Apache Caress

by Georgina Gentry - Panorama of the Old West 08 - Apache Caress

  The boy laughed with her at the silliness of the idea. “That’s what the lieutenant says, but the higher-ups. . . .”

  Behind them, the line of waiting vehicles grew longer. Sierra fidgeted, feeling the knife point in her back. The savage was right; she’d be the first to die.

  “Please, Corporal,” she beseeched, “if we all have to wait, I’ll be out on the road alone in the dark, trying to find my way. Who knows what will happen to a poor widow after dark on the streets of Saint Louis?”

  The whole thing was obviously too much for the young man to deal with. He threw up his hands in a gesture of defeat, turned and shouted at the patrol, “All right, men, let’s allow a few vehicles through until we get rid of this jam! We just won’t tell the lieutenant.”

  Sierra breathed a sigh of relief at the nods of agreement. The missing officer must not be too popular with his men. Lucky for her. The soldiers moved out of the way, waving her wagon through.

  It seemed to her as if it were a million miles across that bridge as the mule clopped along. Below her, a river boat moved slowly past, churning up frothy white foam on the brown water. She heard the hidden man sigh, knew he was tense too. Somewhere on the other side, he would release her. At least he had said he would. Suppose he didn’t?

  Craning her neck, she looked toward the water far below. For a split second, Sierra toyed with the idea of jumping from the wagon seat, diving over the side. No, that was suicide, since she couldn’t swim. It was a long way down and her full skirts would drag her under. She’d either have to trust Cholla for the time being or hope for another chance at rescue in the big city across the bridge. Merciful heavens, at least she was still alive.

  She reached the other side of the bridge with a sigh of relief. “Okay, I’ve done what I was supposed to do,” she said over her shoulder. “Somewhere on one of these side streets, I’ll let you out, and–”

  “How the hell do you expect me to find my way about in this maze? I came through this city on a train.”

  “You said you would let me go once you were out of danger,” Sierra reminded him as she brushed a wisp of black hair back into her bun. “Suppose I get you to a train yard so you can sneak aboard a freight train headed west?”

  For a long moment, she didn’t think he would answer her. The wagon moved slowly along a street in the shabby warehouse district.

  If he would just get on a train and let me go! Even finding a job and a place to live didn’t seem like such a terrifying challenge anymore, not after what she’d dealt with these past few hours.

  The man behind her put his hand on her shoulder, squeezed gently. “Let me think about it while you keep driving. Somehow I think that’s what Gill would expect me to do, try to hop a train. If so, they’ll be checking every freight car that leaves St. Louis.”

  “Uh-oh,” Sierra said suddenly, looking at the snarl of wagons on the road ahead.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “There’s a beer wagon overturned, barrels scattered everywhere. Police are trying to straighten things out.”

  “Get us through it,” he whispered, and once again she felt the knife against her back.

  A big Irish policeman on a bay horse rode up, reined in. “Dear lady, you’ll have to take your wagon another way.”

  Sierra looked up at him, her heart beating hard. The man wore a pistol. She had reached a point of desperation and exhaustion. If I shout and leap from the wagon seat at the same time, what can my captor do? Let the policeman and the savage shoot it out. Sierra tensed and got ready to jump.

  Lieutenant Gillen leaned back against the sofa cushions and smiled as he accepted a smudged glass of beer from the painted brunette. His teeth were hurting again, but he was in a better than average humor. Trixie. Sounded like a name for a pet dog. At first he had been afraid she wouldn’t let him in, but at mention of Forester’s name, the door had swung wide.

  Now he’d been here fifteen minutes and already she was sitting down next to him, sipping out of that patent medicine bottle and leaning forward to catch every word. That gave him a good view of her big breasts.

  “Yes,” he said and wiped the foam from his lip, “I told Robert just a few days before he was killed fighting Apaches that if I was ever in East Saint Louis, I’d look you up and pay my respects.”

  “Ain’t that sweet of you, Lieutenant.”

  He smiled warmly at her and reached for the bag of hard candy in his jacket, remembering some of the bawdy tales Forester had told of his adventures in Trixie’s bed.

