“So,” said Rudy, “you merely went through the solid matter of the door?”
“Of course!” barked the voice, which was starting to sound Irish. “That is how we do things on the other side. Of the veil, as you said.”
“So you’re dead?”
“Dead in your terms. Over here we are very much alive! And we do not like to see perfectly good showmen taken advantage of.” Rudy was fascinated to now see the static face change to an amused expression, as though someone had switched the magic lantern slides. “I was with Paddy Worth’s circus in South Pass when I was trampled by a herd of bison.”
“South Pass!” gasped Derrick. “That’s where I live.”
“Heed me!” Tibbles now shrieked, his hands reaching out to them, clawlike. “Do you want to wind up like Paddy Worth? Floating forever in the afterlife, trying to get worldly fools to listen to him?”
“Well,” said Rudy, “what are you trying to tell us? Which contortionist stole Kittie from Jeremiah’s cabinet?”
“I do not know him, but he looked Italian,” said Tibbles. “You must go to Albuquerque to find out more.”
Rudy frowned skeptically. “Albuquerque? In New Mexico Territory? Now look here, Tibbles. I’m not about to traipse all the way to—”
Tibbles’s dramatic moaning shut Rudy up. His photographic arms suddenly appeared as though waving above his head, and his giant daguerreotype mouth changed into the position of an enormous moan, to match the sounds. Experimentally—for the thought had occurred to Rudy that this was some newfangled, elaborate photographic trick perpetrated by one of his enemies—he reached out a hand, surprised to feel Tibbles somewhat solid. He felt like pudding, although as expected, Rudy’s hand went through him.
Tibbles wailed, “Follow the trail of the nail paint!”
And he was gone, as though someone had extinguished the lamp behind the slides.
Chapter Three
Rudy and Derrick stared at the spot where Tibbles had been.
Derrick even reached out and felt around in the air where the bear wrestler had stood, as though he would wrench him back here from beyond the veil.
That was ridiculous, of course, and shortly Derrick sighed and headed for the whiskey bottle, which he now needed more than anything. He poured himself a good three fingers of the stuff, gulped, and exhaled, looking out the window. He could see part of the circus setup from here. The colorful canvas tents against the sheet of unblemished snow nearly blinded him. Gypsies huddled around a fire, and a couple of acrobats swung from the wire they’d strung up between telegraph poles.
He turned to see Rudy checking the pulse of the unconscious Jeremiah.
“He’s all right,” said the handsome trick rider. “I think he suffers from neurasthenia. He’s not really cut out for the showman’s life.” Rudy stood next to Derrick at the window. “What do you make of all that?”
Derrick laughed in disbelief. He already felt irreversibly attached to this particular showman, after all they’d been through in the past couple of hours. “I can’t even begin to formulate an opinion. But we both saw what we saw.”
“As did he,” said Rudy, gesturing toward the supine Jeremiah. But Rudy’s grin was reassuring. “I’d say we have no choice but to believe we just saw a spirit. A bear wrestler named The Phenomenal Percy who wants to help us find Kittie.”
Derrick said, “I suppose I’ve seen stranger things.” But he hadn’t. “Have you? Seen stranger things? Earlier you said it’s possible for someone to vanish. Is that what you meant? Have you seen spirits before?”
“Yes, that’s what I meant. I’ve seen a few. Seeming humans, but when they vanished through a wall or a tree I knew they had to be spooks.” Rudy seemed to take it all so casually. “So you’re from South Pass? Did you know Paddy Worth?”
“I’ve never heard the name.”
“I knew him when I was in the showman’s life. He died nearly two years ago after just discovering the Carissa Lode, so he never got to take much gold out of it. It’s a boon for the new owners, Levi Colter and his partner, who live here in town. Maybe we should seek them out?”
“Well,” said Derrick. “He did tell us we’d find something in Albuquerque. Absolutely ridiculous.”
“Yes. And what was that about following the trail of the nail paint? Theater people. Always being dramatic.”
“But we shouldn’t just ignore it. It’s obviously a very strong, very definite sign from above. As much as I want to believe that dead people can’t materialize and talk to us, ah…”
“One just did.” Rudy finished his sentence for him.
