Thank you for the Venom 01-01 (Unedited)

Chapter 1

         Shy Guy Brazos was only twenty when he was visited by an angel.
         “Let us praise this new year of our Lord,” Father Jacob was speaking atop a podium in the center of town. Dust rampaged through the dry streets. The townsfolk of the small town of San Galvaso looked up with squinted eyes. “May eighteen seventy-three bless all of us with prosperity and if God wills it, smite the evil that has befallen the Johnson’s youngest child.”
         Brazos stood with his hat over his heart. Listening to the father, his ears also picking up the faint whimpering of Sasha and her mother Marie Johnson. His eyes stared at the spotted dirt road. It was going to rain soon. Something urged him to look through the raised platform and across the t section road where someone stood in the alleyway between the church and the ironically named Ben Franklin’s Apocathary.
         The speech ended and the crowd dispersed when the Sherrif Edward Jones announced “Y’all head on back home now. ‘fore y’all catch y’ur death. Storm’sa commin’.” The calmness to how he held his hand on his Cooper Pocket revolver at his hip suggested to Brazos that Sherrif Jones was already drinking for the day. Dusk would be coming soon and his temper would be unleashed on the town one way or the other.
         “Salutations…” spoke a man with a familiar accent. “Allez-vous au bordel?”
         Brazos smiled out of one corner of his mouth. “No thanks, Jean. I’m going out with the Sherrif to find Ashanti’s murderer.”
         Jean was a Parisian who had immigrated to the new world after the Franco Prussian War. He had a hard time learning the lingo of Texan English. He tended to speak little and only to Brazos due to him being fortunate enough to understand enough French to get by.
         Brazos has a youthful, blemishless face with a clean shave and shaggy dark blond hair. His blue-green eyes held a sense of motivation and earnest work. Placing a hand out towards Jean in a subtle gesture that he would see him again. Brazos walked with determination towards the alleyway. Jean was left watching him with interest before his eyes caught the valley of a damsel on the second floor of Ben Jamenson’s bordel.
          “Where you off too partner?”
          “Sherrif...I was-.”
          Brazos looked off towards the alleyway. The sheriff had caught him by the arm in the middle of the intersection. There was no one between the buildings now.
          “Look here son, I need your help. There are ‘yotes’ out in these parts and I ain’t ‘fraid to admit that you’re a better tracker than I am.”
          “Thanks, Sherrif. I have a small task to take care of before we can head out. Can I meet you at dusk behind the Lacrimal’s house?”
          The mention of Jordan Lacrimal’s house brought a sense of ill ease to the Sheriff and gave him a brief pause. Caught in a dream for a moment before coming too in a gentle shake and assured nod.

         The rain met him halfway towards the Johnson farm a quarter mile outside of town. Marie Johnson met him at the porch with an underdeveloped dim pink pig snorting inside a wooden crate.
         Marie Johnson was a short woman with a small abdomen and abnormally long legs for a woman her size. She wore glasses that went down to the tip of her nose. Her posture suggested she was displeased with the transaction even though Brazos was doing her a favor.
         “I don’t see why she wants a pig, that man isn’t well enough to eat anyhow.”
         “Who knows?”
         “Why are you helping those rich folks anyways? Don’t you have your mother to worry about?”
          “My mother moved back to Missouri last year Mrs. Johnson.”
          “That’s a shame, her only boy refusing to keep her company in her growing years.”
          Brazos felt that correcting her would only cause her more agitation and little he could do would bring her around. The pig was at least two hundred pounds and carrying him in the rain wasn’t ideal. Once she noticed what he was trying to do Maria Johnson slapped his hand before he had the chance to lift the crate.
          “Go get the wheelbarrow and Sasha will help you. She may look frail but she’s got sturdy bones.”
          Sasha was young enough to still be considered untouchable but old enough to have Ben Jamenson trying to recruit her. Brazos always felt her gaze would linger on him longer than most would feel comfortable. She had curly light brown hair and bright sky blue eyes.          She had developed over the past two years and been the topic of many conversations both in the church and bordel. With her help,          Brazos was able to secure the crate with the whining pig inside.
          “Can I ask you a question, Mr. Brazos?”
          “I can’t come up with a reason why not.”
          “Okay...why do you help others?”

