by Jake Logan
As Slocum shook it out, the sheriff said, “Cloth? You tied him up with a cloth scarf? It’s a miracle you made it a half block up the street!”
Slocum held the scarf up and gave it a quick tug between his hands. “Not cloth, silk. It’s as strong as steel.”
A quizzical expression replaced the sheriff’s scowl. “Well, shit. Didn’t know that.”
“Most people don’t,” said Slocum, and went back to the desk, where he pulled out a chair and sat down, telling Jack, “You can put your guns away now.” He heard them slide into their holsters.
The sheriff came back, returned the keys to their ring on the wall, and sat down. “Reward’s sixty-two hundred. Voucher okay?”
7
Slocum took his voucher up to the bank and opened an account with it. Jack did the same, except that he took a hundred in cash. Traveling money. He said he didn’t want to be beholden to Slocum anymore and, in addition, returned every penny that Slocum had so far spent on him.
Slocum hadn’t been too eager to take the cash after he took in Daltry, back in Tucson, but half of $1,500 was nothing compared to half of $6,200! He figured that Jack had about four grand now. Hell, that was enough to retire on practically. Or at least buy a place.
He suggested this to Jack, but was met with derision. Jack wanted to keep on doing this forever!
All things considered, Slocum wasn’t happy.
Jack was, though. He half skipped, half danced his way back to Katie’s place, and you couldn’t have scrubbed the grin off his face with a horse’s curry comb. Slocum found himself hating Jack. But then, there was that promise. He’d given his word. God forbid that they should split up now, and Jack should take it upon himself to go it alone. Hell, he’d be dead inside a week!
They both took Mitchell’s horse up to the livery, as Slocum had promised the sheriff he would, and while they were there, they checked on their own mounts as well. Slocum gave Rocky a couple of lemon drops, then ordered a turnout for him, and Jack did the same for his pinto, which got Slocum to wondering: if he shot himself in the foot, would Jack copy that, too?
Even though he knew that would really be pushing it, he somehow didn’t want to take the chance.
When they got back to Katie’s, almost all the girls were waiting, and they had a party ready for the conquering heroes! The duo were treated to the best champagne and cigars that money could buy, and Katie was in the kitchen, whipping up something special for lunch. Slocum didn’t know what it was, but it smelled damn good!
Katie must’ve put the word out on Slocum, because the girls weren’t fighting over him. They were practically brawling over Jack, though. He looked like you’d never be able to pry that shit-eating smile off his face. And every time he told the story of the capture, it grew more distorted and he played a bigger role in it. And with every telling, Slocum grew more disgusted.
Finally, he stood up with his cigar and a fresh glass of champagne, and made his way through the chattering girls to the kitchen hallway. That, at least, was something. He paused a second just to get used to the somewhat quieter atmosphere, then strode on back to the kitchen.
Katie was busy at the stove, turning sizzling pieces of chicken in a cast-iron skillet. Slocum crept up behind her, and between the shouts and coos coming from the parlor and the sound of the chicken frying, she didn’t hear him. He waited until she put her fork down before he grabbed her around the waist and asked, “What’s for lunch, Little Miss Honey-lamb?”
It took her a second to realize it was Slocum, and when she did, she threw both arms around him, murmured, “You’re safe, you’re back,” and laid a deep, deep kiss on him.
“Girl, you’re makin’ me want to haul you back upstairs again,” he said with a grin. He meant it, too. Just the sound of her voice or the touch of her skin had him up and ready, and this time was no exception. And that kiss? Well, that had sure lit a fire under it, too.
But she shook her head. “Oh no you don’t. It’s gonna take me until at least dark until I can walk right again, you hound, you!” And then she giggled. “ ’Sides, I can’t hardly cook on my back, now can I?”
He had to admit she had a point. And that chicken did smell mighty fine ... Something else, too. “What’re you makin’ ’sides chicken?” He looked over her shoulder, trying to snoop.
She laughed again, then pushed him away. “You go wait with the others, out in the parlor. You’ll see soon enough.”
