Bad Day at the Greasy Grass

We talked a lot about how one-sided the whole thing was. He had been making a good living before he got drafted and they were thinking about buying a house. Fortunately, they had been living with Nelly's folks. So, she had a place to stay.

Molly was all I had and vice-versa. Her parents had died on the voyage over. And I was found in a basket in front of the church. So, our situation was different. They let Blake go back home for a whole week after the fiasco at the Crater. They just laughed when I asked.

Maybe, it was for the better. Blake came back a lot sadder. He really missed his wife. But he said she was still alright, without him. I asked him about Molly. He said he hadn't heard anything about her. I had the feeling he was holding something back. But, I never got another word out of him.

We finally get our opportunity at a place called Marshall's Crossroads. They needed all the mounted help they could get. They had found a hole in the rebel line and we were pouring through it to surround them. The distance was too great for infantry to march. So, they called on every mounted regiment in the Army of the Potomac; even us.

Once we got around behind them they had to try to break back out. It was the first time I killed a man in battle. I had no regret. It was a Reb officer. I shot him off his horse from over 350 yards. THEN I put paid to a few his men.

The Rebs tried to break the cordon around them. They were desperate to escape. We were behind a rail fence. We stood up and volley-fired into them. The field was swathed in black powder smoke. So, you couldn't see more than thirty yards. Dim figures emerged out of the fog and we shot them down.

We couldn't miss from that distance. It was like watching corn stalks fall in front of the reaper. They kept coming and we slaughtered them ruthlessly. The sound was indescribable; the crash of our rifles, the shrieks of the dying and that infernal rebel howl.

I was prominent in the fight, remaining standing and calmly yelling the, "LOAD!! PRESENT!! FIRE!!!" volley commands.

I wasn't being brave. The only reason I was doing that, was because I figured that the faster we ended this thing, the quicker I could get back to my Molly. But, they thought I deserved to be an officer. So, they promoted me on the spot to Lieutenant. I didn't do anything different as a lieutenant. But, I DID get my own tent.

I was only "officially" a combat officer for a week. Then, the whole thing ended at Appomattox. It didn't matter. I knew that I'd never be anything but bog-trotting Irish scum in the eyes of my "betters." But then again, being an officer DID make my separation pay a little bigger, since the Mounted Rifles were the ones who bagged Wilkes Booth. So, we got the biggest share of the reward money. Maybe I could buy a real house for my Molly when I got back.

We were mustered out after the usual folderol. It was in a big parade in Washington City, where the great-and-good polished their credentials for political advancement. I had been away from my former life for exactly two years and one month.

I hadn't heard anything from anybody in all that time. I had a few friends on the police force. But they were as illiterate as Molly. And Blake had claimed that Molly'd disappeared. She was probably stayin' with one of her many friends.

The boys had a little farewell party at the National Hotel over on Pennsylvania. There were some toasts, none of which I shared. I was nurturing a red-hot, burning coal of resentment. Then I hopped the Baltimore and Ohio back to New York. It took us almost three days to go down to Virginia on that line. It took a day going back. There wasn't a terminus in Manhattan, like there is now. So, I just jumped off at Paulus Hook.

In the morning, a waterman took me across to the docks on the Manhattan side. I walked the mile or so from the Battery, to The Points. It was a warm sunny day in late August. The City was buzzing with excitement like I remembered it. I was in my full Lieutenant's fig with the cavalry yellow trim.

As I got into the old neighborhood, I discovered that people didn't recognize me. That was understandable. If I had been a bit of a hard case when I left, I was something entirely different now. I wasn't the innocent twenty-year-old who had been dragged out of his boyhood life in chains. I had spent two years enduring danger and hardship. I had commanded men in battle and I had killed the enemy. I had seen acres of horribly mutilated bodies at the Crater and watched men die for every conceivable reason.

Now, I was death on a pale horse and I was looking for O'Brien.

I walked up to our little shanty. My heart was in my throat. It had always been a happy place, full of peace, joy and love. Now it was an abandoned wreck, much like my life. There wasn't anything inside, but a litter of cheap whisky bottles; no doubt left by squatters seeking a handy place to drink. In many ways, the desolation of that place was a perfect analogy for my soul.

