‘Last time I seen this sort of class was in the biggest cat-house in Boston,’ whispered Coburn. ‘Just before they caught the Sheriff shacked up with the Madame and three whores. One of ’em the daughter of a Congressman.’
Herne grinned, grateful to have his old partner with him. The size of the house was daunting. There could be an armed man at the corner of any of the wandering corridors. At the junction of the stairs. Behind any of the closed bedroom doors. Anywhere.
At the top of the staircase they paused, glancing sideways before stepping up on to the landing. The rows of rooms stretched out on either side, along a dismal, shadowy corridor, lined with the same sort of pictures as those in the hall. ‘Which way?’
Coburn shook his head. ‘Both look the same to me. How ’bout splittin’ up and takin’ a look around that way?’
If they stayed together, they had more chance of taking anyone they came against. But from the voice they’d heard, it looked as though the Stanwyck family was split up for the afternoon. That meant they’d probably do better if they hunted alone.
‘You go left, and I’ll go right,’ whispered Herne. ‘Good luck.’
They didn’t shake hands, or decide where they’d meet. There was going to be shooting, and that would give the clues to where the action was.
There were guttering lamps all along the dark corridor, casting a smoky yellow glow. It was as quiet as a tomb. The doors were thick enough to hide any sound, so there was only one way to find out who, or what, was in any of the rooms.
Gripping the Colt in his right hand, Jed’s left hand snaked out and touched the cold brass of the handle of the nearest door.
And opened it.
Out of sight from Herne, hidden by a bend in the long corridor, Coburn had reached the first door on his side. It was cold and he could dimly see his breath smoking in the dusty air. He could faintly smell perfume lingering in the stillness.
He grabbed the nearest handle and silently twisted it, easing the door open.
The room within was very dark, but after the murkiness of the corridor outside, his eyes were reasonably adjusted to it. There was an ornamental Chinese screen behind the door, with a shawl of Spanish lace hanging over it. Whitey inched the door shut, squeezing an eye around the corner of the screen.
It was a small ante-room, with another door opening off it. There was an over-stuffed chaise-longue in green velvet, and a long mirror. Through the doorway, he could see into the far room.
A bedroom.
With someone lying full-length on the large bed, arms outstretched. Whitey walked across the carpet, gun swinging to cover his own reflection in the mirror, grinning self-consciously at himself. Tipping his hat back to release the flood of white hair over his shoulders. It gave a pleasantly theatrical effect. More than once in his long life it had been sufficient distraction to a man with the drop on him to allow Whitey to turn the tables.
The figure on the bed stirred as though something had walked through its dreams. Whitey saw that it was a woman, wearing only a black chemise, tight across the breasts. The hair was short and fair, curling in close at the nape of the neck as the woman moved restlessly. Her legs were bare.
Coburn knew that it must be Ruth Stanwyck, and he moved in closer, his figure filling the doorway into the bedroom, shutting out the little light that filtered through. His shadow drifted across the woman’s face, and she moved again, hands going up to her bosom.
‘Is that you, Luke? You’re earlier than I thought you would be. Or have I been sleeping for... You!!’
She sat straight up, eyes opening wide as she suddenly realized that the person in her room was not her son.
‘Afternoon, ma’am,’ said Coburn, touching his hat with his left hand. The right kept the gaping barrel of the Colt aimed rock-steady at the valley of shadow between her breasts.
‘You are Herne the Hunter?’
The voice was soft and musical, with an underlying touch of steel that Coburn didn’t miss. She saw the gun and checked a movement towards a velvet bell-rope near the head of the big bed.
‘Wouldn’t do you no good, Mrs. Stanwyck. Pullin’ that there rope. Wouldn’t do no good.’
‘You’ve killed them all?’ Her voice rose close to the edge of panic. ‘Not my boys?’
‘No, ma’am. Far as I know, and I don’t hear no shootin’ from my partner, both your boys are still in the land of the living.’
Then...?’
‘Cook and man-servant are in the larder, thinkin’ over any sins they might have committed. All your gunslingers are cold meat. You shouldn’t have hired punk kids with their diapers still wet.’