“When we eatin’?”
“Git now!” She shook her apron at him. “We’ll eat when it’s finished. Now, go on or I’ll have to swat you!”
Playfully, he held his hands up. “Please don’t swat me, Miss Katie! I’m goin’, I’m goin!”
He backed out of the kitchen, grinning the whole time, and set off for the parlor.
Katie was back at the stove, shaking her head and smiling and thinking that he was just a great big little kid when it came to food.
And she was right. He was.
He was the same when it came to sex, too—just an older kid. An older kid who knew how to please a girl like nobody else, and who did it with gusto and tremendous enthusiasm.
She was still a tad unnerved that they had “arrested” one of her customers, and in her own house! It would have been different if Mitchell had been threatening one of her girls, but so far as she knew, he’d posed no threat to Pansy.
Of course, she hadn’t seen Pansy since they hauled Mitchell away ... Slocum would’ve said something if she was hurt or bleeding, wouldn’t he? She snorted. Of course he would have.
She started turning the sizzling chicken again. Slocum was right. It did smell good! She peered inside the oven again and basted the roast, checked the biscuits, poked the baking potatoes, then returned to the stove top. There, she gave the green beans a stir, then the corn, with her big wooden spoon before she plopped into a chair and started fanning herself with a folded newspaper.
She hadn’t lied to Slocum. He’d just plain worn her down to a nub!
Katie had, indeed, fixed a feast of a supper! As Slocum sat there, wolfing down roast venison and baked potatoes and fried chicken and so on, he couldn’t help but shoot an occasional glance at Katie, and smile. Jack and all the ladies seemed to be having a good time, too, and Pansy—who had finally come downstairs—shoveled it in like she hadn’t eaten in a month.
A couple of the girls picked at their food, sticking mostly to the vegetables, Slocum noticed, but all in all, it was a damn fine meal.
And for dessert, Katie brought out a cake, fresh from the bakery. It was chocolate with chocolate frosting, and she had one of those hand-cranked freezers full of strawberry ice cream to go along with it!
“If you gals always eat like this, I’m of half a mind to just move in, permanent-like!” he said around a mouthful of cake.
Katie laughed, as if she knew that would be the day! Several of the girls joined in.
Then Jack swallowed a mouthful of ice cream and added, “I’m with you on that one, Slocum.”
More laughter followed.
Finally, they had eaten every last scrap of cake and ice cream, and pushed back from the table as one. Katie said, “Dishes, girls. Don’t forget.”
Mumbles of “Yes’m” came from the sated crowd, but it was clear that the girls just wanted to adjourn to the parlor for a bit and let that good meal settle.
And it appeared Katie knew it, because she sent them on their way with a wave of her hand. They took Jack with them, which left Slocum alone with Katie at the pillaged table.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out his fixings bag. “You mind?” he asked her.
“Have I ever?”
He smiled at her, then commenced to roll himself a quirlie. He struck a lucifer, then lit it. As he shook out his flame, he took a drag on his smoke, then said, “I mean it, Katie. You outdone yourself.”
“Anything for you, Slocum,” she replied. “I’ll even cook that lousy pronghorn for you, just ’cause it makes you happy.
”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “Never did understand why you got such a distaste for it, Katie. You sure cook it up good, for somebody who’s never et it.”
She sniffed. “Too gamey for my taste, I guess. How much longer you boys gonna be stayin’ on, now that you got Tom Mitchell?”
“Hard tellin’,” he said, shrugging. “I want to make a sweep of the town before we head out anywhere. If it’s all right with you, that is. Don’t wanna be a couple of burdens.”
Katie put her hand on his arm. “You’re never a burden, Slocum. Never.”
At that moment, she looked particularly kissable, and he did—just a brush of the lips, just a promise of what was to come later in the night. Not that he wasn’t ready, willing, and able to take her right there, on the kitchen table. But she’d said she was worn out, and Slocum respected that. He could wait, even though his britches were feeling awfully tight right at the moment.
He sat back and took another drag on his quirlie to help take his mind off Katie. It didn’t work.