Molly was nowhere to be seen. I didn't expect her to be there. She had to live somehow. I had no idea where she was. But I knew where O'Brien lived. He had a fine house on Broadway near Washington Square.

It was late afternoon when I arrived at his doorstep. I could have probably gotten my business done right then-and-there. I looked trustworthy in my cavalry finery, even if I was really nothing but a mounted infantryman. But I preferred not to be hanged. So, I wanted fewer witnesses.

I just loitered around doing reconnaissance. I wanted to get the routines down. I would normally have seemed suspicious to the neighbors. But, I got a lot of approving looks. They appreciated the uniform.

It was finally nightfall. At that point, the gas lamps were on. I was across the street from O'Brien's house, just watching the traffic going into and out of the house. A lot of politicians, whose faces I recognized, were coming to kiss the great man's ring; or whatever part of his anatomy he so desired.

There was a stirring and a fine coach pulled up. The front door of the house opened and out walked O'Brien. He was dressed in top-hat and tails, obviously headed for a night on the town.

He had an absolutely sensational woman on his arm. She was all dolled up for the evening, in a tight-fitting emerald green gown that contrasted beautifully with her wealth of copper curls.

The dress showcased a spectacular pair of tits. I knew those tits intimately. They belonged to my wife. That explained everything.

She was nothing like my bright little bird, now. She was a painted New York society lady. O'Brien put his arm around Molly's waist, as the slimy Mick bastard escorted her to the carriage. She leaned into him intimately. She looked cool, relaxed and content.

Witnessing that infuriating display, I felt nothing. No jealousy, no anger. I had already cried my way into a state of emotionlessness. At least I knew Molly was well, now. She would inherit a lot of money soon.

I had been out there all day observing. I counted four servants in residence; a butler, two parlor maids and a cook; three women and one older man. The rest of the large household was clearly day-help.

I rapped on the door after everybody had gone. The old butler answered it. I was hoping that the servant women had retired for the night. I didn't want them to witness what was going to happen. It would be gruesome.

The butler surveyed the full uniform and the military bearing and said dismissively, "The Master is at the symphony. He'll see you in the morning." He was used to turning away people who were a lot more important than a humble cavalry lieutenant. He began to close the door.

I stopped the door with my foot and said in my best authoritarian voice, "This won't wait my-man. It comes directly from General Wool. I have to deliver it tonight." Wool had been put out to pasture just after the riot. I didn't know that. Fortunately, neither did the butler.

The man was starting to protest. So, I said sternly, "I just told you; friend! This must be delivered tonight!" I added menacingly, no argument expected, "I'll wait in his office?" as I bulled past him.

The butler was an old man. He reluctantly stepped aside and pointed to a room that was slightly more opulent than Lincoln's. I went in, turned to him, and said peremptorily, "Send him in as soon as he arrives!!"

Then I slammed the door and began to explore the office. O'Brien had made it big that's for sure. I didn't realize how big until I opened his bottom desk drawer and discovered a huge leather bag full of gold eagles.

It was just lying there like the money was nothing to him. It must have been O'Brien's stash of bribe money. It was a vast fortune. I dropped it in my satchel. Added to my mustering out bonus, I had a huge pile of cash.

O'Brien arrived home three hours later. I was sitting in his plush leather office chair, smoking one of his expensive cheroots and enjoying his Napoleon brandy. The rest of his cheroots were lining my pocket.

I heard a brash angry voice in the hallway and the butler's deferential answer. He said loudly, "I'll be up as soon as I throw this intruder out, my dear. We still have some unfinished business tonight."

The implications of THAT, caused a real pang. I guess my heart wasn't as hard as I thought it was. But it DID seal the bastard's fate. He flung open the door and came striding into the room, looking like a bear with a thorn in his ass.

I was sitting relaxed in his desk chair, feet on his desk, smoking his cheroot and holding a snifter of good brandy in my left hand. The thing that got his attention though, was the big Army colt that I was holding in my right.

I said, "Close the door Shamus, and sit down. We really need to catch up."

His eyes narrowed, his face darkened with anger and he looked like he was about to explode. I made a "close the door" gesture with the gun. There was something in my eyes that convinced him to do that.

