“I’d like to fuck you right now,” Derrick murmured against his friend’s mouth.
He heard José and Littlefinger chuckling. “Hey,” said Littlefinger to his juggling buddy. “Look at the two nancy boys.”
“They take a risk, doing it in the street,” said José, who wasn’t really from Mexico. “Hey, you poofs! There is a hotel right there!”
Derrick gripped the globes of Rudy’s ass in his hands as they massaged their erections together. “I’d like to screw you right up against this window, right now.”
“You just wish you could join in,” said the midget, moving down the street. “You like watching them.”
José protested, “Do not!”
“Do, too. I saw you staring at the strong man’s ass the other day.”
“Did not! I was just wondering if he was really lifting that two-hundred-pound anvil.”
The voices dimmed, and Rudy and Derrick uncoupled. Rudy flashed Derrick a mischievous smile, and they were off again, leaping up onto the train platform.
“The dining car,” Derrick needlessly reminded Rudy. “We need to find Temperance first, or we’ve got no crime.”
They loped down the platform, passing several cars where older or more comatose members of the troupe had set up residence in the past week. They swiftly found the dining car, which had not been in service since the train had been snowed in, and Derrick cross-drew his six-shooter from his hip holster before vaulting himself up into the car.
“Ho!” Behind him, Rudy had spotted something and was already sprinting back down the train platform.
Derrick saw that toward the rear of the car, Temperance lay on her back on a buffet table, still dressed as the innocent heroine Amina, lit by several candles.
Derrick pivoted about for a few seconds. Stay and protect Temperance, who looked cold as a wagon tire with her hands folded over her breasts, or follow Rudy and possibly help catch the cold-blooded knife thrower? The boozy odor of ether crept into Derrick’s nostrils, so he hoped Temperance was only knocked out.
Derrick dashed down the stairs after Rudy. Castillo could have many knives on his person, so Rudy would need his help. And Rudy had obviously just caught a glimpse of Castillo.
“Remember the fat lady,” Derrick said as he caught up with Rudy.
“Amazing Johnson’s wife,” Rudy panted. “I saw Castillo go that way.”
They jumped between two railcars and scurried, crouched over. Here in this field the show business people had built their temporary tent city, and shafts of light emanated from between the structures. Like pioneers circling their wagons, the showmen had placed their tent entrances away from the rail line. Derrick and Rudy snuck between two tents to get a view of the main town square.
All of the opera singers and the large majority of the performers were at the Oddfellows Hall, so it was fairly simple to find the fat lady. She squatted, presumably over a stool of some sort, eating peanuts before a bonfire. She must have been sitting there for a long time, as there was a pile of peanut shells next to her a foot tall.
“I know he came this way,” whispered Rudy, whipping his head this way and that.
“Well.” Derrick spoke in a normal voice, squaring his shoulders. He didn’t care who saw him. “I for one have lost patience with this loco foot-loving pervert. Our damned reputations are on the line thanks to him.” Ensuring that his revolver was cocked, Derrick strode right out into the open. “Percy says ask the fat lady, I’m going to ask the fat lady.”
Only, he’d ask her with a gun barrel to back him up.
A fellow who was probably Joe the Rubber-Skinned Man and a few urchins shared the bonfire with Mrs. Johnson, but Derrick didn’t care. He marched right up to the fat lady and pointed the revolver at her placid face.
“Eliazar Castillo,” Derrick stated. “Where is he?”
This didn’t seem to have much of an impact on her, but the Rubber-Skinned Man sure cut out of there fast. He tripped so many times in his haste, he left a chain of full-body imprints in the snow. Most of the children stayed and looked on with wide-eyed wonder, as though this happened every day of the year. In the circus, it was probably difficult to tell the difference between reality and an act.
Mrs. Johnson shrugged. “Ich weiß nicht!” I don’t know. She’d understood the question but preferred to pop another peanut into her mouth.
Derrick turned to the children. “How about you kids? Any of you seen Eliazar Castillo? He’s wanted for murder, you know.”
Derrick liked children, in general. He knew that mentioning Castillo was a murderer would interest them, and it did. They grabbed each other’s arms and chattered in German, and Rudy came up behind Derrick and put calming hands on his shoulders.
