Five Points

by J. R. Roberts

  The pie and coffee at the tavern were excellent. Clint didn’t know how the hotel was going to be, but the captain had put him next to a good place to drink and eat.

  Angie came over and poured him some more coffee, bending over so that her breasts were nice and close to him.

  “You keep doing that,” he said, “and I’m just going to have to take you up to my room with me.”

  She stood up straight, put one hand on her hip, and said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

  She walked away then, leaving him unsure whether or not she was kidding.

  He finished his coffee and when she came over with his bill, he paid it.

  “You goin’ right back to your room?” she asked.

  “I thought I’d have a beer at the bar first.”

  “That’s good,” she said. “I get off in about half an hour. Unless you were kiddin’ about takin’ me to your room?”

  “Uh, no, I wasn’t kidding,” he said. “I just didn’t know if, uh—”

  “I wasn’t kiddin’,” she said. “I took to you right off, mister, and I don’t like to waste time. If you don’t like women like that, let me know now; it’ll save us a lot of trouble.”

  “No trouble, Angie,” Clint said. “I’ll just sit at the bar with a beer and wait for you. To tell you the truth,

  I’ve been on a train a long time. I need to do something that’ll use a little energy.”

  “Oh, honey,” she said, “for me you’re gonna need a lot of energy.”

  SIXTEEN

  The only one who couldn’t wait to get her breasts out of that peasant blouse even more than Clint was Angie herself.

  The impressive orbs bobbed free as she lifted the blouse over her head. While her arms were still in the air, Clint buried his face between the luscious globes. The scent was even more heady with his nose pressed against her. There were no more keys, there was nothing between them than more of Angie herself.

  Her nipples were pink and erect, and as Clint had predicted, the size of a puppy’s nose. He suckled them lovingly, then bit them, causing her to squeal.

  “Wow, you’re anxious,” she said.

  He pulled his face away from her flesh long enough to say, “From the moment I walked into the tavern.”

  “Well, that works both ways,” she said. “My nipples don’t ever get that hard—no, that’s a lie. They do. I’m a girl who loves sex and I ain’t shy about it. I know most women don’t talk about it like I do—except maybe whores.”

  “You’re talking an awful lot right now, Angie,” Clint said. “Did you come here to talk?”

  “No,” she said, reaching for his trousers. “I sure enough came here to fuck.”

  She yanked his pants down, but stopped when she got them over his hips.

  “You ain’t one of them men who’s gonna fall in love with me, are you?”

  “Maybe for a few days,” he said, “but that’s all. I promise.”

  “Good enough.” She yanked his pants and underwear down so that his erect penis fairly popped free. Her eyes got big and she said, “Ahhh.”

  Once she got rid of his boots, she was able to toss the pants and underwear away. That done, she fondled his balls with one hand and took his cock in the other. Holding it steady she first licked the head, getting it good and wet, then ran her tongue down it until she could lick his balls. She licked her way back up to the tip, then popped it into her mouth and slid him halfway into her mouth.

  Letting him slide out, glistening with her saliva, she said, “I knew you were gonna taste just like candy.”

  Her frank talk excited him almost as much as her naked skin. Almost, but not quite. He wanted to see more of her.

  “Let’s get that skirt off,” he said.

  They did so together. When her wide hips and full butt came into view, he was fully and completely impressed with Angie.

  The other thing that was impressive was the heat that came off her. It was as if her skin were on fire from the inside.

  He wondered what else was on fire.

  Appo, Red, and Bethany came out of the Metropole. Appo stopped to light a cigar.

  “Red, you better get to work on that information,” Appo said.

  “Right, George. See you, Miss Bethany.”

  The kid ran off.

  Bethany said, “You put a lot of faith in that boy, George.”

  “That boy’s got more connections in Five Points than anybody I know—except me.”

  “Still . . .”

  “And I trust him as much as I trust you.”

  “That much?”

  “Well, maybe not that much.”

  They walked down the steps and started strolling.

  “When are you gonna get away from that crazy woman?” Appo asked.

  “As soon as I can convince Ben.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard,” Appo said, looking at her. “He’s in love with you.”

  “He’s my brother, George.”

  “Half brother,” George said, “but he’s still in love with you. All you’d have to do to convince him is—”

  “Oh, George,” Bethany said. “I know what you’re gonna say, and that’s awful. He’s my brother, half or not.”

  “How bad do you want to get him away from that woman?” Appo asked.

  “She’s his mother, George,” Bethany said. “That’s a hard connection to break.”

  “Not if she was my mother,” George said.

  “Well . . . I don’t know what to do. I think she’ll be the death of him, George. Her or that crazy Willie O’Donnell.”

  “Him,” Appo said. “I can have him killed if you like. I’ve told you that before.”

  “You wouldn’t kill him yourself, would you, George?” she asked.

  “No, no,” Appo said, “but I can have it done.”

  “I couldn’t do that, George.”

  “No, but I could.”

  “I’d feel responsible,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I couldn’t do that.”