He stormed over to confront me. I stared at him calmly. The thing I had lived for was about to happen. I was utterly serene. Then he recognized me. His eyes bugged out, and his face screamed his terror.

He flopped in a chair and said placatingly, "Now, now, don't be doing anything you'll regret Pat."

I said, "And what would that be Shames? Do you think I'll regret killing the man who shipped me off to be slaughtered? And then, stole my wife?"

He said smoothly, "Now Pat, you know it was just one of those things. You hurt me, I hurt you. It's over, now. We're even. We can shake hands and go our merry way." That was a hoot. O'Brien was ever the Irish politician.

The premise was so absurd. I threw back my head and laughed loudly. But the gun didn't waver. I had killed good men in the war. I didn't have the slightest misgiving killing this piece of shite.

I said conversationally, "Are you going up stairs after I leave? Molly's a great fuck isn't she, Shamus? How long did you wait?"

I could see it in his eyes. But, he was STILL searching for a way out. He looked exactly like a trapped rat.

He said, trying to sound noble, "After you left, the poor lass didn't have anybody to take care of her. I just did the Christian thing and took her in. I can't help it if she fell in love with me."

I believed him. At heart, Molly was a simple soul. She depended on people to take care of her. I suppose she was more-than appreciative when O'Brien showed up on her doorstep. I also imagine it didn't take long for him to lure her into his bed. Molly was always a hot-blooded Irish lass.

I said, "When did you tell her I was killed?"

He looked miserable as he said, "After Spotsylvania. There was another Patrick Riley on the casualty list." He thought he saw a ray of hope. He added, "We ALL thought it was you Pat. I was just takin' care of your widow. No hard feelings, hey?"

My eyes told him that I knew THAT was bullshit. I said, "When did you two marry?"

He said, "We were married right after that. It was in the church. So, it's legal and all. You'd been declared dead." I thought, "That declaration wouldn't be hard for O'Brien to arrange through his political friends. Now, it would ensure that Molly'd be a rich woman."

I said wearily, "Well, that's all water over the dam Shamus. I would really like to stay and make your death long and excruciating. But I have a train to catch. So, I guess I'll just have to get down to business. Do you have any last words?"

He said, "Please Pat?" He had tears in his eyes. The guy really wanted to live. But of course, he was rich, and powerful. Better yet, he had the most beautiful woman in New York City to fuck senseless every night.

I understood; If I had Molly, I'd want to live too. But I didn't have her. She was O'Brien's wife now. So, it was time for him to go.

It was ironic. It only took a determined man and a gun to topple his empire. I said, "I'll see you in hell Shamus." And I pulled the trigger.

The slow moving, 44-caliber slug, tore the center out of his chest. I watched it with fascination. Shamus O'Brien slumped, lifeless. I stood, and calmly packed the brandy bottle in my satchel. I put it next to the heavy bag of gold. My heart was suddenly lighter.

Then, there was a frantic scrambling in the hall and the door flew open. She was standing there in a shift and long black stockings. I fondly remembered her bright red bush. She looked gorgeous and terrified.

The room was full of the haze from my cigar and the gunsmoke. She saw the big hole in the back of the chair; where her husband's head was lolling lifelessly. She put both hands over her mouth in a horrified gesture. Then she turned her panicked eyes toward me.

I said with jaunty irony, "Hello Molly my-lass. I'm back from the war. Did you miss me?"

First, she looked bewildered. Then her look changed to utterly aghast, as the recognition washed over her. She whispered weakly, "But, but, you're dead??" Then those beautiful emerald green eyes rolled up in her head and she fainted.

I looked down at her voluptuous body. She was lying sprawled open legged, with nothing but a pair of thigh high silk stockings covering her nakedness. A brutal pang of regret seized me. It was so heartrendingly, powerfully disorienting, that I almost joined her passed-out on the floor.

But I could hear the old butler beginning to stir below stairs. So, instead I walked out into the night, making sure to carefully close the office door behind me. I had to get to the Jersey side before the hue and cry started. That would require stealing a rowboat. But there were plenty of watermen's boats down by the Battery.

I had wanted to stay and hold her, love her and tell her that it was all right. But it wasn't. She had betrayed me, even if she had been tricked into it. She was the widow of my hated enemy now. And she would inherit O'Brien's fortune, thanks to me.

