Slocum and the Warm Reception (17 page)

“Oh, I'll give you somethin' to remember me by, darlin',” Mike said.

“Listen for that shot,” Sanchez said. “Otherwise, you might as well come along with us.”

Mike waved them off. “You go on ahead. I'll be fine right here.”

Sanchez slapped Slocum on the shoulder to get him moving toward the door. Outside, Slim waited with the horses. Even in the shadows, the nervousness on his face was easy to read.

“What did you say to that woman before we got here?” Sanchez asked.

“Just asked her where we could find anyone connected to that killing,” Slocum replied. “She pointed me toward that other stable, just like I said. There's supposed to be a man named Wendell who works there that should be able to tell us a thing or two.”

“Wendell has always been a good man,” Slim said. “He's helped us a couple of times.”

“Maybe not as good as you think,” Slocum offered.

Sanchez climbed into his saddle. “Let's have a word with him before we jump to any conclusions. You just keep your mouth shut unless I ask you a question. Understand?”

“Sure do,” Slocum said while fighting the impulse to say anything else.

They crossed town to the stable that was closest to the sheriff's office. Slocum watched how both Sanchez and Slim reacted and could tell they became more tightly wound as they got closer to the dimly lit window marked with the sheriff's name. When they got to the stable, Sanchez rode all the way around to the back of the building before dismounting and walking toward a narrow door.

Sanchez pounded on the door with his fist, listened for a few seconds, and then pounded some more.

“What the hell is it at this hour?” someone asked from the other side of the door. By the sound of the voice, the man asking the question had either drunk an entire bottle of firewater or had recently been punched in the throat.

“Open the door,” Sanchez demanded.

“You renting a stall here?”

“No.”

“Then go away. Ain't no more spaces to be had.”

Sanchez lowered his voice to a growl as he said, “We're here on behalf of Abel Dawson.”

The door came open a crack, which was just enough for Slocum to glimpse a single eye peering out at them from within the stable. “Mr. Dawson?” the man asked. “What's he want?”

“He doesn't like what he's heard about that Derrick fella getting killed.”

“Why's he care about that?”

“Doesn't concern you,” Sanchez replied. “Is Wendell inside?”

“N-No. He's at his home. Probably in bed.”

“Take us to him.”

“But . . . can't it wait until morning?”

Sanchez placed a hand upon the door and slowly, insistently, forced it open. “Take us to him. If you want to keep all of your teeth, you should be damn quick about it.”

The man stepped outside. He was a short, elderly fellow with wisps of gray hair sprouting at irregular intervals from his scalp. His eyes were covered in a cloudy, cream-colored film, and his entire body was trembling as he pointed toward a house less than a hundred paces from the back end of the stable. “He's right in there,” he said. “Go on and see for yourself.”

Vivienne's hands brushed along Mike's bruises as if they were works of art splattered upon a canvas. “What happened to you?” she asked.

“I had some business to handle,” he said. “Some men need to be taught some manners and I'm just the one to give the lesson.”

Stepping up close to him, she placed her hand upon the gun strapped to his side and stroked the grip lovingly. “Did you have to kill anyone?”

“Killin' a man ain't no small thing,” he told her. “It scars a man all the way down to the soul.”

“You poor thing.”

Mike wrapped an arm around her and drew her in close. He put his mouth at the nape of her neck and kissed her more like he was tasting her skin as his hand wandered down her back. The moment he was able to feel the slope of her buttocks through the fabric of her dress, he grabbed her tighter.

Vivienne didn't try to get away, but she did struggle to catch her breath. After less than a minute of that, she was roughly pushed away. She staggered backward until her shoulders bumped against the frame of one of the stalls, and she let out her breath in a loud gasp.

“I've seen you a few times, haven't I?” Mike asked. “When me and some of the boys have come to town on business for Mr. Dawson?”

“What kind of business do you do for him?”

Studying her carefully like any other simple-minded animal circling its prey, Mike said, “Collecting on debts mostly. Sometimes it can get rough.”

“What happens then?” she asked as her cheeks flushed with color.

“If they get rough, I just have to make sure to be rougher than the other man.” When Mike placed his hand upon his gun, he could tell Vivienne was watching intently and growing more excited. “Them other times I've seen you, it took me a long time to stop thinking about you.”

“Did it?”

He nodded and stalked forward, keeping one hand on his gun while reaching out with the other to feel the curve of her hip. That hand worked its way up to her bosom, and when he cupped her breast, Vivienne arched her back slightly as if to make sure he could feel all of her. She even slid one leg out so that it brushed against his growing erection.

“I know I've seen you a few times,” he said, “and each time I wanted you more than the last.”

“You want to be inside me?” she purred. “Grab me and have your way with me?”

“Hell yes.”

“I suppose . . . you being the kind of man you are . . . that there wouldn't be much I could do to stop you.”

