Slocum and the Yellowback Trail

by Jake Logan

  “Because you thought I was him when we first crossed paths,” Slocum pointed out.

  “It was dark.” After a few seconds of bearing the brunt of Slocum’s gaze, Sykes admitted, “I seen him in passing, and I can tell you he already passed right on outta this town.”

  “I suppose you’ll want me to go chasing after him?”

  “Nah,” Sykes replied as Ian got close enough for the clink of the glasses in his hands to be heard. “I thought we’d both go after him.”

  That was still settling in the back of Slocum’s head when Ian sat down and spilled about a quarter of the beer he’d brought with him. “I see you two haven’t killed each other while I was away,” the printer said. “That’s good.”

  “Not yet, we haven’t,” Slocum muttered.

  “Yes, well . . . still good. I thought we could all do with a drink, so this round’s my treat.” Raising his mug, Ian said, “Here’s to misunderstandings and the good friends that come from them.”

  “Let’s not push it,” Slocum replied.

  All this time, Sykes kept his wolfish grin intact and his eyes fixed on Slocum. Obviously sizing the other man up, he seemed to like what he was seeing so far. After taking a long pull from his beer, he slammed the mug down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not bad at all! If I’d known I’d get some free beer out of it, I would’ve walked into that ambush sooner. So what would’ve happened if Johnny Boy would have shot me? Free steak dinner?”

  “Maybe we can find out,” Slocum warned.

  Even though nobody else in the saloon seemed to take much notice of them, Ian scooted forward and fidgeted as if they were on center stage. “Let’s not get hasty, gentlemen. As I’ve explained a dozen times on the way over here, this was nothing but a misunderstanding. I’m sure the fact that you two seem so set on harming Mr. Corrington is probably some grave error as well.” Seeing the glares he got from both other men at the table, Ian quickly amended his statement with “Or maybe not. Either way, he doesn’t seem to be here, so you two don’t have any reason to fight.”

  After giving Ian a quick nod, Sykes stretched a hand across the table, which also forced him to drag his sleeve through the pool of spilled beer Ian had left. “He’s right. We don’t got no reason to tear each other’s throats out.”

  “I suppose not,” Slocum grudgingly admitted.

  “Well that’s good enough for me,” Ian declared. “Cheers!”

  The three of them completed the toast in the most unbalanced way possible. Sykes extended his mug as far out as he could toward Slocum, who held his up just to get it to his mouth, while Ian made the rounds by knocking his mug enthusiastically against the other two. In the end, there was more beer spilled on them and the table than whatever managed to get into any mouths.

  “So,” Sykes said in a voice that was a stark contrast to the vaguely cordial tone he’d used before, “where the hell is Mr. Corrington anyway?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Ian replied. “He was supposed to come to town to commission another piece of work, but it wasn’t set in stone. I may get my instructions through the mail, or he might even deliver them at a later date. Considering his rising success, I’d wager you’ll see the fruits of our labors soon enough.”

  “When was the last time you heard from him?” Slocum asked.

  “I received a telegram about two weeks ago. Said he was in St. Louis receiving some sort of accolade or possibly researching a new book. He meant to head up to Chicago and was going to meet with me along the way. I figured he should have arrived by today, but I could be wrong. If anything went wrong with his travel arrangements or if he was delayed on account of his publishing commitments, his schedule could be very much askew.”

  “Very much askew,” Sykes said. “That’s one way of describing him.”

  Slocum couldn’t help but laugh when he heard that. Judging by the look on Ian’s face, you’d think he’d just arranged for a treaty the likes of which no war had ever seen.

  “There now!” the older man said. “That’s more like it. Who wants another beer?”

  Since Ian was buying, neither man was going to refuse.

  It turned out that Ian could hold his liquor. It may have been a result of all the ink he’d inhaled on a daily basis, but the older man’s system was hardened more than the sides of his printing presses. Slocum, on the other hand, was barely steady enough to walk out of the saloon without knocking anything over.

