a third pouch, “I got mine,” and giggled.

“Successful, were they?”

“Yup ... and thanks,” there was a brilliant smile under all that filth. Even teeth that had seen the services of an orthodontist.

“You’re not from around here, are you.” I wasn’t asking. I was telling.

“Nope,” the pile said.

“Maybe ... Cassandra?” I asked.

“You one of them heroes?”

“You in distress?”

“Not any more,” the dirt pile said, and latched onto my arm.

“How long you been here?”

“Seven long years,” she said. “I was beginning to give up hope ... and you showed up.”

 
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