Mike placed both hands on her, which caused Vivienne to gasp again as an excited tremor worked through her body. He groped her breasts at first, massaging them and looking down at the way the cotton of her top clung to her sweaty skin. He then looked into her eyes as if waiting for a protest when he reached down to feel her hips and backside. Instead of any sign of reservation, she closed her eyes and smiled while slowly writhing in his grasp.

“Don't make me wait for it,” she whispered.

That was more than enough to push Mike over the edge. He immediately unbuckled his gun belt and let it drop to the floor. His pants were next and he couldn't get out of them fast enough. He yanked them down so they were gathered around his boots, freeing his stiff cock.

Vivienne looked down at his penis and started to reach for it, but was quickly turned around to face the gate of the stall where she'd been standing. From there, Mike pulled up her skirts and began fumbling at her undergarments, looking for any way to get to the treasure he knew was beneath them. Vivienne bent forward and grabbed hold of the gate, taking a wider stance and allowing her head to hang forward so her long blond hair brushed against both sides of her face.

Mike reached in to find the smooth, bare skin of one leg. He followed that upward to her thigh. Then, he reached around to her inner thigh before finally discovering the thatch of wet hair between her legs. Every time his fingers moved against the subtle curves of her pussy, Vivienne trembled. When he dared to slip a finger inside her, she grabbed the wooden railing in front of her even harder and spread her legs wider.

Unable to contain himself a second longer, Mike hiked her skirts up around her waist before ripping a few pieces of clothing that weren't moving the way he wanted them to. After a short struggle, he'd exposed her ass and legs and was moving in place behind her.

“Is this what you thought about when you saw me?” she asked.

Mike guided his rigid pole between her thighs, pressing its tip against her wet slit. “Yes. Damn, you feel good.”

She smiled and eased herself back to take him in. “There are a few things you could maybe help me with,” she sighed as he continued to slip inside her. “A big, strong man like you could fix some problems for me and I'd be so grateful.”

Now that he was partially in her, Mike grabbed her hips and pumped the rest of the way between her legs. He buried his cock into her and let out a long, satisfied breath. “Anything you want, darlin',” he sighed.

“I just want you for now,” she said. “Give it to me. Give it to me good and hard. I can tell the rest to you later and. . . . you can bring it up with Mr. Dawson.”

Holding her firmly, Mike pounded into her again and again. His hands wandered along the smooth, firm curves of her buttocks before sliding up along the small of her back. When he eased up a bit, Vivienne rocked back and forth as if she was the one in charge of the entire situation.

“Grab my hair,” she said.

Mike's hand fumbled against her back as he struggled to concentrate on more than one thing at a time. He grabbed a handful of her blond hair and gave it a tug. She reared her head back and moaned softly, urging him to follow up. When he pulled her hair again, he drove his rod in as deep as it could go.

“Damn!” she squealed. “That's it!”

Mike reached around with his free hand to grope her breast while continuing to slide in and out of her. Eventually, both hands wound up on her shoulders so he could hold her in place as he thrust with mounting urgency. His eyes were shut tightly and his muscles were tense. That changed quickly when Vivienne eased away so his penis slipped completely out of her.

He was about to say something before she wheeled around and grabbed him by the front of his shirt and put his back against the gate she'd been using for support. Mike was too shocked to react, so he tried unsuccessfully to speak as she stood in front of him and placed one foot up on the gate beside him. Her pussy glistened with moisture and was spread open wide. She reached down, guided him into her, and started grinding.

She looked deeply into his eyes as if she owned him. At that moment, both of them knew that he would have gladly followed through on any command she'd given. Vivienne only allowed him to pump into her a few more times before she stepped back once more. This time, she lowered herself to her knees and wrapped her mouth around his pole. Her lips pressed tightly against him, and she sucked loudly as her head bobbed back and forth.

“J-Jesus!” Mike said as he squirmed uncomfortably. It didn't take long for her to find a rhythm that suited him, and once she did, he kept her there by putting his hands on either side of her head and holding her in position.

Vivienne gazed up and opened her mouth wide. She eased her tongue out to slide along the bottom of his shaft as his rigid member eased back and forth between her moist lips. She ran her hands along his legs while taking him all the way into her mouth. As soon as his body started to shake, she knew she had him.

She sucked him vigorously. Her tongue swirled around his erection, and she closed her lips on it as if she were feasting on a stick of candy. Before long, his grip around her head tightened, and he started bucking against her face.

“Don't you stop, darlin',” he grunted. “Keep it up.”

Instead of continuing what she was doing, Vivienne used the tip of her tongue to tease the head of his cock as she encircled her lips around him and started to make a low purring sound at the back of her throat. A few seconds of that was all it took to rush him toward a climax. Mike's back arched and he let out a rough, grunting moan. Vivienne eased her lips all the way down to the base of his cock, keeping her tongue flat against him, and by the time she eased her head back again, he was exploding into her mouth.