I was free now. I had accomplished the thing that I'd come to do. Molly might not be able to read. But, she was canny. It would cost her the inheritance if she told the authorities that I did it. So, she had one million good reasons to make up a story about a mysterious intruder.

I was the nameless ghost of the former Lieutenant Patrick Timothy Reilly. I had a pocket full of cheroots, a huge bag of gold coins and my substantial mustering out pay. I was only twenty-years old and I thought I'd try my luck out west.

***** A new man emerged when I pulled that trigger. It was like dying and being reborn. Even in the depths of my despair, in all those rainy nights in Virginia, I held onto hope of resuming my old life with the woman I loved.

Discovering that, Molly had spent that entire ordeal pleasuring the man who had put me in harm's way would have killed me; literally. No wonder Blake kept his mouth shut.

I knew she had been tricked into it. Molly was sweet and beautiful. But she was also simple and trusting. Her gullibility changed nothing about my present situation. The irrefutable fact was that I was on my own now.

Some men might weep, some might brood. I just got harder and more pitiless. It was like all the joy of life, and my humanity, had been boiled out of me. The West was a vast space full of nothing but buffalo and Indians. It seemed like the perfect spot for a man who wanted nothing to do with humanity.

I had my ear to the ground for several weeks after killing O'Brien. I was wondering if they might be comin' after me. Eventually, I learned that O'Brien's widow had told the police that she had witnessed a "foreign looking fellow" murder her husband and then disappear into the night.

That settled it. I would never know whether Molly protected me out of greed, or a residual sense of loyalty. But I cherished the thought that she did it for love. I was Timothy O'Hara now, a Mick who had made a lot of money in the Boston bar trade, and wanted to make a lot more in the wild west.

I traveled by rail to St. Louis. It only took two days. It was an amazing example of the modern world of steam.

I bought a good horse in St. Louis. It cost to get kitted out, horse saddle and saddle bags. I spent almost two-hundred of O'Brien's dollars doing it. But the horse was young, and sound and it could go all day at a reasonable clip.

After two years in the mounted infantry I was as good a horseman as anybody, even if I was a city boy. I could also live under any tree where I could unroll a blanket. I had no idea what I was going to do, perhaps join the miners out in California. It was more a direction, than an intention. I already had an enormous stake in gold thanks to O'Brien.

It all sank in on the ride down to St. Louis. I had been numb when I left New York. But green-eyed jealousy was eating me up now. I couldn't stop visualizing Molly gasping and quivering, legs spread wide, while O'Brien pounded her. Her willingness to give her body to him utterly crushed me.

I never had parents. I was brought up in the hardship of an orphanage. By the time I was seventeen, my ability with my fists was obvious to everybody. Tammany ran the police force. So, they used that. They made me a copper. Working the streets of Five Points, you quickly learn to trust nobody but yourself.

I first saw Molly when I was walking my beat. She was with a group of Irish washer women. She stood out from the rest like a swan among geese. Her fiery copper hair and laughing green eyes and that perfect round figure were like a beacon calling to me. I knew that I could love and trust this woman. Our marriage was a foregone conclusion.

I never had a reason to doubt her, all the time we were married. Even though, I knew about her highly sexed nature. Other men tried. But she was a devoted, loyal and supportive wife. Still, I thought that her bottomless passions might work against us. That is, if we were ever apart.

O'Brien snatched her away because he could. I knew that Molly believed that I was dead. I imagine that she grieved for a while, like all the widows. But, Molly was a simple woman and she had deep urges. She loved with all her heart and she gave everything to her man. So, she gave herself to O'Brien.

I knew that O'Brien's treachery was what caused her to fail me. He was a dishonest and scheming son-of-a-bitch. He was quick to take advantage of Molly; that is, as soon as he engineered my "death." So, it SHOULD have been easy for me to forgive her. But I couldn't.

Likewise, killing O'Brien wasn't sufficient to heal my mortal wound. The pain of loss, sat at the bottom of my soul and festered. It was fate, and there was nothing I could do about it now. Hence, I was one grim piece of work as I set off west.

I was traveling on my own. I hated the world. I had no direction in mind. I just wanted to get away from my old life. Maybe I could eventually forget.