  “Well,” Appo said, “suit yourself.”

  Byrnes finished up some paperwork on his desk as Sergeant Bill O’Halloran came into his office.

  “What have you got for me, Bill?”

  “Not much, Cap’n,” O’Halloran said. “No word on the street about haul that big comin’ in.”

  “Not yet, maybe,” Byrnes said. “Keep your ear to the ground, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  O’Halloran left and Byrnes sat back in his chair. If Clint Adams was right, somebody would be pulling into New York in a few days with two or three wagons full of goods. They might just have to wait and see who it was instead of trying to figure it out ahead of time.

  He wondered if a man with the reputation of the Gunsmith could stay out of trouble for that long. It would make Talbot Roper very unhappy if Byrnes let his friend get killed.

  SEVENTEEN

  Clint found Angie to be a handful of woman—in fact, many handfuls. And he loved having some of her in each hand.

  Lying on his back with his hard cock buried deep inside her, he had one of her big breasts in each hand, thumbing those big nipples. She bit her lower lip and rode him up and down with her hands pressed down on his belly for balance.

  “Ooh, God, Clint,” she moaned. “You sure do give a gal a good ride.”

  “I’m only giving as good as I get,” he assured her.

  “Mmm,” she said, closing her eyes and bouncing up and down on him even harder . . .

  Later he had his hands full with her butt, one cheek in each as he fucked her from behind, sliding his cock up between her smooth thighs and into her hot, steamy pussy. With every thrust into her, she pushed back against him so that their flesh made a slapping sound. It was a sound he’d heard many times before. It generally meant he was doing something right, and something that felt good, and this time that went double.

  He admired the line of her back while he fucked her, and the way her muscles moved beneath her sk
in. She was a well-padded woman, but also well-muscled. She told him she was Irish, and the way Irish women ate was why she was well-padded. He told her he didn’t mind a little extra meat on a woman, not at all, and he was proving it.

  The bed creaked beneath them as they both grunted with the effort they were expending.

  He pulled free of her reluctantly, but only long enough to turn her over. Once she was on her back and he could see those fine breasts, he slid his dick back into her before it could cool off. He was fascinated by the way her breasts jiggled and bounced as he drove into her.

  “If I was a smaller gal, my teats wouldn’t be bouncin’ around this way,” she told him.

  “They’re bouncing around just fine, Angie.”

  “You really do like you a good-sized woman, don’t you?”

  “I like all women, Angie,” he admitted to her. “Big, small, it doesn’t matter. You’ve all got something beautiful about you.”

  She wrapped her thighs around him tightly and said, “Maybe I can prove there’s something more about me than all the others.”

  “You’re sure welcome to try.”

  Later he stroked her flesh as they lay close together. He felt the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the swell of her belly, the softness of the blond hair between her legs, and the smoothness of her wet pussy lips.

  “Mmm,” she said. “You’re gonna get me all hot and bothered again, Clint.”

  “Can’t say I’d mind if that was the case, Miss . . . What is your last name?” he asked. “All you told me is that you’re Irish.”

  "O’Doul,” she said, “of the Five Points O’Douls.”

  “Five Points,” he said. “That’s a pretty rough neighborhood hereabouts, isn’t it?”

  “It is, and it’s where I grew up.”

  “How did you grow up so sweet, then?” he asked.

  “I had lots of brothers who kept me safe,” she said. “Bein’ safe made me sweet, I guess.”

  “And what happened to those brothers?”

  “There was five of them,” she said. “Three of them didn’t make it out of Five Points.”

  “Dead?”

  “Before they were twenty.”

  “And the other two?”

  “They’re still around.”

  “I shouldn’t be expecting a visit from them after tonight, should I?”

  She laughed and rubbed his chest.

  “Not unless you hurt my feelin’s,” she said. “And you ain’t done that yet.”

  “No yet about it,” he said. “I have no intention of hurting your feelings.”

  “So if I was to do this,” she asked, rolling over on top of him, flattening her big breasts against his chest and reaching between them to grab ahold of him, “you wouldn’t object?”

  “Not at all.”

  “And if I did this?” She shifted her hips and slid him inside her. “You wouldn’t object?” Her voice had gotten a lot huskier.

  “No,” he said, with a sigh, “can’t say as I would.”

  “Mmm,” she said, kissing him lightly on the lips. “Then I don’t think we’ll be needin’ to tell my brothers about this at all.”

  EIGHTEEN

  The next morning Clint woke with Angie lying on his left arm. He leaned over and kissed her shoulder and breathed in the scent of her hair, but she didn’t stir. He didn’t blame her. They’d tired each other out pretty well the night before.

  He slid his arm from beneath her and got out of bed. At the window he looked down at the street. The sun was out, but just barely, so it was probably just after six. He decided to let her sleep. She probably didn’t have to go to work until later. He washed up in the basin as quietly as he could, then got dressed and left the room. He was wearing a jacket so he could continue to wear the New Line in his belt, out of sight.

  In the small lobby he found a different clerk at the desk.

