December, 2009       Issue #3

Double Event
by Terry Alexander

The woman tugged the laces of her best high-topped shoes, tying them in an even bow. “Come on, Ester. Get moving. We need to get there early, give the men a good look at us.”

“Do you really think this will work?” Ester tugged the blue dress over her head.

“I've been around a few hangin's and believe me business always picks up after.” She studied her reflection in the small cracked mirror above the night table.

“I've never been to a hanging before, Lola. What's it like?”

“You're not there to watch. You're there to be seen.” She smoothed the wrinkles in her dress, a full-skirted yellow outfit worn thin at the sleeves. “They'll remember you later when they get some liquor.”

“How do I look?” She pranced from behind the oilcloth partition, her bare feet kicking dust from the floor as she danced circles around the small room.

“Pretty, very pretty.” Lola nodded her approval. “Take a couple drops of arsenic with some water. It'll make you look younger. Men like being with a young woman.”

“I don't like arsenic.” Ester frowned. “It makes me light headed.”

“It'll help bring in the customers.”

Ester nodded, her face wrinkled with distaste.

“Be sure you wear those new stockings, and clean up your shoes. You're gonna give these men something to look at.” She stroked the younger woman's red hair. “It'll be worth it when we get to a big city. You'll be in big demand. We'll make a wagon load of money.”

“Where are we gonna go?” Ester asked.

“Anywhere but here,” Lola said. “Someplace where a woman can get an even chance; where we won't be dollar whores.”

Ester rolled her eyes; she had heard it all before. Make your money, get out of the business while you're young, find a man and settle down. Deep in her heart she knew Lola was right, but it was hard to see tomorrow from a one room shanty with oilcloth partitions separating the beds.

“Really, where are we going?”

“California; someplace by the ocean, or maybe New Orleans.” A red flush crept up Lola's face. “Someplace where we have a chance. You're too pretty to be working these cribs.”

“I hope this works.” Ester pulled an old brush with several missing bristles through her hair. “I want to leave El Paso, get out and see the world.”

“Remember to smile, show your teeth, bat those green eyes, and we'll have them lined up at our door.” Lola smiled; the crow's feet stood out prominently around her eyes. “Believe me, when a man's little general stands at attention, they'll follow him into battle and the devil take the consequences.”

Ester's hand covered her mouth, stifling her laughter.

“Finish dressing, we need to get moving. There's money to be made tonight.” Lola winked. “Don't forget to put the extra oil cloths on the beds; I don't want those cowboys ruining my bed covers with their spurs.”

“I'll make sure everything's ready.” She darted under the rope hanging between the beds. “Who are they hanging?” she asked.

“A couple of Mexicans. They say Pat Garrett brought ‘em back from New Mexico and traded them for a fella here they had papers on.” Lola dabbed a drop of vanilla extract behind her ears.

“Two hangings at once.” Ester fitted the stiff oilcloth over the beds. “I've heard of such things, but I never imagined that I'd ever see it.”

“Folks around here are too cheap to spring for two ropes. They're gonna hang two men with the same rope. Ain't any wonder a girl can't make a decent living here. It's bad enough to be a whore, but to starve in the bargain just ain't right.”

Ester reached under her mattress and removed a pair of crinkled stockings. “A double event,” she said.

“Just like us.” Lola gazed at her face in the mirror. “A double event.” She looked around the small room. “Get to moving gal. We want those men to get a good look at us.”

The two women strolled down the dirt street, circling several piles of fresh horse droppings. A mixed crowd of spectators gathered, waiting for the spectacle to begin. A jovial mood spread through the mass of humanity. Men hoisted small children to their shoulders, pointing at the cross members. Several walked under the gallows, staring at the underside and the trap door.

A trio of men loitered in an alley off the main street. They passed a bottle between them, trying to go unnoticed. They failed in the attempt. Their eyes locked on the two women.

Lola flashed the three a broad smile. She nodded in their direction. “We'll see them before eight o'clock.”