  Trixie wiped her eyes and held the medicine bottle close to her bosom before taking a big gulp. “Robert and I was old friends. ”We’re both Texans, you know.”

  Gill nodded with warm sympathy. “Robert told me about your . . . nervous condition. That’s the reason I brought the medicine with me.” He glanced at the label: Doctor Zorenoff’s Secret Tonic and Elixir. Good for Every Ailment of Man and Beast. Almost twenty-five percent alcohol, Gill noted and a big shot of that newest wonder drug, cocaine.

  A couple of bottles of this and the broad is yours. Robert had laughed. She’s a talented bitch, but not the way she thinks.

  “I’m a singer,” Trixie offered, “just waitin’ for a lucky break. That’s how I ended up here; a banker fella told me he had connections, but it hasn’t amounted to nothin’.” She stood up, began to crank the phonograph on the table next to the sofa. It creaked out a thin, reedy melody as she cleared her throat and began to sing: “ ‘I’ll take you home again, Kathleen. . .’ ”

  Gill winced. Robert was right; Trixie couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. He managed to keep a straight face while she wailed the words in a slightly off-key voice, rolling the peppermint around in his mouth, a smile frozen on his face. He hadn’t heard such screeching since Pa had rocked on an old cat’s tail.

  Finally, she finished. “Would you like to hear more? I do ‘Last Rose of Summer,’ and ‘Lorena,’ and–”

  “No, no, Miss La Femme.” He raised a hand in protest. “With such a wonderfully delicate voice, you must not waste it on me; save it for your next performance.”

  She beamed at him, flopped down, leaned against the sofa cushions, put the bottle on the lamp table, and reached for a pack of cigarettes. “Robert always said I looked just like the Cameo girl, do you think so?”

  What in the blasted hell was the Cameo girl? “Now that you mention it, I think so too, only you’re prettier and certainly more talented.”

  He watched as she took out a cigarette, lit it. Gill had never seen a woman smoke before. For the first time, he noticed the cigarette pack. Cameo Cigarettes, the label read. A picture of a beautiful, dark-haired girl in a big hat decorated the box.

  She blew a smoke ring. “I’ll reckon you couldn’t guess Trixie ain’t my real name. I’m really Thelma Blogdett.”

  “Really? Trixie La Femme just . . . just fits you somehow.”

  The girl beamed at him. “Did you know Robert long? Me and him was old friends from years ago when I worked at Miss Fancy’s in San Antone.”

  “No, not long, but he reminded me so much of my brother Harold.” His brother had always looked after him, slipped candy out of the store for Gill. But Harold was dead of typhoid, and Robert Forester had taken his place as Gill’s friend. Now Robert was dead too, and under suspicious circumstances....

  Trixie leaned closer. “You know Robert really was from a fancy Austin family, but he was wild as a colt grazed on loco weed. His mama disowned him, cut his inheritance off, so he joined the service.”

  “How’d he end up here?”

  “The Army sent in a few troops last March when that big railroad strike, tied up all the freight trains and got some people killed.”

  “I wondered what he was doing up north. When I met him at Fort Bowie late last spring, Robert said he was running away from a wife he didn’t want.”

  Trixie threw back her head and giggled. “Did he tell you I found that wife for him?”

  “No.” Gill
touched his bandaged head with his free hand, then let it drop carelessly onto her knee.

  “She’s one of them foreigners, even though she was born in America,” Trixie said with a disdainful wave of her cigarette. “At least her grandpa could hardly speak English; funny old man with a long beard. I only knew of the two, but I hear the girl’s mother died when she was little. Sierra’s a woods’ colt; gossip says.”

  Gill looked at her blankly. “A what?”

  “You know, a bastard.” Trixie took another sip of tonic. She was beginning to look a little drunk. “I suppose that’s why the old man brought them to America, trying to escape the disgrace.”

  “Sierra. Yeah, I remember Robert mentioning the name.” He wasn’t really interested in meeting some virtuous little wife. Gill moved his fingers ever so slightly on Trixie’s knee, waiting for her to protest. She didn’t.

