Serenity

10. Myfanway

"The usual, Clayton. And keep it comin'."

"Thought you were taking it easy for a while?"

"Yeah, well, you and me both."

"Guess you've heard all about our special event last night?"

"Yep."

"Bet nobody's thinking about the time and effort it's going to take me to get that mess cleaned up."

Bill raised his watery eyes from the bar to judge if Clayton was pulling his leg or not. From the hard set of the tall man's glare, he guessed not.
"Vinegar and rock salt ought'a do it."

"Salt?"

"Yeah," Bill shifted his gaze back to the walnut surface. It proved easier than watching the emotions flick across Clayton's blue-grey eyes.
"Helps grind away the stain."

Clayton snorted and banged down a glass and a full bottle in front of Bill.
"You help yourself today, old man. I got too much to do."

"Yep. I'd reckon so. What you say about that, Hickey?" Bill Dawson swirled precariously on his barstool to face the empty one at the end of the bar.
"You gonna keep it down this morning?" Spluttering into his glass of whisky, Bill's grin faltered. "Outta respect, yeah?"

Staccato taps of high heels came towards him. That could only mean one thing.

Miss Molly Stockholme.

Sure enough, there she stood. Bold as brass and just as unmissable.

"Care to light up an old flame?"

Her husky voice set his loins on fire. How did she know what to say? Why did the words come so easy to her?

Old Bill took a deep breath and fumbled in his pocket until he managed to free the box of matches. He held them up like a prize winning cup for Molly to see.

She didn't even blink. She grabbed a hold of the box and proceeded to strike a flame big enough to stoke her cigarello.
"Wanna tell me what you know, Big Guy?"

Bill's pride swelled at the mention of their private nickname. He ran a hand over his balding plate and lifted up his chin.
"About what, ma'am?"

Molly drew in the flame and was rewarded with a red ember surrounded by a cloud of smoke. She flicked her fingers to shake the life out of the match. Her eyes reflected the dying sparks.
"About what your friend, the good Sheriff, has to say on the matter of Mr Ashbury's unfortunate accident."

Bill's left eyebrow raised involuntarily.
"Is that what you call it?"

Molly bustled her broad body up to the bar, taking up the space between his seat and Hickey's. Her lips displayed a grimace, when he knew she was actually attempting to smile. She spoke through clenched teeth.
"Why, what does Bailey label it as?"

He shrugged his shoulders and concentrated on pouring out his first glass of many. Molly lowered her shoulders, a move which provided Bill with an ample view of her assets. He shook his head.
"I ain't gettin' in on this, Miss Molly, ma'am. So quit hounding."

Molly pulled herself up straight and backed away in mock afront. Her tone of voice gave her away.
"Oh, whatever do you mean? I was enquiring as a troubled citizen."
She rested a heavy, red-nailed hand over his. The touch lit up a fire inside him. "Why don't you come on up the stairs and keep me company a while?"

She swayed in close enough for him to catch the scent of her lavander soap. Had it been the same bar as the one Ashbury had used the night his throat was slit? The thought brought a gag of bile up to his throat.
"I ain't good company." He drawled out while he avoided her stare.