  The night air did him a world of good, hitting him like a cold slap across both cheeks. He stood in the shadows pouring out from the alley with his hands on his hips and his chin held up to catch a passing breeze. The air smelled of burning wood and impending rain. It was the scent of autumn and was a welcome change from the odors filling a saloon that was packed full of drunken men. When the door swung open and slammed shut, Slocum didn’t need more than one guess to figure out who was staggering toward him. Ian had already left, and the locals mostly headed for the street instead of the mouth of a dark alley.

  “So what do you say, Johnny?”

  “First of all,” Slocum replied as he turned to look at Sykes, “if you call me Johnny again, I’ll finish what I started outside of Ian’s barn.”

  “And second?”

  “Second, if you ever call me Johnny Boy again, I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  Sykes held up both hands and showed him a sloppy grin. “I was just needlin’ you is all. I meant to ask you about what you thought in regards to the proposition I made a while ago. The one where—”

  “I know the one,” Slocum interrupted.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  “I’ve had men come after me before. Sometimes it’s a genuine concern and sometimes it’s a mistake. This was just one bounty hunter who didn’t have his head screwed on right. If I spent my time chasing down every one of those, I wouldn’t have time for much else.”

  “And where’s that bounty hunter now?” Sykes asked.

  “Last I saw him was in Chicago. Once things went bad there, he hightailed it out of my sight and I haven’t seen him since.”

  Nodding, Sykes hitched his thumbs over his belt and moseyed away from the alley. After three or four steps, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “That bounty hunter wouldn’t have been a long-faced dandy with a bowler hat, would he?”

  Slocum’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say a word.

  Apparently, Sykes wasn’t drunk enough to miss that signal, because he pounced on it like a hawk diving to scoop up a field mouse. “Could his name have been Mike Harper?”

  Whatever haze had been in Slocum’s head was cleared out when he heard that question. Standing up a bit straighter, he asked, “What do you know about him?”

  “Just that he’s more than some bounty hunter. He’s from out east. Maybe some big-time law dog.”

  “He sure didn’t act like one. I doubt he’s even shot a man.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving, Johnny B . . . er . . . John. Harper’s the sort who doesn’t give up a trail so easily. He came after me for a while when I had my first bout of trouble from Corrington’s books. It took a hell of a lot to shake him then, and the only reason I did is because he sank his teeth into someone else.”

  “I know about that all too well. My head’s starting to hurt, so I think I’m gonna crawl into bed.”

  As Slocum started walking, Sykes fell into step right beside him. “That Harper fella takes every word Corrington writes as gospel, and he ain’t the only one. Unless someone puts a stop to that writer, he’s gonna keep cranking out those books until neither of us can get a moment’s peace. Wait too long and it’ll be too late to do anything about it. These things get a momentum of their own, you know. Like a rock rollin’ straight down the side of a—”

  Sykes stopped short when Slocum came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street. A cart drawn by a single horse clattered toward them, so both men moved onto the boardwalk.

  “So tell me,”
Slocum said. “What was written about you that’s got you so worked up?”

  “It was a goddamn yellowback novel like the one you’re in.”

  “Like the one I’m in? So it’s not the same one.”

  “Didn’t you read it?”

  “Not yet,” Slocum grunted. “But I get the impression that you’ve read yours. Must be one hell of a yarn.”

  “It was . . .” Pausing long enough to glance suspiciously up and down the street, Sykes dropped his voice to a snarling whisper. “It was called The Gentleman Killer. Says I snuck into rich folks’ houses and slit their throats while they was sleepin’. What kind of cowardly bullshit is that? No matter how many times I read it, I still couldn’t even figure out if I was supposed to be the gentleman or if those were the assholes I was supposed to have cut. What’s so goddamn funny?”

  Letting his head hang as he kept laughing, Slocum replied, “I’m just wondering how much this writer would pay to see us get so flustered about all of this. Forget about Ian’s banners, this is some damn good advertising.”