Rudy said, “What my buddy here means to say is, Castillo the knife thrower is needed for an act we’re about to perform. You see, we—”
“No!” Derrick protested. “What I mean to say is, kids, Castillo is wanted by the marshal of Laramie for murder. He just murdered that pretty blonde-haired girl Kittie. Did you see him with her? Well, see, Castillo is a perverted, potato-headed shit sack who likes to paint girls’ toenails red.”
The children giggled, and one of them pointed at the fat lady. “Castillo hides there!”
Mrs. Johnson shot out her evil harridan’s boot and kicked the poor child in the leg.
“Ow!” he cried and in turn shoved another child into the fat lady. That’s when Derrick saw a flash of Castillo’s sleeve from his smelly hiding place underneath Mrs. Johnson’s skirts.
Rudy must have thought Derrick had truly lost a screw when he grabbed a handful of Mrs. Johnson’s oily skirts and whisked them aside. Squealing, laughing children scattered like a passel of blackbirds, and Derrick had no compunction whatsoever about toppling the fat woman over onto the snow.
Castillo’s jig was up, although he made a valiant effort at diving under Mrs. Johnson’s skirts again. It was just typical of Castillo’s sniveling, spineless character that when she kicked him, he grabbed a kid by the legs. It was the adorable nipper who had told Derrick where he was hiding. Using this kid like a shield, Castillo made a break for the train. The boy thrashed and kicked, but Castillo was a knife thrower, after all, and he must have kept a firm grip on the squalling monkey.
And Derrick had never actually shot anyone. Once, a squatter had been mining on his claim near South Pass, so Derrick had pulled a revolver on him. But the squatter had moved on, so Derrick had not needed to shoot him.
Now, as he trudged across the snowy field after Castillo, he wondered if Rudy had ever shot at anyone other than a fake Indian. Rudy had told him he wished he could shoot a few Sioux—not that he ever had. It would be helpful right now if Tempest would come along and shoot Castillo. Or that Captain Park buffalo. He was a regular rugged gladiator of a man.
“The jig is up!” Derrick said as they dodged between the same two railcars. “Why does he insist on running? Now he’s stealing a kid. That’s going to look even worse to the populace of Laramie.”
Rudy huffed, “He runs because he’s crazier than a bedbug, Derrick. That happens to a lot of these people living the life. It’s one thing I vow will never happen to me, because I got out of the life! Listen, I’m just going to shoot this loon in the arm or something.”
To prove his point, Rudy squeezed his revolver’s trigger before Derrick could stop him. The bullet pinged off the metal of the dining car’s door frame. Castillo roared as though he were a lion and yanked the child into the dining car.
“Don’t do that again,” said Derrick. “He’s got the upper hand, Rudy. He could slice that kid.”
Rudy blew the hair from his eyes in irritation. “Well, what’s our strategy then? Bore him to death with threats?”
Derrick said, “Temperance is in there, Rudy. She could still be alive. It smells like he drugged her with ether, so it’s hard to tell.”
Rudy sighed. “All right. But the first chance I get the kid’s not near him, I’m plu
gging this bastard.”
“Fair enough.”
The two partners tiptoed up the steps into the dining car and peeked down the aisle. Apparently, Castillo had already forgotten about the boy, who sat on a seat slack-jawed—or perhaps he’d forgotten about Derrick and Rudy altogether.
Castillo now sat at Temperance’s bare feet that dangled over the edge of the buffet table, a tiny bottle of vermilion red between his fingers. He eagerly sucked on a lollipop or some other candy on a stick. He seemed to be lavishing the candy with the sort of attention he wished he could give to Temperance’s toes, but her nails must have been wet, and he probably didn’t want to ruin the painted effect. So he shoved the candy’s stick in and out of his mouth, spiderwebs of drool hanging from his chin, his eyes glassed over in his twisted rapture.
Apparently just the mere sight of Temperance’s little white feet was enough to send him over the edge. He plunged the candy in and out of his mouth as though it were the world’s smallest johnson he’d been longing to suck for years.
“What sort of show is this for, Castillo?” asked the boy. “You going to cut her in half?”
