Longarm and the Lone Star Legend

by Tabor Evans

  But he never used the katana in battle. In battle he used the common weapons of his culture and background, for he had declared himself samurai of the common man. Accordingly, when he journeyed to America, he told no one of the aristocratic background from which he sprang. Had not both "noble" families — his mother's and his Yankee father's — disowned him? America was to be the starting place for his new life, and so he chose for himself a new name. In America he would be known by a name that symbolized the unifying spirit of all men, all creatures. Some he met, men like Alex Star-buck, understood, while others did not, but Ki was sure his ancestors, and Hirata were pleased.

  * * *

  From his place at the bar, Ki watched a short, fat man approach the blond stranger's table. The newcomer's blue crushed velvet suit, his red and gold paisley silk vest, only emphasized his girth.

  "I've been looking all over for you," the fat man said in a clear, American-accented voice. "It's going to be wonderful! The town is packed with people!"

  "I've been waiting here for fifteen minutes," the blond man said. Ki could see the arteries in his neck pulse with anger. That almost made him feel a more positive kinship with the blond European. How difficult it was to suffer all the fools in the world! Truely, avoiding a fight was often the most difficult test a warrior could face…

  "I told you I would meet you here," the blond man growled through clenched teeth. Then, calming himself, he stood up to shake hands.

  "Lord, I suppose I forgot." the fat man laughed.

  "Well, sit down now, and have a drink. You technicals are in the clouds, yes? Absentminded…"

  "Scientist, not 'technical,' my friend," the fat man corrected him, careful to keep his voice good-humored and his manner polite. "And I will have a drink."

  Ki looked the new man over, grateful that their exchange, so far at least, was in English. The man looked to be about fifty-five. He was bald, with gray tufts of dry hair sprouting on both sides of his head, just above the ears. He wore steel-rimmed spectacles with thick lenses. If he was carrying a firearm, it was small enough not to make a bulge in his snug-fitting clothes. The blond man had already identified his friend as a scientist. If he hadn't, Ki would have guessed that he was a barber, merchant, or town mayor. Only two things about the man belied his soft-looking image. Ki noticed that his fingers were blunt and callused-looking, the nails either missing or blackened. Whatever work this man did, it took its toll on his hands.

  The other odd thing about the soft-looking, fat man was his smell. It was smoky and crowded in the saloon, but Ki's sharp olfactory sense picked up the odor immediately. Emanating from that suit of crushed velvet and that silly vest of red and gold silk, was the unmistakable scent of cordite, the eye-stinging pungency of spent gunpowder.

  The two men were talking more softly now. Ki began to wander toward them, but was foiled in his attempt to eavesdrop when several drunk and rowdy cowboys beat him to the only nearby vacant table.

  Ki stood rooted to the floor, totally frustrated. Not only did he risk discovery if he attempted to get any closer to the quietly conversing pair, but now the rowdy cowboys were making so much noise that Ki could only pick up an occasional word coming from the two men.

  "…twelve men, all with coffee grinders…" the fat man beamed, but the rest of what he said was drowned out by the shouts of the cowboys for more beer. "…both sides of town. It'll happen at…"

  Three of the cowboys broke into a chorus of a filthy ditty currently popular with the hands, and Ki gave up in disgust. He returned to the bar and ordered another drink. He sipped it slowly, and about the time he was finished, the two men stood up to shake hands. The one in the velvet suit hurried out, while the blond man signaled a hostess — a pretty little brunette — whispered something in her ear that made her giggle, and put his arm around her as they headed toward the staircase, and up to the second-floor rooms.

  Ki gave them a few seconds' lead, and then followed, to slip unnoticed up the stairs. At the head of the staircase the second floor branched out into two wings, but Ki had seen the girl lead the blond man to the left. He carefully and silently hurried that way. The downstairs noise decreased dramatically once he entered the corridor. All he could hear was an occasional thump, and a steady but very muted drone rising up through the carpet.

