The Mercenary's Kiss. Pam Crooks
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“Is it ever?”
Pop’s obsession to sell his precious elixir, cases of it, was common knowledge among the troupe. The more money they took in, the happier Pop would be.
But then, everyone knew their expenses were formidable. If Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound didn’t sell, the troupe didn’t eat. Their debts always came first.
“Be careful out there, Elena.” Serious again, Toby pulled his cap back onto his head.
She gave him a confident wink. “I always am.”
He moved away from her, to the next chore that awaited him. Elena turned back to the ring, her fingers fastening the cape’s clasp. Only minutes to go.
The first wave of apprehension went through her, as it always did before she performed. Even though she was only eighteen years of age, Pop considered her the show’s top act—the final one before his pitch. He depended on her to leave the audience so thrilled, so awe-struck, they were compelled to buy his elixir out of sheer gratitude for the pleasurable entertainment he’d given them.
At last, it was time. Toby led a pair of white horses into the ring, both unsaddled and wearing red-feathered ornaments on their heads. Elena swept off her cape with a flourish, bowed, then bounded onto the lead horse’s back. With an ease she’d earned from countless hours of practice, she performed her routine of splits and cartwheels, tail and shoulder stands, until the crowd cheered in delight. She slid into the grand finale—a breathtaking choreography of somersaults and back flips on a half-dozen matching white horses.
When the routine was complete, she dismounted in one fluid leap. The applause increased to an even higher crescendo. Exhilarated, she sank into a long, deep bow of acknowledgment.
“Yes-sir-ree, ladies and gentlemen!” Pop’s booming voice soared over the applause. “An extravaganza the likes you’ll never see again! Doc Charlie’s Medicine Sho-o-w-w!”
After another rise of cheers, the clapping gradually quieted. The audience knew the show hadn’t ended yet, that there was more to come. No one understood better than Pop that the townspeople had gathered under the tent not only to be entertained but to be cured of their ills, real or imagined.
“Now, you fine folks realize that Doc Charlie’s Medicine Show has to move on. By dawn’s first light, we’ll be on the road west. So tonight is your one and only chance to be healed.”
Cheers erupted again. Clearly Pop held the crowd transfixed.
“I don’t claim that my elixir is a cure-all for everything. But I’m telling you true, Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound is made right from the secrets of the ancients.” He held up a bottle for them to see. “This elixir is good for three things. The kidneys, the stomach and the liver. And any singular disease rising there-from!”
Elena had slipped from the ring with the horses to allow her father the audience’s complete attention. From her vantage point near one of the tent’s entrances, she watched him. She was proud of his honesty, his forthrightness. The people looked to him for hope. And health.
Pop couldn’t afford the national advertising many of the patent medicine companies used to sell their products. He had only himself—and the herbal compound he had created—to draw in customers. Thus, his pitch had to be sterling and straightforward.
Riveting.
The audience was indeed riveted to his oratory about a man cured of tapeworms from Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound. Pop always gave specifics. He revealed the man’s name, his occupation, his hometown. Even the number of children he had.
And the crowd believed.
“Again, I tell you true, ladies and gentlemen. There is not a greater pain remedy on earth than my herbal compound. There is no sore it will not heal, no ache it will not subdue. Why, you can even use it to treat your horses and cattle!”
A collective murmur of surprise rippled through the tent.
“Yes-sir-ree! One dollar for a bottle. That’s all, ladies and gentlemen. One dollar. Isn’t that a sweet price to pay for an elixir this miraculous?”
Men dipped into their pockets. Women reached for their handbags.
“You won’t have a chance to buy this wonderful cure ever again. No-sir-ree! We’ll be gone by dawn, so stock up now! Buy two bottles. Three or four, if you please.”
Along with the show’s other performers, Elena took her place at a tent entrance, cases of Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound stacked at her feet.
“Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! One dollar a bottle! That’s right. Just one dollar!”
The rush of footsteps drowned out Pop’s voice. The wooden benches cleared and the aisles filled with people eager to buy their own supply of elixir. Elena had all she could do to keep up with the stream of customers, each waving dollar bills in her face.
Pop had done it again.
Toby dropped the last of the leather bags into the heap piled in Elena’s arms. Her muscles strained with the weight of the night’s take, but it was a strain she gladly endured.
“Sure you don’t need some help, Elena?” Toby asked, picking up scattered crates once filled with elixir.
“No, thanks. The show ran long tonight, and you have plenty of chores to do yet.”
“All right, then. See you in the morning.”
Giving him an answering smile, Elena stepped from beneath the canvas into the night. Pop was busy with the crew as they labored to take down the tent; he wouldn’t be free to count their money for another couple of hours yet.
The crowd had long since headed for home. The field where they’d staged the show was empty except for the pieces of trash strewn among the weeds, trampled flat from the evening’s activities. Except for the low drone of the generator keeping the tent’s lights glowing, the night was quiet.
Elena’s costume provided little warmth from the night’s chill, and she hurried toward the gaily painted, high-wheeled wagon she shared with her father—and the safe he’d bolted securely inside. Tomorrow, they would deposit the money into the nearest bank. Pop would be pleased to know the week’s bills would be paid in full with enough left over for some much needed extras.
Upon reaching the wagon, she propped one foot on the bottom step and eased the cumbersome bags onto her thigh while she struggled to turn the knob.
A man’s hand suddenly covered hers. “Señorita.”
She froze at the heavily accented voice harsh in her ear, at the tequila on his breath.
At the menace in his presence.
She jerked her hand away and pushed against him to flee, but the cold metal of a knife’s blade at her throat stopped her.
Her breathing quickened in fear. In horror. The low nicker of unseen horses nearby indicated the Mexican wasn’t alone.
And she didn’t have a chance with any of them.
“You want the money, don’t you?” she whispered shakily, a sickening sensation coiling faster and faster inside her at the impending loss.
“Ah, señorita. That is not all I want.”
Abruptly he spun her about, and she scrambled to keep her balance, her arms automatically tightening around the money. He plucked one of the bags from the heap and tossed it into the darkness, to the men mounted behind them. He did the same with another, and then another.
Until Elena’s arms were empty.
Dismay welled up inside her. “No! You can’t do this! You can’t!”
The Mexican barked an order. Horses’ hooves pounded deeper into the darkness, then died away.
She was alone with him. Her chest heaved, and she