Dark Preacher

by Alfred Bekker

The volume of this book corresponds to 31 pocket pages.

Carson City is a city like any other, a city full of vices, secrets, fraud, and even murder is not an unusual phenomenon. But when the Dark Preacher enters the city, it is not certain whether good or evil will win ...

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books and BEKKERpublishing are Imprints by Alfred Bekker

© by Author

© this edition 2017 by AlfredBekker / CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich / Westphalia

www.AlfredBekker.de

postmaster@alfredbekker.de

He is a messenger of death.

And of revenge.

He looks like a preacher.

The narrow-cut frock coat reaching to his knees is black.

The hat, too.

Like the shirt and the pants. Even his eyes are black and the pupils seem to leave little space for the whiteness.

Only the collar is white, as one knows it from a Reverend. So white that you may wonder how he manages to keep it so clean for only one day with all the dust that is in the air. But when he opens the frock coat, you can see the belt with the special holster. Two Mauser C96 pistols are put in – with the magazine key in front of the trigger in which up to twenty bullets can be loaded. Unusual weapons here in the West. Unusual weapons with an unusually large fire power.

Even a Winchester does not have such a big magazine. Whoever has seen the two Mauser, suspects that for this preacher mercy is not necessarily the highest commandment.

The left sleeve is bruised slightly when he bends his arm. Sometimes, when the sleeve slips back, you can identify the handle of a throwing dagger.

The preacher directs his horse on this gray evening in 1901 in front of the HAPPY SINNER SALOON, the only whorehouse of Carson City, Nevada.

The preacher gets off his horse and fastens it to the crossbar.

Then he goes through the swinging doors.

Immediately, all eyes are directed towards him.

The preacher lets his eye travel through the room.

His gaze lingers at one of the saloon girls. She’s wearing a dress with a deep neckline. Her hair is red. Her eyes green as the sulfur of hell.

She involuntarily lowers her eyes when being looked at by him.

Normally, she is not shy and so quickly she does not let anybody command her. But she cannot stand that look. A look that seems to go into the deepest interior of her soul.

"A drink, preacher?" asks the barkeeper.

The preacher turns his head.

His look is as penetrating as the shot from a 45's from a distance of no more than a hand span.

"Only water," says the preacher.

His lips barely move as he speaks.

The barkeeper lifts the eyebrows.

"Water?"

"Did not the Lord give you ears to hear?"

"Yes, yes, indeed ..."

"What do you ask then?"

"Okay, okay ...!"

The keeper puts the water on the vanity table.

The preacher takes it.

He drinks it in one gulp.

He’s twisting his face as if the liquid tastes bitter or bite in his throat like whiskey. Then he puts the glass back. The clanging sound has something penetrating. A sound that pierces marrow and bone.

He walks toward the young woman.

"What is your name?"

"Madeleine."

"What is your real name?"

She narrows her eyes. Her green eyes look even more glowing. "Hey, man ..." She looks at him and turns pale. "Do we know each other?"

"What is your real name, truly?" he asks. His face is as motionless as if it had been struck of granite. His gaze as penetrating as the stab of a dagger.

"Okay, if you like it, Betty."

"I'm here for you, Betty."

"Oh, really, are we going into a room right now?"

"Yes."

"For a preacher, you are in a hurry."

"Let's go," says the preacher. And as if he does not want to make any misunderstandings about this point, he adds, "Now!"

She sighs. "Then let get it over and done with”, she says.

One of the other women is grinning dirty. She would have better avoided that, for she has rotten teeth. But with the mouth closed she looks quite passable. And Betty? She does not seem to be happy about what she is awaiting now.

The preacher follows her upstairs.

"Who would have thought that," says the keeper "A preacher who goes all out!" He cannot resist a grin.

"So one might be wrong!" grins the beauty with the bad teeth.

"Close your mouth," says the keeper. "Otherwise, your mouth smell will drive away the last customers."

Betty lies naked on the broad bed. The preacher has taken off the jacket and opened the trouser while taking her. He hasn’t taken off more. Not even the holsters with the Mauser pistols.

"You remind me of someone," she says.

"May be."

"No, seriously. You look like someone I once ..."

He turns around.

His gaze is penetrating.

Pungent.

He does not say a word.

She swallows. "Oh, my God," she says.

"Thou shalt not abuse the name of the Lord, or put it useless in the mouth," says the preacher. "Haven’t you heard of it?"

She has become as pale as the wall. "You are like someone."

This is a property that he has. It does not occur to the preacher for the first time that he is said to be like someone else.

"Like who?" he asks.

"That's a long time ago."

"Tell me."

"Does it turns you on or what?"

"Just tell me."

She hesitates, and is now sitting up. "There was a man whose name was Frank Bolan, who had made a lot of money here because he had found gold. He ... died here ... My God, you look as if you were a brother of him or something like that ... you look like a true copy of him."

"Tell me more about Frank Bolan."

"No, I will not." She is shaking her head. "I do not know why I started at all."

"Because it will relieve you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You understood me very well."

She braces her knees, wiggling her arms around, so that her heavy breasts push against. She looks as if she wants to protect herself.

"Where is Frank Bolan now?" asks the preacher.

"He's dead," she says.

"Did he die here, in the HAPPY SINNER?"

"Yes." Her voice has become toneless.

"In your bed?"

"What?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Yes but ..."

"It is useless to want to hide something from me."

She swallows.

"You know it?"

"Just tell me everything!"