Slocum's Silver Burden

by Jake Logan

  Slocum dropped a dime on the bar.

  “Beer,” he said.

  The barkeep peered at him through his one good eye. The bad one was filmed over and wandered about at will.

  “We don’t serve piss here. Whiskey or nothing.”

  “Whiskey, then.” Slocum grabbed the man’s brawny wrist and forced him to lift the bottle and put it on the bar. “I don’t drink alone. You first. I’ll pay for it.”

  The barkeep grunted and pulled free.

  “If you’re payin’, then I want the good stuff.” He found a second half-filled bottle under the bar. “Show me the color of your money.”

  Slocum dropped a silver dollar on the bar. The barkeep picked it up, peered closely at it, hefted it, and then tucked it away in his canvas apron pocket before getting a second shot glass. He poured two stiff drinks. Slocum waited for the man to down his before sampling. He almost gagged.

  “This is the good stuff?”

  “Better ’n that,” he said, pointing at the other bottle. The barkeep laughed harshly. “’Course, you drink that and you end up drinkin’ ship’s rum for a couple years.”

  Slocum had guessed right about the first bottle being drugged. He looked into the mirror behind the bar and saw two sailors arguing. One pointed at Slocum, then the other knocked his hand down to the table for being so obvious.

  “What’s the going rate for a landlubber these days?”

  “For you, ten dollars. For most of the derelicts who wash up onshore here, two or maybe three. Not more ’n that.”

  “Then those two will be pissed something fierce at being robbed,” Slocum said. He took a second swig straight from the bottle, spun, and kicked the first sailor in the crotch as he rushed up.

  Using the bottle as a club, Slocum smashed it against the second salt’s head. The man had a skull made from pure oak. The glass showered down, mixed with the whiskey, and it never fazed him. He crashed into Slocum. Then it was Slocum’s turn to get hit over the head. The barkeep swung a cosh with more enthusiasm than skill. His bad eye might have caused him to miss a square blow. It still staggered Slocum.

  Slocum let out a roar and stumbled from the bar. The sailor pursued, thinking he had himself another shanghaiing victim. He doubled over when Slocum unloaded a punch that buried itself wrist-deep in his belly. By now a half-dozen others in the saloon joined the fight. They didn’t care whose side they were on. They just wanted a good fight.

  That was why Slocum had come here. He wanted to vent some steam, and pounding heads and bellies with his fists did just that. Solid punches landed, but Slocum never felt them. He was too intent on landing a jab or haymaker on anonymous brawlers. But when he reared back to unload a punch squarely into a sailor’s ugly face, he found his right arm caught in a vise grip he couldn’t shake free.

  He strained and began to lose footing on the sawdust covering the floor. Still exerting himself, he swiveled around so his face was only inches away from one he knew all too well.

  “Underwood!”

  “Now, boy, don’t get your dander up. The proprietor of this here place wants more than one customer left in drinkin’ condition.”

  Slocum relaxed, then ducked as Underwood swung his mutilated fist. The bony fingers wrapped up into a tight ball whizzed past Slocum’s head and landed smack in the middle of another patron’s face. The man stumbled back, was caught by another fighter, and resumed the fray there, not caring whom he swung at.

  “Come along now.” Underwood caught Slocum by the elbow and lifted slightly.

  To his surprise, Slocum couldn’t break free of the two-fingered grip. He popped out of the smoky saloon and into the salt air blowing cold and fresh off the Pacific. Only when they were a dozen yards from the saloon did Underwood release him. Slocum stumbled a step and swung about.

  “Don’t go reachin’ for that hogleg,” Underwood warned. He stood without any weapon in his hand, but Slocum had worked off most of his outrage and stood with his hands loose at his sides.

  “What’s Collingswood want from me?” Slocum demanded.

  “Damned if I know. My guess is nothin’ other than never seein’ you again. You riled him up more ’n I’ve seen since he heard of the robbery.”

  “I only did what he hired me to do.”

