California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1)

by Daniel Knapp

  "I can help you."

  "Seven thousand's a lot of money to pay for…"

  "I didn't say I'd pay all of it."

  "I see. How much are you willing to spend?"

  "Two thousand dollars. Initially… There may be an opportunity for you to the balance by performing another—favor—for me."

  "What kind of favor?"

  "First things first. I promise you I'll give you the opportunity, and that it will not be a burden. It will be easy, in fact. But first there are things I must learn. Is the Oriental woman who works for you the most skilled of your… employees?"

  The madam's eyebrows rose again. "You know an awful lot about—"

  "Does that matter? Beyond the fact that you must know by now you are not dealing with a fool?"

  "No, I suppose not. But you sure been studyin' up, all right." Arabella hesitated, thinking a moment. "Yeah, I'd say Ling Wu is right up there with the best of them. Maybe one other girl here's as good."

  "The Latin girl?"

  "No. French. She's dosed up, though." A look of apprehension followed by one of relief passed across her face. "She sure as hell won't be workin' here no more."

  "You looked troubled for a moment. Is something the matter?"

  The madam sighed. "No. But there could'a been. One of my steady customers sees the French girl from time to time. It's just lucky he hasn't had a taste for her the last few weeks. He's a mean one."

  Esther had no doubt who the customer was. "Well, in any event, I'd like to observe the Chinese girl… at work. Would that be possible?"

  "For two thousand? You bet your life it is!"

  "I wouldn't want the girl, or whoever is with her, to know."

  "'Course. 'Course. That's no problem. You're not the first—well, person—wanted to watch. We got men come in here do nothin' else. You're the first woman, though."

  "How is it arranged?"

  "We got a peephole—behind one of the pitchures—upstairs in one of the bedrooms. Looks right into the next room." The madam laughed. "Through the eye in another pitchure—of an angel—on the other side."

  "There is no chance of detection?"

  "The girl might know. But like as not, the man'll be too interested in her and what he's doin'. We've never had no problems."

  Esther reached into her purse and pulled out a thousand dollars in large bills. "Half now, half after I've seen all I want to see."

  "Suit yourself," Arabella said, counting the money. "You set your mind to something, you sure—"

  "When will I be able to watch?"

  "Tonight? Tomorrow? Ling's got customers regular, every night."

  "Tomorrow night, then. I'll be here at ten o'clock. And I'd like to be let in through the back door." She thought again of Arabella Ryan's attempt to rob her six years before and the madam's present desperation. "Remember, if all goes well, I'll find a way for you to earn the balance of Mr. Cora's debt—at a later date."

  "Everything'll happen just like you want. Trust me."

  Esther stared through the peephole and watched the Chinese prostitute working on a fat man she recognized as an officer of the Adams and Company bank. She was disappointed that it was not Mosby but realized there was less risk the way things were.

  Beside her in a second chair, Arabella Ryan peered through another opening she had drilled into the wall that morning.

  "You notice the way she wet her fingers with spit?" Arabella whispered. "Before handling him? That drives 'em crazy. She's smart, that one. She knows enough of that—and what she's doin' now—with her mouth, see?—'ll get 'em to shoot their spunk all the quicker." She laughed. "Less work for mother."

  Esther felt herself stirred as the Chinese girl ran the tip of her tongue along the lip and cleft of the man's glans. The customer reached out and fondled her breasts. Esther experienced a vicarious tremor along the inside of her thighs. She reminded herself that this was simply a weapon she would be using, a lure. There would be no pleasure in it. She forced herself to contemplate the customer's enormous, flabby stomach until disgust at the sight of him wiped away her awakening desire.

  " 'Course, the business with the wet fingertips, and what she's doin' now—My Christ! He's gonna gahamuche her. I don't believe it!"

  "You were saying?" Esther whispered.

  "The finger and tongue work, the mouth business, it can be drawn out. It don't have to bring 'em off so quick when they get in you. Careful like, it just gives 'em more pleasure—before and during."

  The Chinese girl eased the customer's head from between her thighs, rolled him over gently and mounted him.

  "See how she rotates her…?"