  Ki cat-crept down the long, narrow hallway. He hoped he wasn't too late to catch a glimpse of the blond man and the woman as they chose a room. It would make things more difficult if he had to begin peeking through every keyhole.

  He turned a corner and quickly jumped back. The blond man was standing in profile just a few feet ahead. Fortunately his attention was fixed on the girl's backside as she bent to fiddle with the lock on the room's door. Finally she got it open, and the two went inside. The door shut, and then clicked locked. Ki was alone in the still, quiet hallway.

  It would be exquisitely difficult, Ki thought as he approached their door. He began to wait patiently. Soon they would be engaged in lovemaking. Then he would silently pick the lock, enter the room, and render them both unconscious before they could have a chance to see him or even sense that he was there. Once that was done, he could go through the blond man's belongings. He'd be gone by the time they came to. The blond man and the girl would think they had dozed off. What else could they imagine? A Nipponese would, of course, comprehend immediately what it was that had happened. One of Ki's fellow countrymen would know that he had been overcome by a ninja.

  Ki smiled as he leaned against the far wall of the hallway, watching the door in question. He doubted that there was anyone else in this part of the world who could accomplish what he was going to do. Not even Hirata had known much of ninjutsu, the art of the "invisible assassin." The samurai's way was to bluster upon the enemy, dealing death to whoever got in the way.

  While serving as Hirata's apprentice, Ki had, without telling his teacher, practiced ninjutsu until he was as proficient in it as he had become in the other, "nobler" arts he had learned from Hirata. It had not been difficult for a student like Ki; in fact, Hirata could easily have mastered the necessary skills, but he, like all other samurai, considered them beneath his position as a member of that exalted class. This had served as a warning to Ki that even the greatest of warriors have blind spots born of foolish prejudice.

  For example, there was atemi, the use of pressure-points on an opponent's body. Through the use of atemi, Ki would be able to render this couple unconscious quickly, silently, painlessly. Hirata could have learned atemi in a day, but he considered the art beneath contempt. Why deign to touch the enemy with one's bare hands, when one could touch him so much more effectively with one's blade? Even such limited te techniques as Hirata knew were to be reserved for those times of last resort when, for some unthinkable reason, a samurai found himself without his noble katana, or without any weapons at all.

  Ki watched the thin ribbon of light gleaming from beneath the door. Suddenly it blinked out. Excellent! If the lamp or candle had remained lit, Ki would have had to extinguish it, but he'd known the chances were good that the room would already be dark when he attacked. For some bizarre reason, Americans and Europeans preferred to make love to their partners in the shadows. Well, there was no accounting for taste.

  Ki smiled and listened to the murmurs coming through the door. He approached, tossing his hat to the carpeted floor, then pressing his ear against the wood. At the same time, he began to regulate his breathing. His inhalations and exhalations were now very shallow. Someone watching would say that Ki was not breathing at all, for where was the rise and fall of his chest?

  There was no chest movement, no physical movement at all, as far as the eye could tell, but if Ki had been shirtless, a palm pressed against his stomach would have felt the rhythms of his diaphragm beneath the thick bands of his belly muscles. For a few seconds the roar of his own blood rushing through his veins filled his ears, but then the internal noise of his own body receded, and his sense of hearing seemed to reach out to enc
ompass the room, the hallway, and even the corridor around the corner. Now Ki did not need his eyes. He could focus them on the lock, let them puzzle out the intricate task of picking the mechanism silently. His ears could hear everything, and what they heard told him that he was alone, safe from discovery, and could proceed with the attack.

  From one of the many pockets sewn into the lining of his coat he removed a thin, needlelike shuriken, or throwing blade. He inserted it into the lock, and begin the series of tiny movements, mere vibrations, that would coax the tumblers open. On the other side of the door, the key — forced from the lock by his pick — fell to the carpet. Ki heard it thud down like a sack of potatoes. The blond man and the girl in his arms had not heard it at all. Another movement of the pick, another twist and careful shake, and the lock was open.