She drank him down and dabbed at the corner of her lips as she stood up in front of him. A wide, sly grin appeared on her face as she walked toward a bucket and ladle for a drink of water.

Hitching up his pants, Mike nodded as if he'd just completed some sort of monumental task. “We should'a done that a whole lot earlier.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“You ever need anything . . . anything at all . . . you just let ol' Mikey know.”

“I'm sure I can think of a few things,” she replied. “Like . . . do you think you could get me in to see Mr. Dawson?”

* * *

Sanchez and Slim stood in a parlor that was filled with books, a wide brick fireplace, tools needed to tend to the flames, and a stack of chopped wood collected in a wide brass rack. Wendell was in a pair of rumpled trousers that he'd just pulled on to answer the insistent pounding on his front door. The nightshirt that he'd been sleeping in was hastily tucked into half of his trousers and the other half hung out in a disheveled mess of wrinkled fabric. Strands of dark hair stuck out at odd angles while other pieces had been plastered down by hasty swipes from a hand that was now nervously fidgeting with a pocket watch that lay open on top of a small round table.

“If you wanted to have a talk with me, you could have let me know earlier,” Wendell said. “We could have set up a proper time. I would have served a meal. Maybe offered you a drink.”

“You can still offer me a drink,” Sanchez said in a voice that was just as smooth as Wendell was rumpled.

“What do you want?” Wendell asked. “And who's he?”

Slocum stood near the doorway. His bandanna wasn't pulled all the way up over his nose, but was arranged in such a way that it still covered a good portion of his face. The shadows in the room and his distance from Wendell made certain he wasn't on prominent display.

“Don't worry about him,” Sanchez said. “I'd be more worried about myself if I were you.”

“Why? Mr. Dawson and I have been on good terms,” Wendell said quickly. “Been that way ever since I told him about what those railroad men said when they boarded their horses at my stable. Don't forget I'm one of the first men to bring that deal to his attention.”

Sanchez stood with both thumbs hooked over his gun belt. Although he wasn't making a move toward either of the two pistols he wore, he could skin the smoke wagons with minimum effort and everyone in that room knew it. “Nobody's forgotten anything,” he said. “Especially me. That's why I was so shocked to hear your name mentioned in connection to the death of that stable hand.”

For a second, Wendell merely blinked. Dumbfounded, he asked, “You mean Derrick?”

Sanchez nodded.

“What the hell's he got to do with anything?”

“Word is that you may know who killed him.”

Wendell stormed forward about a step and a half before he collected himself and said, “The
word
is that a man by the name of John Slocum killed him. He was sniffing around that whore who works in the other stable across town.”

Slocum felt his heart race and his hand drift toward his .44. Nobody seemed to be paying him any attention, but he felt as if every eye were trained on him when he eased his hand back again.

“Derrick used to sniff under them same skirts as well,” Wendell continued. “Back when she worked for me, the two of them got real close. I warned him about that bitch, but he never listened. Once she let him get a taste of that honey she offers to damn near anyone with a pecker between his legs, Derrick was putty in her hands.”

“Why would she care about using a stable hand?” Sanchez asked.

“Because Derrick could get to the strongbox where I keep my profits,” Wendell said. “Thing is, even after it was clear she was just after my money, he never let her be. Even after she started working at the other stable, he would call on her every chance he got.”

Slim hadn't said much since Slocum had met him, but now the young gunman couldn't help but ask, “What's a lady like that doing working at a stable? I seen her once when she was working for you and it was strange enough. Having her work for another stable just don't make sense.”

“It does if no one else in town will have her,” Wendell replied. “She's a lying, filthy whore and the only other job she could get in town would be on her back behind a saloon. But she thinks she's too good for that. Knowing her, she probably thinks she can make more money swindling the men that come in and out of this town. Lately, as I already told Mr. Dawson, there's been plenty of railroad scouts and business types coming to Davis Junction looking to see how best to lay the tracks in that new route meant to head up north from here through Mescaline and beyond. Viv spends as much time as she can working them stables because every man that comes through here has a horse that needs to be put up. The only thing that keeps her from working the stagecoach station is because she gets chased away like a common trollop.”

“Sounds to me like you've got some pretty strong opinions about her,” Sanchez said. “Did she get to your cash box when she was with Derrick?”

Wendell turned and flapped a hand back at the men in his parlor while saying, “Hell no, she didn't! As for now, I couldn't give a damn what she does or who she does it to.”

“Pretty rare that a man spits so much venom at someone he doesn't give a damn about. Did you ever taste any of that honey for yourself?”

When he spun around and came at Sanchez, Wendell didn't even notice how close he was to getting shot. Sanchez took hold of a pistol and so did the younger man behind him. Even Slocum reflexively drew his .44 when Wendell charged at them with so much fire in his eyes.