He tried conversation. “I thought Jack and I’d start hittin’ the bars. Somebody’s bound to have seen Stevens at one of ’em.”
Katie nodded. “Just don’t go gettin’ yourselves killed. Promise you’ll be careful?”
“Yes’m,” Slocum said, echoing the girls. He smiled. “I’ll try to avoid it at all costs.”
“Worked so far.”
“Yup, it has. And I’m countin’ on it to keep on workin’ for me.”
He found he was finally able to stand up without embarrassing himself, and excused himself to go use the outhouse.
“Wait,” Katie said, and handed him a lantern. “It’s dark out there. Finn Macy just cleared out the black widows, and there’s a Sears catalog for readin’ and for ... you know.”
Slocum gave her a grin. “Thanks, darlin’.”
“Oh, anytime.” She grinned back.
8
At seven in the evening, Wall Stevens was tucked away in a cantina’s back booth, in the Mexican part of town. He’d learned long ago that the quickest and easiest way to fool the law—to play around right under its nose—was to stay to the bigger towns, but stay in the Mexican or Chinese district of the city. Phoenix having no Chinese district, he’d been camped out at the corner of Third and Saltillo Streets for the past week or so. He was a booze hound, and he’d gone to doggy heaven at the Cantina Blanca.
Despite the fact that he spoke no Spanish—except cerveza for beer and una mas for one more—he managed. Most of the Mexicans spoke English just as well as he did, and most of them cut him a wide berth. He didn’t know whether they respected him because he was white, or because he wore two six-guns and looked like he’d be ready and willing to use them at the drop of a hat. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care.
What he did care about was that they kept the whiskey coming—and plenty of it—and that there were lots of hookers available. To both requests, the answer here was “Sí, señor.”
He’d been staying here almost since he rode into town. He’d stopped at a decent whorehouse first thing, got him a pretty girl, screwed her like she wouldn’t forget it, then came on down here, to the Mexican part of town. If the sheriff got to asking questions and learned he’d been at a fancy whorehouse a week ago, he was bound to figure Wall Stevens was long gone by now.
And Wall Stevens was long gone. At least, he was drunk out of his mind, which was just the way he liked it. He couldn’t walk straight or talk straight, but he knew he had a room upstairs someplace, and that the pert little señorita beside him—who was smart enough to speak only when spoken to—would lead him upstairs when it was time.
And it was just about time. Another drink should do it. He signaled the bartender.
By the time that Wall Stevens had finished his last drink and stumbled up the stairs to bed, Slocum and Jack had already made the rounds of almost every saloon in town, and come up short. They’d found a couple of barkeeps that recognized his picture on the poster, but reported seeing him a week or so ago. One barkeep only remembered him because he was found passed out under one of the tables at closing, and they’d had to drag him outside to let him sleep it off.
The barkeep hadn’t seen him since.
A dejected Slocum, who was anxious to get back to Katie, turned to Jack and said, “That’ll do ’er for tonight. There’s other places to check tomorrow.”
Jack lifted a brow. “There are? Where?”
“The Mex places at the edge of town. That’s probably where we should’a started lookin’.”
Jack shrugged. “’Fyou say so.” He caught up the two steps between Slocum and himself and began walking beside him, stride for stride.
This grated on Slocum for some reason. It seemed like the kid was trying to copycat him, right down to the last detail. He’d heard that mimicry was the best sort of flattery, but it had grown past annoying in this case. It had started back in Tucson, but he had just now realized why the kid was pissing him off.
And he really ought to stop thinking of him as “the kid.” After all, Jack wasn’t a decade younger than himself. Just young enough to keep himself out of the war.
He wondered if maybe that was it—the reason he kept thinking of Jack as “the kid.” Even one little Civil War skirmish could pile a heap of years on a man. Inside anyway. Sometimes on the outside, too. He’d known more than one man whose hair had been turned white during battle. It was a miracle that his hadn’t.
Of course, he was hardly ever in a battle. Most times, he was high up in a tree, rifle in hand, watching for officers. The Company sniper, that was him.
He shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts of war out of it. God forbid that he should get to thinking on it and start having those nightmares again. They were always ugly and pointless, and bad enough when he was out on the trail by himself. He sure didn’t want to scare Katie with one of them.
So he said, “What you gonna do with your money, Jack?”
Surprised that Slocum had spoken to him, he sputtered for a moment before he said, “Keep most of it in the bank, I reckon. Save up, y’know?”
Slocum nodded, but then he pursed his lips. “Well ... I don’t know. Savin’s fine and everything, but I figured a smart feller like you’d want to invest in something.”
Jack’s face screwed up. “Invest? Like, in gold shares?”
“Nah, that’s real iffy. I was thinkin’ more like land. It’s cheap right now, but they ain’t makin’ any more of it.”
“True,” replied Jack, nodding. “True. Hey, how ’bout you, too? We could get us a ranch and be partners forever!”
Slocum had to consciously clamp his jaw shut to avoid answering that one, because “forever” would turn out to be about a week and a half if Jack kept on copying everything he did. Finally, he said, in a measured tone, “Nah, don’t think that’d work for me. Got itchy feet.”
Slocum waited for it. Finally, Jack grunted and said, “Yeah, me, too.”
It was a lucky thing for the kid that they were well within sight of Katie’s place, because it was only that which kept Slocum from simply pounding him into the ground.
They walked on in silence: Slocum, with hands at his sides and clenched into fists, which gradually relaxed as they moved through the white picket gate at Katie’s and began to climb the porch steps.
Katie was waiting.
“Well, there you are! Took you boys longer than you thought, didn’t it?” was the first thing out of Katie’s mouth when she saw Slocum, which was after he’d fought his way through the throng of giggling women in the front parlor, and made his way back to the kitchen.
Katie was just drying her hands after finishing washing and drying what looked like a passel of plates and cups, glasses and serving dishes, and cookware. She smiled at him.
He gave his head a shake. “Can’t you hire somebody else to do that for you?” He took the dishcloth from her hands and set it aside, then kissed her. “You’re too good to do the cle
anup work around here,” he whispered in her ear. Her beautiful red hair smelled fresh, as if she’d just washed it.
“Tell that to the banker,” she answered with a grin. “Whoever said that a woman’s work is never done, well, he didn’t know the half of it!”
Slocum chuckled at her. She could sure live up to that red hair of hers at just the right moments! Still, he wished she didn’t have to do it. Still hugging her to him, he asked, “Well, can’t the gals take turns or somethin’?”
She stepped out of his grasp and cocked her tiny fists on her hips. “Slocum, baby, it’s past eleven. Why don’t you just shut the hell up and take me upstairs?”
One thing about Katie—she sure knew how to flip the subject sideways. In a heartbeat, he had his arm around her and they were headed up the hall for the front stairs.
When they got to her room and were nestled in her bed, she put her hand on his cheek and softly said, “I got rested up real good, baby. All except for my feet.”
Slocum smiled. “I’ll see that you’re off ’em for a spell.” He was hard as a rock, but waited for her to give the goahead.
She said, “That’s mighty kind’a you, Slocum, mighty kind.” And then she let her hand travel, beneath the sheets, down to his crotch. “Holy Christ! I’d say you’d best get to work on relievin’ that swelling, and as soon’s possible!”
She began to stroke him up and down the long length of his shaft. It was hard beneath her touch and growing harder by the second. She rubbed him gently and then began to increase the pressure, responding to the soft moans coming from Slocum. She wrapped the fingers of one hand as far around his thick length as she could get them. His flesh throbbed with pleasure under her soft touch. Then she slowly peeled back the sheets, knelt over him, and wrapped her soft lips around the head of his hard cock. Her hand tightened on the shaft below while she took as much of him into her mouth as she could fit. She had engulfed him so deeply Slocum could barely contain himself as she began to suck gently on his tender organ. She swirled her tongue around the tip of his erect member, making Slocum throb with desire. He couldn’t stand it a second longer.
