Ride, Cowboy, Ride!

by Baxter Black

  “Cooney” she whispered, “sorry it’s late. I’m here in the hotel room.”

  “Did you find anything?” he asked.

  “Yes . . . I hit the ja . . .”

  Cooney heard the phone drop, then a heavy clump. A voice growled, “Cochina!” Then the phone went dead.

  Pica felt the heavy blow to the back of her head, then a fireworks display burst in her vision . . . followed by blackness.

  CHAPTER 65

  December 10, Saturday Afternoon

  Oui Oui’s Hotel Room, Feliz’s Fashion Show

  Pica, our heroine, began to regain consciousness. The first sensation was pain. It made her squint her left eye and grimace, gritting her teeth. The throbbing felt like a railroad spike was jammed through the back of her skull and pressing against the inside of her forehead.

  “Well, buenos tardes,” said a man’s voice.

  Taking inventory of her position, Pica noted that she was sitting on the floor slumped between a dresser and the side of a bed up against a wall. Her hands were tied behind her back. She painfully worked her way into an upright sitting position.

  “So, ladrona, you have sneek-ed this far to esteel deez plumas de reinas, de realeza. It wuss como el jefe pronosticado, tol’ the future of. That you would be comin’,” spoke the man. He was a slender, handsome Latino with a little mustache and a bump on his nose. You are the thief wot comes from the Canada. I haf seen the poster, cuadrado, of when you wuss bee-yoo-tee-fool! Iss too bad it is only deep skin!” He laughed at his own joke. He also had a tendency to malaprop, a habit he adopted working for Hurtado Herman Huachuca.

  Pica lowered her head with some difficulty. It was as if the tendons on her neck had been nailed to the back of her head. It hurt, but she was able to see that her boots were gone. Her shirt was opened, her belt undone, and her fly unzipped.

  She tried to gather her legs under her but found that her bound hands were also attached to the leg of the dresser behind her. She looked up at him with a mean glint in her eyes.

  “Oh, iss nothin’ to worry about,” he said, grinning. “Don’t flatten yourself. Iss jus’ that I saw that big pistola, so wuss havin’ to search you for hiding weapons. Nice knife,” he said, lifting up the hunting knife that she had carried concealed against her right calf. “Afilado, berry esharp.

  “Although, under more better conditions, like we wuss trap on a dessert eyelan’, maybe, if you wuss clean up, I could think to buy you . . . una margarita,” he raised his eyebrow in a leer. “What? Jew got nothin’ to say?” he flared, then caught himself. “Don’ misunderestimate me. I am, how you say, berry goot wit’ the ladies, las damas.”

  “So, now you just hold me ’til Oui Oui gets back?” Pica asked.

  “Oh, she can talk. The Pajaro Pequinito can talk!” he said sarcastically. “Of course, but actually I haf a little business to conject . . .”

  “Conduct,” she corrected.

  “It hass nothin’ to do with a duck . . . oooh,” he paused. “Yes, it possibly hass feathers like a duck. Like the ones you were to find in the betroom of La Oui Oui. You shouldn’t haf come essnoopin’. But, that iss the water under the bucket . . .”

  “The bridge,” she corrected again.

  With the speed of a striking snake Feliz lashed out and backhanded her on the side of the head!

  Pica reeled back, the pain of the new concussion exploding behind her eyes!

  “You think you are so essmart that you can make fun with the Latino estupido!” he threatened. “I got the news for you, I am the one with the upper arm, and you are the one caught with your hand in the bushes! So what do you think of that?”

  Pica painfully turned her head his direction. “I . . . I don’t . . .” She drew a shaky breath and said, “I’m wishing I could have an aspirin.”

  Feliz sat back on the bed and studied her. “You know Oui Oui, because you are trying to do her harm. If you were juss’ a simple bugler I could leave it go, but you, she warn me to put an eye out for you, that you might come hunting her. She showed me your picher when you wass mas joven, more young. But now, I haf other business to deduct, and I am afraid to have you aloose. If I give you some aspirin and put you in the closet you would not make noise, would you? Otherwise I would juss haf to keep knocking you up con este cachiporra.” He showed her his nasty little blackjack, then slapped it into the palm of his hand. It made Pica jump.