          The walk back to town was brief. Taking the path that would provide the most shade from the rain as well as keep him warm from the short proximity to lanterns. Father Jacob was standing outside of Ben Franklin’s Apocathary. His nonverbal gestures suggested to Brazos to stop.
          “What can I help you with Father Jacob?”
          “You still haven’t eaten today my son.”
          Father Jacob used the phrase my son in the non-literal sense as he did with any younger male he encountered. He supposed it made him seem more biblical.
          “No sir, I imagine I’ll eat on the road with Sheriff. Why is that your concern?”
          “Chris Freeman was supposed to bring in a deer last night and hasn’t returned. I was wondering-”
          “Father, you aren’t taking advantage of my kindness, are you?” Brazos eyed him questioningly. Father Jacob wasn’t the hardest working man and tended to rely on the kindness of the townsfolk. He was shaped like that of a ball and with a minimally supportive brown belt that didn’t match his black slacks.
          “Not at all, of course, I mean if you could keep an eye out and a prayer in your pocket,” Father Jacob reached inside of his black coat and pulled out a sacramental wafer and placed it into Brazos’ palm.
          Brazos let out an unsure “Right. Thank you.” before leaving for the Lacrimal home and would need to pass by the saloon on his path to the west end of town.
          The saloon stared at him along with her companions. The judgemental eyes that never left him alone. He felt like a dog that had piddled in the carpet before his owner got home. Waiting for someone to antagonize him for the sins of his father.
          The moment passed.
          It was dusk behind the Lacrimal home and the shadow of the three-story building left the second-floor balcony in ever-growing darkness. Lady Lacrimal had graced the town with her beautiful presence. She had moved into town a few months ago with what people assumed was her father. Taking care of him in his ill age was her number one priority. Even though she was ripe for childbearing, many men had tried to woo the flirt. That being said she always left them in a tease.
          Her lean over the balcony with the dress she was wearing was intentional and caused Brazos gaze to turn towards the pig. The sight of the confused pig put a smile on his face. It was almost as if the pig was asking why he would rather look at him.
          “Don’t give me that look. She’s always like this.”
          “My beating heart bleeds for your company Brazos!”
          “Good evening Lady Lacrimal.”
          “Stop with the formalities, I’ve told you to call me Eva,” she finally leaned back and for a moment out of sight. Her voice coming down regardless. “The door’s open, place the crate in the basement and I’ll make you some lemonade.”
          Her mention of lemonade caused a smirk to come to his face. She was the worst at making the sugary drink. Her ratio always left him feeling dizzy. It was odd that the Lacrimal home had a basement. You could count on one hand how many homes in all of Texas that had a basement. The stairs were made out of clay and the lantern inside was flickering in some sort of draft he had let in. The exotic nature of the basement always suggested her European descent. Not to mention her accent, he imagined, was bizarre to most and not just Texans.
         The first-floor staircase wobbled when Eva hustled down to head to the kitchen. At the far end of the room was a bookshelf that looked rather new by comparison to the rest of the basement. Brazos placed the crate next to a large and covered crate massive enough to fit a horse inside. Some sort of rug was laid over with nice red and gold patterns. He didn’t think twice on it and headed upstairs.
         “I took your criticism and used less sugar this time,” she gestured for him to sit at a brown and polished wood table. He obliged.
         “I never complained-”
         “You’re not a really good liar.”
         Brazos tried to think about their last conversation about her lemonade but the topic had already shifted before he had a chance to react.
         “You’re going out for Dan Frisco aren’t you?” she said pouring a glass of the lemonade from the oversized opaque pitcher. There was no ice but for some reason, he felt her hands would be cold. She folded her off-white dress so that sitting would be more proper. Her hands placed, cupping each other in front of her as she spoke.
         Brazos cleared his throat and muttered with a tilted assured nod, “He does fit the portfolio and the sheriff found out he left town the same night in a hurry from Jamenson’s. Plus it was his horse that dragged her body. The Marshal already issued a warrant for his arrest.”
         “You’re not going to put a bullet in him? After what he did to that beautiful young woman.”
Lady Lacrimal had a sense of justice that was never satiated. When she spoke her hands moved about and inevitably fanned her sweat soaked chest in the summer heat.
         “I will if I have to.”
         “Chris is also missing.” Lady Lacrimal’s non-sequitur took him back for a moment before responding. Brazos lifted one of his legs and crossed it, letting the dark brown boot with minimal stitchwork rest on his knee.
         “You’re the second person who has mentioned that to me. Do people suspect foul play? I didn’t think people cared, because you know…”
         “I didn’t grow up here in America. I don’t understand your people’s racism. Everyone bleeds the same.”
         Brazos found it weird how she phrased that and put those thoughts on the back burner. He looked outside the window past the knick-knacks at the kitchen window at the light outside. It was growing quite dark now.
         “I should-”
         “Yes, the night is here and if you’re going to catch up to him you’d better be leaving soon.”
         Brazos stood and realized he didn’t drink any of her lemonade. Pausing before it and felt her start to say that it was already if he          passed this time. He lifted and drank a majority of the sweet water before stomaching the still too sweet taste and faked a smile. She saw through him in a modest smile.
         “Go now, Jones is waiting for you,” the sounds of Jordan Lacrimal upstairs coughing only added to his escape. “I have matters to tend to anyhow you’re becoming a burden.”
         “Thank you for the conversation Lady Lacrimal.”
         “And…”
         Brazos paused and then, “and for the lemonade.” he said almost making it sound like a question. There was something about her that put him on edge. Something powerful and unknown. She had this way about her that he couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling.
         Lady Lacrimal just smiled her pearly whites with her thin lips and high cheekbones