  Slipping the shuriken back into its pocket, Ki reached out for the doorknob. He prepared himself. Once the door was opened, there could be no retreat. Light from the hallway would shine in. Both the blond man and the girl would have a moment to turn toward the light before the door was closed again, plunging them back into the darkness. They would not have even seen Ki's silhouette. He'd be no more than a foot off of the ground, slithering toward them on his belly like a snake. The crawling technique was even named after the serpent — Ki could move forward that way faster than many men Could run. He'd slide to their bed and then up the side. He would reach out… and it would be done.

  He could hear the creaking of the bedsprings, as steady as the beat of a song. It was time…

  Ki froze, his hand still on the doorknob. Someone was coming down the corridor. He bent to scoop up his Stetson just as a woman turned the corner to confront him.

  "Oh! What are you doing here?" she demanded, obviously startled. She was a pretty little honey blonde, with a pert hourglass figure beneath the thin white cotton dress she was wearing. "You're not supposed to be up here alone!"

  Ki straightened up, his hat in his hand. He hurried toward her to keep the conversation from being conducted where the blond man and the woman he was with could hear it. There was a coal-oil lamp affixed to the wall several feet behind her. The wick was turned up fairly high, and by its bright light Ki could see right through the gauze of her dress, see her figure in shadowy but clearly delineated silhouette, see the lovely shapes of her legs as they rose up, the space between them ever narrowing, until his eyes finally came to rest upon the slimmest sliver of light so softly diffused by the soft hair covering her womanhood.

  The blonde followed Ki's eyes down her own front, and once she saw where he was gazing, she smiled and said, "I guess it doesn't matter how you got up here all by your lonesome. Something hot in your eyes — and something hot filling out the front of your pants — tells me you're not planning on being lonesome much longer." Then her own eyes, a delicate shade of lavender, narrowed as she looked at Ki's face. "You're a handsome one, aren't you. darling, but your eyes…" She brushed back the black, shiny hair from Ki's forehead, and tilted his head down with the touch of a light, cool finger. "Lord above! You're…"

  "I am partly Japanese, as you see," Ki smiled.

  "Well, you're a beautiful man, whatever you are." She smiled back at him and licked her lips. "I've never had an Oriental fellow before. I'm on my own time right now. What do you say?" Her fingers tickled down the length of Ki's fly, to brush against his hardness. "Well! You don't have to say anything, you lovely man."

  Before Ki could protest, she'd gripped his hand and led him to the nearest room. While she fiddled with the door, Ki glanced back over his shoulder at the room he'd been about to invade before he'd been so sweetly interrupted. For a moment he considered placing his forefinger at the side of the girl's neck, pressing ever so gently, and then catching her before she had a chance to collapse on the carpet.

  He could do that to her. But, truth to tell, Ki couldn't get the memory of her figure — so delectable, glimpsed through the wispy cotton of her dress — out of his mind. Granted, he felt like squeezing various portions of this female's anatomy, but atemi pressure-points were not on that list.

  As she pulled him into the room, Ki looked back at the other door for one last time. The stranger in there was not likely to go anywhere soon. And considering the grip this little honey blonde with the eyes like violets had on him, he wasn't going anywhere, either.

  If he wanted to stay up here without causing a fuss, it fell to him to satisfy this girl's curiosity about Oriental ways of lovemaking. So be it.

  As Hirata had always taught, a true warrior ran from no confrontation, but always marched resolutely toward battle, his mighty sword unsheathed. Clicking the door shut behind him, Ki tried hard not to laugh.

  Chapter 12

  The room she had brought him to was small and scrupulously clean. In one corner stood a pitcher and washbasin upon a stand. The open window in the far wall let in a cool, steady breeze. Pale blue wallpaper and a tan carpet made the room seem larger than it was. The brass bed was large, fitted out with crisp-looking, clean white sheets. If this room was indicative of the others on the second floor of the Union Saloon, the place would have made a very comfortable hotel. Of course, the proprietors were making much more money on the place by using the second floor as a cathouse.