  "Yes."

  "That, and tightenin' the muscles of your, you know, snapping it, gives 'em a great deal'a pleasure, too."

  Esther marveled at the Chinese girl's virtuosity, astonished by the number of things that could drive a man to look and sound like a helpless child. Finally the customer lay back, spent. Esther could not determine how much of the excitement she felt was from what she had just witnessed and how much sprang from envisioning how she would use the new knowledge. She smiled. Woman's ultimate weapon, she thought. And it is all so obvious, so simple, if one is merely armed with full knowledge of a man's sexual anatomy and uses her imagination! Between what she had seen and what Arabella had explained, she doubted there was much more she needed to learn.

  She turned and handed the madam an envelope. "The second thousand dollars. Easily earned, since I feel no need to watch any more."

  Arabella got up and handed Esther her coat. "Any questions?"

  "No. You've been more than helpful." Esther wondered whether now was the time to broach the subject of the additional five thousand dollars Cora needed. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to let the bait hang in the air unmentioned, at least until they were down at the door to the back stairs. The more eager Arabella was, the better it would be. "Well, I must be on my way. Will you see me out?"

  "You won't be comin' back for another look-see?"

  Esther walked toward the door. "That won't be necessary. You've taught me more than I need to know."

  "Wait a minute," Arabella Ryan cleared her throat. "You… I… There was a mention of my… You said I might be able to do you another favor."

  "Oh, yes. I hadn't really forgotten. It's just… difficult for me to speak of it."

  "Come on. We're friends now, ain't we?"

  "Why, yes, Arabella. We are. And surely, if anyone could understand, you would."

  "What is it, dearie? Tell me."

  "I don't know how to begin. There is… a man. A man I have an unquenchable lust for, I'm ashamed to say."

  "Nothin' to be ashamed of."

  "But I'm a married woman. And I wish to…"

  "Get into bed with someone who ain't your husband."

  Esther feigned embarrassment. "Yes… With someone who is a regular customer of yours."

  "Well, ain't that a bitch! Who is he?"

  "I don't know his name. He's tall, of a slender, muscular build, darkly handsome, sharp-nosed, and wears a moustache."

  "Luther. You must mean Luther Mosby."

  Esther steadied herself. "The name means nothing to me. I've seen him in Sacramento Street and been seized by an uncontrollable urge to…"

  "I understand. But what do you want me to do? I can introduce you to him."

  "No. No. That would never do. I'm married. I can only indulge myself once without fear of being detected by my husband. Mr.… Mosby, did you say his name was…? Must never know."

  "I don't see…"

  "I have a plan. If I were here, in your establishment, for one hour, one night, you could arrange for him to be with me, could you not?"

  "I suppose I could," Arabella mused, weighing the proposal. "Don't see why not."

  "That is the favor I spoke of. I wish to be with him. Once. To satisfy this thing that leaves me sleepless nights on end."

  "I know what you mean, dearie. I've had cravings for someon
e like that myself."

  "Mr. Cora?"

  "Yeah. I can't get enough of him. He's no good. But I love the rotter. I'm crazy about him, and the thought of him gettin' himself killed makes me even crazier."

  "Then you do know the torment I'm going through."

  "Yeah. I don't know if once is gonna cure it…"

  "It will have to. It must. If you will arrange it, I'll pay you five thousand dollars. Enough to cover the rest of your Mr. Cora's gambling debts."

  "When do you?—wait a minute. There's a problem. Luther's gone."

  "Gone?" Esther felt her heart sink into a suddenly hollowed-out stomach.

  "Yeah. He's up to Sacramento. Lawyer by trade. Used to be a marshal. But he's got political notions. Went up to Sacramento to put his head together with Senator Gwin, the Southerner."

  Esther let out a sigh of relief. "He won't be gone long, then?"

  "No. Just a couple weeks, I'd guess. Maybe less. Said he'd be back in time to celebrate New Year's with us. Wanted me to think up somethin' special."

  "You'll arrange it, then?"

  "Soon's he gets back. How'll I reach you?"

  "You won't have to. I'll know when he is back. And I'll contact you."