  Trixie shrugged. “I ain’t been here long enough to know all the gossip. She and her grandpa didn’t mix much with anyone; locals are mighty suspicious of foreigners. They used to come into town once a week and sell vegetables out of the back of their wagon right out here on the street near my window.” She motioned with her cigarette.

  Gill moved his fingers on her knee until they were under the soiled green satin and on bare flesh. “Why would Robert want some little mouse like that if he could have a beauty like you?”

  Trixie giggled again. “Actually he had us both! Gossip was the old man had money hidden on that farm, that they lived so poorly because he was eccentric and buried all the gold they must have brought from Europe.” She spread her knees ever so slightly and Gill took it as an invitation. “When I told Robert that, he arranged to bump into the girl, see if he could charm her into telling where it was buried.”

  “I presume he didn’t find out?” Gill stroked her bare thigh and moved his fingers upward.

  “Naw.” She shook her head. “Even after he married her, he didn’t learn nothin’. He finally decided there wasn’t no treasure. Then Grandpa got killed in an accident. I could tell you something about that. . . .” Trixie seemed to reconsider, and her voice trailed off for a moment. “Anyways, Robert talked his wife into signing papers so he could borrow against the farm; I don’t think she even knew what she signed.”

  “And when the money was gone, Robert was too?”

  Trixie laughed. “We had us a good time while it lasted!” She blew smoke toward the ceiling. “His mousy little wife once came to me and begged me to give him up, said she was tryin’ to save the marriage. I just sneered at her and told her he didn’t care nothin’ about her.”

  “But by then Robert had gone off to Arizona looking for gold?” Gill guessed.

  She took another swig of medicine. “He was gonna send for me if he ever found any of that gold them Apaches are supposed to know about; we was going to ’Frisco where I could be a star.”

  “And blast it all, now he’s dead and he never found the gold.” Gill sighed.

  She looked at him with sudden interest. “Did Robert ever talk about me?”

  “Miss La Femme, you just can’t imagine how he talked about your talent.” Gill slowly ran his hand up to where her thighs joined, remembering the plans Robert had had for this stupid whore. He’d planned to sell her to one of the bordellos on the Barbary Coast. It suddenly occurred to Gill that Trixie would be worth even more in some godforsaken desert hellhole like Bowie Station or Tombstone.

  “Was you there when he was killed?” Trixie took a deep drag on the cigarette. “The local papers said he was a hero, medals and all. Funny, that didn’t sound like Robert to me. I always figured he’d turn and run when it came right down to facin’ Apaches.”

  That was exactly what Gill suspected, but he didn’t say so. He shook his head. “We heard the gunfire. It was too late by the time my patrol arrived. His men said Robert had died in a vain attempt to save them. All but a handful was killed by the savages.” He leaned toward her, kissed her. Maybe later he’d tell her about Robert’s wound.

  “Ain’t you the sweet one, though?” The girl moved closer, smoke trailing from her nostrils, and snubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray on the lamp table. She smiled up at him and didn’t move away. Her robe had fallen open, revealing a generous expanse of freckled breasts.

  Gill felt his manhood go hard, and he reached out, pushed the robe off her shoulder, and stroked the freckled skin. “That’s why I came, Trixie. Robert knew we were both in constant danger. He said if anything should happen to him, I was to come see you and tell you how much he cared.”

  “Oh, it’s so sad!” The girl was in his arms now, weeping sloppily on his chest. “And to think they sent his medals to that little chit of a wife instead of me! You been to see her?”

  “No.” As a matter of fact, Gill thought, I almost forgot about the wife. Only three things occupied his mind: finding that Apache gold, killing Cholla, and bedding Robert’s favorite whore. “Trixie, maybe we need to comfort each other; you know, Robert’s best friend and his girl.”

  She nodded ever so slightly as she leaned her big breasts against his arm and lit another cigarette. “Gill, do you know any people who could help me with my career?”

  “I sure might, honey. Why I know lots of rich and important people. My old man owned a chain of stores.”

