Slocum and the Dirty Dozen

by Jake Logan

  “I’m not a lawman,” he said with some distaste. The last thing he ever wanted to be was a marshal.

  “But you have a stake in finding how Emily died. You find who really killed her and you’re in the clear.”

  “I don’t have trouble sleeping at night,” he said.

  “I didn’t think so,” Sara Beth said, moving closer yet so she pressed into him. “But sleeping isn’t all you do in bed, not a big buck like you.”

  Slocum considered where he was employed and how he got nothing from it other than working off a debt of Clyde Clabber. Sara Beth’s intentions were obvious to him. She wanted to make sure he found how her friend had died and was willing to seal the deal any way possible.

  “It might take a while,” Slocum said, reaching behind Sara Beth and unfastening her apron. It fell to the floor.

  “Really? How long?” She worked to get his gun belt off and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

  “Hard to say.” He began opening the tiny pearl buttons on her dress. When it fell open to her waist, he caught his breath. She didn’t wear anything underneath. Her fine, firm breasts were exposed. He cupped them and gently massaged. Sara Beth closed her eyes, arched her back just enough to shove herself forward into his grasp a little more, and then shivered in delight.

  “I don’t mind if it’s hard,” she said. Her hand pressed into his belly and slid down to his crotch. “Ohhh!”

  “It’s getting harder,” Slocum said. He caught his breath as she popped open the last button on his fly and let him come snapping out, long and steely and ready. Her fingers curled around him and began stroking.

  “I noticed,” she said. The blonde dropped to her knees in front of him and took his length into her mouth. Her lips closed around the tip and then she moved slowly forward. Slocum grunted as she began playing with the sac dangling beneath his shaft. He wanted more from her, but pushing the willing woman away was difficult.

  She drew back, looked up at him, blue eyes sparkling, and said, “Is there anything else you’d like?”

  “You’re reading my mind,” he said. He reached down and cupped her breasts, lifting upward to get her to her feet again. His hands slid down her sides, then sneaked under her skirt and ran along bare legs. She wasn’t wearing any undergarments there either.

  Sara Beth groaned softly when his finger entered her most private place. Her stance widened, but Slocum wasn’t able to do more standing. His hands ran around behind and gripped her fleshy rear. He lifted in one smooth motion, her legs spreading and going on either side of his hips. Walking back a few steps, he deposited her on a table. She thrashed about, knocking things to the floor with a clatter. Slocum was too occupied to know what had been on the table. All that mattered to him was now perched on the edge.

  Sara Beth lifted her feet and placed them on the table as she leaned back, supporting herself on her elbows. Slocum saw her breasts bob gently as she swayed about. Her knees parted even more as she scooted around to position herself for him. Slocum moved forward and found the target they both wanted hit. Hips moving slowly, steadily, he entered her.

  The woman cried out as he sank balls deep into her tightness. He reached around and gripped her waist to keep her from sliding away from him on the table. Tiny puffs of white rose all around. She had been preparing something for the evening meal and the flour was now creating small clouds around her as she writhed on the table.

  “More, yes, oh, yes, more, John,” she sobbed out. She arched her back and shoved her hips toward him, taking him another fraction of an inch deeper.

  Slocum reveled in the heat all around his manhood, but that clutching, moist interior worked on him. He felt pressures mounting deep within and had to move. His hips moved away, pulling him out of the snug berth, but he hesitated for only an instant before slipping back. He sped up his movements until he stroked as fast as any piston on a locomotive. Friction caused heat, and the explosion of desire within his loins was not to be denied. Faster he stroked and then he erupted, pulling the woman hard to him.

  She lay back, hanging on to the edges of the table as she cried out. Her body shuddered and then she sighed, sinking to the table. Sweat beaded her forehead, and droplets between her breasts glistened like dew. Slocum bent forward and kissed them away.

  “I didn’t make a mistake,” she said.

  Slocum looked at her.

  “You’re a hard man to deny,” Sara Beth said, laughing. “I’m glad you’ve agreed.”

