Slocum's Reward

by Jake Logan

  “Omission, honey. Omission ain’t tellin’ a lie.” They reached the landing, and he gave her a hug. “It’s sure good to see you, Katie. Mighty fine.”

  “And you, too, you darlin’ man.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him long and hard on the lips.

  “Mmmmm. You taste this good all over?”

  “That’s for you to find out, baby,” she purred back.

  He was about to speak again when they both heard boots coming up the stairs. It had to be Jack and his pick of the litter.

  “In here,” Katie whispered, and pulled him into one of the rooms. It had to be hers. She’d always loved knickknacks and little geegaws, and the place was full of them: on the tables, on the windowsills, and on the dresser tops.

  Slocum leaned against the door and, behind his back, locked it.

  She raised a brow. “Don’t you want me to go anywhere?”

  “Not for a month of Sundays, honey.” He pulled her closer. “Not for a real long time.”

  It was coming near dawn, according to the cuckoo clock on the wall, and Slocum had worn Katie out. He’d worn himself down to a nub, too. What a woman! She had the most fabulous figure he’d ever seen, in or out of clothes, and that face? Her face was pure Ireland. Sometimes he half expected to find shamrocks tucked behind her ears. His folks were Irish, too—black Irish, they were called, on account of they were supposed to have some Spanish blood from back when the storms turned Spain’s armada around and drove them onto the coasts of Ireland.

  Katie lay slumbering on the bed, fully exposed to the warm Phoenix breeze coming through the window behind him. She’d come six times, by his count. Maybe more. It was harder to tell with some women than with others.

  Leisurely, he rolled himself a quirlie and lit it, still staring at Katie. God, she was glorious. She’d told him that starting the moment Mrs. Sloan took off—after an uncle died and left her a big house back East, in Maryland—she hadn’t turned so much as one trick. She told him she was waiting for him to come back.

  That’s what she told him anyway.

  And he was in the mood to believe her.

  She stirred, and he quickly whisked the smoke in the air with his hand. He didn’t want it to wake her. But it had. She yawned, rubbed her eyes, then sat up. “What you doin’ clear over there, sugar?”

  “Thinkin’ about you, little darlin’.” He took another drag on his smoke.

  She patted the sheets beside her. “Why don’t you come over and think about me from here?”

  He stubbed out his quirlie in a little cut crystal ashtray among the bric-a-brac. “Think I might just do that,” he said, rising like a great cat uncurling from a state of repose. He strode to the bed, naked as a jaybird, and sat down. Katie was still sitting up, and he stuck his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, then applied them first to one nipple, then the other.

  Both tightened up immediately into tight little buds.

  Slocum’s mouth quirked up into a grin. “Lawsey, Miss Katie, I do believe you need seein’ to!”

  “Oh, I do, Dr. Slocum, I do!” Her hands came up to hug her breasts even as she lay down. Her fingers worked at her nipples. “But could you try and fix it from the inside?”

  He nodded gravely as he moved to cover her with his body. “Yes, Miss Katie, that always seems to give you some relief, doesn’t it?” He nudged her legs farther apart, and she lifted them to hug his sides.

  “Oh, Doc Slocum,” she whispered, “I’m so grateful that you’re here in my time of need ...”

  He plunged into her, sinking himself deep into her hot, wet core. She buried her face in his chest and moaned hungrily against him as he drove his shaft into her again and again. He couldn’t believe how insatiable she was. He’d given her everything he had the night before, and she still wanted more. She cried out for it.

  His hands found her breasts and squeezed and kneaded them as he continued to stroke himself in and out of her, gathering speed. He leaned down to lick and suck on her rock-hard and succulent nipples. Katie arched her back, pushing his tongue harder against the sweet nubs. Just when he thought he wouldn’t be able to last much longer, he felt Katie’s body tense and felt the spasm of pleasure ripple through her. Her moist insides clamped around him as she came, squeezing him and driving him to the brink of pleasure and beyond it.

  They both slept in until after ten in the morning, and Slocum woke up groggy. Katie, on the other hand, woke with a spring in her step. While she helped Slocum find his clothing, she said, “Wonder how that friend’a yours is gettin’ along . . .”