“Shut up!” slurred Castillo, spraying sugar all over Temperance’s calves. Castillo looked about to cry, his face screwed up like a prune. “Now look what you made me do!”
Rudy made the whistle a person makes to indicate a cracked rattlebrain is nearby. Derrick’s arm shot out to quiet his partner, but Castillo leaped, perhaps to grab one of his knives that lay nearby on the tablecloth. What happened next occurred within the space of three seconds.
In lunging for the knife, Castillo must have triggered an arm that had been coiled tight by a spring. A carving table that was normally hidden from view suddenly swung free violently. The edge of the carving table bashed the unconscious Temperance in the kneecap, triggering an involuntary reflex that caused her sleeping leg to kick Castillo in the face.
Temperance kicked him so violently he was lifted out of his seat, his head bashed against the wall. Castillo’s fingers scrabbled for his throat, his eyes bugged out.
“Oy!” cried the little boy, on his knees now as Derrick and Rudy raced up the center aisle of the dining car. “That was some pumpkins! Lady, you had awesome aim! Pow! Right in the noggin!”
Derrick grabbed Temperance by the shoulders and shook her lightly. “I wouldn’t be too sure she did that on purpose.”
“But that was perfect timing,” the kid insisted.
Temperance’s eyelids fluttered. Derrick had an idea. “Rudy. Perform some of your animal magnetism on her.”
“All right. Let’s switch spots. You keep an eye on this twisted toad. Looks like he’s choking on that lollipop he was drooling all over.”
Rudy was right. Temperance’s kick must have lodged the candied stick so far down Castillo’s throat that Derrick could not have simply grabbed it and yanked, had he wanted to.
Castillo had been trying that for a while now, anyway. He had crammed his hand so far down his own gullet that he was probably now choking on his fingers, in addition to the lollipop. It was a thoroughly unpleasant sight, so Derrick turned his attention to Rudy’s handiwork.
Temperance, in her ethereal Amina costume, looked exquisitely peaceful as Rudy laid his hands on her abdomen. Her hands were still folded placidly on her breasts—she had not exerted herself overmuch when she kicked Castillo.
“I see you do the show,” said the urchin, “when that dead girl appeared in your cabinet. Is that the one what Castillo really rubbed out?”
“That’s the one,” Derrick said. “Castillo wanted to make it look as if Rudy here committed the act.”
The urchin rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I never cottoned to Castillo much anyway.” That was apparent. He had barely cast a glance at the choking knife thrower. “He was always wearing women’s shoes, and it weren’t for no act, if you know what I mean. Bloody hell! How’re you doing that, you damned cove?”
Indeed, Temperance’s entire body was shimmering with an interior light. Derrick wanted to know how Rudy did that, as well. She glowed as though she had swallowed a candle. Even her feet seemed to be lit from within, the painted nails dark patches on the tips of her toes.
The effect didn’t extend to Rudy, however, so it wasn’t just a strange cast of light being thrown. His hands appeared nearly normal as he held them, barely touching her abdomen.
“Have you seen this effect before?” Derrick asked anxiously. “It may not bode well for her future existence on this plane.”
Rudy shook his head. “No. I’m wondering if it has anything to do with the combination of the ether she ingested and the magnetic fluid present in all animate beings.”
“Which sounds good,” Derrick interpreted hopefully.
“I believe so.”
But Rudy didn’t sound so certain.
Then an even more appalling event occurred. Derrick had to rub his eyes, focus them elsewhere, and return his gaze to Temperance’s body to be sure it wasn’t an illusion—some leftover magic bequeathed to them by the passing of Castillo. For Castillo had stopped choking now and was definitely passed, Derrick could plainly see when he glanced at the Spaniard. When he looked back to Temperance, the fact that her entire form had levitated a foot above the buffet table was undeniable.
“Great balls of fire,” whispered the boy.
She rose as though her body had petrified, not one lock of hair drooping, her legs remaining in the exact same position as they had been when she lay on the table, bent at the knees.
“And this?” Derrick inquired weakly. “This is an effect that you see often?”
“Never,” Rudy murmured. He intently kept his hands in the exact same position, but Temperance kept rising. Now she was nearly at their eye level, and the gossamer scarf around her neck didn’t even slither down toward the buffet table—it remained immobile, as though she were merely a photograph glued to a cardboard silhouette. Meanwhile, she continued glowing like a goddamned lighthouse.
