Slocum and the Sonoran Fugitive Page 6

  Virgil smiled. “Be surprised if we didn’t have a few.”

  Slocum nodded. “Believe I’ll look one up in the morning. Fella livin’ clear out in Monkey Springs oughta be happier with a good replacement than the cash value, wouldn’t you figure?”

  “Indeed I would,” said Virgil. “You boys’ll be wantin’ your money, I reckon?”

  Will brightened. “You reckon rightly.”

  After the Earps got the identities of the dead men straight, Virgil wrote out two vouchers for ten thousand dollars each and handed one to Will and one to Slocum. “That’ll do ’er, boys,” he said, fingering his mustache.

  “No, it won’t,” said Slocum, and pulled his guns from their holsters. “I’m stayin’ overnight.”

  Morgan went over to a large chest that stood against the far wall and stuck a key in the lock. Virgil handed him the guns, and Morgan said, “You know yours on sight?”

  Virgil chuckled softly, but Slocum, sober as a judge, said, “Yeah, I do.”

  Morgan asked Will the same question and got the same response. After he locked the chest again, he said, “Virgil, you quit snickerin’. You know we gotta ask.”

  Virgil let out a full-throated laugh before he said, “It just seems real funny, you askin’ John Slocum and a former U.S. marshal that question, that’s all. Sorry, Morgan.” And then he broke out in laughter again.

  With a muttered “Aw, jeez,” Morgan retired to the back room.

  “You might wanna feed him some supper,” Slocum said, poking a thumb toward the back room where the cells were. “We didn’t stop on the way into town.”

  “Gotcha,” replied Virgil.

  Will looked like he had to get out of there in a hurry, or embarrass them all. Slocum took pity on him. “See you tomorrow!” he said to Virgil, then hollered, “Thanks, Morgan!” toward the door.

  He and Will slipped outside. Will said, “Thank God!,” ducked into an alley, and began pissing his brains out. This was accompanied by long, lingering sighs.

  A chuckle underscoring his words, Slocum said, “You pissin’ or gettin’ a blow job, Will?”

  Still peeing, Will said, “Real funny, Slocum. You oughta go on the stage.”

  “And there’s one leavin’ at noon,” laughed Slocum. “I know, I know . . .”

  9

  Slocum was feeling pretty full of himself. He and Will had caught their prey, turned them in, and they had their vouchers. Slocum had already decided that in the morning, he was going to open a bank account with his and get as much cash as he could. That way, he’d always have money in Tombstone. Or he supposed he could have it transferred someplace else, if the spirit so moved him at a later date. But he wasn’t going to take one step out of town with that ten-thousand-dollar voucher in his pocket!

  He took Will up to the Oriental—they had gambling and drinking and entertainment, along with rooms—and they sat at a corner table, ordering beer. Well, Will ordered beer. Slocum ordered a beer, to be followed by an iced bucket of champagne. He also ordered himself a good cigar.

  That took care of a good chunk of it.

  While they sipped their beer, Slocum took a long look around the room, which was shaped like an L. Around the corner, he could see somebody sitting where Wyatt usually did while he was in town, dealing faro. Slocum didn’t much care for faro. The house had too much going for it, if you asked him. There were several poker games in progress around the room, too, and he began to check out the players, mentally tagging the professional cardsharps for later reference.

  He didn’t see Doc Holliday, though, and this left him a bit perplexed. Well, maybe Doc was someplace up the street, plying his trade. Doc was the kind of man who could have just as easily been Slocum’s enemy, had they not been introduced by Wyatt. He had come to appreciate Doc’s wry sense of humor as well as his dogged devotion to Wyatt. From afar, he had already admired his devil-may-care accuracy with firearms.

  Somebody somewhere was singing a lively song—“Three Cheers for Billy,” he thought it was, although it was hard to make it out through the crowd noise. The female voice got him thinking about womanly companionship, and he changed the focus of his scan.

  There were plenty of girls prowling the tables and the bar for customers. White, Chinese, Mex, tame Indian—it looked like he could have his pick. He had just about made his choice and was going to signal a little blond girl standing by the bar, when from behind him, a female voice said, “Well, hello there, Slocum.”