  “So I hear, so I hear.” Underwood made no attempt to grab Slocum’s elbow again. Instead he pointed along the two-thousand-foot pier. Without waiting, he set off.

  Slocum caught up.

  “It wasn’t an accident you came after me.”

  “Could be, since that’s my waterin’ hole. My port when I’m in port.”

  “Could be that’s an outright lie.”

  Underwood took no offense. He grinned crookedly and said, “You got me pegged, Slocum. You got me all figured out, haven’t you?”

  “Why?”

  “Well now, let’s say that a man can have many masters. Mr. Collingswood, now, he’s just one of those I work for. Another of my bosses sent me along to reason with you.”

  Slocum stayed silent. Underwood would get around to what he had to say eventually. Until then, Slocum let cold calm settle on him. He had been inclined to punch Collingswood in the face, but the fight in the saloon had drained him of the need to do so. It was time to move on. Underwood was only holding him back. After all, he had a few dollars left and rode a horse. It belonged to the Central California Railroad, but Collingswood owed him for half the promised wages. Fifty dollars for the nag was outrageous, but he had tack along with it. He was willing to call the debt even with the railroad.

  “You don’t care to know who that is? Or do you know?”

  Since he knew so few people in town, it took him less than a second to work it out.

  “She wants my scalp for turning her over to Collingswood.” He made it a flat statement.

  “You are quick on the uptake. I like that about you. Yes, sir, Tamara Crittenden sees the same in you. Maybe a bit more, her being the way she is.”

  “What way’s that?”

  Underwood laughed.

  “Horny as all get-out. I never saw a woman so driven. I’d say she was one of them there nymphomaniacs, only it ain’t always sex she wants. She gets it into her purty li’l head she wants something and no price is too big. Son, I think she wants you.”

  “Is that how she pays you?”

  “I wish it was. She’s too selective, and there’s nothin’ much I can get her, leastways like that. I lost more ’n my fingers in that fall.” Underwood stopped. Slocum went a few steps farther before he realized the man wasn’t keeping pace. Underwood pointed using his good finger. “There. That building. You go right on up the stairs to the second floor. There’s only one door at the landing. I don’t reckon she expects you to knock, but she surely does expect you.”

  Underwood gave him a one-fingered salute and turned back down the wharf, not looking back to see what Slocum did.

  Slocum considered all the things he might do, then went to the stairs and climbed them slowly. He made sure he didn’t announce his coming, but before he knocked, he heard Tamara call from inside, “The door’s open, John. Come in.”

  He pushed it open with his toe, expecting to be greeted with a shotgun blast. If she wanted to make him suffer, she’d put a few rounds from her .22 into him. He had no idea what he expected he was walking into. Seeing her seated at a table with a few papers spread in front of her wasn’t it.

  “You’re letting the breeze in. I’m a bit chilly.”

  “That’s not the way you look to me,” he said, stepping in and kicking the door shut with the side of his boot.

  A quick look around showed nothing for him to be wary of, unless it was the woman seated at the table. She had changed from her trail clothes into a simple dress with a neckline that plunged down far enough to expose the tops of her breasts. Her waist was small and ci
nched in with a broad leather belt. The table hid her lower half until she stood and came around it. She padded barefoot to him.

  Tamara looked up at him, her body pressed close to him. He kept his hands hanging at his sides, as much as he wanted to circle her waist and draw her even closer. A coral snake was lovely, but woe to anyone trying to touch it.

  “I’m glad Underwood found you so fast.” She reached up and lightly touched a cut on his cheek. “I thought you’d find a fight since you didn’t punch out Mr. Collingswood. You have the mad worked out of your system?”

  “I have the horse and saddle I got over at the Oakland depot. That’s enough pay for my time, that and what few dollars I have left. Since I was flat broke busted when I came to San Francisco, I’m ahead of the game.”

  “Money, horse, tack,” she said, nodding. This caused some of her raven-dark hair to come loose and fall across her left eye. She made no move to push it back. Slocum did it for her.