“This is a talent you didn’t know you possess.”
The nipper gasped and jumped when Percy’s voice cleaved the still, almost holy air inside the dining car. Derrick leaped, too. He reflexively tried to grasp the bear wrestler by the shoulder to shake him but only got a handful of pudding.
“Percy!” Derrick said. “Why is this happening to Temperance? Will she be all right?”
Percy’s voice seemed to emanate from somewhere near the ceiling, as though he were an announcer speaking through a trumpet. “What Rudy said is correct. The ether has combined with her body’s natural magnetic fluids. She will be fine.” A frown now overcame Percy’s forehead. “Except that she will always become a little light-headed when forced to unclothe her feet.”
“Some pumpkins,” breathed the boy, eyes shining.
Alameda now flew down the central aisle. Derrick grabbed her and twirled her about, as if to shield her from the sight of Rudy levitating a trapeze girl. Then he recalled that Alameda had seen far stranger things. So they stood side by side watching the horizontal girl glowing eerily.
Alameda said, “We came straightaway when we didn’t hear from you. How is Rudy doing that?” She blinked. “No. Why is Rudy doing that?”
Temperance appeared to have reached the apex of her journey. Rudy had to stand on tiptoes if he wanted to keep an eye on his hands, full of animal magnetism. “What’s important is that Castillo is dead.” He thought. “Boy, do I have a lot of explaining to do when I have to tell how he died. Kid, what’s your name? Will you stick around town for a while?”
For Marshal Neil Tempest had followed Alameda up the aisle, his six-shooter at the ready. Oddly, he seemed more concerned with the obviously stone-dead Eliazar Castillo than he did with Temperance, who was apparently living so radiantly the dining car could contain her spirit no more and she aimed to fly away.
“I’ll stay in town,” the nipper said, “if he tells me how he did that illusion. I want to tell everyone how he levitated a
n entire woman with no strings attached. He is truly the best magician I’ve ever seen!”
“I would like to tell the whole world myself,” said Alameda with wonder.
“You didn’t know your beloved Rudy had the power to resurrect people!” intoned Percy importantly.
And that was how Rudy acquired the moniker Resurrection Rudy.
Epilogue
September 1870
Laramie City, Wyoming
“I am trembling so heavily,” said Alameda, closing her eyes to quiet her nerves.
Montreal Jed patted her gloved hand. “You just go right ahead and tremble, my dear. You have every right to. If I were in your shoes, I’d be shaking so heavily they couldn’t put me back together again.”
Alameda exhaled in a sudden rush of nerves and giggles. “Oh, Jeremiah, thank you. You do have a way of putting things into perspective.”
Captain Park beckoned. He looked particularly dashing today, the half-moon scar that outlined his cheekbone standing out vividly. Harley Park was Alameda’s boss no more, as she hadn’t worked at the Cactus Club in months. As Wyoming’s first female justice of the peace, she would have had all sorts of duties to do today—normally.
Today was different. Today, though the courthouse chamber was packed like a sardine tin with both men and women, everyone was hushed, reverent. Everyone stood around in anticipation of Alameda’s next move. She was by now accustomed to having people stare at her, but this was more momentous than she had ever imagined. There stood her father, beaming, proud—or had he fallen asleep? Both her sisters were here, attired in serious, dark suits and hats, their beautiful faces unreadable.
Also present were all of her croquet and lawn tennis friends. Temperance, Irene, and all of the women of Laramie’s chapter of the National Woman Suffrage Association, as well as some women who had come on the train all the way from Washington, were there. In fact, it could safely be said—and would be said by Henry Zuckerkorn, a very good journalist for the Laramie Frontier Index—that every woman within a five-hundred-mile radius was present, “If not in the courthouse, then standing at attention with pride in their breasts in nearby restaurants and watering places. Eyes moist with the suffering of decades, heads bowed with respect and not with yokes. Every tearful and girlish eye was upon the gallant Mrs. Alameda Spiro as she made her inevitable, fateful march down that corridor.”
Cold Steel and Hot Lead [How the West Was Done 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 16