  Slocum wasn’t sure what he had agreed to, but was satisfied enough with the last few minutes. He stepped back, motion drawing his attention. From the corner of his eyes he had seen a flash at the window, but he saw nothing now. He buttoned up, strapped on his six-shooter, and then went to the back door.

  “You’re not going, are you, John?” Sara Beth Vincent worked to get her blouse buttoned. “We have more to talk over.”

  “Just a minute,” he said, stepping outside. Nobody was in sight. He went to the side of the restaurant and looked at the ground. The dust was too kicked up for him to get any idea if someone had been watching him and Sara Beth, but he looked closer at the edge of the window. A partial handprint in the dust there showed someone had pressed close, probably looking in, but not enough remained for him to know much about the Peeping Tom. He couldn’t even say that this was a fresh print.

  But he thought he had seen movement. Slocum wasn’t inclined to imagine such things.

  “John? Where are you?”

  Slocum returned to the rear door, where Sara Beth waited anxiously.

  “I thought you’d run off.” She swallowed hard and added, “I didn’t want to run you off. Quite the opposite of that.” She moved closer, her now-clothed breasts pressing once more into his chest.

  “Why are you so anxious to know about Emily Dawson?” he asked.

  “We’d both just come to town. I arrived a month or two before her and her family. Getting to know anyone in Clabber Crossing without having to make enemies to match the friends is hard work. She and I were able to talk because we weren’t part of either faction.”

  Slocum understood this.

  “How’d you get the money to start this restaurant?”

  Sara Beth’s eyes took on a fierce look. She heaved a deep breath and finally said, “No thanks to Bray. He wanted more than I wanted to pay in return for a loan.”

  “So where’d the money come from? Clabber?”

  “I got an inheritance,” she said. Then, “Oh, all right. My husband died and left me a considerable amount of money. I used all of it to get the restaurant going.” She saw his skeptical look. “Wyoming doesn’t mind if a woman owns property,” she said. “Who knows? A woman might be governor of Wyoming one day.”

  “You?”

  “Oh, no, not me. I like fixing a pot roast and potatoes for an admiring clientele too much. And I make a great peach pie.”

  “Dessert is mighty good,” Slocum agreed.

  Sara Beth laughed delightedly.

  “You are not a subtle man, John Slocum, but I don’t mind. You can come by for dessert anytime you want, no matter where else you’ve had dinner.”

  “Only here, since I came to town,” Slocum said. This seemed to startle Sara Beth. “I work for Severigne. Hired help’s not allowed extra servings from the table.”

  “No breakfast in bed? I’m surprised.”

  “I’ve got work to do out there—whitewashing the side of the house.”

  “I heard that somebody tried to burn the whorehouse down.”

  “You and Emily shared a distaste for Severigne’s business, didn’t you?”

  “I . . . yes.” Something in the way Sara Beth answered put Slocum on guard, but he didn’t pursue the matter. There would be time later. He gave her a quick kiss and then went back to Main Street, going down the alley where the window showed the part of a handprint that mocked him. He wished he knew more about who had spied on them in the back room—and why.

  Out in Clabber Crossing’s ma
in thoroughfare, he saw a few people stirring. The worst of the afternoon heat was past, and the cooler evening would be along soon to allow more a more civilized conduct of business. From all Slocum could tell, the town sat in the middle of a dozen or more ranches. The cattle business brought a couple hundred horny cowboys into town, to drink and whore and kick up their spurs a mite to relieve the boredom of the range.

  More than this, they needed supplies and the ranch owners needed bank credit and things only a town could supply. Clyde Clabber had a profitable mercantile center here, and from all Slocum could tell, Martin Bray had dealt himself into a profitable game.

  Slocum licked his lips, thinking on how the cowboys came in for a taste of whiskey, but he had lingered in town long enough. He hadn’t found any more about Emily Dawson’s killer—or if she might have shot herself—but he had certainly found a mighty tasty meal over at the restaurant in the person of its owner. Sara Beth’s image kept him happy all the way back to Severigne’s house.