  “It’s soiling my good name, that’s what it is. Yours too, so I don’t got a clue why you’re so damn cheery all of a sudden.”

  “It strikes me that we both got our feathers rubbed the wrong way over some bullshit that was said about us. Haven’t you ever had some nasty gossip thrown around about you?”

  “Sure I have. Know what I did about it? I found whoever was gossiping and made them sorry they ever opened their fucking mouths.”

  “Yeah, well maybe we should both learn to turn the other cheek.”

  “This coming from a man who came all the way down here from Chicago to beat the tar out of a writer?”

  “Perhaps we should both find something else to do with our time. If you wanna work so hard to help spread the word about a bunch of books that aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on, go right ahead. Maybe that Corrington fella will give you a cut of the profits.”

  When Slocum walked away, Sykes stayed put. “You’re making a mistake, Slocum! Men like us can’t afford to let bullshit like this pass! First it’s a fancy-pants like Harper coming after us, but more will follow. We’ll be seen as weak!”

  “I don’t give a damn what people see,” Slocum called back.

  “You’re just gonna let Harper get away with coming after you? If you get sick of letting that writer get away with draggin’ us through the mud, you can find me at the Creek House Saloon!”

  As Slocum kept walking toward his hotel, he laid odds on whether or not Sykes would come rushing after him. The closer he got to the corner, the likelier it seemed that he wouldn’t be through with the other man just yet. Then, after he rounded the corner, the odds slipped further and further down, until he’d written off the possibility altogether. Sykes shouted a few things after him, but that was it. When he had stepped into his hotel and felt the cold winds get cut off by the slam of the front door, Slocum was ready to put the whole thing behind him.

  The woman behind the front desk was a stout redhead with full lips and teeth that were just a little too big for her face. She had a pretty smile, however, which she showed him the moment he approached the desk. “I was just about to lock up for the night. Glad I didn’t.”

  “Me too. I need the key to my room.”

  She let her eyes wander along the front of Slocum’s shirt as her fingers drifted across the laces keeping the front of her blouse closed. The chill from outside had apparently blown in ahead of Slocum because her nipples were hard and pressing against the material. Lowering her eyes as if she’d felt him looking at her, she turned and walked to the peg board nailed to the wall behind the counter holding the hotel’s ledger. Loose, dark brown skirts twirled around her, brushing against wide hips and a backside that Slocum could easily imagine in his hands.

  “Busy day?”

  “What was that?” Slocum asked as he forced his eyes to head north of her waistline.

  She took a key from its hook, turned around, and held it as if she didn’t have any intention of handing it over. “I asked if you had a busy day. Haven’t seen you since breakfast.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  “I could draw you a hot bath. Just say the word and I’ll start warming up some water.”

  “No need for all that trouble. Think I’ll just get some sleep.”

  “No trouble. If you like, I could even make sure your back gets scrubbed nice and clean.”

  He looked at her again, studying her eyes and the promising smile that remained etched onto her soft, moist lips. “Would that cost more than the price of a room?”

  “Not for you.”

  Reaching out to take the key she offered, Slocum replied, “Then I don’t see how I could refuse.”

  “Good,” she told him while walking around the desk to check the front door. “I’m Kate, by the way.”

  “You need help bringing a tub to my room, or do you have somewhere else in mind?”

  “I’ve already got it ready. All I need to do is boil some water to warm it up.”

  11

  Slocum’s room was barely large enough for him to walk around the bed without knocking into something. The only other furnishings, a rickety chair and a three-legged table just big enough for a pocket watch and some coins, had been moved into a corner to make room for a metal wash tub. Actually, calling the oversized pail a tub was being generous. It had the long, oval shape of a tub, but it hardly seemed big enough for one man to get in and sit down. The tub was only slightly wider than Slocum’s hips and so short that the edge barely pressed against the portion of his back a few inches below his armpits. When he stripped and stepped into the cool water, a portion of it sloshed over the sides and onto one of the towels that had been laid on the floor.