  Slocum pulled on his britches, buttoned them, and sat down to do battle with his boots. “Fine, I reckon. Hope he’s up already and seen to the horses. I plumb forgot, what with seein’ you again.” He shot her a sheepish smile.

  “Well, I’m flattered beyond words! I made Slocum forget about his horse,” she crowed. “That takes some doin’!”

  “Damn right it does. Do me a favor? Peek out that front window and see if the horses are still there.”

  She did, pulling back the curtains. “Well, there are horses out there, but not the ones you rode in on.”

  Slocum shimmied his foot down into his last boot. “Good. Jack’s on the job, then.”

  Katie grinned. “Feel like some breakfast? Seems to me you must’a worked up a powerful appetite.”

  “You ought’a know. You were right there, workin’ it up with me.”

  Katie laughed. “That I was, that I was. And I ain’t had such a high ol’ time in a month of Sundays. Hell, a year of Sundays!”

  “Best be careful, or you’ll Sunday yourself back a couple’a centuries or so. And you’d best throw on some clothes while you’re at it.”

  She threw a pillow at him.

  “Now, I don’t mind you bein’ naked one little bit. Fact is, if I had my say, you’d be naked twenty-four hours every day. But there might be some folks down there that I wouldn’t want seein’ you that way.” Shirtless, he sat on the edge of the bed, smiling while he stared at her. Oh, she was a peach, all right! He threw the pillow back into her arms.

  “When you gonna grow up, Slocum?” she asked as she rummaged through her chiffarobe.

  “Thought I did that some years back.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. When you gonna stop holdin’ up folks and robbin’ stages and such, and settle down?” She held up a pale green dress. “You like this one?”

  He nodded his approval. “I already officially vowed off stealin’, you’ll be happy to know. Got me a new job. Bounty hunter.”

  Her nimble fingers froze, mid-button. “Killin’ people? You sayin’ that instead of stealing people’s money, you’re gonna steal their lives?”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, I reckon so. I already decided that I’m only gonna go after murderers, iff’n that makes you feel any better.”

  “Not much, but we can talk about it later,” she said, finishing up the buttons.

  “Good,” he said, rising while tucking in his shirttails. “Got some posters I’d like to show you.”

  6

  Most of the house’s inhabitants were gathered around the kitchen table when Slocum and Katie joined them. Jack had, indeed, stabled the horses just up the street a ways, at the Diamond-Bar Livery. Slocum knew it, and approved the choice. Jack seemed pleased—and also very relaxed. It must have been a while for him.

  They all breakfasted on a spread of flapjacks, eggs, bacon, and coffee, with blueberry preserves aplenty to top off their flapjacks. When Slocum finally stopped eating, he was full as a tick. And it was only then that he remembered the posters.

  He dug into his pocket and pulled them out.

  “Whatcha got there?” Katie asked as he unfolded them.

  “Want you and your gals to have a look at these. Tell me if any of ’em have been in here, or if they’ve seen ’em on the street.” He laid the posters down, smoothing them with the flat of his hand, then spread them out. “See anybody familiar?”

&n
bsp; “I do,” said a pretty blonde from the corner. She was so far from him that Slocum had a hard time believing that she could see.

  “Which one?”

  She moved toward the table and pointed at the third poster from the left. “Him,” she said with finality. “He was in here ’bout a week ago. That wasn’t his name, though,” she said, still staring at the poster disdainfully.

  “What was he using?”

  “Steve. Steve Wallace.” The name on the poster said “Wall Stevens,” wanted for cattle rustling and murder.

  Slocum said, “Well, he ain’t got much imagination now, does he? Where’d he take off to?”

  “A saloon. That’s all I know. Prob’ly passed out under a table somewhere.”

  “Hey!” said a brunette, studying posters at the far end of the table. “This feller just come in! He’s upstairs with Pansy right now!”

  The paper she was staring at was for one Tom Mitchell, wanted for several murders, among other things. It also said DEAD OR ALIVE, as had the one for Wall Stevens.

  “Man, it’s our lucky day!” said Jack. “How you reckon to take him out?”