  “You aren’t mad at me for turning you over to Collingswood?”

  “Mad? Not really. It surprised me, I have to admit.” She pressed a bit closer. He felt her hot breath against his throat and the beating of her heart through her breast and thin dress. “It is almost impossible to find a man with such integrity.”

  “I worked for the railroad. I gave my word.”

  “That’s what makes you so different. Too many men see a promise made as a sometime thing.”

  “I don’t work for the railroad any longer.”

  “No duty owed to either Mr. Collingswood or the Central California Railroad,” she said. “You aren’t beholden to them anymore?”

  Slocum put his hands around her slender waist. He felt the heat from her body. It matched his own.

  “Not a bit. What about you? You still have your job.”

  “I never promised to find the silver or make sure it ended up in the bank vault owned by the railroad.”

  “Do tell,” he said. He pulled her closer until they both gasped for breath.

  “I want someone who can give me his word, and I’ll know he can keep it.”

  “Unlike Jackson.”

  “We can work together.”

  “Can I trust your word?”

  “We can spit in our palms and shake on it,” she said.

  “That’s not good enough. I know you’re a crook.”

  “What more can I do to show you I can keep my word if we agree to be partners? What can seal the contract?”

  Slocum caught his breath as her hand wormed its way between their tightly pressed bodies and began inching down from his chest to his belly, and then even lower until she gripped the growing bulge at his crotch.

  For his part, Slocum moved his hands around her waist, then down until he cupped her buttocks. They were firm and not what he had expected, although he had seen how easily she rode. When she began grinding herself against him, he felt growing discomfort.

  “I understand,” she said. “Some things need to be free.” She unfastened his gun belt and dropped it to the floor. She moved down so she knelt in front of him.

  Her quick fingers unfastened his fly, the buttons popping like gunfire as each slid free. She reached into the darkness and fumbled a bit, finally pulling him from his cloth prison. For a moment, Slocum realized what she had meant about a chill in the air. Then he gasped. The wind blowing across his heated organ disappeared as she took him fully into her mouth. He felt the bulbous end of his manhood slide along her tender inner cheek, then dive deeper down her throat. When she swallowed, he almost lost control like a young buck with his first woman.

  Slocum laced his fingers through her lustrous hair and pulled her away gently. As he slid from between her lips, she treated him to a rough tonguing and teeth that gently dug into his tender flesh. When only the purpled knob remained between her lips, he paused to garner his strength. She almost robbed him of control again when she squeezed the hairy sac dangling beneath his shaft and began sucking with a vengeance.

  Stroking, licking, sucking, she moved back and forth along his length until he turned weak in the knees. He stroked over her hair, wondering if he dared seal the deal then and there. But that wouldn’t be fair to Tamara—and he wanted more.

  Insistent, he pulled her away from his groin so she could look up. The wicked smile on her lips would have been enough goad for him, but she whispered in a husky voice, “I’m wet. Take me, John. Take me now.”

  He reached under her arms and lifted her easily into the air. Her legs scissored apart and circled his waist so she locked her heels behind his back. Billows of skirt separated him from his target. He walked forward two paces and set her on the edge of the table. Tamara leaned back, supporting herself on her elbows. Her eyes sparkled, and her face was flushed. He saw her arousal spreading from her cheeks to her throat and gracing the upper slopes of her breasts. Her breath came in sharper pants now.

  Working his hands under her, he pulled away her skirt and found she wore nothing beneath. His fingers slipped along the liquid gash between her legs. A shudder passed through her as she sank back flat on the table. Her knees rose on either side of him.

  “Don’t stop, don’t stop. I need it. I need you!”

  He dipped a finger into her heated well, then smeared the thick womanly oils all about before moving closer. The tip of his shaft slipped along her nether lips. A few strokes caused her to shut her eyes and clench down hard at the sides of the table. When he felt as if he was going to explode like a stick of dynamite, he pulled her closer. For an instant, the bones in his legs melted. He sank balls deep in her moist, hot center.