  Actually it was one run-down general store in an Indiana town of two hundred people. The family just barely scratched out a living, and his pa was so tight, he would never let either of his two sons have a piece of candy from the big jars on the counter, though they worked without wages.

  Gill kissed her. Her mouth was hot and wet and eager. A tart like this one would look good to those soldiers back in Arizona. They seldom saw anything but Injun women. He’d set her up as a whore and keep most of the money just as Robert had planned to do. Trixie had talent, all right, but it was all between her legs.

  He ran his hand down, cupped one big, freckled breast, and pulled her to him.

  Trixie inhaled a deep puff of smoke, leaned over, blew it into his open mouth. Gill took a deep breath, his giddy excitement mounting. “Oh, honey, I never smoked like that before!”

  It seemed so erotic, breathing the smoke from her ripe mouth, breathing it back deep into her throat. “Blast it all, Trixie,” he murmured, “I’ve been looking for a girl like you all my life.”

  She trailed smoke into his mouth. “You’ll help me with my career?”

  “Yes, oh, yes!” He would have promised anything at that moment just to get her robe off.

  She smiled at him, then opened her robe, slowly, tantalizingly. She crushed the cigarette out. “I got another patron right now, but I don’t seem to be gettin’ nowhere in show business.”

  “With all your talent? Impossible!” He was half on top of her, her big breasts filling both his hands. There was no limit to what he could earn pimping this tart or selling her to one of those rich Mexicans south of the border. Once Trixie was in Mexico, she’d never be heard of again and the government wouldn’t take action over a missing whore.

  “My patron’s a banker.” Trixie pouted against Gill’s open mouth. “Promised he’d introduce me to important people in New York theater, but all I’ve had so far is two short stints in second-rate dives in the worst part of Saint Louis.”

  “Not nearly good enough for a star like you, honey,” Gill said as he fumbled feverishly with his buttons. “You be friendly to me and I’ll take you to the West Coast.” Or at least as far as Fort Bowie, Arizona Territory, he promised himself as he ran his tongue over her nipples.

  She spread her thighs, and he slid slowly into the hot wetness of her. “Umm, just like warm honey,” he breathed. “Oh, Trixie, you really are something special.”

  “So are you, Gill.” She giggled. “I’m so glad Robert sent you. . . .” She slipped her tongue into his mouth and locked her legs around his hips.

  It was awkward on the sofa, Gill thought, but he didn’t dare suggest they move to the bedroom. He’d better tak
e whatever the dumb tart offered while the getting was good. She had talent, all right. Her body seemed to be literally sucking the juice right out of him, her long nails digging into his back through the blue uniform.

  I need to get back to the bridge, he thought. But at this instant, passion overruled duty or hatred. Coupling with this hot bitch was more important than catching or killing that Apache. He quickened his thrusting while her mouth explored his. Then all he could think of was pouring his seed deep into her.

  Gill’s last conscious thought was how much fun he and Robert would have had taking turns on Trixie just as they had done with that other girl.... He dozed off to sleep, his bandaged head resting on her freckled, sweaty breasts.

  Sierra had had second thoughts about alerting the Irish policeman when Cholla held onto the back of her dress. The man couldn’t see him hiding there, of course, but she knew it would be almost impossible for her to escape without getting knifed. So she had merely asked how to get out of town and had followed the big man’s instructions.

  Her old mule was nervous in the traffic, so it took most of the afternoon; but at dusk the wagons had passed the outskirts of town and was headed down a country road where houses were fewer and farther between. On a long, empty stretch, Sierra reined the mule to a halt and turned to face her captor. “All right, I got you out. Now you keep your promise.”

  “I said when I was safe,” he retorted. “What am I supposed to do, drive this wagon through the countryside myself? The first farmer who sees me will call the law!”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  He looked at her with dark, smoldering eyes. “I didn’t hear everything that was said back there, but I did hear you tell that corporal your husband was an officer killed on duty.”

  “I told him whatever I thought it would take to get us through that road block.” Sierra looked away, feeling her heart lurch. What would this savage do if he knew her husband had been killed heroically fighting Apaches?