  "Shouldn't be any problem. He comes in everyday when he's in town."

  "I know," Esther said. "You will receive half of the money the night it takes place. Ahead of time. Half afterward, delivered the following day in an envelope."

  "You sure play it careful."

  "I must. I have to be sure he never knows who i am, cannot possibly cause me problems with my husband after it's done."

  "But he'll see you in the room here. He'll be able to recognize you after."

  "No. I plan to wear my hat and veil. And my gloves. Do you think he'll object?"

  Arabella thought for a moment, then smiled. "He'll love it! He goes for the unusual, a little mystery. Fact, I'll use it when I tell him it's the somethin' really special I dreamed up for him."

  Esther's mind raced. "Tell him I will not wear the hat and veil the second time we are together." Arabella Ryan laughed knowingly. "You're a devil, you are. Planned all along to see him again, didn't you?"

  "Yes. But only here. So he will think I'm a… prostitute. And I will make sure you are taken care of generously for continuing to keep my secret."

  Fifty-seven

  She was lying on the brass bed—naked except for the new deep-lavender hat, veil, and long silk gloves she had purchased before—when Mosby entered the room. He was smoking a cigar. She trembled when he sat down next to her on the bed, touched at the pale birthmark between her breasts, and smirked. She thought she could actually hear the rapid beating of her heart. She pictured the pistol hidden under the two pillows beneath her head and suppressed an urge to claw at Mosby's face.

  "Old Arabella wasn't lyin' when she said she got up somethin' special for me. You new here?"

  "Yes." Trying to look relaxed, she folded her hands behind her neck and calculated how long it would take to pull the pistol, shoot him, put on her clothes, and get down the back stairs.

  "And you like bein' a little mysterious, do you?"

  "Yes," she said, forcing herself to reach out and put one hand on his thigh.

  "And you don't like to talk much."

  "No."

  She started to slip her other hand under the pillow when he glanced away for a moment, but then he turned back.

  "Well, the less talk from you, the better, and I like the mystery. What I can't see's made up for by what I can."

  "Thank you." Oh, God, how I hate you.

  "You any good?"

  "You will soon see."

  "That I will."

  He stood up and unbuttoned his jacket. She could see the derringer he wore under one arm. She decided to wait.

  "You mind if I finish this cigar before I get undressed?" he said, walking over to a partially open window. "Just lookin' at you is gettin' me ready."

  "I can see that." You animal.

  "Goddamn, I never seen such a body!" He took a drag on the cigar and smiled. "Well, if this is as good as the rest of the day has been, I might as well've slept in horseshit last night."

  "You've had good fortune today?"

  "The best. Can't go into all the details, but what it amounts to is a shoo-in for a really fine legal position in about six months."

  If you are still alive, she thought. Which you won't be. "What sort of legal position?"

  He flicked a glowing cylinder of ash out through the window. For a moment he turned away from her and watched the wind scatter it across an attached shed-roof. His gaze was on her again before there was time for her to make a move. "Funny. I wouldn't tell this to anyone I know. And you got to promise you'll keep it…" He laughed. "Under your hat."

  "It's always easier to reveal things to a stranger… I won't tell a soul. Not even Arabella."

  "She knows, so she's all right." He waved a finger. "But no one else, you hear?" He drew on the cigar again between clenched teeth as he took off his jacket and laid it on a chair.

  When he has the gun off, Esther thought, her heart beginning to race, then I will do it.

  "You're right, you know. I've told more secrets to whores than you can shake a stick at. Anyways, I'm a lawyer. And some friends of mine in Sacramento are fixin' it so's I become a judge later this year."

  "That's wonderful," she said, attempting to look happy for him, trying to will her heart from pounding so rapidly.

  "Yeah, ain't it? Bought me a bar examination in Galveston, and now I'm gonna buy me a seat on the California Circuit Court. Ain't that a bitch?" Absently, he tossed the cigar butt, still lit, out through the window, walked back, and sat down next to her on the bed. "Give me a kiss."

  "But you will see me and the mystery will be gone."