  “Eeeeejuela! Tha’s hurtin’!”

  Ten minutes later Pica was half-sitting, half-lying on the floor of Feliz’s closet behind two closed mirrored doors. Her hands were still tied behind her back, but he had been good enough to give her four aspirin and one of his own personal prescription pain pills. She was asleep by the time the expected knock came at Feliz’s door.

  Feliz had his own business on the side smuggling endangered birds, rare body parts, hides, feathers, bones, seashells, and underground trinkets. He had made arrangements with Pilo Tatoon, pronounced “PI” as in “apple pie,” who was a forty-eight-year-old self-made multimillionaire from San Francisco, to show him several exotic illegal Caribbean jujus. Pilo was not a collector. Well, he was a collector of beautiful women, who, themselves, collected expensive things. Pilo was accompanied by one of his collection. Her name was Streak.

  Feliz led them into Oui Oui’s suite. He offered them drinks and made them comfortable. After a short conversation, Feliz went back to his own room to begin the fashion show.

  His first presentation was an anaconda waistcoat with a collar made of blue and gold feathers from the threatened blue and gold macaw. He carried it in on a hanger, displayed it like he was a peacock, then laid it on the glass coffee table in front of their sofa.

  Feliz described in detail the materials as well as the story of the beasts and their habitat. The more protected, threatened, or endangered the beasts seemed to be, the more it impressed Streak. “Oh, it is so, like, awesome, ya know.” She looked at Pilo. “What do you think, like, I, ya know, could try it on?”

  “Model it for me, Baby,” said Pilo.

  Streak stood, took off her mink coat, and let Feliz help her get the anaconda coat on over her shoulders. Streak was very thin, very tall, and had pale hair with a black streak that started above her right eye and ran back over her head. She was twenty-one years old and had been modeling since she was fourteen.

  She strode back and forth in front of Pilo, then over to the mirror. She was wearing tight pants that clung to her and stopped just above her knees. Just watching her move was a show in itself.

  Pilo politely lifted a finger and signaled her to come to him. She sidled over, stood in front of him, and lifted her outside leg, placing a three-inch heel on the sofa arm where he was leaning. She bent over so he could feel the snakeskin and feathers.

  “I could use a toke,” she said in a friendly way. Pilo drew from his pocket a silver cigarette case and eased out a machine-rolled Guatemalan reefer. He lit her up.

  “Senor Pilo,” said Feliz, “maybe I will help la senorita off her chaqueta so the feathers, don’t, you know, blow up in inflammation?”

  “As you say, Feliz. As you say,” agreed Pilo.

  After trying on and showing crocodile full-length high boots with narwhal ivory buttons and a cape made from the down of one thousand American bald eaglets, Streak was loaded and giggling. Sitting, straddling, and lying in various positions on and off Pilo she kept up a silly commentary as the fashion show went on. Pilo had discovered a flask in his pocket and had downed half a pint of $64-a-bottle tequila. Feliz had the uneasy feeling his sale was going sideways.

  “You want to try on some more?” asked Pilo.

  “Oh, Pilo. You know how I love to hope, ya know. But . . . right now I’m, like, too mellow, too flexible to stand straight,” she cooed somewhat incoherently. “I’m afraid I might fluctuate right here.”


  Pilo looked up at Feliz with a shrug.

  Feliz could see his sale flickering out. “Uh, I haf an idea, Senor Pilo. Maybe if the senorita iss too relax to model, I could show you another one.”

  “Another what?” asked Pilo.

  “Well, it is, see, my cousin’s girlfriend iss comin’ with me and she . . .” Feliz was thinking on his feet. “She has taken some pills to make her, uh, more happy, but she could model a couple more of the special jujus that I haf broughten for purchase by maybe you. You could find one that fits the senorita.”

  They both glanced at Streak, who was drawing circles on the end of the sofa with an upturned flower vase. Water dripped off her knee and into her tall boot top. She seemed transfixed by the repetitive motion.

  “Is she very pretty?” asked Pilo, always interested in dysfunctional women.

