The Five Dollar Mail (Book 1: The Green & Book 2: Lynch's Boys)

17: Bad Brew

Book cover art by Angela Taratuta, graphics by me. Featured chapter artwork of Wash  is by Laura Hollingsworth, the writer/illustrator of The Siver Eye webcomic at http://www.thesilvereye.com/.

The fingers digging into his shoulder and shaking him were annoying as hell. He willed himself to stay asleep, curling on his side against the irritation and shoving his face into his pillow.

"Wake up, Saint." Wash's lilt cut through the hazy grey morning light leaking though the bunkhouse shutters. "We're gonna hafta to get ready to go. Stage from Sweetwater is due in soon."

Saint groaned, his body feeling like it was stuffed loosely with bags of lead shot. How the hell can it possibly be past dawn already? Didn't I just lay down?

"Ye stayed up all night. Didn't you, lad." Wash's tone was scolding.

Saint squinted up at the older man, who sat on the edge of his bunk. "Couldn't sleep." He hauled himself to a sitting position, drawing his knees up and leaning his elbows wearily on them. "Merda, I feel like this in the morning, I wanna at least have been drunk the night before."

"Here." Wash handed him a cup of coffee. "Sorry, lad, I let you sleep as long as I could."

Saint roached back the tousled mop of dark hair that hung over his eyes and scratched his scalp vigorously. He gratefully took the cup and indulged in a long, noisy slurp. "Thanks, Wash." He appreciated how Wash always looked out for him and the rest of the crew. The Irishman wasn't much older than he was, but his was always a calming, comforting presence. Having left his family behind to come here to work, Saint found that Wash's quiet, brotherly manner made his homesickness much easier to bear.

"Ye alright?"

"Yeah." He swallowed the lukewarm brew with a grimace, feeling grinds swirl around inside his mouth. "Is this coffee or horse piss?"

"Why, were you expectin' coffee?" Wash retorted. "Maybe I should have spit into it a couple more times."

"Well, it wouldn't have made it taste any worse." Saint took a deep gulp, trying to wake up. Horse piss or no, it's still coffee. And God knows today I need it. "England and the Little Miss didn't make this..."

"I made it."

"Ah." Saint smirked, straining the noxious liquid between his teeth before swallowing it. "I know this sounds like crazy talk, since one of 'em's English, but maybe you oughta leave the cooking to the girls." He grinned unpleasantly, displaying thick globs of grinds caked across his teeth and gums.

"Miss Lily says some very nice bloke started the stove up and put a pot on before she got in there this morning. She don't know who." Wash said innocently. "Made a passing fair brew, too. In fact, it was so good, the lads drank it all. So I had to start ye a new pot."

Saint grunted, swinging his legs out of bed and casting around for his pants. He drained the cup, swishing the vile brew vainly around his mouth, trying to dislodge the mess in his teeth. Gaaaah.....He swallowed hard and shrugged into his jeans.

"So," Wash continued. "What's the secret?"

"A couple drops of England's vanilla." Saint sat back down on his bunk and started pulling his worn black boots on. "And nobody even bothered to bring me any firewood so they'd have an excuse to come in and flirt, either. Buncha ungrateful bastards. Drink up alla my coffee, but no morning wood for me, eh?"

"Very funny. At least we were polite about it." Wash countered defensively. "Fiona says you played the right prick yesterday morning."

Saint stopped and looked at Wash in surprise. "She really said 'prick'?"

"No. But she did say 'jackass'."

"Yeah, well." Saint muttered, perversely pleased with that bit of news. "Last thing I need is Jesse thinkin' I got intentions on his sister. Probably best if she she don' even like me. And besides," he straightened the cuffs of his jeans down over his boots and paused, trying to shake off his weariness enough to stand. "I was as nice as I could manage before dawn and coffee. How's Storm?"

"We're probably stuck with him. He was sittin' there sucking down the last of your brew little while ago."

"Thank God for that." Saint sighed, looking over at Wash seriously. "We're gonna have to do something about...What Happened, you know." He stood up, stretching his shoulders and hauling on a clean shirt.

Wash's brow furrowed. "I know, lad."

"Later, though." Saint was whipping a comb through his hair, a look of deep thought on his face. "They're expecting it now. We'll wait till they start tellin' themselves we're letting it go. We need to tell Jesse to haul in his horns, though, you know how he is. He might do something stupid while we're gone. Don't matter he's a medigan, those sons'a bitches would tear him apart if they ever got the drop on him."

"I talked to him. You'd best do the same before we go."

"Yeah." Saint sighed tiredly. He stopped, gathering his thoughts for a moment, then continued. "Wash, I hate this. I dunno what to do...I don't want any more trouble, you know? But, what? We let this stand and God knows what's next. Maybe they did go after Storm because I beat the shit out of them down at the Silver Star. But they didn't have a reason for going after me. They just wanted to deliver a beating to one of us. Any of us. They get away with that, they may decide they want to deliver worse."

Wash nodded. "I agree with you, lad, ye dinna need to convince me. Maybe by the time we get back, the Company will have seen to it. Ya never know. Interferin' with a mail carrier, that's pretty serious business. There was army papers in that mochilla. They ain't gonna let that lie. Give it a little time."

Saint was pulling on his coat. "I'd like to think that's what's gonna happen, but since that mail's getting run, and nobody got killed, I ain't holdin' my breath here. When's that stage due in?"

"Couple hours, tops. Probably less, if it's on time. We need to load a bit extra ammo." Wash said grimly. "We'll be headed west."