  Ki kept an ear cocked toward the door. There was little extraneous noise up here, except for that dull throb rising up through the floor from the saloon. He was sure he would hear the blond man leave his room. If that happened, Ki would have a few extra moments to intercept him. If he was at all like others, he would pause at the bar for a drink to refresh himself after his activities up here.

  The girl had undone the bow that kept her dress pulled together at the front. She'd loosened the ties and was about to slip the garment off. She turned and caught Ki looking at the door. "I told you I'm on my own time, so you won't have to pay," she said, misunderstanding the cause of his unease. The white cotton dress had slipped down off her shoulders, but she kept it bunched up in front of her. protecting her breasts with her crossed arms.

  "Yes, I know." Ki smiled. "Thank you," he added, meanwhile thinking that this obsession Americans and Europeans had over whether or not they "paid" for sex was a curious thing indeed. Sexual pleasure was always paid for; the unlucky paid with guilt, the majority with money or protection, and the few who understood paid for pleasure by returning that pleasure to the giver. The only woman he had ever met who understood this was Jessie…

  "Being with a man on my own time always makes me nervous," the honey blonde whispered. "Now don't you smile like that, because it's true!" she scolded indignantly. "My name's Celine, by the way."

  "Celine, my name is Ki." This woman was beginning to interest him. Her spirit was strong, and in some way kindred to his own. He slipped off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair. "Tell me why you are nervous," he said softly, genuinely intrigued. He unstrapped his gunbelt and set it down.

  "It's kind of like when I wanted to be an actress," Celine said. "When I was on stage playing a part, I wasn't me, so I didn't have to worry about what people thought of me. Now, when I'm with men, um… when it's my job" — she blushed, not quite able to look Ki in the eye — "well, then I'm just like an actress. Usually I'm acting for the man…"

  "Let me see you, Celine," Ki commanded gently.

  She let her dress fall to the carpet and stood before him in a slightly pigeoned-toed, bashful stance. If there came to her face a slight blush, it was as nothing compared to the peach-pink flush of shyness and arousal that suffused the large round globes of her breasts, the seductive curve of her belly, and the moist juncture of her thighs beneath the honey-colored fur.

  "You are lovely," Ki said, beckoning her to come into his arms. "You are indeed fit for the stage, where all can admire your beauty."

  Ki's words brought a happy sigh from Celine. "Thank you, but those dreams are long gone," she said. "The new one is to own a place like this, someday." She turned to blow out the candles, but he stopped her.
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  "The light sets fire to your golden skin." he told her as he shed the last of his clothes.

  Her violet eyes danced the length of his body, feasting upon the sight of his thick shoulders and long, sinewy arms, his hard, rippling belly, and the cords of his calves and thighs. "Anyway, this job does have its benefits," she said merrily. "I'm glad I'm the one who found you wandering around up here. I've never seen a man like you before… not like you…" She reached out tentatively to touch the hard curve of him jutting out from his center like the spar of a sailing ship. Her tongue slid absently from between her lips as she giggled in nervous expectation. "You sure don't talk much, do you?"

  Ki enfolded her in his arms and kissed her, before she could fill the room with her nervous chatter. He captured her tongue beneath his own, as he felt her trembling, satiny body pressed against him like a fluttering bird upon his palm. Now she could not speak at all, but only sing high notes as his fingers stroked the length of her spine, playing along it like a keyboard.

  "Lord above," she finally breathed. "This is some sort of magic." She sucked and nibbled her way along his chest, taking satisfaction in the way the lightest touch of her tongue and lips upon his body could make him dance and jerk in place.

  Ki arched his back in pleasure. His hands cupped her posterior and lifted her up. She locked her legs about his waist to squirm and buck against him, whimpering all the while. She was so hot and wet that he slid easily into her.

  "You're so strong," she marveled between groans. "I'm like a feather in your hands." She painted steamy kisses across his neck and face as Ki stood rock steady, meeting her wildly gyrating hips with perfectly synchronized thrusts. "Oh, I'm coming already," she moaned. "I've never started so quickly before!"