  “She iss more like, like the wildcat or, how you say, ocelot?”

  “Fine, maybe she can liven up this party,” said Pilo, taking a long draw on his flask.

  “Por favor, escusa me, for a moment to get her preventable,” said Feliz.

  CHAPTER 66

  December 10, Saturday, After Dark

  Feliz Convinces Pica to Model

  Feliz went to the closet in his room and opened the mirrored door behind which Pica D’TroiT lay sleeping, her head thrown back, mouth open, snoring quietly.

  He shook her. “Gatita,” he said lowly.

  “Huh?” she said, not opening her eyes.

  He continued to rouse her. Finally she opened her eyes. She didn’t seem to know where she was, but it didn’t seem to concern her. “Who are you?” she said pleasantly.

  “Feliz,” he said. “Feliz is my name, and I need your help.”

  She slowly began to remember. “I was . . . I’m in . . . at the rodeo . . .?”

  “No, you wass trying to essteel the beautiful feather chamarra from Oui Oui, and I wass catching you hot handed,” he reminded her in a stern voice.

  “Why do I feel so . . . good . . . if I was stealing?”

  “Jew fell and hit your head, and I gave you some medicine. Now you are better, and I need you to model clothes for me to sell to this rico for his novia who can’t model anymore because she is esstoned on the marijuana.”

  “What if I don’t . . .”

  “Jew don’t have a choice,” he said fiercely, grasping a hank of hair above her right ear.

  Pica started to move, but her hands were still tied. She kicked up at him, and he sat on both her legs, pressing down hard. It hurt her, he could see.

  He got in her face. “Lissen to me, jew crippled hyena. Jew do what I tell you. Things are no very bueno for you right now. I can make them a lot more worser, even before Oui Oui comes to find you esteelin’ her clothin’s.”

  Her grabbed her ear with his left hand and twisted. Her little gold earring cut into the flesh. She started to make a noise, and he clamped his other hand over her mouth. “Do jew understan’ that I can hurt jew, and I will do it. I’ve got more of these pills that can knock you clear over and make jew a slobberin’ babosa if jew don’t do what I tell you.

  “Right now I needs you to put this clothin’ on your body for the rich man in the nex’ room. Do you understand it?” He twisted her ear even more.

  He could see the fear in her eyes above the hand that covered her mouth.

  “Do jew understan’?” he growled in her ear.

  She tried to nod her head, which he still held tightly.

  “Okay,” he said as he pushed back off her.

  Pica lay still as he reached into the closet above her and brought down a shopping bag.

  He roughly pulled her up and led her into the bathroom. She was disoriented. “Get in the shower there,” he ordered, “and put this on.” He held out a department store clothing box.

  “Can I use the bathroom first?” she asked.

  “I’m not leavin’ you alone, jew unnerstan’. Jew can change behind las cortinas.” He took her arm, turned her around, and unhooked the leather belt that had been her handcuffs.

  She looked at him passively. He didn’t move. She took a towel off the rack to cover herself, pushed down her jeans, and sat on the toilet seat.

  Feliz had the decency to turn his back.

  After the flush he turned to her and handed her the clothing box. She opened it and took out the item and held it up by the shoulders. It unfurled. It was an opaque nylon body stocking with what appeared to be tropical flowers made of feathers sewn in three strategic places. Each flower was about the size of a saucer. They were the same boring beautiful feathers that had become such a large part of her life.

  Pica started to protest. Feliz dropped from his sleeve a seven-inch stainless-­steel switchblade knife with a curving point and serrated blade. In less time than it took her to say, “I’m not . . .” the point of the knife was resting on her left cheekbone, one inch from her eye.

  “Si, jew are,” he threatened. “And jew better do everythin’ in your womany powers to convince the rish man to buy it for his novia because your life iss hangin’ on the balance . . . Jew see, I haf a lot of my own monies in this deal . . . an’ I know jor secret of bein’ wanted by the policia, so jew are screwed into the wall no matter whish jew are facin’.

  “Do as you are tolen, and understand, one false move, and they will be fishin’ your body out of the dumpster a finger at a time.”

