"Get your clothes on, Nell," Sheriff Lauters said. He didn't watch her dress; he gave any woman that much respect, even a prostitute. "You, too, Reverend. It turns my stomach some to see you in the flesh."
Claussen was beyond embarrassment. He was mortified. There was no color left in his once ruddy face. His self-righteous pomposity had crumbled to ash. He was a beaten, broken man whose filthy little secrets had been exposed and this by the man he despised most.
"Sheriff…" Nell began.
"Just get out of here, child, and don't let me catch you plying your trade around a house of worship again. Understand?"
She nodded. Her blue eyes tearful as if she'd been caught in the act by her father.
"Forget about what happened here today," Lauters instructed her. "Forget about seeing me, forget about the reverend. Nothing happened here today. Got it?"
She nodded, sobbing.
"Now, git!"
Nell took off down the stairs, not looking back. Lauters knew she'd say nothing of this. Not ever. If she did, she'd be in serious trouble and she knew it.
Claussen was sitting on the bed, staring at his hands. They shook. As did the rest of him. Lauters just glared at him for a moment, not bothering to mask the disgust on his face. He took off his sheepskin coat and hung it on the door.
"My Lord," Claussen whimpered. "My Lord."
"Shut the fuck up," Lauters snapped. "You and God have parted company, Reverend. And being that this probably isn't the first time you've done something like this, I'd say you parted company some time ago."
Claussen said nothing more, he sobbed, his entire frame shuddering.
"Jesus wept," Lauters said. He fished out his tobacco pouch and wedged a chunk of chew between his cheek and gum. He polished his badge and took it off, setting it on the nightstand by the bed.
"Now I'm no more a man of the law than you are a man of God," he said.
"Sheriff, I-"
"Shut up," Lauters said. "How long have you been deceiving the good people of your church?"
"Not long, I swear. Sin overcame me-"
"You piece of shit," Lauters grumbled, taking the reverend by the shirt collar and tossing him to the floor. He tried to get up and Lauters kicked his legs out from under him.
"When you were a man of God," Lauters began, "I had to take a certain amount of guff from you. After all, it isn't proper to strike a man of the cloth. But now that you're just a sinner like me, there's no reason not to."
He hooked his arm around Claussen's elbow and pulled him to his feet.
They stood eye to eye.
Lauters spat in his face and the reverend only trembled. "Sinner," Lauters said, slamming a fist into his belly. Claussen doubled over with a gasp. Lauters grabbed him by an ear and pulled him back up, striking him in the face with one massive closed hand. Claussen stumbled over a chair and went down, blood streaming from his broken nose. Before he could rise or even recover, Lauters was on him. He grabbed the back of his shirt and planted his knee in the reverend's face.
Claussen's head shot back and struck the wall. He slid down into a heap.
"You turned my wife against me," Lauters said.
Claussen, tears streaming from his swollen eyes, shook his head and Lauters slapped him across the face. Then he did it again, laughed, and backhanded the man. Red, hurting handprints were imbedded in the reverend's face. Blood and drool coursed from his mouth.
Lauters pulled him to his feet, patting him on the shoulder. "You would have turned the whole town against me in time." He slammed Claussen against the wall and held him there with one meaty fist. "I've fought worse enemies than you, Reverend. I've beaten and killed the meanest, ugliest men this vile country has thrown against me. Did you think you had a chance?" He slapped him in the face. "Answer me!"
"I never…I didn't…"
Lauters kneed him in the groin and then in the stomach. Claussen doubled over, going to his knees, gasping and wheezing, and Lauters struck him in the face with a series of upper cuts and tossed his bleeding, broken body out into the center of the floor.
The reverend lifted his head up. His face was an atrocity. His left eye was swollen shut and puffed red. His nose was smashed at an angle towards his cheek. His lower lip was bulging and gashed. Blood was smeared over his chin and cheeks. His remaining good eye studied the sheriff with a raw hatred.
Lauters kicked him in the face.
With a drunken, psychotic rage, he pulled the reverend to his feet and hammered him in the face with his right fist while holding him up with his left. He kneed him in the stomach again and watched him fall, pounding the back of his head unmercifully with a savage series of blows from both fists.
Claussen dropped to the floor and didn't move.
Lauters, panting with exertion, alcohol sweating out of his bloated face in rivers, rubbed his cut, bleeding fists. "This isn't over yet, Reverend." He took a china pitcher from its stand and filled a basin with water and dumped it on the still, broken heap of the minister.
Claussen came to, his good eye focusing and unfocusing, his head swimming with dizziness. Lauters picked him up and dropped him on the bed.
"I want you out of this town, Reverend. If you're still here day after tomorrow, I'll kill you. Is that clear?"
Claussen attempted a nod.
Lauters patted him on the chest and put his badge back on, then his coat. He stood in the doorway and smiled. "School's out."