Slocum and the Trick Shot Artist Read online

  Tough Luck . . .

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Slocum called out.

  Abernathy turned, narrowed his eyes, and fired twice. Slocum barely saw the other man’s arm rise, but he sure as hell felt the lead whip past him. Guessing that the other man’s impressive skills with a shooting iron hadn’t been pure luck, Slocum glanced back to see if Abernathy had been aiming at something behind him. Sure enough, the younger Southard gnashed his teeth while struggling to bring his pistol up to bear. Any strength he had to complete the motion leaked out through the fresh hole that had been blasted into his chest. He let out a pained grunt, dropped his gun, and keeled over.

  “What about me?” Slocum shouted.

  “Fight’s not with you, sir,” Abernathy replied. “I suggest you count that as a stroke of good luck and be on your way.”

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  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive,

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  SLOCUM AND THE TRICK SHOT ARTIST

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Jove edition / August 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Cover illustration by Sergio Giovine.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or

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  copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-0-515-15104-6

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-58742-3

  JOVE®

  Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  JOVE® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is

  stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the

  author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  1

  MONTANA TERRITORY

  It never paid for a man to think about the end of his trail. For some men, however, the end was all too easy to see. For Rob Bensonn, that end was as plain as the long, wavy red hair that flowed past his shoulders like a greasy mane. He was a liar, a thief, and a heavy-handed brute. Those things had served him well enough when he’d entered the Montana Territory just over a year ago. He’d built up a name for himself and gotten plenty of folks to step aside when he walked through a town. In that time, he’d worked with other, more violent, men to forge something of a fearsome reputation.

  When he’d strutted into the town of Tarnish Mills, Rob thought he could take his pick of damn near any woman and any horse that struck his fancy. His strategy for taking either was the same: by stomping up to them, grabbing hold of his prize, and knocking down any man who stood in his way. His biggest mistake was when he’d ambled up to the Split Log Hotel & Saloon and set his sights on the pale stallion tethered to the rail in front of the place. After going inside and having too much whiskey, he also got a look at a short blonde with a plump backside and breasts that practically spilled out of the front of her loosely laced blouse.

  “Hey, darlin’,” Rob slurred drunkenly. “I bet you been spendin’ yer whole damn life in this shit hole waiting for a real man to come along.”

  The blonde’s red skirts flared around her as she twirled to playfully put her back to him. Her white blouse rustled as she moved, the only piece of clothing covering the impressively rounded assets that had caught Rob’s eye. “Don’t presume to know what I think, cowboy.”

  Rob shoved away from the bar, which was about as long as he was tall. Following her between a few of the small square tables set up nearby, he reached out to grab her smooth, silky arm. “Cowboy? Ain’t y
ou know who I am?”

  Turning to face him while slowly easing from his grip, she looked at Rob with light blue eyes and curved her red-painted lips into a smile. “You’re too drunk to form your words, mister. Why don’t you sit down before you fall down?”

  “I’m Rob Bensonn.” Since his proclamation wasn’t followed by a clap of thunder or a gasp of fear, he craned his neck to look in either direction as he shouted, “Rob Bensonn! I killed more men than are sittin’ here in this room!”

  At the moment, there were only three men in the room. None of them were particularly impressed with the wild-eyed drunk.

  But Rob smiled and nodded as if he’d caused the heavens to part. “I’m a good man to know, sweet thing,” he said to the blonde. “I can take you out of this town and show you a thing or two.”

  “What makes you think I want to leave?” she asked.

  He followed her through the saloon as she made her way to a staircase that leaned against one wall. “I know lots of things, darlin’. How about you let me show you?”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “I got cash in hand,” Rob said. With that same hand, he rubbed his crotch. “And plenty more in my pockets for the takin’.”

  Having made it to the bottom of the stairs, the blonde turned to look over her shoulder. She gave him an enticing glimpse at the swell of her breasts as she said, “I’m not a whore.” With that, she climbed the stairs and went to her room.

  Rob was grinning as he turned to look at the other men in the saloon. So far, they’d been content to remain quietly out of his sights. Judging by the looks in their eyes, they either knew who Rob was or had pieced together enough in the last few minutes to be wary of him. He wiped his sweaty hands on the front of his shirt before placing one on the back of a chair and the other upon the butt of his holstered .44. “What’s that filly’s name?”

  Two of the men shrugged before getting back to their card game.

  The third man was a bony fellow standing behind the bar with sweat stains under both arms. He also shrugged and became preoccupied with rearranging some of the bottles on a shelf beneath a cracked mirror behind him.

  Stomping up to the bar, Rob slapped a hand on the stained wooden surface. “What’s her name?”

  “Couldn’t say for certain,” the bartender replied. “Haven’t seen her around much.”

  “That’s bullshit!” Rob snarled. This time, he drew his .44 and slammed it down onto the bar. Trembling fingers curled around the pistol’s grip and stroked the trigger as he pointed the barrel toward the lanky figure. “Tell me what I wanna know or I start shootin’!”

  “Tess!” the bartender said. “Her name’s Tess.”

  “Just Tess?”

  “Far as I know. Now how about you take a drink and forget about her, mister? She ain’t worth the trouble.”

  Robb’s .44 scraped against the bar as he dragged it toward the edge and then finally dropped it back into its holster. “Mister . . . what?”

  Reluctantly, the bartender said, “Mr. Bensonn.”

  “You heard’a me, then?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Then you know better than to make me pay for a drink.”

  “Yes sir,” the bartender squeaked.

  Rob took the glass that was set in front of him, brought it to his lips, and tipped his head back. Most of the free whiskey splashed down his throat while the rest dribbled down his chin and was soaked into his shirt along with everything else that had been spilled there throughout that balmy August. After pounding the empty glass onto the bar, he gazed around at that saloon like a tyrant surveying his newly won territory. “Tess, huh?”

