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They call them trinity

May 1852, California.
It's 2pm at the Dry Beanz saloon, another day of sand and sun in a hellhole named Mametown, plagued by outlaws and forgotten by God.
Mamrie "Sweetheart" Hart is dusting some half empty bottles of cheap spirits, glancing at the light that filters through the windows, drawing shapes in the empty room. It's a small saloon, with a couple of mismatching sofas and a piano pushed against the wall. A few tables and chairs are still piled on top of each other from the night before. It's still too early.
The German is sprawled on a dark green leather armchair, hat pulled over his eyes and feet on a coffee table. A fly rests on his cheek. He doesn't move.
There's a rattling noise coming from the street, a horse snorting in the distance. If Mamrie were out, she would see a trail of dust raising down the road and a caravan approaching, but it's too hot to bother, so she waits for the sound to come closer. And when it does, she pulls her long-barrelled rifle and rests it on the counter, for good measure.
A horse gets tied to the fence post outside, and a shadow forms behind the saloon entrance, black against the blinding light. As the doors swing open and flap back, Mamrie's face lights up.
"Mother. Fucker."
"Hey, Mames!" The short figure tips their hat and smiles, standing in the middle of the room.
"C'mere, little sister!" Mamrie quickly puts the rifle back below the counter and hurries towards the young woman who is waiting with open arms.
"Oh God!" The girl gasps, engulfed in a full-bodied hug "Missed you too, sis!"
"You took a while to come back, kid!" Mamrie raises an eyebrow and quirks her head in the direction of the counter, a flock of red hair falling from her tight bun. "But look at you, you need a good shower."
"Yeah." It's all the girl says, looking down at her dusty shirt and trousers. She looks around, and spots the man lying in a shady corner.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Borg."
The German touches his hat and nods.
"Still not very chatty, hm?" She asks Mamrie.
"There's no need for that." She winks.
"So yeah, I'll accept that shower, but first I need a beer."
"As long as you don't expect it to be cold, honey."
- - -
"So I had to stop a bit longer in San Francisco, the ships were late. Two didn't make it to the bay, the hurricane sank them three days from the coast. But then I sold most of the stuff in the new settlements, that was good."
Mamrie sighs: as new settlements were built, more people were leaving Mametown, and her business was starting to suffer. Hannah throws a little leather bag onto the counter and quickly finishes her beer before it gets too warm.
"Holy crap, Hannah." Mamrie says, peeking inside.
"Yeah, there's plenty of gold up there. I don't know why you're still in this shithole, Mames."
"I don't know... I can't leave my girls." She pointlessly waves at the empty room.
Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of the door creaking slowly, and light steps fill the silent room. As two long legs cover the distance between the door and the counter, Mamrie's eyes follow the tall, thin figure in a long black leather coat. Mr. Borg lifts his hat and squares the woman who just walked in, nodding his approval, and Hannah turns, leaning against the bar top, giving the stranger a good look.
"We're not open yet." Mamrie says dryly.
The tall woman gives her a patient look, and her tongue skillfully moves the toothpick she is chewing from one side of her mouth to the other. She peeks at Hannah's empty glass.
"I am sure we can figure something out." She says placing two coins on the counter. "Got any whiskey?"
Mamrie stares at the stranger - calm, firm eyes meeting hers. The two women stand in front of each other for a few seconds, until the redhead's smile grows, satisfied, and she pours the brownish liquid into a glass. The woman accepts the drink it under Hannah's curious gaze. She is wearing dark leather chaps and carries two guns; her broad-brimmed hat must be black under the dusty film. It's not a bad look on her, if uncommon for a woman - Hannah thinks.
She downs the drink in one go.
"Got any good whiskey, Red?" She asks again with a scowl on her face, and throws a few more coins on the counter.
Mamrie raises an eyebrow, amused, and pulls out a different bottle: "You're in luck, Legs."
She drinks a second glass, and tilts her head to the side, approving. She touches the rim of the glass with her finger, and Mamrie looks at her suspiciously before pouring a third serving.
Hannah clears her throat, and moves closer to the stranger. "Can I get you this one, honey?" She says, smiling.
The woman looks her up and down, unimpressed: "Doesn't look like you can afford it."
"You'd be surprised." She insists, holding the little leather bag in her fist.
The woman drinks her third whiskey, then leans closer to the girl and whispers: "Do you really think it is a good idea to tell a stranger you got gold, kid?"
Hannah gulps and freezes, as she notices the long scar running down the woman's cheek. Mamrie's laugher hits the room like a cannonball as she smacks the counter with her open hand.
"I like you, Legs! This one's on me." She states, cheerful. "Are you staying in town? We have rooms."
"I'll take one for tonight then." The woman smiles as Mamrie throws her a key. She pays upfront for the room and a bottle of whiskey, then heads upstairs, leaving Hannah staring at the empty space she left behind.
Mamrie lets out a loud sigh. "You gotta try to keep it in your pants, sis." she advises, shaking her head "That one is going to rip you head off."
Hannah chuckles.
"Those legs though." She replies, dreamily, then turns to Mr. Borg: "Am I right, German?"
He just raises his hand, not going to reveal his opinion on the matter.
"Boy, you trained him well." She says to Mamrie.
"Just try to not get in trouble this time."
- - -
As the evening approaches, the saloon fills up with the usual crowd and Mamrie's girls are browsing around, giggling, chatting, sitting on various laps. Hannah has taken a shower in Mamrie's backyard and moved her caravan in the shady stable she helped building years ago. She is eating eggs and beans in a corner, and Becky winks at her from a distance before leaning on a table where four men are sitting. She lets her cleavage do most of the talking.