  “Don’t plan to ‘take him out’ at all,” replied Slocum.

  “But it says DEAD OR ALIVE!”

  “Dead’s the last resort, Jack. We’ll take him alive if we can. All right?”

  Jack nodded, albeit reluctantly.

  Slocum turned back toward Katie. “He been in here before?”

  Katie signaled to the brunette, who held up the poster. “Not to my knowing. Girls?”

  None of them replied, except the brunette. “First timer, I reckon.”

  Slocum shook his head. “Got no way of guessin’ when he’ll be finished up and head back downstairs, then.”

  “He’s with Pansy, I told you,” said the brunette. “She won’t care a whit if you walk in on ’em.”

  “That’s right,” said a girl next to her. “Pansy used to work one’a them pony shows down to Mexico. She likes her an audience. She also likes ’em hung like ponies.”

  Giggles erupted from several of the girls.

  “Hush,” said Katie, and the room quieted. “There’ll be no bringin’ up of anybody’s past while I’m runnin’ this house, and y’all know that.”

  Several of the girls muttered, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Can we go wait outside the door?” asked Slocum.

  She nodded.

  Slocum stood and Jack helped him collect the posters, which Slocum shoved back in his pocket. “Best stay back here for now. I mean that.”

  A little strawberry blonde in the corner said, “Oh, I do love me an authoritative man ...”

  Slocum ignored her and helped Katie to her feet. “Where’re they holed up?”

  “You can find it. Upstairs, second door on the right.”

  “As I face the front or the back’a the house?”

  “Front.” Katie didn’t look one bit happy about her house and place of business being used as a spring trap for outlaws. She was probably afraid it’d cut down business.

  Quietly, Slocum started for the stairs, with Jack bringing up the rear. They tiptoed to the second door on the right, and Slocum put his ear to the door.

  Bedsprings squeaking. Grunts and groans. A muffled whimper of pleasure.

  They were at it, all right. Slocum waved Jack back across the hall and signaled him to be ready. Slocum himself stepped alongside the wall until his shoulder was against the jamb where it would open.

  He would wait. He wasn’t so cold that he’d do the fellow out of a last chance to get some lovin’.

  For five long minutes they stood there, and Jack was getting visibly more antsy by the moment. Several times, Slocum had to shoot him a dirty look or mouth “Stop it!” to get him to still the shuffling of his feet.

  And then, finally, the bedsprings stopped squeaking. Slocum signaled to Jack to get ready. As if he had to—the boy was poised to vault across the hall with both guns drawn.

  Slocum took a deep breath, then took a step back and kicked in the door.

  The naked girl in the bed clutched the linens to her chin and shrieked. The naked man at the edge of the bed started at Slocum’s unceremonious entrance, but his expression was that of a snarl—a snarling mountain lion, to be more precise.

  Slocum said, “Tom Mitchell, I’m hereby makin’ a citizen’s arrest of your mangy carcass. Get dressed.”

  “And shake out them clothes before you put ’em on!” shouted Jack from right behind Slocum. How and when the boy had got there was beyond him.

  “What he said,” Slocum ordered. The girl was attempting to get out of the bed on its other side, and he added, “Miss, you’d best stay put till we get Tom here taken care of.”

  She shrank back into the bed.

  Gruffly, Jack said, “Shake out them boots before you pull ’em on, Mitchell.”

  “Why don’t you just come in here?” Slocum said to Jack. “Don’t like people barkin’ orders through me.” He stepped to the side, and Jack, both guns drawn, cocked, and aimed square at Tom Mitchell’s head, slipped into the room, and in front of him.

  “How much is this one worth?” Jack asked.

  “Don’t recall. Three or four grand, I think.”

  Tom Mitchell looked up from his last boot and said, “You don’t know squat. It’s up to five now.” He actually looked proud that the reward for his capture was so high.

  Slocum figured him for an idiot. Was he trying for a record or something?

  Again, he looked toward the girl on the bed. Pansy, that was her name. He said, “Pansy, you got a silk scarf I can borrow?”

  She looked at him like he was loony, but she nodded at him, then toward the dresser. “Top drawer, left side,” she said.