Married men openly appraised the two women, only to receive a swift elbow to the ribs from their mates. Lola smiled broadly, the crowd was growing, this was going to be a good night.

A bustle of activity came from the jail. The hangman exited the sheriff's office, a large black bag in his hand.

“He's gonna fix the rope to the beam.” Lola leaned toward Ester, whispering the words softly. “He'll measure out the rope to make sure the drop pops his neck.”

“He acts a little nervous. How many hangings has he done?”

“First one he's ever done himself, but he's talked to professional hangmen.” Lola said. “They set him straight on the way it should be done.”

“They're bringing the first man out.” Ester moved through the mob, to the front of the scaffold.

“What are you doing?” Lola pushed her way through the tightly packed mass. “Let's move to the back.” She grabbed Ester's elbow, pulling her along.

“I want to see it all.” Ester shook off the older woman's hand.

Lola shook her head; this wasn't part of her plan. This could ruin everything.

The sheriff walked ahead of the shackled Mexican; two shotgun packing deputies followed closely behind. The big man laughed as he approached the steps.

Lola watched in disbelief. “This ain't a tea party fella.” She whispered.

The planks creaked as the large man bounded up the steps. His continuous laughter filled the air, echoing from the squat buildings.

“Is that man touched?” Ester asked, her voice the faintest of whispers.

Lola nodded. “That's Antonio Flores. Been like that all his life.” She held a finger to her lips. “The sheriff's gonna read the death warrant.”

A pot-bellied man with a star pinned to his chest brushed a finger across his mustache. He cleared his throat and began his oration of the death sentence. Flore's laughter drowned out his words.

A priest leaned in close to the prisoner's ear. The laughter died in the man's throat at the padre's whispered message.

The executioner fitted the black hood over his head, positioning the rope properly behind the left ear proved to be a problem for the inexperienced hangman. After several minutes he nodded to the sheriff and padded the short distance to the lever.

Lola held her breath as the lawman returned the nod. The young man pulled the lever. The trap door snapped open and Antonio Flores plunged the short distance to his death.

She closed her eyes. The snap of bone and cartilage silenced the crowd. She glanced at Ester. The younger woman paled, her complexion turned ghostly white. She reached for the girl's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Two stout men labored with the body, lifting it up to allow the hangman to free the rope from the beam and lower the cadaver to the ground. A grimy-suited doctor stepped under the scaffold. A wreath of cigar smoke circled his head from the stubby butt gripped between his teeth. He rummaged through the bag and removed a wooden tube. He held the cone shaped instrument over Flores's heart, placing his ear over the flat end. He listened for several seconds. “He's gone.” he said.

The hangman and sheriff moved to the body. They struggled with the rope unable to gain any slack in the noose.

“What?” Ester held her stomach. “What are they doing?”

“They're wetting the hemp, trying to get the knot to slip.” She shook her head. They should have bought two ropes.

“Soap, let's try soap,” the hangman said. “Lather it in real good, and the rope should slip easily.”

“Soap.” Lola frowned. “They've already soaped the rope.”

A deputy broke away from the mob and ran to the jail. He returned shortly carrying a well used bar of Lye soap. The sheriff and hangman worked the lather into the braided hemp, slowly gaining slack in the rope. An impatient undertaker, his foot tapping the ground, waited to assume control of the body.

“Okay.” The young executioner tugged the noose free. “Get the next one ready.”

That's a lot of soap; Lola's hand went to her throat. They used too much.

Two men wrestled under the dead weight; they carried the body to a waiting wagon, under the watchful eyes of the undertaker.

“This is the one everyone's waiting on,” Lola whispered, the sheriff led Geronimo Para from the jail.

“See that fella over there.” Lola nodded in the direction of a broad shouldered man with a drooping mustache, sporting a Texas Ranger badge on his chest. “That's John Hughes. Para killed a friend of his some time back. He really wants to see Para hang.”

Ester licked her lips. She watched the Mexican walk across the dusty street. The chains on his feet jingled with each step, as he slowly ascended the steps.