  “That’s right, but take my advice . . .” He paused when Rob shifted angry eyes in his direction. Raising his hands to placate the drunk, he added, “Friendly advice. She ain’t worth the trouble. She’s—”

  “She’s about the tastiest thing I’ve seen since I got to town. Where you been hiding her?”

  “This is the first time she’s been here. She’s just renting a room upstairs after being kicked out of the hotel across the street.”

  “What was she kicked out for?” Rob asked.

  “I hear she was being too rowdy. She and—”

  Once again, Rob cut the bartender short. “Too rowdy, huh? That’s why she thinks she can stand toe to toe with me. She’s a fiery little thing! I like my women with fire and I love ’em with big tits. That one there’s got both qualities, so why the hell am I still down here?”

  “Mr. Bensonn, I wouldn’t.”

  The .44 emerged from Rob’s holster in a flash. While his speed may not have been overly affected by his inebriated state, his aim plainly suffered. Even so, pointing the pistol a few inches to the left of the barkeep’s face was enough to make the skinny man retreat until his backside bumped against the shelf of bottles.

  “Gimme the key to her room,” Rob demanded.

  “I don’t have it!”

  Rob leaned against the bar so he could tap the barrel of the .44 against the other man’s temple. “Where is it?”

  “She’s got it! It’s her room!”

  An ugly smile creased Rob’s face, and a sour breath was expelled from his lungs in a chuckle that shook his entire torso. “She would have ta have it, wouldn’t she? Guess I might as well go on up there and make her feel at home.”

  The bartender kept his back against the wall, where a short row of keys hung from hooks screwed into the same shelf bearing the weight of all those bottles. One of them was the skeleton key for every room upstairs, and if he hadn’t been so full of whiskey, Rob might have thought to ask for it. Instead, he staggered toward the stairs and the barkeep glanced down at the shotgun he kept out of his customers’ sight.

  The barkeep wasn’t a coward, but he also wasn’t a gunman, and he surely wasn’t anxious to face off with a known killer. Even if only half of the stories about Rob were true, that still put him miles above any of the loudmouths that the barkeep normally had to deal with. He left the shotgun where it lay, stuck the skeleton key in his pocket, and prayed that pretty blond lady had the good sense to know when it was time to duck out a window.

  • • •

  “Teeeeeesssy!” Rob hollered as he climbed the stairs. “Time for you to see what a real man’s made of!”

  At the top of the staircase, a row of doors were lined up along the wall to the left, and a banister on the right kept folks from toppling down to the saloon below. After grabbing the railing to keep himself from revisiting the saloon in the most painful and unconventional way, Rob shoved off and slammed a shoulder against the door closest to the top of the stairs. He bounced off, managed to stop himself before needing to grab the banister again, and came at the door with a vengeance. This time, he pounded his foot against it while shouting, “Open up, sweet thing!” His first kick shook the door in its frame, but wasn’t enough to open it. When he tried again, Rob’s heel sent it swinging inward to knock against the wall.

  The room was just large enough to hold a modest bed, a wardrobe, and a narrow rectangular table with a washbasin and pitcher on it. The only person inside was an old man who was either dead or sleeping too soundly to be awakened by the commotion.

  Rob grunted to himself and stomped inside. He grabbed the lower edge of the bed, lifted it an inch or so off the ground, and bent down to get a look beneath it. Only when the bed was dropped back to the floor did the old man on top of it move a muscle.

  “What in flamin’ hell?” the old man groaned.

  Rob had already seen enough. He stormed out of the room and ignored the old man, who was still swearing at his back. By the time he set his sights on the next door in the row, the fog put into his head by the liquor he’d drunk was partly burned away. He kicked the second door in with one try and found Tess waiting for him on the o
ther side.

  She held her washbasin in both hands and flung it at the doorway the instant Rob stepped into her room.

  “There’s the fire I like so damn much,” he said as the ceramic basin shattered against the doorframe. “Now how about a good look at them other two things I like about you?”

  When Rob stormed inside, Tess made a desperate grab for the water pitcher resting atop the rectangular table in her room. There was just as much space in there as in the old man’s room, which meant Rob was close enough to reach out for her in about two seconds. She swung the pitcher, but simply didn’t have the muscle to do any damage as it thumped against his arm. Even if she’d had enough time or space to take a good backswing, the whiskey in Rob’s system numbed him enough to erase any pain she may have inflicted.

  “Get away from me!” she screamed.

  Rob grabbed her by the hair and tossed her toward the bed. “You won’t be sayin’ that for long, darlin’. Not once you get a taste of what I got for ya.” He unbuckled his pants one-handed and inched them down.

  Before he could expose himself, Tess swung with both hands to punch or slap him anywhere she could. She even shifted her weight from one foot to another so she could kick him. He wrenched her head to one side in a jarring manner that made her stop what she was doing. Before she could assess if anything vital had been snapped, she was unceremoniously tossed onto the mattress.

  Now that his pants were down, Rob’s penis dangled between his legs, swinging back and forth behind the rumpled lower edge of his shirt. There was a commotion rising in the hallway behind him, but he ignored it in favor of groping Tess’s breasts.

  “Get away from me or I’ll kick those balls up into your throat,” she snarled.

  The balls in question hung less than ten inches from the top of her boot. Rob lunged at her so quickly that she didn’t have enough time to make good on her threat before he was lying on top of her and groping beneath her skirts. “You’ll get your fill of everything I got before too long, Tessy, don’t you worry.”

  Outside, heavy steps thumped against the stairs to shake the boards of the entire second floor.