  Pica stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain.

  “Throw all your clothin’s out on the floor,” said Feliz. “And hurry up! I’m waitin’.”

  Four minutes later Pica pulled back the curtain. She had on no makeup, her hair was frizzed like a terrier, and the bruise on her face was turning blue.

  The stretch fabric had short arms, a crew neck, was knee length and skin tight. It was opaque and what you would call flesh-colored. She had adjusted the three blossoms accordingly.

  “Your hair iss messy,” he said. “Put it in a cinta or something.”

  Without looking in the mirror or at him she reached back and tied her long hair in a ponytail.

  “Okay,” he said, then stopped. “On second thought, turn around.” Feliz tied her wrists behind her back again with the belt he had previously used.

  “Bueno,” he said, pushing her. She slumped out of the bathroom door, head down, feet shuffling. He slapped the back of her head hard! “Jew better get a little springtime in your step. I mean it! Iff he don’ buy this clothin’ jew are goin’ ofer the viranda.”

  He took her from behind, holding her shoulders, and squared her up in front of a mirror on the wall.

  Feliz was about six inches taller than she. He pulled her head back by the hair.

  “Look at jorself,” he said. “Put on a happy face!”

  In the mirror there was no doubt that the fits-all-sizes body stocking looked good on her, but her face looked like a battered woman poster.

  CHAPTER 67

  December 10, 8:00 p.m.

  Pica Models, Cooney to Rescue!

  Pica’s head was still hurting, but her mind was beginning to clear. A wave of shame, self-pity, and humiliation coursed through her. She felt a tear forming, then caught her resolve. I will win, she told herself. Whatever I have to do, I will win.

  She stood up straight, threw her head back, and marched into Oui Oui’s suite.

  Pilo Tatoon was still sitting against the arm rest of the big, ornate sofa. Streak was flipping through a Las Vegas show magazine. The room was heavy with the aroma of marijuana.

  “Here she iss,” announced Feliz in feigned merriment. “Captured fresh today in the jungles of Venezuela, the wild kitten of the tropical ocelot!”

  “Ummm,” said Pilo, sitting up in his seat. “Handcuffs!”

  “Esstrut jor body,”
directed Feliz.

  A memory came back to Pica from what seemed years ago at the Greeley Stampede Rodeo Queen banquet and the presentation and poise lessons from that horrible Ms. LaNewt. Lay it on, she told herself. Long steps, turning on the balls of her feet. Every time she came down hard on her bare heels the feather flowers would bounce. Not good, Ms. LaNewt would have said. Swing, sail, rock and roll, or lift, but not bounce.

  Pica did a couple of slow twirls and high kicks, but it was difficult to keep her balance with her hands tied behind her back.

  “May I examine the kitty more closely?” inquired Pilo. “Perhaps sniff the flowers?”

  Pica spun on him and made a feline growl.

  “Ooooh, Kitty wants to play,” said Pilo.

  Feliz slid behind Pica, grasped her ponytail and the binding on her wrists. He pushed her to Pilo and bent her forward in front of him. “Jew may look more closer, but for to be touching we must discuss the expenses,” offered Feliz.

  Feliz ran the back of his fingers across the dangling feathers. Then, without warning, Streak fell across Pilo’s lap, into his arms between him and Pica!

  “Does Daddy want to play in the jungle?” asked Streak seductively, recapturing the low ground. She was looking up at both Pilo and Pica. “Maybe two kittens are better than one,” she purred, reaching up for Pica.

  Feliz twisted Pica’s arm painfully. “Yes!”

  “No…” groaned Pica, but it sounded sexy. “Only if you were wearing this . . . this three-piece suit,” she blurted.

  Oh,” said Pilo, “two kittens in a three-piece suit . . . that could be interesting. I could do the flower arranging?”

  “Si, Senor, berry interestin’,” cooed Feliz, then pulled Pica back from the couch and spun her to his right out of their grasp. “But that would require the purchase of this beautiful gem, decorated with feathers from the endangered and protected Glandular Y Cock, which is priceless.”

  “Ah, but I’ll bet you have a price that would make the priceless purchasable,” said Pilo.