Para took his place over the trap door. The executioner's hands quivered; as he fitted the hood over the burly mans head. Ester moved closer as the lathered rope circled the killers head and tightened.

“You're getting to close.” Lola pulled Ester's sleeve, trying to lead her back into the heart of the crowd. The double clump of the lever and trap door drowned out all other sounds. Time seemed to stand still; Para came to a jarring stop at the end of the rope.

The soaped knot slipped from its placement behind the left ear. The lathered braids sliced the tender flesh of Para's throat.

“Oh my God!” Ester screamed, the warm jet of blood from the Mexican's severed jugular covered her face and soaked her dress in crimson. Her hands automatically covered her face, coming away wet and sticky. “Lola, help me,” she screamed. “Help me.”

Lola's jaw dropped, she stared slack jawed at the dangling figure of Para. Unable to tear her eyes away as the Mexican kicked his life away, a heavy mist of scarlet spraying from his throat. Ester grabbed her elbow, leaving a red smear on the fabric.

“Lola!” Ester shouted. “Let's get out of here. Take me home.”

Lola stared dumbfounded at the woman in the red mask. Her mind refused to accept the reality of the situation. The touch of warm sticky hands on her face jolted her numbed mind back to the present.

“Let's get out of here!” Ester shrieked.

The two women ran from the main street, unmindful of the stares and jeers from the crowd. Ester tore at her dress, as they passed through the doorway of the hovel they called home.

“Get these off me.” The thin material ripped under her hands. “Get these things off me.”

Lola sucked in a deep breath. “Calm down,” she said at last, fumbling with the buttons on Ester's dress. “You're not hurt, and we'll have this off you in just a minute.”

“Oh God, I'm going to be sick.” Ester's hand flew to her mouth. “I'm going to vomit.” Her cheeks puffed, as the hot bile rushed up her throat.

“Not in here! Get outside! Not in here.” Lola grabbed her hand, guiding Ester toward the back door. They made it to the window. Ester stuck her head through the opening and wretched. Her body wracked with spasms as she purged her stomach.

Lola dabbed at her face with a wet cloth. “You'll be all right,” she said. “Just calm down. You'll be all right.”

“The blood, did you see it? Did you see how it sprayed? I was eight feet away, and it soaked me.” Ester wiped the clear sheen of stomach acid from her mouth, removing a small portion of blood. “I can smell his blood on me. I smell like a slaughter house.”

“Get out of that dress.” Lola pressed the cloth in her hand. “Take this and clean up, as best you can. I'll get some more water.” She crossed the room quickly, disappeared out the back door, she returned with a small bucket filled to the brim, her movements splashing water to the floor.

“Oh my head.” Ester pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I'm gonna be sick again.” A stream of hot liquid struck the windowsill.

“Lord, girl, get yourself together.” Lola patted the young woman's back. “We'll have customers here in a couple of hours.”

“I can't do it!” Ester stammered, unable to control the trembling in her body. “I can't do it. We'll have to make the money another way.”

“Are you insane? This is our big chance. They'll never be another opportunity like this. If we're ever gonna leave El Paso, we have to make a big score now.”

Lola stared down at the young woman. Ester returned her look through pained sorrowful eyes. Her face covered by drying blood and fresh stomach slime. “I can't go tonight,” she said.

“Think about this, whores are used up before they're forty. They're gray haired, toothless wretches, putting out for a quarter or a dime. This crib is bad but imagine living and doing business in an alley, no roof over your head and no food. If you're lucky, you won't starve, or freeze in the winter. Is that the life you want?”

Ester closed her eyes. Tears streamed around the lids, threading down her face. Her shoulders quivered in time to her muffled sobs.

“Make up your mind. We have a great chance to make money and move on to something better, but we have to make the money tonight. It's up to you.”

Ester fought back her tears. Her grim face turned to Lola. “Damn you! Let's get the money.”

