He went to the bar and asked the bartender, who verified his guess. He obtained directions, and went over there.
The madam was a Milly Smith—Miss Milly—a woman in her mid-fifties who must have been a beauty when she was younger. She still had dark hair and an impressive bosom, but everything else had thickened on her and she was fighting a losing battle against aging with corsets, girdles and makeup.
“Sheriff Moran? Sure, he came in here from time to time, but he sure didn’t need to.”
“Why’s that?”
“Women threw themselves at him.”
“He was handsome, then?”
“Not ’specially. He had an innocent, wide-eyed look that drew women to him, though. Of course, after spending a night—or even an hour—with him, they found out he wasn’t so wide-eyed or innocent.”
“Did he mistreat them?”
“He beat up a couple of my girls and I had to talk to him.”
“Did you tell the mayor, or the town council?”
“Are you kidding? We finally got a sheriff in this town, they would have figured a few bruises on my girls was a price worth paying.”
“You didn’t figure it that way, though?”
“Hell, no. I told him that if he put one more bruise on any of my girls I’d ban him from the place. Hell, my stock ain’t that great to begin with. I can’t afford having them looked knocked around. He behaved after that.”
“But he had some women outside of here?”
“I’m sure, though I couldn’t name any.”
“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?”
“Same thing.”
“That means he wasn’t above having a married woman from time to time.”
“You said that, I didn’t.”
“All right, Miss Milly, thanks for your time.”
“Sure you don’t want to spend some time upstairs with one of the girls?”
“Nope. I’ll be leaving in the morning and I’ve got to get my rest.”
“Pity, they would have liked you—but I don’t blame you. I ain’t got a one that’s worth spit.”
“Like you were in your day?”
“Hell, I could put these girls to shame now, if I wanted to, but my days of whorin’ are over. Still, if a man took a shine to me there wouldn’t have to be any money changing hands.”
Decker decided that if that was an invitation he was going to play dumb and pretend he didn’t read it right.
“Well, thanks again, Miss Milly.”
“Sure,” she sighed. “Glad to help.”
When Decker left the whorehouse he thought about returning to the saloon, but he knew if he did that he’d end up in a poker game. If he did that, it would end up being a late night, and he wanted to get an early start in the morning.
He went back to his room and stretched out on the bed, fully clothed. He hung his gunbelt on the bedpost, within easy reach.
He had a picture of Red Moran now—a lawman gone bad. And yet, until this town, he had never killed anyone. That meant that killing the bank manager had been an accident. Moran probably didn’t even realize that he’d killed a man. Faced with that when the time came, maybe Moran would give himself up. Maybe there was enough real lawman left in him for that.
The question now was, where did Moran go after robbing the bank? Where had he gone all the other times? To the same place?
So far, his jobs had been concentrated around the midwest. He had pulled none heading south, in Texas or New Mexico or Arizona.
Decker made his decision.
Come morning he was heading for Mexico.
Where else would a man hole up with money to spend?
Chapter Two
Decker had been to Mexico on many occasions, and he took the same route each time. He knew which small towns to stop in for a meal and a bed, where the waterholes were when a town wasn’t nearby and what homesteads willingly offered meals to travellers.
What you never knew about Mexico from trip to trip was who was in power, and who was fighting to get them out of power.
Actually, Decker didn’t care who was in power, just as he didn’t particularly care who was the present President of the United States. He didn’t care for politics at all, and ignored it unless it was totally impossible.
Decker wanted to live his life his way, at his pace, and to hell with everything else.
Of course, living his life his way meant hunting down men who had broken laws—laws sent up by politicians—but he chose to ignore this tenuous political connection between politicians and his chosen profession.
Bandidos were always a problem in Mexico, but again Decker had made enough trips to that side of the border that many of the bandit bands knew enough to leave him be.
He liked Mexico, and often thought that if he ever had enough money, he’d settle there.
Decker had bank accounts in banks in different parts of the country. He probably could have retired now if he wanted to, but he was too young to retire. He wasn’t thirty-five yet, and what would a man that young do if he retired?
And who was to say when you had enough money?
How much is ever enough?
It was just getting dark when Decker topped a rise and looked down at the adobe ranch house. It was fairly large, and he knew that inside there were four rooms. Though there was no stock in the corral next to it, the corral itself was in good shape, which indicated that perhaps someone still lived there.
Tomàs.
He rode down towards the house, and before he reached it the front door opened and a man stepped out.
It was Tomàs de la Vega, holding a rifle.
“Tomàs,” Decker said, “it’s been a year, but have I changed that much?”
Vega frowned, stared and then his face relaxed and he lowered his rifle.
But he did not smile.
“Decker.”
“You remember.”
“Of course. Step down.”
Decker dismounted.
“How long do you intend to stay?” Tomàs asked.
“A hot meal and a night’s sleep is what I am after, Tomàs.”
“You have it, then. Tend to your horse, and I will tend to dinner.”