  Surrounded by the female sheath, he found himself unable to move. He let the heat seep into his dick. Then he began moving his hips, not in and out but in a circular motion that stirred him around inside her. She gasped and began moaning. Words failed to form. Her ass lifted off the table, and she crammed herself down harder against him. He sank in a fraction of an inch more, but this was enough to ignite his passions.

  He withdrew slowly, relishing every inch of the retreat. Then he slammed hard into her, lifting her from the table again. She kicked out so her legs were straight on either side of him. This gave a new and deliciously wicked sensation that boiled about in his loins. She locked her heels behind him again to keep him from pulling out.

  With a slow motion, he stirred about again, his manhood a spoon in her mixing bowl. Tamara began moving in the opposite direction, adding to their arousal. When her heels slipped behind him, he withdrew and began thrusting. The movement was slow at first, then built speed like a locomotive going up a steep grade. When he hit the top of the grade, he raced in and out of her.

  In the distance he heard her cry out as waves of desire broke over her. His ears were filled with the hammering of his own heart. He gripped her hips and pulled her more firmly into him with every pistoning stoke until his steel turned to a skyrocket. And then, all too soon, he melted within her. Sweat poured down his face and into his eyes. He tossed his head to one side and got rid of some of the perspiration.

  She lay spread on the table before him, complete pleasure glowing in every line on her face.

  “Admit it, that’s so much better than a handshake,” she said.

  “The deal’s only half-approved,” he said.

  “Are you man enough to complete the contract?” she asked.

  “I promise.”

  He bent low and kissed her. It took a spell but their partnership was mutually signed, sealed, and delightfully delivered before nightfall.

  8

  “How did you meet Jackson?”

  Slocum lounged back on Tamara’s narrow bed, watching her closely.

  She made no effort to hide her nakedness as she dressed. It was as if she performed for an audience. In a way, she did. It was an audience of one, and he was appreciative. A daringly exposed thigh vanished as she pul
led up her skirt and worked to fasten it at her trim waist. She pirouetted carefully so he got a full view of her nakedness above the waist. Tamara stopped when her back was to him and climbed slowly into her blouse. A shrug or two settled the garment but also gave her breasts a delightful jiggle that made Slocum hard again—almost. They had expended the full measure of their passion with the first lovemaking. Then they had retired to her bed and explored each other until both were ready again.

  But even as it exhausted Slocum sexually, it had rekindled his curiosity about her and Jackson.

  She finished the last button and turned. For a moment the western sun slanted through the window and gave her dark hair golden highlights. Another small turn let the rays catch the pearl buttons on her blouse. It looked as if a string of golden nuggets pointed downward where Slocum had just visited.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Was he someone Underwood brought in for a job?”

  “Oh, no, Underwood didn’t start doing that until after the robbery. I knew him from . . . earlier.”

  “You worked in a saloon?”

  This brought a peal of laughter ringing forth. She sat on the edge of the bed, her warm hand against his bare chest. With a small gesture, she curled her fingers downward so the nails cut into his flesh.

  “Do you think I could ever be a barroom floozy? A cheap whore?”

  From the grip she had on him, a wrong answer would result in painful scratches.

  “You play the game on so many different levels, it’s hard to say. You’re not only clever, you’re beautiful.” He kept her from scratching him as he sat up and gave her a kiss.

  “And I thought I was the only one who used sex to get what I want,” she said, shaking her head. “You are quite the Lothario, John Slocum.”

  “I don’t know who that is, but if you’re interested in him, point him out.”

  She laughed delightedly.

  “One of the many things I like about you is that I can never tell when you are joking.” Before he could pull her back down for another kiss, she disengaged and slipped away to sit at the table. She hiked up a foot and braced it on the edge of the table, exposing herself all the way to the crotch. “I need help with my shoes. They are so hard to button.”