         “Took you long ‘nuf,” sputtered the Sheriff. He spat on the floor, his tobacco chew stuck between his teeth and cheek. He shifted his duster, his holster at his hip caught the end of the Cooper revolver.
         “I should have some feed for the horses in the stable. Freeman is missing or else we could have bought some.”
         “The trip shouldn’t be too long. Plus there’s a lake on this side of Dallas.”
         “I don’t have a net.”
         “What would you do with a net? We’re not bringing him back alive.”
         “No, I meant for…” realizing what he was suggesting was stupid he backed off the idea of fishing and just nodded.”
         After getting their horses ready, Brazos packed some rope for emergency purposes and partly because in his mind he thought there might be a way to keep this from ending in death.
         Atop his horse, Brazos took a moment to pull out Father Jacob’s sacramental wafer and placed the piece in his mouth. The dry taste made him glad he had downed half of Lady Lacrimal’s sugar water. The small amount of food he was able to get in him today would help with the journey.
         The two men mounted their horses and rode off west by northwest. Brazos’ horse, Juniper, was a shaggy black and white appaloosa with strong legs. Sherrif Jones’ horse, Fern, was a much more well-groomed dark brown and white paint horse with a long straight and soft tail.
         Brazos shifted with the new weight he had added to his back. A Winchester lever-action rifle now rested there having picked it up on the way out of town from his room Hershal Smith’s. His living situation there was a complex story and the local townsfolk would describe it as a debt was being paid off to the young Brazos.
         Most of the ride was quiet. Sheriff Jones at one point in the night decided to start drinking more. The incessant silence left him to drown on his thoughts. His liver paid the toll for his past. Brazos knew better than to ask him about it.
         There was no path but the hunting instincts Brazos had about seeing little details most wouldn’t, wasn’t the only reason he was out here in the middle of the night chasing down a fugitive. Sheriff Jones wanted to recruit him. It was a conversation they had when he was younger. About his future. About how he had a moral compass in his heart and more importantly in his mind. How if it wasn’t properly tuned it would be his downfall.
         Those talks had stopped last year with the illness and fatal pneumonia of Sheriff Jones’ wife. Time had passed and the night grew deep and cold.
         “Enjoy yourself.”
         “What?” Brazos said startled by the sudden conversation that it seemed Sheriff Jones had started somewhere in the middle.
         “Nevermind. There’s a ranch up ahead on the left. I haven’t heard who moved in.”
         “Hhn.” Brazos leaned forward trying to listen to the sounds coming from the ranch. His brows furrowed then expanded. There was a long and ominous tree that had not bloomed in the springtime. There was a single tree branch that was larger than the rest, jettisoning from near the halfway point of the heavy bark.
         “Perhaps they heard Frisco out here last night.”
         “I wouldn’t be so sure they’re willing to talk,” Brazos’ mouth curled into a look of disappointment.
         “What?”
         The sounds coming from the ranch home turned into a hush and muffled sounds. The lights flickered for a moment then went out. Brazos turned his horse away.
         “We should really mind our business. Whoever is up there could…”
         “We’ve trusted your gut this far. Where do your eyes tell us to go?”
         The ranch grew in Brazos’ eyes as if trying to find a sniper hidden on a cliff. Turning and shaking his head for a moment down toward the ground ahead of them. There were little signatures of travel. At some point, a carriage had been heading towards Bird’s Fort. He shook his head once before scanning further.
         Far off in the distance was a burning flame and an accompanying laying shadow.