  He grabbed her painfully by one wrist, jerked her up to a sitting position, and locked an arm around her waist. "No, it won't. I'll close my eyes. Lift that fuckin' veil up now, and kiss me like you mean it."

  Full of revulsion, she kissed him, remembering how the Chinese girl had plunged her tongue into the banker's mouth. She reached back with her free hand toward the pillows. They were out of reach.

  "That's good. Now let the veil back down and I'll open my eyes again."

  He got up and slipped off his low-cut boots.

  "Take all your clothes off," she said. "Please. I want to see you without anything on." You beast…. you filthy, rotten…

  "At your service, ma'am." He slipped off the shoulder holster and hung it over the chair, still staring at her breasts. "Git down by the end of the bed, by the brass railing. Bend over and spread your legs so I can see your bumhole."

  Esther saw the long, snaking scar on his left arm before she reluctantly moved and exposed herself. The thought of what he had done to Murietta, to Mwamwaash, to Miwokan, to her son and herself steeled her as she heard him remove the rest of his clothing and pad over to the bed.

  "All right, turn around now."

  She gasped when she saw the size of him again. For a moment, vague recollections of that night with him in the mountains almost made her cry out and smash at him with her fists. Breathing hard, she fought to control her rage. She was aware of the derringer hanging over the arm of the chair, and of the distance to the pillows. Not yet, she thought. Not until he is on the bed.

  "You like that, do you? Like the old boy's pego? Ever seen the likes of it?"

  "No."

  "Well, what are you waiting for?"

  "Aren't you going to get into bed with me?"

  "I like to have it sucked standin' up for a while. Makes it bigger. And I can feel what you're doin' on the bottoms of my feet." He laughed.

  She eased over to the edge of the bed and sat, feet on the floor, in front of him. She looked at the scar and the notched leather brace encircling his left elbow, became aware of how limply his left arm hung, then closed her eyes for a moment, knowing he could not see her face. Let me have the strength, she
thought. Let me have the skill. She opened her eyes and reached out, gripping his penis firmly and squeezing it in successive, tightening, and releasing holds.

  "Goddamn, that feels good."

  She watched it rise a fraction more as she worked her dry mouth and finally produced some saliva. She spilled it carefully onto her gloved right fingers and began working him.

  "Jesus, you know what it's all about, don't you?"

  She lifted her veil slightly and took him, almost gagging, unable to do nearly as much as the Chinese girl had done to the banker. Improvising, she caressed him with the sides and roof of her mouth. She pointed her tongue and probed, then worked alternately with her mouth and the moistened gloved hand.

  "Lie on the bed," she said. "Please."

  He lay down with his head on the pillows.

  "Not that way. Across the bed."

  "Fuck that. I want to be comfortable… Now do what you were doing some more."

  She worked and fondled him, finally pulling herself up and slowly easing down onto it. She began moving up and down slowly, hurting, fighting rage and disgust, and digging her gloved fingers into his arms as she tried to shut the thought and feeling of what she was doing from her mind. She glanced at his face as she flexed her genital muscles, rose, relaxed, eased down, rotated, leaned slightly backward, then flexed again, increasing the tension and friction he was feeling. His eyes were closed. She leaned forward and lay on his chest, still moving. Slowly, she slid one hand up toward the pillow.

  He opened his eyes. "I love those fuckin' gloves and that hat," he said as the veil brushed against his chin. "Turn over."

  She was shocked for a moment, dreading the thought of him in her anus. But then he lifted her bodily and rolled over on top of her stomach.

  "Wrap your legs around me, you wild little bitch!" He shoved into her hard, and she almost screamed from the pain. Lying there, she tried to focus on the sounds of a piano and loud singing in the parlor downstairs.

  In the alley next to the shed beneath the windows, Luther Mosby's cigar butt ignited a dry, wind-scattered half-bale of straw that had fallen from a wagon earlier that day. Spreading quickly, the flames hit the fences on either side of the narrow passage. Blown by gusting wind, sparks landed on the curtains hanging in Arabella Ryan's vacant first-floor office. They burned rapidly, almost matching the speed of the flames beginning to devour the empty carriage stable next door.