  He poked around inside, hunting for the madam, but she was nowhere to be seen. Slocum went out back, rummaged under the porch, and got the whitewash and the new brush for the chore of painting out the scorch mark on the wall. About the time he had finished and had cleaned up a mite from where he had splashed the whitewash all over himself, he heard Severigne coming up in her buggy. He went out to see to the horse.

  Severigne was already out and halfway to the house. She turned when she saw him and said, “You will stand outside this evening. No customers.”

  “Why not?”

  “We have the special business inside the house.”

  “All the girls?”

  “No exceptions. All, every one of them,” Severigne said. She pointed to a stack of boxes piled in the back of her buggy. “Bring those. They will be needed this night.”

  Curious, Slocum went to the boxes and managed to pry open a corner of one as he picked up the box. Inside lay some frilly undergarment he couldn’t quite recognize since it wasn’t gracing some feminine form. From the weight of the boxes, all held clothing.

  He put the pile down just inside the door. Severigne pointed and began instructing her ladies what to take. To Slocum, she said again, “You will chase off any customers this night.”

  “Even if they come in the back way?”

  “All. This is important business, but not that kind of business.” She made lewd thrusting motions with her hips, then yelled at one girl, who held up a corset upside down.

  Slocum tended the horse and made sure the buggy was clean of dust and mud for the next time Severigne wanted to use it. Then he checked his six-shooter to be sure it rode easy in its holster before he went to the road to tell any customers that the house was closed for the night.

  He thought there would be some trouble, and there was.

  7

  “Sorry, boys, Severigne’s not taking any visitors tonight,” Slocum said to a trio of drunk cowboys who’d ridden from the direction opposite town. Wherever they’d started drinking, it wasn’t in any of Clabber Crossing’s saloons. He bent down and picked up a small stone, clutching it in his right hand.

  “You’re quite a card, mister,” the drunkest of the three said, almost falling from the saddle. “We done rode eight miles to come here. Our boss is a real hardnose when it comes to his crew gettin’ some ree-lax-ation. Took ’bout ferever to talk him into lettin’ us come to town.”

  “Go on into town. One of the saloons will be glad to accommodate you.”

  “We like Severigne’s place. Real classy. We like classy whores, not them poxy two-bit bitches in town. Why, one of them at McCavity’s Saloon damn near bit my nose off! We’re goin’ in and you ain’t stoppin’ us, no, siree.”

  “Give you twenty dollars to go on into town,” Slocum said. “You might spend it or you might save a few dollars and come back here tomorrow for some first-rate fun.” He had no idea why Severigne had closed for the night or if she might be inclined to open tomorrow. All he wanted was to get rid of the three cowboys. If they came back tomorrow and Severigne’s ladies still had their legs crossed, Slocum could deal with the problem then.

  “Now.” For all the liquor he had poured down his gullet, the cowboy was remarkably adept with his six-gun. He had it out and pointed at Slocum quicker than he thought.

  Slocum tossed the rock as hard as he could, striking the cowboy’s horse on the shoulder. The horse reared. The cowboy fired but doing so from a rearing horse was hard and he was drunk. Slocum grabbed the reins, worked past the kicking front hooves, and grabbed a handful of the cowboy’s shirt. With a huge tug he unseated the man and brought him crashing to the ground. For a moment, Slocum thought he had killed him. The cowboy lay unmoving. His two buddies started going for their six-shooters but the fallen cowboy groaned and pushed up to hands and knees.

  “Wha’ ’appened?”

  “You had one hell of a fine time at Severigne’s,” Slocum said, dragging him to his feet and shoving him toward the skittish horse. “Now you’re going into Clabber Crossing and whoop it up.”

  “I had a good time?”

  “The best.” Slocum shot a cold stare at the other two cowboys. Neither was drunk enough to cross John Slocum.

  “Yeah, you had one fine tumble,” one said. The other laughed and soon the trio was trotting toward town. Slocum stepped back, dusted himself off, and was grateful he hadn’t had to pay the twenty-dollar gold piece he had promised. If he’d had that much, he’d buy his way free of this indentured servitude.

