"Cimarron Creek" for the Short Affair Challenge due July 8th

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Couldn't come up with a name for this one, and couldn't finish it until today. Better late than never...

Challenge: The Short Affair

-Prompt Word 1 - Barter

-Prompt Word 2 – Shoe

-Prompt Colour – Red

Author: mrua7

Title:Cimarron Creek

It was one of those occasions, which happened more frequently than not, when Solo and Kuryakin found themselves sans cash or credit cards.

They’d escaped after being held at a New Mexico ranch operated by THRUSH, of course. The UNCLE agents had been relieved of their wallets, along with their weapons and communicators as well. They were lucky to get out with their skins intact.

After a trek across a hot dusty desert terrain they found themselves in the town of Cimarron Creek having been built on top of dry creek bed, It had a small population, with tourism being part of the town's means of survival, but it looked like business wasn't booming.

They wandered through a historical area featuring an early trading post, the office of the Cimarron News, the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church, Juan Charret’s Saloon, the Colfax County Jail, and the St. James Hotel which boasted a claim to fame that Jesse James had slept there.

“There are a few other points of interest, “ Illya pointed out after picking up a travel brochure displayed near of the local businesses.

“I’m only interested in contacting our Albuquerque office to come get us,” Napoleon groused. “May I remind you we are not here for sightseeing Illya.”

“I know that,” Illya snapped back at him, but he was quick to apologize. “The heat is affecting me.”

“I get it,” Solo loosened his tie as well. They’d both removed their suit jackets and slung them over their shoulders, though it didn't help much.

There was, unfortunately, a lack of pay phones as none were to be found. Not that it mattered as they had no coins to insert to speak an operator, allowing them to make a collect call.

They both had recently been issued new credit cards but neither man had even looked at them; usually agents memorized the number in the event the cards were taken from them, as had been the case.

Napoleon mumbled that it was a case of ‘hindsight being twenty-twenty.

The few townspeople visible during the heat of the day were going about their business, some of them giving Napoleon and Illya the once over. Strangers dressed in dirty rumpled suits resembled nothing more than homeless drifters to them.

The agents were both thirsty and eyed a local bar; all they wanted was water. The barkeep took one look at them and ordered them out.

“No bums allowed. I’m sick of your kind drifting in here!” He pulled a sawed off shotgun from behind the bar, pointing it at the agents.

“We are not vagrants sir. Our car broke down,” Illya lied. “We meerly want water and to make a phone call.

He looked them up and down, now taking them for a pair of stupid city slickers who lost in Las Vegas.

The barman set out two glasses of water and watched his visitors guzzle down their drinks.

“There’s no phone here. but there's one over at the church rectory at the end of town. I don’t think the padre would mind letting you use it.”

“Thank you sir,” Napoleon smiled, giving a little bow as he clicked his heels.

They exited the bar, heading straight over to the Conception Church.

They knocked on the rectory door until it was finally answered by an elderly woman dressed in the habit of a Franciscan nun.

“What do you want?”

“Yes, ma’am, is the Padre in?” Napoleon asked very politely.

“No, gone to Albuquerque.” She started to close the door.

“Might we use your telephone?” Illya asked.

“Nope.”

“But we have a bit of an emergency Madam,” Illya spoke.

“I don’t care what kind of trouble you’re in; you can’t use the phone because it’s busted. That’s why Father Angélico went to Albuquerque to get a new one.”

“Thank you for your time, sorry to bother you.” Napoleon looked quite dejected.

“Wait,” she reminded herself she wasn’t being very Christian.“You poor souls look like you could use a good meal, come on in then.”

“Thank you Sister,” Solo answered,”My name is Napoleon Solo and my friend here is Illya Kuryakin.”

“You’re definitely not from round these parts with those names.”

“No Sister we’re not,” Napoleon smiled at her.

“I am Sister Maria Franziska, the housekeeper. This way.” She gestured for them to head down the hallway to the kitchen.

“Sit. I have chili.”

She poured them tall tumblers of lemonade, and watched as they downed them, after which she filled their glasses again.

“Leave room for your food now.”

Putting the chili in front of them, she eyed Illya.

“You a skinny one...eat, eat.”

Kuryakin’s face turned red as he dug in; it was a bit on the spicy side; still, it was food.

While they ate, and drank more lemonage she insisted they give her their suits to be dusted and pressed, of course they were given robes and towels to maintain modesty.

“Will she be making us wash behind our ears?” Illya whispered.

“I heard that Mister Kuryakin, and yes there’s a wash basin on the counter behind you.”

The Russian’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Sister Maria,” Napoleon called,”were you ever a teacher?”

“Yes, a long time ago.”

“That explains it,” he mouthed the words to his partner, preventing the woman from hearing.

She cleaned, mended and pressed their clothing; looking at the repairs, one would never have known they’d been damaged.

“You’re quite the tailor Sister, thank you.”

“Here in this town, one must be versatile. Father Angélico is also the town doctor. The bartender Sam is also the librarian and historian.”

The agents listened politely, but finally it was time to leave.

“We have no money to pay you for your kindness,” Illya said.

“Did I ask for money? Now get along with you, at least you look more presentable and not like a pair of vagabonds.”

After leaving the rectory, they wandered into the general store, hoping against hope they’d find help there.

“Hola señors, what can I get for you today?” The shopkeeper greeted them.

“Is there anyone who might be traveling to Albuquerque  with whom we can hitch a ride?” Solo asked.

“You got money?”

“No that’s sort of our problem.”

“Is there a closer place that someone could drive us to where there is a telephone?” Illya asked.

“My cousin José is going to Wagon Wheel if you don’t mind riding in a pick up truck with a few goats.”

“Goats?” Napoleon swallowed hard, whispering to Illya. “We just got our clothes cleaned.”

“Napoleon!” Kuryakin hissed.

“Maybe for a trade, we could forget the goats,”the shopkeep smiled as he eyed Napoleon’s shoes.”

“Yes, we could barter,” Illya volunteered.

The shopkeep sized up his shoe size to Solo’s.

“Oh no, I just got these,” Napoleon complained.”They’re imported Italian leather!”

The deal was made and the agents found themselves squeezed in a 1940 Red Ford pickup that had seen better days. The driver, José, weighed in at about 250lbs, maybe more.

Napoleon elbowed his partner, struggling for room as Illya peered down at Solo’s stocking feet.

“You are lucky he did not want your suit,” Kuryakin whispered.