The room is buzzing and Mamrie is glad Hannah brought some good shit from San Francisco, because the patrons look like they are willing to spend some money tonight. Her girls are going to be exhausted tomorrow.
As she cleans her plate, Hannah stands up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smiling at Clarissa, who waves gingerly from a corner. With the clean shirt, vest and bow tie she looks quite the boy, and truly, those who don' t know her couldn't tell she is not.
She puts her bowler hat on top of the piano and sits to play a cheerful tune. Julie leans against the wall and looks at her, biting her lower lip, and Mamrie will never know what her little sister does to her girls, but they sure are in a good mood tonight. The room slowly warms up to the music and few patrons start clapping their hands, encouraging the girls to dance. Nobody notices the tall, dark figure sneaking upstairs.
Three songs in, the crowd is noisy and drunk under Mamrie watchful eyes. She spotted a couple of hot heads and she is not going to let them start a fist fight. She glances at Mr. Borg, who catches the hint. He takes a couple of steps in the direction of the two men arguing, when the doors open with a loud bang and three men stand at the entrance, looking around.
The room falls silent for a minute, as sheriff Weichel walks in slowly, followed by two armed henchmen. He points at the piano with a satisfied smirk and the men rush to grab Hannah by the arms, dragging her outside while she shout: "Hey! Hey! What the hell, you fucking -" A hand covers her mouth, and strong arms are holding her while she keeps kicking.
Mamrie runs after them: "What's going on, sheriff?"
He turns slowly. His moustache curls a bit as his mouth quirks in a cruel smile. "Your sister is accused of murder."
Mamrie stands, petrified, as Weichel follows the two men out and the room goes back to its noisy jolliness.
- - -
Hannah is thrown in one of two cells in the sheriff's office, her gun taken from her.
"What's going on?" She cries holding the bars.
The sheriff slowly walks up to her. "We got you this time, you fucking dyke."
"I have done nothing!"
"We've got witnesses, Hart. A kid saw you shooting Woodman three times in his chest."
"That's impossible." She shouts.
"Yeah, well, we'll see about that." He grabs a stick and hits the bar close to her fingers, making her jump back. "Stay quiet and enjoy your last night. Tomorrow is going to be fun."
As they leave, Hannah instinctively runs back to the bars and stretches her hands out to see if she can reach something, anything. She searches the dark room with her eyes, but she can barely see - the only light is the moon shedding its pale light from a small window. She doesn't understand. The air is still, she can hear the buzz from the saloon as life keeps happening outside the four walls. She can't tell how long she stands with her arms hanging out of the bars, eyes fixed in the darkness.
"Murder." She whispers to no one.
They will hang her tomorrow. Sheriff Weichel has been around enough to make a name for himself, and he is not famous for his mercy or sense of justice. She takes a few steps back, running her hands through her hair. "It had to happen" she thinks. She made too many mistakes. She sits in a corner that smells the least of piss and hugs her knees. She spends at least one hour sitting, until her butt is numb and her ankles start hurting. She cries for a while, but then it seems pointless so she just sits there in silence, her mind completely blank, waiting for the morning to come.
- - -
As the door creaks open, two figures tumble in, muttering. She can make out the silhouette of two men, one thinner, one more built. The latter opens the other cell door and pushes the first inside, before lighting up a candle. The dim light is enough for Hannah to recognise the deputy sheriff, his metal star shining at his every move.
He fumbles with the belt he took from her fellow prisoner, who huffs as if the whole situation was just a complete waste of time. The belt is shoved in a closet, noisily. As he gets closer to the cell, the candle reveals Hannah's cellmate, and she gasps in surprise seeing it's not a man, it's the tall woman who took the room at the saloon.
"Come on, sheriff. I am sorry I punched your mouth." She slurs.
She is completely drunk, Hannah thinks.
"Really, I didn't mean to." The woman insists.
"Yeah, ok. Let's see if a night in will sober you up." His voice is upset, yet somehow shy.
"Hey..." the woman's hand slide between the bars and grab his shirt, and her tone would be seductive if she weren't so drunk: "I am sorry, ok? You caught me by surprise... but I can make it up to you, puppy."
"I..." he stutters "I'll be back later. Maybe. When you're... feeling better."
He pulls away, and Hannah can swear she can see his face turning red despite the darkness. He rushes outside the room, shutting the door loudly behind him.
"Damn sheriff." The woman whispers.
"Deputy sheriff." Hannah corrects her. The voice in the dark makes her wince.
"Who's there?" She asks, confused.
"My name's Hannah Hart. We met at my sister's saloon."
The tall woman squints her eyes and stumbles towards her, trying to make out the short figure sitting in the dark.
"Great." She rolls her eyes. "Now, shut up."
"Hey dude, I am going to be hanged tomorrow. Might as well have a word with a dead woman." Hannah says, then she stands up and walks closer. "What's you name again?"
"I never told you."
There's a pause, and Hannah can hear the woman huff again before she says: "Grace. Helbig."
"Got in a fight?"
"Puppy face pinched my butt." She giggles "He goosed, I punched. Uh, idea. If I ever get a puppy, Imma call it Goose. How about you, kid?"
"I am in for killing Mr Woodman."
"Oh, you're going to get hanged alright." She chuckles again.
"But I didn't! I didn't kill him." Hannah grabs the bars of her cell in frustration, and pointlessly tries to shake them.
"Oh, I know." Grace replies, casually "I did."