The first men arrived at twilight, a pair of cowhands who stank of sweat, manure and cheap liquor. Lola studied them through a slit in the flour sack curtain.

“Come on, girls,” the larger one pounded on the door. “Open up it's time for company.”

The shorter man, sporting a new vest kicked at the doorframe. “Don't keep us waiting all night.”

Lola stuck her head out the door, giving the two a quick glimpse of her tattered underwear. It paid off to give the customers a little glance at the merchandise before the bargaining began. “What can I do for you men?” she asked, her voice syrupy sweet.

“How much?” The short man clad in the new vest asked.

“Right to the point, huh.” Lola smiled. “I like that.” Her hand rubbed along her chin. “Five dollars each.”

“That's a little steep ain't it? Last week it was only two.” The short frowned.

The burly man pulled new vest away from the door. He whispered something that Lola couldn't catch. The shorter man kept shaking his head in contrast to the bigger man's nods.


“Are you boys gonna make up your mind or what?” Lola leaned on the doorframe, letting the door swing open, giving the men a good look at her in the fading light. “I can't stand out here all night in my shift.”

“We'll go four dollars,” the short man said. “But only if we can see the dress.”

Lola shook her head. “You can see the dress, but its five dollars.”

“Damn.” New vest pursed his lips, the tip of his tongue barely visible. ‘It's a deal.” He hurried through the door tugging at his waistband. “Where's the other one? I want her.”

“Ester, we've got gentleman callers.” Lola guided new vest around the partition.

“Send him in. I just love to see visitors.” Ester answered weakly. “How are you doing Cowboy?” She asked, as he circled the oilcloth barrier.

“Come on, let's finish this up,” he said, dropping his pants below the knees. “I wanna see that dress.”

Dawn streaked the eastern sky, the new sun driving the darkness and gloom away. The endless line of customers had died away only minutes before. The two women sat at the tiny kitchen table and stared at each other through red bleary eyes.

“Place stinks,” Lola said. “Smells worse than a stable.”

“Most of those cowboys didn't clean up before they came to town.” Ester tugged a blanket snugly around her shoulders. “I didn't think I was gonna make it a few times last night. Good thing you had that laudanum or I wouldn't have made daylight.”

“We got through it with you doing the lion's share of the work,” Lola said. “I'd love to take a long hot bath and sleep for a week.”

“I'm glad it's over with.” Ester stifled a yawn. “How much money did we make?”

“Just over a hundred dollars.”

“A hundred dollars,” Ester repeated. “Enough for the trip to California?”

“More than enough,” Lola laughed. “That short fella with the fancy vest made three trips through here last night.”

“He showed more interest in the dress,” Ester said. “How did you come up with that idea anyway?”

“The short guy brought it up. He gave extra money for a look at it. I'm surprised so many of them wanted to look it over.”

“I'm getting rid of that nasty thing. I think I'll burn it.”

“You can sell it if you're of a mind.” A smile touched Lola's lined face. “Bart Cantrell treated himself early this morning. He offered fifty dollars for that dress.”

Ester's eyebrows pinched together. “Fifty dollars,” she stammered. “Why?”

“He claims we stole most of his business last night. The men spent of their money here instead of his saloon.”

“That's a lot of money for that dress.”

“Believe me; Bart wouldn't make the offer if he didn't believe he could make a profit.” Lola scratched at her toes.

“Do we need the money?”

“No, we're pretty flush right now.” Lola nodded.

“I know we used this dress last night to make money, but it was a spur of the moment thing.” She chewed at her lower lip. “But if we keep it, use it to draw in customers, or sell it for a profit.” She stopped for a moment; wrinkles furrowed her forehead, she stared at the blood stained garment. “If we keep using it, we won't break with our past; we'll always be dollar whores.”

“It's your decision. Whatever you want,” Lola agreed.

Ester rose to her feet, she crossed the room removing the stained dress from the nail above her bed. “Let's get this over with,” she said, her hand closed on a box of matches. “We need to pack and get started for California.”