Derrick exhaled. “Yes. Are you sure we weren’t slipped some of that whiskey-root cactus the Indians take? I’ve heard it makes one hallucinate.”
“Not unless we both drank the same tainted beer.”
Rudy stood so close to Derrick at the window he could feel the heat emanating from his body. Perhaps Rudy was a healer of sorts. He had definitely succeeded in mesmerizing Montreal Jed. And his eyes—so piercing. Pearly, but with a metallic luster, like the center of an oyster shell. Rudy Dunraven emitted vibrations that felt healing and somehow oddly…arousing.
What a strange time he chose to become sexually stimulated! It must be the spiritual vibrations, the “animal magnetism” that flowed through Rudy’s veins. Derrick was right in his thinking—it was time for him to start courting women again. He would be stuck here in Laramie for a week or so even if it didn’t snow again. He could dally about while he was here with nothing better to do, at the very least with a few prairie flowers.
“What is your cabinet for?” he asked Rudy. “I presume Remington Rudy isn’t terribly interested in secreting hapless audience members in a hidden compartment.”
“It’s my new escape act. I’ve been practicing escaping from various bonds. Bracelets, shackles, ropes, you name it.” Rudy chuckled. “Someone will shackle me inside the cabinet then close it, so no one can guess my tricks. Ever since that contortionist fiddled with my stirrup, I’ve been determined to get out of bondage of some kind.” His look turned sly when he said, “You could be of help to me, tying me up, shackling me. It could be fun.”
He practically gave Derrick an overt wink, his perverted meaning was so clear. So Rudy was a poof of some kind, a ganymede! Men who preferred to love other men in the Greek style. Well, Derrick supposed plenty of people in show business were of that nature. It seemed to have something to do with the creative spirit. But he most certainly was not! A poof, that was. He was certainly creative enough!
Yet even as he mentally protested this proposition, Derrick’s cock elongated down his leg. That delightful shivery sensation ran down his spine and tickled his balls, filling them with fresh semen. What was it about this trick rider that was opening his mind to new sensations and possibilities that he would normally have scoffed at and derided? Or maybe it was seeing the apparition of the Phenomenal Percy that had opened a new spiritual—and sexual—gateway in his mind. Certainly, after viewing that two-dimensional spirit gnashing his immobile teeth and howling about nail painting, one could believe anything was possible.
But he liked Rudy Dunraven, so he nodded amiably. “Sure. It’s not like I have anything better to do, waiting for this snow to melt.”
“Good,” said Rudy. He had an uncanny way of staring levelly at one, practically without blinking. As though he were trying to mesmerize Derrick right now, at this very moment.
And maybe he was succeeding, because when he stepped even closer and took Derrick’s chin between his long, artistic fingers, Derrick didn’t flinch. Maybe he thought the showman was going to demonstrate how he wanted to be restrained. Rudy looked so intently into his eyes that Derrick was convinced he was performing some trick on him. Where was his other hand? Was he clutching a length of rope, some handcuffs?
When Rudy’s free hand went around the small of his back, Derrick was convinced he was perpetrating some hoax. Would he cuff Derrick’s hands behind him and show him t
he trick to escaping? Derrick didn’t want to back down or shy away from something as silly as a circus trick. He was completely unprepared when Rudy pressed his palm to his lower back, pulled him closer, tilted his chin, and kissed him.
It wasn’t a chaste kiss by any means. Rudy immediately tickled Derrick’s lips with the tip of his tongue and mashed his soft, open mouth against his. Derrick jerked backward a bit, but he didn’t wrench himself away from the embrace. He even lifted a hand and ran it up Rudy’s strapping, muscled chest, fascinated to feel the firm plane of another man.
Rudy tasted like whiskey. He may have been eating strawberries judging from the sweetness Derrick lapped from his lips. Rudy pressed Derrick to him so tightly that Derrick had to part his thighs and lean back against the windowsill. Rudy supped on him with the gentlest, most savory mouth Derrick had ever tasted. But when he leaned into Derrick and gyrated his hips against him, the reality of what he was doing struck Derrick.
