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Hutch

Posted on December 13, 2006
Filed Under The Stories |

There was a knock on the door. She opened it and in the dying light of the summer evening, she laid eyes upon the face of Jackdaw Hutch. Others had laid eyes on that face and had been distracted enough by its character to miss the gun in his hand until the bullet had left its dark, scarred confines. She didn’t have to worry about a bullet screaming towards her but she did feel something for that face. His unblinking eyes reminded her of something she had read about a movie actor who claimed that a childhood game had allowed him to perfect his killer stare on screen. The man standing before her did not strike her as having had a childhood, never mind having played any childhood games. After a moment had stretched as far it can go without breaking or causing discomfort to those in it, Jackdaw touched the brim of his ten gallon hat and crinkled his eyes, “Sorry to bother you ma’am but I’m looking for shelter and some directions.”

She studied his statement with a slight cock of her head, one hand resting lightly on the door handle she had pulled towards her to expose the man who had knocked on it. Her eyes were relaxed and her tone slightly lazy, “which one is it?”

“Pardon, ma’am.”

“Shelter or directions?”

“I could use a roof over m’head for the night and some direction for when I’ll be on my way.”

“What’s your name?”

The pause surprised her and him.

“Jackdaw Hutch ma’am.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“The name I was given ma’am.”

They remained like that, a just-out-of-her-teens maiden and a man whose rugged features and outdoorsy appearance made it difficult to gauge his true age. She had about her the classic beauty of big screen starlets from a bygone era, the women who lived and loved and fought besides (and with) their men without giving up all there was to know of their physical charms. And yet she was a modern girl who was slightly amused by this stranger’s constant addressing of her as “ma’am”.

The moment stretched long enough to break this time and the man, Hutch, took a step back and palmed the top of his hat, “I guess I’ll be going now ma’am.”

“Didn’t you need directions?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I haven’t given them to you.”

He was poised on the ball of the foot he had placed behind him and appeared unbalanced, though it would have been difficult for her to imagine that a man as still as he could be anything less that completely surefooted. While his expression didn’t seem to change any, his person conveyed confusion. She ignored what his body was saying and asked a question of her own, “where did you need directions to?”

“Napaville ma’am.”

“This is Napaville.”

“Specifically, the home of a Mr. Carruthers, ma’am.”

“I’m Amanda Carruthers, my father isn’t in right now.”

A flicker in his eyes is the only indication that Hutch is surprised. She doesn’t move much, mimicking his stillness as a ploy to unnerve him into movement.

“And what is the nature of your business?”

“I’m to meet him about a delicate matter ma’am.”

“I’ve told you my name.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She allows herself a slight shifting of weight as an acknowledgement of her own frustration with this conversation.

“The nature of your business is?”

“I am to take care of some…thing for Mr. Carruthers ma’am.”

“Whom does my father wish to harm now?”

The question elicits the first real change in Hutch’s physical expression. Amanda leaned forward to place her other hand on the door and rest her cheek on its edge, “you had imagined I wouldn’t know my father’s business?”

He doesn’t answer. She repeats her question, “who is it?”

“I’m sorry ma’am, I’m not at liberty to say.”

“I know all my father’s business Mr. Hutch.”

“Perhaps not all, ma’am.”

“Are you mocking me.”

“Merely stating facts Ms. Carruthers.”

“My father is not home.”

“Then I will wait for him.”

“There’s no one else here, I cannot allow you to stay on the property when I’m all alone. You’re a stranger to me Mr. Hutch and if I cannot trust you, I cannot allow you to remain on the property while my father is away.”

Hutch thinks about this. His head drops for the first time as he raises a hand to scratch at his grizzled chin. When he speaks it is barely audible, “maybe I was meant to do it while he was away…”

“Do what Mr. Hutch?”

Hutch takes a step back and places his feet together, looking down to ensure that the tips of his cowboy boots are properly aligned. He raises his eyes to meet those of the young woman hovering behind the screen door. Her eyes wander over to the gun that is being raised out of his waistband and even before her eyes can properly widen in alarm the bullet has left the barrel and drilled a hole in through her chest, into her heart. She falls away from the door, fingers reaching for what they will be lifeless to hold and her body lands with the thud of a muscle and skin-covered skeleton on bleached wood floorboards. Hutch touched the brim of his hat and walked away as slim tendrils of friction smoke rose off the breached wire on the screen door.

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