  He turned around, and a grin suddenly spread over his face, unbidden. He cried, “Mandy!” and reached back for her, dragging her into his lap. He was hard already.

  She knew it the second she sat down. Hugging Slocum’s neck, she gave him a big wet kiss on his stubbly cheek and said, “What the hell are you doin’ in Tombstone, handsome?”

  “Dropped by to see Wyatt,” he said. He didn’t dare tell her the whole truth, especially not down here where anybody could overhear.

  “You’re outta luck,” she said. “He’s—”

  “Not here,” Slocum interrupted. “We heard already. Mandy, meet my trail companion, Will Hutchins. Will, this is Mandy Adams.”

  Will tipped his hat and said, “Ma’am. Slocum, when you think they’re gonna deliver that French stuff a’ yours?” He looked eagerly toward the bar. He’d told Slocum earlier that he’d never had champagne before, and it seemed he was looking forward to giving it a try.

  Just then, a bartender approached bearing an ornate silver bucket, which was placed on Slocum and Will’s table. There was a bottle in it, surrounded by chopped ice. Now, where the hell did they come by ice in a town like Tombstone? Slocum was too eager to settle down to drinking to ask. He motioned to the barkeep to go ahead and open it, which the man did with great fanfare, and a spurt of the bubbly wine that almost hit the ceiling.

  “Whoa!” Will laughed.

  Slocum and Mandy laughed along with him, as did the old man by the bar who’d caught part of the champagne spurt in his open mouth.

  “Three glasses?” the barkeep asked.

  Slocum nodded, and soon he, Will, and Mandy were all holding champagne glasses. “Here’s to Tombstone,” Slocum said by way of a toast, and they all tipped their glasses back.

  Will drained his in one gulp, then grinned. “Say, this is pretty good stuff!”

  “It tickles!” giggled Mandy, and took another sip.

  Slocum drank his slowly, savoring the sweet, crisp taste, although he said, “Coulda chilled a mite longer.”

  He and Will sat in the Oriental Saloon for another hour, sipping champagne—Slocum had to order a second bottle—and listening to Mandy chatter away about old times. Slocum had first known her in East Texas, and the last place he’d seen her was over in Santa Fe. She was a petite blonde, full-breasted and tiny-waisted, and he was amazed that she still looked so young and fresh. Hers wasn’t an easy trade to ply. He knew the girls often had trouble with their customers, especially in bawdy mining towns like this.

  He sure wasn’t planning on giving her any problems, though. He grinned. He was still hanging on to her for dear life.

  “Hit me again, buddy,” Will slurred, and held out his glass. Slocum figured Will had pissed away a good bottle of that champagne, since he’d already gone to the outhouse three times since their arrival.

  But he lifted the bottle and poured anyway. Will deserved this. So did he. Hell, it wasn’t every day that you brought in twenty grand’s worth of outlaws!

  And it wasn’t every day that he had a lapful of Mandy Adams, either.

  He poured out the last of the bottle into his and Mandy’s glasses and put it back in the ice bucket upside down. He toasted, “Here’s to wine, woman, song, and sleepin’ inside on a real bed.”

  Will said, “I’ll second that!” and slurped his drink back.

  Mandy purred, “I like the sound of that bed part. You got a private room, honey?”

  “Not yet, but I’m about to,” Slocum said. “You wanna excuse me fo
r a second, Mandy?”

  “Don’t be long, Slocum,” she teased, fluttering long lashes over blue eyes.

  Slocum got himself and Will each a room—the last two left, as luck would have it—and they all went upstairs. After he gently placed Will on his hotel bed and wished him good night, he and Mandy found his room.

  “You figure you still got that rock in your pants?” Mandy whispered infectiously as he unlocked the door. “You know, the one I sat on downstairs?”

  Slocum ushered her in, then locked the door behind them. Grinning, he said, “I reckon it’s plaguin’ me again already, honey girl,” and stripped off his shirt.

  She joined him in the bed in slap time, both of them naked as jaybirds. How could she have stayed so youthful? Time had marred him more times than he could count with its implements of death—scars from countless Indian skirmishes, knife fights, and gun battles had added themselves to the patchwork of welted tissue that covered him—but she looked very much like that young girl from East Texas he’d first met in the Dallas Queen Saloon.