‘Clearly not, Mister... ? I don’t know your name.’
She was recovering her self-possession; and he could almost hear cogs spinning in her mind as she tried to see a way out of the trap.
‘My name’s Coburn, ma’am. Isaiah Coburn, and to save you asking me, I’m the man that Senator Nolan hired to gun down Herne.’
‘And you have betrayed that trust?’
‘No. I still aim to do my best to deliver Jed Herne, alive or dead, to the west coast. He knows it, too. But there are things that a man can’t pretend ain’t happening. So him and me are together in this one.’
‘To murder my boys and me?’
‘No, Mrs. Stanwyck. We hold no grudge against you. But your boys have been playing their games, and folks have been hurt. You got to teach them that those sort of games have to be paid for, and we come to get that price.’
‘They lay with some whore in Tucson. The wife of this killer Herne. That’s hardly a crime!’
Ruth seemingly ignored the fact that she was near-enough naked, sitting on her bed, under the unwavering stare of this bone-faced man with the red eyes.
“They raped her, Mrs. Stanwyck. Both of them. More than once. Them and others. Stood there while one woman was butchered, and another driven clear out of her mind by their damned games! And they will be better off, dead!’
The first three rooms along that side of the corridor were all empty. Jed had heard nothing from the other end of the house. It was a strain on the nerves, walking into these chill, dusty, over-furnished mausoleums, never knowing if there might be a man with a gun in any of them.
Sweating a little, despite the cold, Herne stepped along the corridor to the fourth door.
‘I’ll pay you. Whatever Nolan is paying, I’ll double it Treble it. Give you the money ten-fold, if you’ll just ride on out of here and leave my boys alive. They aren’t bad. I’ll see they never roam out of here again.’
‘Mrs. Stanwyck. There isn’t enough money in the whole damned world to make me betray anyone. ’Specially not a contract or a friend. And your boys are bad. Fact is, by all accounts, they’re damned rotten. Through and through.’
‘Isaiah. I would do anything. Do you understand me? Anything at all, to save my sons.’
Her eyes, hooded as a falcon’s, locked with his while she stood carefully up, hands going to the straps of her shift, sliding them off her milk-white shoulders. Allowing it to fall to the carpet in a whisper of satin and silk.
Despite himself, Coburn gulped as she stood there, quite naked, hands demurely by her sides. He looked at her through the dimness, seeing her paleness like a fish in a cavern below the sea. Unable to look away from the dark patch of hair, and the nipples, jet black in the half-light, tipping the magnificent breasts.
‘I offer you everything, Mister Coburn. There is no more I can do.’
It had been a long time.
‘Mrs. Stanwyck... I...’
‘Ruth, please.’
‘Ruth. I can’t walk away from this one. I’ve said what I meant, and...’
‘You meant what you said. I admire you for that, Isaiah. There are too few men to my knowledge with that sort of honor. If you and I had met while ... but let that pass. If you will lie with me a short while, then perhaps... We might see. You are not under any obligation to me, Isaiah. Please. Come lie with me... and b
e my love.’
Ignoring the threat of the gun she stepped in closer to him, hands reaching for him, seeing even in the gloom of the bedroom that she was having an obvious effect on Coburn.
‘Why don’t you strip down, Isaiah, for me? I’m positive that you would begin to feel easier and more comfortable. Come on.’
Jed swung open the last door in that stretch of the corridor, jumping in, landing two-footed, gun probing at the room.
It was empty.
Which meant that all the remaining people in Mount Abora, mother, sons and the last of the gunmen, must be along the other end. The end where Whitey Coburn had gone.
Pausing only to glance out of the mullioned window at the falling snow, Herne began to retrace his footsteps, towards the center staircase.
‘You take no chances, Isaiah. Can this truly be enjoyable for you?’
Grunting between his teeth, Coburn tightened the length of cord round Ruth Stanwyck’s right wrist. Securing her quite helplessly to the top end of her bed.