  He grumbled as a buckboard rattled up from the direction of town. A solitary man drove and was inclined to go right past Slocum. Slocum caught the reins and stopped him.

  “House is closed tonight,” Slocum said. He hadn’t been in town long enough to know everyone but a man this well dressed would have stood out. Even the banker’s son hadn’t sported such a fine coat.

  “Madame Severigne is expecting me. I’m the reason the house is closed this evening.”

  “Do tell,” Slocum said. He looked into the back of the wagon and saw several long packages wrapped in dark cloth. If they hadn’t been so skinny, he would have wondered if this gent was bringing dead bodies to the brothel.

  “You’re not the undertaker, are you?”

  This caused the man to look surprised, then laugh harshly.

  “Mr. Cooper and I often share customers, but not in the way you imply. Now, let me go in. I will not keep Madame Severigne and the ladies waiting one minute longer than necessary.”

  Slocum considered holding the man here and asking Severigne, then decided to let him through. The buckboard rattled to a halt in front of the house and the man secured the reins and began working on the packages in the back. Slocum sauntered up and asked, “You want some help?”

  “It is very fragile equipment. Do not break any of it or it’ll come out of your pay!”

  Slocum had to laugh at that. He was already stuck here for two months because he had no money. Whatever the man brought to Severigne’s would probably run that sentence of service to years, if it was both as fragile as the man said and as expensive as Slocum guessed. He grabbed a package wrapped in black silk cloth and pulled it toward him. As he pulled it from the buckboard, he traced the outline of what was wrapped.

  “You prospecting? This feels like a tripod for a surveyor’s transit.”

  “You have a remarkable sense of feel. I am sure the ladies appreciate that.” The man laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of humor in it. He carried a large box himself and kicked at the door rather than setting it down and knocking.

  “Monsieur Molinari, you are so prompt. Come in, come in,” Severigne greeted the man. She held the door for her visitor but Slocum had to deal with getting inside on his own. He brushed aside the black cloth and saw his wild guess had been surprisingly accurate. He did carry a tripod.

  Molinari pointed to a spot to one side of the parlor, and Slocum carried the tripod and set it up, holding the silk cloth, not knowing what to do w
ith it. He finally tossed it to one of the half-clad girls, who grinned at him, lifted it coyly while showing one bare breast. She laughed, spun, and began using the black silk to hide strategic portions of her anatomy.

  “April, stop that,” Severigne snapped. “We are here to work, not to play. You will do as Monsieur Molinari says. No more, certainly no less!”

  “Oh, very well, Severigne,” the girl said, chastened.

  Slocum stepped back into a corner, watching as Molinari set up his camera. The black silk cloth was a hood that draped over the rear of the large boxy camera. Several times Molinari ducked under it, reached around, fiddled with the lens, and then pulled out from underneath the black curtain and finally cast a gimlet eye not at April but the background.

  “This will not do. Nothing so busy behind her. You want something simple, but no pictures. Nothing like that, like that or that.” He flicked his wrist in the direction of the offending wall hangings.

  “Well, Slocum, get them down. Do as he says. Now, now!”

  Slocum almost laughed at Severigne’s orders. She was obviously irked at Molinari telling her the fine paintings were not suitable as background for his pictures of almost naked women. He took them down and noticed the discolored wallpaper around the paintings. In spite of Severigne’s constant housekeeping, the paper had faded where sunlight touched it, no matter how briefly in the late afternoon.

  “That will not do either. Must I do everything?”

  “Andrew, a word,” Severigne said, taking Molinari’s sleeve and pulling him to the foot of the stairs.

  “I’m glad I’m not the one getting that tongue-lashing,” April said. “Unless you want to give it to me, John.” She bumped a bare thigh against him and smiled coquettishly.

  “I haven’t seen him around town,” Slocum said. “He just come here?”

  “Six months back, maybe longer. He travels around the countryside a lot,” April said. “He takes photographs of families for the ranchers. Cracked Tooth Harry Bennett had him take pictures of all his cowboys. Said it was going on a wanted poster, then he gave each of his hands the picture after roundup as a present.”