  Funny, that he’d remembered that all these years later.

  She was dewy-skinned and fresh, with rosy color in her cheeks and lips. Her breasts were still high and full and round, and still tipped with that particular pink distinct to blondes with her pale coloration, like the inside of a seashell. The only difference that he could see were the long, pale scars that covered her abdomen. It took him a few moments to realize that they were stretch marks, and that she’d once carried a baby.

  He put his thumb on one faint line and asked, “What happened to it?”

  She looked embarrassed and turned away from him. Softly, she said, “He died when he was only a week old. I never did figure out who his daddy was. I was in a mining camp when he started growin’ in me, so it was probably a miner. Somebody back in New Mexico. Somebody who’s probably moved on.”

  Slocum turned her back to face him. “I’m sorry, Mandy.”

  She smiled a little. “Thanks, Slocum. Y’know, after, the doc said I wouldn’t be able to have any more. He was right. Nothin’s took root in me since then.” She smiled again, but he could tell it was forced. “Guess it was good for me, professionally.”

  He kissed her temple gently. “It’s all right, baby girl,” he whispered as he took her into his arms. She began to weep softly against his chest, and he repeated, “It’s all right, it’s all right,” over and over.

  After about a half hour, he felt her shift position, and she looked up at him, red-nosed, but dry-eyed. She whispered, “Thanks, Slocum. I know that babysittin’ a bawling woman wasn’t what you bargained for. It’s just, well, nobody ever asked before. About Charlie. That’s what I called him, you know.”

  “It’s a good name,” he said. “Strong.”

  Her brows arched. “Not strong enough, I guess.” She smiled a little and reached back to grasp his member, which suddenly bloomed at her touch. She put on a fake Mexican accent. “Not strong like ze bool!” she said as, smiling, she gave him a little tug.

  He stiffened some more. If she didn’t get on with it pretty damned soon, he was going to explode in her hand. He opened his mouth to tell her, but he didn’t have to. She was already climbing on top of him, straddling him.

  Her body poised just above his, she stopped. “Slocum, you’re a good man,” she breathed just before she slowly slid down on his shaft, conjoining their bodies and enveloping him in her moist heat.

  “Jesus, Mandy!” he grunted as she began to move, first grinding down, then rising so that just the head of his member was within her, swirling, then grinding down again.

  “He’s got nothing to do with this,” she said with a giggle as she continued to move.

  He couldn’t take much more of this, but he wanted her to come, too. He reached for her breasts and took them both into his hands, kneading the nipples until they were hard as pebbles. She obviously liked this, because she bent forward to make it easier for him and whispered, “Yes, Slocum, yes!”

  She kept moving on him, never giving him a moment to collect himself, kept moving inexorably up and down, back and forth. He had the presence of mind to bring one breast to his lips and latch hold of the nipple, suckling strongly on the tight bud.

  He felt her kiss his brow just before she started making those low, throaty sounds that told him she was coming. They became more rapid, deeper, and then they both lost control. He began to buck his hips up into her as she stiffened, holding herself still so that he was in control. As if he had any at this stage!

  And he came, exploding inside her so thunderously that for a second, he wondered if he was going to live through it.

  But he did.

  As always.

  And he caught her when she collapsed down into his arms and onto his chest, panting and sweating and sated. Not everything changed, he thought as he stroked her back. No, some things stayed exactly the same. And Mandy was one of them.

  10

  The next morning, Slocum woke early. Sunlight streamed through the eastern windows, making the room around him look crisp and clean. Mandy slept beside him, in the same position she’d gone to sleep in—curled against his side, her arm thrown casually across his chest. He gently moved her arm and slithered out of the bed. He had to take a leak and reached under the bed, feeling until he found the chamber pot.

  Afterward, he was about to climb back in next to her when somebody’s knuckles rapped at the door. He made a face and thought, If that’s Will, I’m gonna kill him.

  But he pulled on his britches, tossed a sheet over Mandy, and went to the door. He opened it to find a familiar face, but it wasn’t Will’s.