Decker took his horse over to the corral, wondering why Tomàs and not his wife, Estralita, was cooking dinner.
He found out soon enough.
When he entered the house dinner was already on the table. Tortillas, rice and beans, bread, a pot of coffee and a bottle of tequila.
Decker looked around and saw that the house had fallen into a sad state. There were clothes everywhere, torn curtains on the window, and dust, layers of dust, which Estralita would never allow, unless…
“Estralita died eight months ago, amigo,” Tomàs said, sitting opposite Decker.
Looking closely at Tomàs now, Decker could see that the man was in as bad shape—or worse—than the house. There were dark circles under his eyes, he hadn’t shaved, his eyes were bloodshot, his shirt dirty and he looked sixty rather than forty.
“I’m sorry, Tomàs. How did she die?”
“Three men came while I was away on business. They raped her and killed her.”
That jolted Decker. Estralita had not been a beautiful woman, but she had been vital and energetic, and it made you feel alive just to watch her move. She had not only died, she had been violated and murdered.
“Tomàs—”
“I hunted them,” Tomàs said with no emotion in his voice. “I found two of them, one after the other, and I tortured them, and killed them. I never found the third man. I came back here to…to live and to wait.”
If you could call this living, Decker thought. From what he could see his friend was simply surviving.
“Eat, there is plenty,” Tomàs said. “Perhaps tonight so much will not go to waste.”
Estralita always cooked more than enough, and it seemed that Tomàs had continued to do so in her absence.
“Tomàs, the ranch—”
“It is not a ranch anymore, my
friend. No cattle, no horses. I stay here, that is all.”
“Tomàs, this is no way to live.”
“I wait for death, so I can go and join my beautiful Estralita.”
Decker put down his fork and said, “So why not just end it yourself. Put a gun barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger.”
Tomàs stared at Decker across the table, and then suddenly huge tears fell from his eyes. The man sobbed and put his head down in his arms. Decker waited uncomfortably, eating slowly.
Finally, Tomàs picked up his head and wiped his eyes with his sleeves.
“That is the—the first time I cried for her, Decker,” he said, bitterly. “I could not before.”
“Before crying would not have shamed you. If you expect me to pity you because you cried in front of me, you are mistaken.”
“I want no pity”
“Then why did you wait for me to arrive before you cried? Eight months you’ve waited and when I arrive you cry. Why?”
“Perhaps you are right,” Tomàs said. “Perhaps I am looking for pity”
“Well, don’t look here.”
Once Tomàs de la Vega had been a hunter of men, a lawman and then a bounty hunter. Then he met Estralita Gomez and fell in love. They settled here, and whenever Decker came to Mexico he stopped in on them.
They finished eating in silence, Decker wishing he had never come, never seen his friend like this.
“What brings you to Mexico now?” Tomàs asked.
“I’m hunting.”
“Who?”
Decker told him, hoping that the questions indicated a possible change in Tomàs’s attitude. If he was curious, maybe he was starting to come around.
“I have not seen such a man. He must not have come this way.”
“Maybe he went by while you were drunk.”
“I am drunk at night. During the day I am awake, and I hear everyone who goes by. I am waiting…waiting for the third man.”
“You will grow old and die waiting.”
“So be it.”
After dinner they opened the bottle of tequila and drank directly from it, passing it back and forth.
“I will be leaving in the morning, Tomàs,” Decker said. “Come with me.”
“Why?”
“We can search better together than I can alone. I will be checking all the likely routes across the border. We can cover more ground together.”
Tomàs stared at the bottle of tequila and shook his head.
“I must stay here.”
“And rot?”
Tomàs shrugged.
When Decker went to sleep Tomàs was opening another bottle of tequila.
Amazingly, in the morning the man was awake and almost sober, even if he did look like death warmed over.
Once he was mounted Decker rode back to the house, where Tomàs stood in the doorway.
“Come with me, Tomàs.”
“Vaya con Dios, my friend”
Tomàs de la Vega backed into the house and closed the door.
Decker felt very sad, and cursed Red Moran for bringing him to Mexico to see this.
Chapter Three
Red Moran rode into the town of San Louisa wondering if this time he would stay.
He had just under twenty thousand dollars in his saddlebags. He hadn’t expected to find that much in the Pemberton Bank. He hadn’t gotten that much from any three prior jobs combined.
Perhaps this was enough money.
Perhaps this was the time to settle down.
And perhaps not.
He had found San Louisa after his third bank robbery and after the fourth had gone back there. After the fifth job he tried another town, didn’t like it, and went back to San Louisa again.
The people of the small town knew and respected him, because he always came with money.
The women of the little town made themselves available to him for the same reason.
Red Moran knew they liked his money, but he flattered himself that maybe—just maybe—they would like him almost as much without money as with it.
The first to see him was old Roberto, the liveryman.
“Ah, señor Red, welcome back to San Louisa.”
The old man’s eyes shone for he knew that with Red Moran came many American dollars.
“Hello, Roberto. It’s nice to be back.”