  “I’m in room fifteen,” he told the young man. “Adams.”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Adams,” the clerk said. “I know about you. Welcome.”

  “Thanks. Is there a place within walking distance where I can get a good breakfast?”

  “About two blocks, just past the telegraph office,” the clerk said.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “My name’s Ted, Mr. Adams. You need anything, you just ask Owen or me.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  As Clint started to leave, the clerk called, “Oh, how stupid of me.”

  “What’s wrong?” Clint asked.

  “I mentioned the telegraph office and then I forgot to give you this.”

  Clint walked back and accepted the telegram Ted was holding out to him.

  “You were waiting for this, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Came in late last night.”

  “Telegraph office is open that late?”

  “The clerk Len, he brought it over after he closed. He does that sometimes.”

  “Well, I’m much obliged,” Clint said.

  He took the telegram out onto the street with him before he opened it and read it. Bat Masterson promised to try his best to come up with something, but reminded Clint that he wasn’t a detective. Not even “one in training, like you.”

  Smiling, Clint folded the telegram and put it in his pocket. He started down the street toward the telegraph office, and beyond it to the restaurant the clerk had told him about, but he knew immediately he was being followed. Between the telegraph office and the restaurant he quickly stepped into a doorway and waited. Soon, his tail passed by. Clint stepped out and picked him up off his feet.

  “Lemme go, lemme go,” the kid yelled. “Put me down, I tell ya!”

  “Are you going to talk to me?”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

  He put the kid down and turned him around and found himself looking into the face of the young pickpocket Red.

  “You.”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Why are you following me?”

  “I was wonderin’ if you needed any help yet, mister? ” Red asked.

  “Maybe you were hoping for another chance at my wallet?”

  “Oh, no, sir,” Red said. “I was just hopin’ to make some money off ya—ya know, help ya out.”

  “Well, I could use some help, now that you mention it,” Clint said.

  “That’s great. What do I gotta do?”

  “You can help me eat some breakfast.”

  NINETEEN

  “How did you find me?” Clint asked.

  Red was sitting across the table from him, a full plate of bacon and eggs and potatoes laid out in front of him. The same was in front of Clint, which gave the kid a man-sized appetite.

  “I got connections,” the boy said. “I found out that the cap’n took you to the Belvedere Hotel. I was just waitin’ for ya out front.”

  “How long?”

  “I came at first light.”

  Clint picked up a forkful of eggs and bacon and shoveled it in. There was never any shortage of good food in New York, that he remembered well.

  “What do you do with yourself all day, Red?” Clint asked.

  “I pick pockets.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s all I can do until I grow up.”

  “And then what?”

  The boy’s face lit up.

  “When I grow up, I’m goin’ on the con.”

  “You ever go to school?”

  “Naw,” he said.

  “What about your parents?”

  “Been dead since I was little.”

  “So where do you live?”

  “Here and there,” Red said. “Mostly around Five Points.”

  “That’s a pretty rough neighborhood for a kid, isn’t it?”

  “Not if you was born there,” Red said. “Everybody in Five Points is my friends.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Clint said. “It’s good to have a lot of friends.”

  “Yeah,
it sure is.”

  Red kept feeding his face while he talked, and before long his plate was empty while Clint’s was still half full.

  “You full?” Clint asked.

  “Not hardly.”

  “You want some more?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, you can have some.”

  “Swell.”

  “As soon as you tell me why you’re really here,” Clint said. “Why you were really looking for me.”

  “I tol’ ya,” Red said. “I was just tryin’ to make some money from ya.”

  Clint studied the boy for a few moments, still convinced that he was lying, but he waved the waiter over anyway.

  “Bring the boy another order,” Clint said. “Same thing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The waiter looked at Red, made a face as if the smell was too much to bear, and then left.

  “When’s the last time you had a bath?” Clint asked.

  “I ain’t done nothin’,” the boy said. “Why do I need a bath.”

  “It’s not a punishment.”

  “It ain’t?”

  “Being clean is no punishment, Red.”

  “I ain’t got time to be clean,” the boy said. “I got work to do. If I don’t pick pockets, I don’t eat . . . and I never eat as good as this.”

  “Well then, I guess you better stock up.”

  “Thanks, mister . . . What’s yer name?”

  “Adams,” Clint said. “My name is Clint Adams.”

  Red stared at him.

  “It is?”

  “Yes.”

  “But . . . ain’t you the Gunsmith?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Red sat forward. “I read about you in Mr. Buntline’s dime novels.”

  Clint knew about those novels. They hadn’t done him any good.

  “You can’t believe everything you read.”

  “I know how to read!”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Clint said. “Take it easy. I know you can read. I’m just saying don’t believe everything.”

  “You mean Mr. Buntline lies?”

  “Let’s just say he exaggerates a bit.”

  “Well,” Red said, “even if half what I read is right, well . . . you’re a legend.”

  “Don’t be so quick to be impressed, Red,” Clint said as the waiter brought another plate and put it in front of the boy. “Why don’t you just eat up?”