Another man’s erection was rubbing firmly against his. And despite the surge of lust that expanded in his balls and plumped his cock, Derrick knew this should be repellant. And although he had his hand around Rudy’s neck in a vise grip, holding him firmly so he could continue feasting on his mouth, suddenly Derrick found himself standing eight feet away.
He faced the spirit cabinet, cradling his painfully erect prick in his hand in an attempt to rearrange it in his trousers.
He must have shoved Rudy away from him. When he turned back to the window, Rudy was sprawled there, clutching the windowsill as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. His beautifully piercing eyes now looked shocked, and anger flitted across his countenance.
Derrick was angry, too. What had given Rudy the idea that he would be susceptible to such perverted tactics? Did he look like a poof—like one of those theatrical fellows with faces full of skin powders? Yet his words came out almost apologetic. “I’m not one of those bumsuckers you’re accustomed to working with.”
Rudy tilted his head. “I didn’t think you were. That’s one of the things I like about you.”
This angered Derrick in an entirely new way. “Oh. So you like the challenge of seducing regular, normal men?” Curiosity overcame him. “How many of them fall prey to your charms?”
Rudy grinned again. In his line of business, he must be accustomed to disappointment. Putting one’s self out there every day for a jaded, blasé audience must create a resiliency in men. Already, Rudy was chipper and confident again. “Almost all of them. Politicians especially. You’d be surprised to learn what secret desires lurk in the hearts of those lawmakers.”
Derrick’s mood perked up. He even walked closer to the window, now that his lengthening erection was under control. Somewhat. “Oh, yes? Give me an example.”
Rudy became modest. “Well. I’m not one to kiss and tell. But when I grabbed a certain senator in Abilene, within seconds he had his cock down my throat.”
Merely the word “cock” rolling off Rudy’s tongue made Derrick’s nipples stiffen. This man was a sensual buck, that was for certain. The showman’s life must be dull when not performing, the only gals either snake handlers or the Fat Woman. The “spangled beauties of trapeze and limb” were married to fellow showmen, Derrick had noticed over the years. It was probably just easier to grab the first phallus that looked reasonably attractive. “Who? You have to give me a better clue than that.” Derrick became sly then, too. “Or I’ll question the Phenomenal Percy Tibbles.”
“Oh, threats now, is it? All right. Let’s just say his initials are C.K., he’s from Maine, and he enjoys wearing women’s corsets.”
“Carl Kerr? Christopher Kavanaugh? It’s Chris Kavanaugh, isn’t it?”
Rudy’s eyes sparkled. “My lips are sealed.”
“I knew it!” Derrick raged with glee. “He’s always shown an inordinate interest in women’s underthings. Boy. This will be interesting the next time he tries to oppose my women’s suffrage measure.”
“Now, you can’t use what you know,” Rudy warned. “Women’s measure? For the vote, you mean?”
“Yes,” Derrick said warmly. Poofs usually supported his women’s measure. They seemed to figure if the downtrodden women could gain more rights and acceptance, maybe they could, too. They identified with the oppressed and abused. “I’ve got the backing of the American Equal Rights Association. It’s only a matter of time before women get the vote. It will attract more women to Wyoming Territory and make world history. I’m heading to Cheyenne to pass a resolution to allow women to sit in the chambers where lawmakers sit.”
“Yes,” Rudy agreed. “And cast the fear of ‘free love’ into everyone’s hearts.”
“Free love?” Jeremiah’s weak voice came from behind Derrick. Awake now, Jeremiah pulled himself up from the floor using the cage of a dressmaker’s mannequin. “Oh, dear Lord, what next? Women voting, ghosts popping out of spirit cabinets, slavery abolished—should Eskimos be elected to the legislature?” He hauled himself into a chair but was still as limp as a handkerchief. “What is this world coming to? What am I doing on the floor? Oh, my.”
Derrick took a chair next to Montreal Jed. “Listen here, my good fellow. The Phenomenal Percy Tibbles—for that was the specter who emanated from Rudy’s cabinet—told us that an Italian contortionist took Memphis Kittie. He told us we could find out more by going to Albuquerque.”
“Which, of course,” added Rudy, “we’re not going to do. We’re not going anywhere until the snow melts.”