‘Ma’am. Despite what some folks say about my face, I’m only human. I ain’t had a woman at all in a long whiles. And I ain’t seen a woman to match you for a whole lot longer still. So I’m takin’ you up on your kind offer, but that don’t mean I aim to let you stab me, or blow my head off with a little pillow gun. Or start screamin’ and carryin’ on. This way, I figure it’ll be better.’
‘And my boys?’
‘I make no promises, Ruth. None at all.’
‘Damn it, Mister. Aren’t you even goin’ to take off your hat and boots?’
‘No, Ruth. It’s a mite cold in here, and I don’t figure to catch a chill. There’s only one bit of me I aim to uncover, and that won’t be cold for long. It’ll get sort of centrally heated.’
He gently laid the Colt, still cocked, so that it rested on the mound of her breasts, the tip of the foresight scraping the delicate skin. Making her squeal.
‘Quietly now. If’n that hurts, then I’ll just make it better, like this!’
He lowered his mouth to her breasts, nuzzling at her nipples, while his hand reached between their bodies and found her already warm and ready for him. He used his other hand to open his trousers, wriggling awkwardly to release himself from the confinement of the clothes.
‘Yes.’
It was all she said as he forced his knee in between her thighs, finding that there was little resistance to him, Hearing the faint ripping noise as his boot heel tore the coverlet. Thrusting himself hard at her, feeling her open and engulf him. Her hips rising to meet him, while her mouth hung slackly open.
‘Oh, my sweet God! Yes!’
He shut her mouth by the simple expedient of kissing her, feeling her cobra tongue probing between his lips, while her teeth pinned at his skin.
She tasted warm and sweet, with the faintest hint of corruption, like a sun-blown peach.
As he pounded towards his climax, Coburn was suddenly aware of what stood on the small table by the head of the bed. A tiny spirit lamp, and a strip of silk. White silk. A silver spoon, its bowl darkened underneath, as though it had been warmed in a naked flame. A glass vial of white, crystalline powder. And a needle, with a plunger attached to it.
Then Coburn closed his eyes and shuddered to a violent climax, feeling the woman moving frantically under him, dragging out her own satisfaction, moaning into his face, her hips arched up, heels locking behind his back, pulling him deeper into her than he would have believed possible.
Only after several seconds had passed did she begin to relax, gasping and moaning. When he looked down at her, he saw that her cheeks were wet with tears, and he rubbed them away with the tip of his long forefinger.
‘That was so good, Isaiah. And perhaps now you might leave my sons to me.’
The thrill had gone, leaving him drained and feeling mildly irritated. Angry with himself for having given way to a foolish weakness for the voracious woman. A weakness that could have left him dead if anyone had come into the bedroom while he was busy.
Someone had said to him years back; was it the chubby marshal from up Oregon way, Duke Harknett? He’d said that a man was at his softest when he was hard, and at his hardest when he was soft.
Not trusting himself to speak, he was so angry with himself, he shook his head. Swinging off the broad expanse of the bed, buttoning himself up. Leaving the pistol, still cocked, lying between her heaving breasts.
‘You promised, Isaiah. You gave me your word that if I let you do that to me, you damned animal, you’d spare the boys!’
Her face was red and angry, showing more her true age. Coburn looked at her, waiting for the storm to pass, watching her strain at the ropes at her wrists.
‘No use, Mrs. Stanwyck. And I never gave you my word. Not then. Not now. Not ever. I took what you gave me, and I’m real obliged to you for it. But it truly don’t change nothing at all.’
‘But...’
‘Aren’t any buts. I shouldn’t rightly have done that, and maybe I won’t sleep good at nights thinkin’ on it. But I done a whole lot worse that never stopped me sleepin’, so I guess this won’t. Now I got to go and look to my partner.’
‘Let me go!’
‘Later.’ He walked towards her, to pick up the gun, when he saw the small table again, and remembered the question he had meant to ask her.
‘This junk here. Whose is it, Mrs. Stanwyck? Is it yours?’
The voice was as soft as darkest velvet. Cold as death. And it came from near the door. Behind Coburn.
‘It is mine, Sir. Mine.’
Chapter Ten
‘Luke!’
‘Luke Stanwyck.’