  Saying, “Watch ’im,” to Jack, he stepped toward the dresser and took out the scarf. It was just what he needed—long and narrow. “I’ll get this back to you in about an hour, Pansy.”

  She nodded, and he began to twist the scarf up into a long, thin, makeshift rope. “Stand up, Mitchell. Hands behind your back.”

  “Can’t you boys never come up with somethin’ fresh to say?” Mitchell replied with a sneer. But he stood and crossed his hands behind his back like he’d done it a hundred times before.

  But then, Slocum thought, maybe he had. Maybe he had a gang in town that’d just be itching to break him out of jail once he got inside. Or maybe he was double-jointed, and could slip the knots. Maybe he did this all the time!

  Well, not this time. Slocum tied the last, hard knot after tossing an extra loop between Mitchell’s hands and pulling that snug. He’d be hanged if Mitchell could get out of this one! He poked Mitchell in the back with his gun barrel. “Let’s go.”

  “Y’don’t need to get pushy ’bout it,” Mitchell said, then hesitated. “Can I have my hat?”

  It was across the room, and Pansy picked it off the bed stand and handed it to Slocum. “Thanks,” he said, then stopped. That hat was a lot heavier than it should’ve been.

  “Hang on a second,” he said to Jack, whose body language was practically shouting at him to hurry up.

  He turned the hat over and peered inside. Other than a sweat stain, nothing. But upon closer inspection—and peeling back the inner band—he struck the mother lode. It was packed with all sorts of little jimmies and picks and pries: the tools to open any cell door. Or any lock, for that matter.

  Smiling, he said, “I think you can just wear this down to the sheriff’s office, Tom,” and plopped the hat down firmly on Mitchell’s head.

  Mitchell looked puzzled, but didn’t say anything.

  To Jack, he said, “Lead the way, Mr. Tandy!”

  Jack eased a long sigh that wordlessly said Finally! Then he ushered Tom Mitchell out the door.

  Slocum turned toward the bed. “Sorry for the intrusion, Miss Pansy, and thank you.” He tipped his hat, then followed on along behind Jack and the prisoner.

  He hoped Mitchell hadn’t lied about the five gran
d. Oh, what he could do with half of that! And he could do twice as much with the whole of it.

  “Cut it out!” he grumbled to himself. “You made him a promise, and now you’re gonna keep it.” Slocum had a feeling that his new partner was as honest as the day was long. But he’d also noted that two out of the last two—the only two—arrests they’d made, it had been Slocum doing all the work. Jack hadn’t done anything but split the money on the first one, and all he’d done this time was hold his guns.

  Knock it off, Slocum thought to himself. You made a deal, now stick with it. He’ll get better. He’d better!

  He followed Jack and Mitchell down the stairs.

  None of the girls were anywhere in sight, so as Jack opened the front door and ushered—well, shoved—Mitchell through it, he called, “All clear, ladies.”

  They walked him—as cocky as could be, the sonofabitch—down to the sheriff’s office, where Slocum went through the door first, then held it for Mitchell and Jack.

  “You the sheriff?” he asked.

  The man behind the desk said, “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m Slocum, and the feller with all the guns is Jack Tandy. The other one’s Tom Mitchell.” He dug in his pocket for the poster, but stopped halfway.

  The sheriff was on his feet. He said, “So this is the slime who shot two’a my deputies. Wish you’d brought him in dead!” He moved toward the cell keys, then grabbed Mitchell’s arm and began pushing him toward the cells.

  Slocum snatched the hat off his head just in time.

  “Hey!” shouted Mitchell.

  “Shut your pie hole!” snapped the sheriff, and shoved him into the cell.

  When Mitchell turned around, as ordered, and put his bound hands toward the cell’s food slot, the sheriff looked at the pretty green and pink scarf tethering his hands and grimaced. “Just what the hell’d you boys tie ’im with?”

  “Silk scarf,” said Slocum. He pushed the sheriff out of the way and pulled a pick from Mitchell’s hat, which he threw on the desk. Using the pick, he got at the knots, and finally released the scarf, undamaged.