“You will be staying?”
“For a while.”
“Ah, good, good. I will take care of your horse.”
“Gracias, Roberto.”
Roberto watched hungrily as Moran reached into his pocket, came out with some coins and handed them to him. He closed his old hands over the gringo coins, enjoying their weight.
“Welcome back,” Roberto said, “welcome.”
“Thanks,” Moran said. He took his saddlebags and rifle and left the livery.
The old man walked the horse inside, then anxiously opened his hand to count the money.
At the hotel Moran received the same greeting.
The owner of the hotel, Luis Hernandez, came out of his office and warmly shook Moran’s hand.
“It has been much too long since your last visit, señor Red.”
“I agree, Luis.”
“Please, go to your room and rest yourself. I will have a bath drawn and a meal prepared.”
“I knew I could count on you, Luis.”
Hernandez watched eagerly as Moran put his hand in his pocket, came out with some coins and passed them over.
“It is our pleasure to serve you, señor, always.”
“Are Carmen and Rosa still in town?”
“But of course. They would not leave San Louisa knowing that you would soon return. Which of them would you like to come to you first?”
Moran brought the two women’s pictures into his mind. Carmen was a tall woman, big-breasted and long-legged, with long dark hair—if it was still long.
Rosa was also dark-haired, but she was smaller and slighter than Carmen, and had breasts like ripe peaches.
“Who can choose?” Moran said.
“I understand, señor,” Luis said wisely. “I will send them both.”
“Gracias, Luis.”
“For nada, señor, I assure you.”
As Moran went back to his room—which was on the first floor of the adobe hotel and always kept ready for him—Hernandez went back into his office, opened his hand and gleefully counted the money.
When the gentle knock came at his door Moran knew that it was the two women he had requested. He answered with his gun in his hand anyway, for even in San Louisa it didn’t hurt to be too careful.
“Señor Red,” Carmen said when he opened the door, “how wonderful to see you again.”
She came in and pressed herself up against him. He was bare-chested and he could feel her breasts through the thin blouse she was wearing as she mashed them against him. Already, her nipples were hard. She snaked a hand around his neck and kissed him openmouthed, then moved past him revealing Rosa standing in the hallway. He knew Carmen was already undressing behind him, but now his attention was on Rosa.
“Ah, señor Red,” she said.
She was a neat little bundle, Rosa was. She came in and also pressed herself against him. Her breasts were small but very firm, and didn’t mash as flat against him as Carmen’s had. She also reached a hand behind his neck, but she had to pull him down to her level to kiss him, whereas Carmen was almost as tall as he was. Rosa’s hot mouth devoured him, and then she too moved past him and began to undress.
He closed the door slowly, his gun still hidden behind his back, and by the time he turned around they were both delightfully naked.
He drank in the sight of them eagerly. Carmen’s breasts were large and round, with brown nipples, sagging just slightly, but from their own weight and not due to age. After all, she was probably under twenty-five. Between her legs her pubic hair looked like a dark, tangled forest. Her thighs and legs were long and solid, and he marvelled at what a big girl
she really was.
Rosa’s breasts were small, like two delicious mouthfuls, the nipples a delicate pink. Her pubic hair was wispy, almost nonexistant, and barely hid her womanhood from view. She was like a doll, but Moran knew that she was much stronger than her size indicated. He’d learned that from spending time between her thighs.
“We hope you are not too tired after your long journey” Carmen said. Rosa nodded her head in agreement.
“No, ladies,” he said, discreetly laying the gun on the dresser top, “in fact, after seeing the two of you, I’m not tired at all.”
After both Carmen and Rosa had pleasantly exhausted him, Red Moran gave them both too much money and shooed them away.
“I need my rest, ladies.”
“You are much man, señor Red,” Carmen said.
“Si, mucho,” Rosa agreed.
Both women went out into the hall and huddled together and counted their money.
Inside the room, reclining on the bed, Red Moran smiled. Two energetic, eager, sweet-tasting Mex women in one bed was almost too much for a man to expect.
But not too much for Red Moran to expect.
Not in this town.
These people really loved him.
This was the way to live.
Chapter Four
Decker felt them before he either saw or heard them.
He knew he was being watched.
He rode with his head facing forward, for he knew that when it suited them they would approach him.
He was checking the most widely travelled routes from the Rio Grande further into Mexico. Of course, the river could have been crossed in many places, but there were certain areas that were the easiest and best, and he was trying these first. If Red Moran had chosen some other point of entry, it would make picking up his trail that much more difficult.
Still, the hunt was the best part for Decker. It used to be the money, but Decker saved his money, unlike a lot of other bounty hunters he knew who spent it as fast as they earned it, and then had to hit the trail again.
Decker hunted maybe four or five times a year, because he thought nothing of spending two months on a man’s trail.
He knew that Eddie Gorman, for instance, tracked at least twenty men a year, bringing in more than half of them. If he didn’t have a definite trail after a week or two, Eddie just gave it up and went after other prey.
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