Jeremiah frowned, as though waking up from a particularly harsh bender. “Albuquerque doesn’t make any sense. But I have heard of a Phenomenal Percy Tibbles. He wrestled bears but was trampled to death by bison in South Pass.”
“Yes!” cried Derrick. “That’s the fellow.”
Jeremiah began to perk up. “It was funny, because it was actually not a wild herd of bison but a few that belonged to one of the acts. How does one get trampled to death by only three buffalo?” He even attempted a chortle. “Absurd.”
Rudy said, “Maybe that’s why he’s so interested in vindicating other showmen. Jeremiah, does this Italian contortionist make any sense to you? Are there any Italians in your troupe?”
“Yes. There’s an Antonio Franconi, an acrobat.”
“Does he have any reason to want to make you look bad in public?”
“About as much reason as anyone. Once I accused him of nicking a jar of my little people paint. Vermilion red. He denied it, of course.”
“Paint!” Derrick blurted. “What did Percy say about paint, Rudy?”
“‘Follow the trail of the nail paint.’ This Antonio Franconi has got to be our man. Jeremiah, let’s go back to the train. Find this Franconi character. You can point him out to us.”
“Yes,” agreed Derrick. He was becoming very excited by the idea of this mission. Not only was he assisting an illusionist with his rope-tying act, he was tracking down a kidnapper. Very exciting stuff for a politician from South Pass. “We can follow him around, find out where he’s hiding Memphis Kittie.”
“If she’s still alive,” Rudy said ominously.
So they stood up Sideshow Jeremy, dusted him off, and left the room.
Down in the street, however, it was a different matter. They had barely walked past the Union Pacific Depot when they were spied by a gang of rowdy Laramie citizens.
“There he is!” yelled a roughneck, pointing at Jeremiah. “That’s the shit sack who kidnapped Kittie Wells!”
Jeremiah clutched at his chest. “Me? Why would I kidnap a woman? Hey, you! Yes, you thug! I’m not the kidnapper you’re looking for. Who you really want is Antonio Franconi, the Italian—”
“Get him!” the thug bellowed.
So once again, for the second time that day, Derrick found himself on the run.
Chapter Four
The Cactus Club was the most highfalutin restaurant in Laramie City, and Alameda Hudson had to juggle trays holding many bowls and cups.
This was
n’t a very upstanding occupation for the daughter of the most prosperous merchant in town, but Alameda didn’t want to take money from her father. And what else would she do all day if she didn’t serve tables here? Sit at home at Vancouver House and read? She had busted away from New York for that very reason—boredom. After ten years of nursing her ailing mother through consumption, Alameda was entirely prepared to break free, to mingle with tracklayers, gamblers, and all the mountebanks who followed the Hell on Wheels railroad towns.
And now the circus was stuck here due to high snowdrifts, and she was serving Joe the Rubber-Skinned Man and a pockmarked giant some plates of calf’s liver and peas. Her sister Tabitha back in Hyde Park, New York, would be green with envy to know that her day consisted of hobnobbing with such colorful characters. What could possibly be more exciting?
Well, perhaps the arrival of the two handsomest men she had ever seen in her life.
They weren’t with the circus, as far as Alameda could tell. They looked like businessmen in their brocaded waistcoats and warm wool greatcoats. But she didn’t recognize them as being from Laramie, so they must have been traveling east on the train when it got snowed in. They were a perfectly cultured pair of exquisitely stunning men—dark-haired, delicious, vigorous.
The fellow with the wide striped necktie was dashing, his brunet locks curling around his shirt collar. His lovely expressive eyes spoke of great intelligence, and he was obviously extremely athletic. The other fellow had a silk scarf wrapped around his neck and the most luminous, riveting eyes Alameda had ever seen.
Alameda hadn’t been attracted to any man since coming to Laramie, being resistant to masculine charms after the disaster that was Ralph Ellis in Hyde Park. But now for some inexplicable reason, Alameda practically shoved her fellow worker Irene aside in her zeal to serve these men. She felt vibrant, more alive than she had been in many months, as she steered toward their table to take their order. She was proud of the way the duo took note of her, swiveling their heads and resting their eyes on what she knew to be her extremely shapely form.
Cold Steel and Hot Lead [How the West Was Done 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 3