The figure in the white suit bowed courteously from the waist. But the gun he held in his right hand still pointed in the direction of Whitey Coburn. The albino turned slowly from the bed, his eyes opening wide as he saw the gleaming figure of the boy. His suit was silk. A loose white jacket over white trousers. Tucked into spotless white leather boots.
‘You seem to have been taking advantage of my mother. For that alone I shall have to kill you.’
‘Standing as he did, Luke Stanwyck cut most of the light from the dim bedroom, and Coburn noticed from the corner of his eye that his own shadow deepened the pool of darkness across the bed.
Across the naked figure of Ruth Stanwyck.
Across the gun.
‘You came to kill me, and you’ve placed yourself in my hands. Perhaps I might wait until Mark has finished his afternoon’s pleasure? No. I think that my dearest brother would be upset if he knew that I had won. All on my own.’
The whiteness of the clothes made it hard to see Luke. There was a shimmering aura of pale light surrounding him, and it was difficult to detect where the clothes ended and the light began. Coburn noticed that the boy’s hand was shaking.
‘You come up for your jab, boy?’
‘Why? What has my mother been telling you? Mama, what have you told this man? Move away, Mama, or I may hurt you by mistake.’
The boy couldn’t see properly. Didn’t even know that his mother was naked and bound! Coburn’s heart leaped convulsively. It was just a matter of timing the move.
‘Luke! I’m... ’
‘Your mother’s ill, boy. She asked me in to help. Without me you don’t get that medicine.’
The threat was enough for Luke Stanwyck’s muddled brain.
‘No!! I came early. Through the door between our rooms! I need it. Need it! Need it!!’ His voice rose to a frantic scream, drowning out his mother trying to explain to him and warn him.
‘I’ll kill you and my fuckin’ slut of a mother. Then I’ll have it all.’
His hand extended with the pistol shaking in it, pointing it at Coburn.
When there was a knock on the door.
‘Who...?’
‘Luke!’
Whitey decided that it was the moment to make his move, and he dived forwards right on top of Ruth Stanwyck, his weight crushing her, elbow smacking her in the
mouth. Silencing her scream of warning. His fingers closing round the smooth wood of the Colt’s butt.
He heard the crack of the boy’s gun, and the thud of the bullet as it buried itself in the padded headboard of the bed. Only inches from his head. Nearly cutting the cord that bound Ruth Stanwyck’s right wrist to the post.
Then he had the gun, and snapped off three shots, seeing the boy stagger from the room, left hand holding his ribs.
‘Hell and damnation!’ yelled Coburn, put off his aim by having the woman wriggling underneath him, and by the strange effect of the halo of light about the boy.
He rolled off the bed, ignoring Ruth, and started to crawl across the room, trying to reach the small ante-room before Luke escaped. Wondering if the knock on the door had been Jed. If it was, then maybe things were all right. If it wasn’t, then he was in a whole load of trouble.
Jed had actually been standing with his left hand on the cool brass doorknob, having listened for a moment. When he heard Luke Stanwyck’s voice raised in maddened anger. And heard the woman’s voice as well. And the third voice that he knew, even through the muffling door, near as well as his own.
So he knocked smartly on the panels with the barrel of his Colt, and stood back, flattening himself against the wall, under a picture of an elderly and choleric looking gentleman in hunting pink. He glanced both ways up the corridor, but nothing moved.
Four shots.
All sounding like they came from a Colt. The noise of someone falling, then a hand fumbling at the knob of the door. Slipping on it as though the handle was wet. Finally wrenching it open and stumbling out into the guttering light of the dusky corridor. Holding a gun. With blood running brightly down one arm, trickling from the end of the pale fingers on to the heavy pile of the carpet. The whole of one side of the suit stained with blood, making it like a jester’s suit of motley. One half scarlet.
The other half white.
Luke didn’t see Herne waiting there, close against the oak paneling. The boy, gasping with pain, struggled to shut the door behind him, fumbling with the knob, finally kicking it to. Turning to run down the corridor, away from Jed, still not seeing him.
The Black Widow Page 10
