A Bullet Or Two

Chapter 1.2

Bourgerdown had never been a complex town from Delilah's perspective. Its shops ran down the main cobble road, all stacked together in straight lines. Numerous homes lined the back of the shops, with some jutting too far out into the streets. The train station faced the tavern, prey to the drunkards that wished to race the steam engines. It was an aspiring replica of East City. Smaller, far much smaller. It was dingy. Dirty. Desperate. The town wasn't complex at all.

Rather its people were. Complex and utterly annoying.

Delilah circled the rim of her glass with the tip of her finger, returning to the occasional glancing at her guard. Entranced in her captivating anxieties about every way the night could take a turn for the worst and be a repeat disaster of her last job, she startled at the slam of the door against the stone wall.

A plump, scraggy man sauntered in - his hair receding; shirt and pants covered in black speckles. Delilah grimaced. Daryll escaped his wife it seemed.

The next couple of hours dawdled, taunted her like a headache that only worsened. The gunsmith had spotted her pretty little form perched on the stall and decided he would not leave her be for the rest of the night. His constant hovering, questions, and pathetic flirtation exacerbated the nausea swelling in her stomach. His carelessness and trepidation were a blaring reminder of that man in that tavern so long ago. One urging her to chug down another ale before letting the revolting fool come close to her. 

Daryll was twice her age, bordering on forty-three with his birthday two months away. Maturity seemed to avert him still, and he was utterly obsessed with Delilah and her pretty breasts. She pulled her back straight each time she caught his eyes lingering behind the white fabric of her bodice. Delilah had been accustomed to this unwelcome attention, trained to encourage and manipulate it all for her step-father's benefit. She lavished it at first, ate it up like it was steak cooked for the Baron himself. The kind he refused to let her cut into and consume, preferring that his step-daughter have light meals to maintain her figure. Then, as she got older and the men got older too, the flirting ground her, irked her stomach, and prodded at her, like a knife sawing through meat. Their constant comments and groping and calling and forcing...Delilah let out a heavy breath.

She would bear it. Live with it. Worse things could happen than flirtation. Worse things did.

All Jonnie could see of Delilah was her back, and she knew it. Made sure of it. She twisted in her seat so that all he could see was the swish of her curled tawny locks across her back. He was aware not to intervene. This was her job. Her first one back and she would be damned if he stole her success.

Delilah knew what to do, she had assured him so. The gunsmith wouldn't resist her flirting and would take her back to his shop. It was the simplest plan. The simplest way to get the Baron what he wanted. Jonnie had squinted at her, questioning her in a silent emotion she did not know but he soon relinquished. Allowed her the chance to redeem herself.

Baron had not given her any jobs since the last, the first one Jonnie had accompanied her on. Back then he was scrawny - a lanky boy with blonde hair turned brown from grease, desperate to put food on the table for his demoted family. Noble once, then stuck fumbling for money in the troubled alleys of East City. That job was the first time she had met him. Afterward, he was assigned to her always. A personal bodyguard. A personal knight to protect her in the light and dark. He was annoying beyond annoying to start with, but his presence grew comforting, and his company made her days less lonely even if her nights remained full of terrors of what they had experienced.

"Another?" The croaky voice intruded. Delilah cocked her head, forgetting that she was entertaining the disgrace of a smith Baron hired. He pointed to her glass inquisitively. "Oh. Please." Two words were all she managed. Desperate to relieve herself from the awful interaction.

Peeking over her shoulder, she found Jonnie still in his seat. He watched her, so intent. Eyes following her every moment. Until they were no longer on her. Instead, they were on Daryll, moving as he did. Jonnie's knuckles clench white around his glass at whatever Daryll was doing. And then she felt it.

His fingers slithered against her thigh. Clammy palm pulled against her muscle through her red skirts. It's just a job. She reminded herself. This is exactly the plan. Only a job. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she turned back to the gunsmith. Interlocked her fingers with his to move them away and leaned herself forward. His eyes bulged at the sight as she twisted her soft locks around her fingers. Closer she moved, giving Daryll a glimpse down her neckline to her ample chest. It's just a job. His fingers locked on hers and he pulled himself closer, delighted. "So," he breathed, a putrid smell brushing out around his rotted teeth. "What brings you to town?"

If only Delilah had a gun.

Delilah wanted to stand up. To leave and return to the city. To leave and forget about Bourgerdown altogether. The intensifying stench of the gunsmith was tempting her to give up the job there and then. She knew she could not...but sweat, gunpowder and spilled beef stew was a persuasive counterargument. Daryll Smyth, inheritor of his father's smith shop, and his endless debts. The man knew nothing of hygiene nor manners. Across the hours together she had watched his eyes continue to prowl her body, his lips purse in anticipation, and his blackened hand grab at his crotch to readjust. It took every ounce of discipline in her not to guzzle down another ale and smash her glass into his face. That was if Jonnie did not beat her to it.

He was watching still. She knew it. That was his job after all. Watch and protect. She wondered if jobs like this suffocated him as much as they did her. If it tortured him with memories of the bloodied corpse and the red pooling on her skirts.

"Shall we go elsewhere?" Delilah purred to him, leaning closer so that her breath warmed his ear. Daryll was wearing her patience down, taking too long to move along their little encounter. Spending too long talking of how warm the ale is, how complicated his job is, about him, him, and him. Each moment longer here with him was a moment more of torment. Nerves were prodding her skin like needles. His yellow teeth emerged from his crooked lips as his head nodded repeatedly. Disgusting bastard. A small tight smile was all she could muster as he grabbed her hand again and headed out of the door.