  “Wyatt!” he exclaimed, and stuck out his hand, shaking Wyatt’s enthusiastically. “You old dog! Glad to see you. I’d invite you in, but—”

  Wyatt didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence. He just barged into the room and very seriously said, “Slocum, old buddy, I’m glad to see you, too, but I need your help.”

  Slocum blinked. “You need my help?” He was puzzled, to say the least. Why would this famous lawman need his help?

  “Bronc Dugan broke out last night.”

  At first, Slocum didn’t believe him. He barked out a laugh that was cut short by Wyatt’s dead serious expression.

  Slocum said, “You’re not jokin’, are you?”

  “He somehow thumped Morgan and let himself out, then walked down to the livery, stole a horse, and left. Went south, we think.”

  “How’s Morgan?”

  “Gonna be fine. He was lucky that it was the middle of the night. We figure Dugan wanted to keep things quiet.”

  Slocum shook his head. “Well, shit. So what you want me for?” he asked, although he thought he knew.

  Wyatt didn’t look the least bit apologetic. He said, “Need you to help me track him down, Slocum. You and your partner.”

  From the bed, Mandy moaned a little in her sleep, and Wyatt had the decency to color a little. “Sorry, Slocum. Didn’t realize you had company.”

  Slocum waved a hand and said, “S’all right. This is important.”

  “Glad to hear you say that. How soon can you leave?”

  Across the room, Mandy sat up, the sheet around her. She rubbed at her eyes, then smiled and said, “Mornin’ Slocum, Wyatt. To what do we owe this honor? And why’re you back so soon?”

  “Mornin’, Mandy.” Wyatt tipped his hat and said, “Serendipity, I ’magine. And I’m here to talk your boy-friend into lendin’ the legalities a helpin’ hand.”

  She snugged the sheet around her chin and lay back down. “Just don’t go keepin’ him too long.”

  “Do my best not to,” Wyatt replied with another tip of his hat, along with a full-fledged grin.

  “Got to wake up my partner and grab some breakfast,” Slocum said, fingering his chin. “Half an hour all right?”

  “Yeah,” said Wyatt. He turned and put his hand on the knob, before he looked back. “Oh, by the way, Slocum, that horse Dugan stol
e?”

  “Yeah?”

  “He was yours.”

  Slocum found himself in the grip of a surge of adrenaline. Through clenched teeth, he said, “Fifteen minutes.”

  Will was sick, and he wasn’t going. He was so sick, in fact, that he actually agreed to go see Doc Goodnight.

  “What’s wrong, aside from you pissin’ every five minutes?” Slocum had asked him. Rather callously, too, he thought later, for somebody who’d been pushing him six ways from Sunday to go to a damn doctor.

  “Got an ache in my belly,” he’d moaned, and Slocum didn’t push him any further.

  He’d just let Will know where he was going, and reminded him to drop by the bank as soon as he could to get that voucher off his hands. “You just hang around the place and wait for me,” Slocum had said. “Won’t be more’n a few days, I don’t imagine.”

  Slocum himself had made a hurried dash to the bank, where he opened an account, relieved himself of his voucher, and pulled out two hundred in cash before he made haste for the livery. There, he bought a nice sorrel gelding—not an Appy, but nice, nonetheless—with three white socks and a star. Sound, too. He figured he wouldn’t own him long, so he decided to just call him Red.

  When he finally ended up at the jail, Wyatt was waiting for him impatiently. “Fifteen minutes, on the nose,” Wyatt said, but he said it as if he wished Slocum had done it quicker.

  Wyatt mounted up, and Slocum asked, “Where’s Virgil?”

  “Inside.” Wyatt turned his horse away from the rail before he said, “Oh. You’ll be wantin’ these.” He dug inside his coat, pulled out Slocum’s handguns, and handed them over. “Where’s your pal?”

  Slocum shoved the Colts into their holsters. “Sick. Ain’t comin’.” He started out of town, right along next to Wyatt. “Gonna go see Doc Goodnight.”

  Wyatt nodded. “Virgil’s got county business to attend to.”

  “Oh.” Slocum didn’t know why the “county business” couldn’t wait for a few days. He would have appreciated Virgil’s company, and he told Wyatt as much.