  Kate walked in a few minutes later, carrying a steaming kettle and wearing a long robe that hung open to give him a good look at the naked body beneath it. Her curves were even better than he’d expected, and she carried herself as if she enjoyed showing them off. Plump breasts swayed beneath the robe and her hair had been loosed from the ribbons that had previously held it up. Her tongue darted out to run along her lips as she sat on the edge of the tub and poured the hot water.

  “There,” she purred. “Is that better?”

  “Much,” Slocum replied, even before the water had a chance to warm up what had already been in the tub. He reached out to move her robe aside so he could see the creamy skin of her hips and the soft slope of her belly. Slocum looked up at her face while easing his hand south to the downy hair between her legs.

  Kate closed her eyes and shuddered when his fingers found the lips of her pussy.

  “Seems like I’m not the only one that’s wet,” he teased.

  If Kate was the slightest bit self-conscious, she didn’t let it show. After she’d emptied the kettle, she stood up and peeled the robe off to let it drop into a bundle at her feet. “Think there’s any room in there for me?”

  “I doubt it, but why don’t you come a little closer?”

  She did as she was told, taking a few steps toward him so Slocum could place a hand on her bare backside. He used that hand to guide her toward the tub until she was close enough for him to lean over and nip at her thigh.

  “Oh, you’re a wild one,” she said. “I could tell that when you first signed that register. Let’s see how wild you are.” With that, she grabbed his hair and propped one foot up onto the side of the tub.

  Slocum knew where he was being led and didn’t mind it one bit. Not only did he allow Kate to pull his head between her legs, but he buried his tongue deep into her pussy the moment he got there.

  “Even wilder than I thought,” she gasped while tightening her grip on the back of his head.

  Slocum reached up to grab her ass while flicking his tongue in and out of her. After only a few seconds of that, he pushed her leg off the side of the tub and stood up. Kate was putty in his hands and trembling so hard she couldn’t stand up
with him. He got out of the tub and moved around behind her. Kate twisted around to watch him, but was quickly turned back.

  “Better hang on,” Slocum said as he placed his hand on her back and pushed her forward. “You asked for wild, so that’s what you’re gonna get.”

  Kate couldn’t lean forward fast enough. She gripped onto the edge of the tub with both hands and spread her legs just in time to accept his rigid length between them. Slocum could still taste her juices in his mouth, but the feel of her wrapped around his stiff pole was a whole lot sweeter. Kate’s wide hips, trim waist, and swaying breasts made a fine hourglass shape, and her flesh was warm in his hands. When he grabbed her tight and drilled into her, Kate let out a deep-throated moan that filled the entire room.

  “Damn, that’s the way!” she cried. “Harder!”

  Slocum pumped into her hard enough to slap against her backside. The impact made Kate squeal more, and when he pounded into her again, Slocum smacked the side of her ass hard enough to leave a red hand print.

  Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Kate turned to look back at him. “Come on, now. You can fuck me harder than that.”

  Now it was Slocum’s turn to smile. She started to tease him again, but couldn’t say much of anything once he started pumping into her harder and harder. Kate arched her back while holding onto the tub. Soon, she was gripped by a powerful climax. Her hands may have left dents in the edge of the cheap metal tub when she bucked in time to his rhythm and shoved the whole thing several inches across the floor.

  “Yes!” she screamed. “Keep at it!”

  Slocum barely heard what she was saying. Her body felt too good to worry about something as inconsequential as words. Kate wriggled against him while letting her head hang down limply. When she looked back at him again, Slocum couldn’t help noticing the flushed color of her cheeks and the enticing way she bit down on her thick lower lip.

  “Come here,” he said while pulling out of her and stepping back.

  Kate stood up so Slocum could take her by the shoulders and make her face him. Excitement flashed in her eyes as she was pulled in close. Feeling his rigid manhood press against her body, she immediately reached down to stroke it with both hands.