“What kinda kid is this?” Clete asked.
“Who? Puma?”
“Yeah.”
Crockett thought a moment. “She’s disassociated with average reality and morality, and is extremely jaded for her age. She’s doing what she believes she has to do to live. She’s very pretty and sensual, with amazing after-market enhanced mammary glands. She enjoys the power she has over men. She liked to try to shock me from time to time. Good to keep a john off balance, I guess.”
“But you weren’t a john.”
“I’m male. In her book, that’s a john.”
A knock sounded on the door. Clete glanced at his watch. “Dead on seven,” he said.
Crockett opened the door. Puma, wearing towering heels with clear Lucite soles, a very short, hip-hugger, buckskin skirt with a fringed hem and a matching buckskin halter-top, stood in the hallway. Her long dark hair was parted in the middle and braided down both sides. She wore a narrow buckskin headband and long dangling earrings of Indian beadwork.
Jesus.
Puma smiled. “Ugh,” she said. “You wantum squaw? You gotum wampum?”
Crockett returned her smile. “Custer was an idiot,” he said. “C’mon in.”
Two steps into the room, Puma noticed Cletus. Automatically she dropped deeper into character.
“Oh. Two of you. Now, I don’t want you boys to fight over me. The night is young and so am I. There’s plenty to go around.” She dropped her buckskin purse on the bed and slowly sat in a chair, languidly crossing her legs as she settled back. “I have amazing endurance,” she said.
Clete smiled. “Clint Marsh, m’am,” he said. “Beckett has told me a little about you.”
Puma shifted in her seat. “Not as much as he could have told you if he’d gotten more of his money’s worth the last time he was here,” she said. “How ‘bout you? I can do anything. Anything I can do?”
Clete grinned. “Mercy,” he said. “You got this all worked out, doncha?”
“Sweetie,” Puma said, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, “you want a workout, you got the right girl. The best night of your life starts whenever you want.”
Clete laughed. “Oh, my! Darlin’, you are a piece a work, no doubt about that. When I was twenty years old, you woulda scared the shit outa me. Lord, God! But you gotta understand that me an ol’ Beckett here is cut from kinda the same cloth. Would we like to jump ya? Absolutely. Would we jump ya? Absolutely not. Why? Simple. We wouldn’t be the only ones it would affect. Even if it truly was the best we ever had, the next day it wouldn’t be near good enough.”
Crockett jumped in. “That said, how much you want for the night?”
“A night full of thrills and passion like last time?” Puma asked.
“Pretty much.”
“Five-hundred.”
“Sorry,” Crockett said, “I won’t pay less than a grand.”
“Since it’s you, okay. I can live with a thousand.”
“Good. Now, the white robe is in its customary position in the bath off the big bedroom. Go get out of your Native American travesty and see if you can find Terri anywhere. Turkey sandwiches okay?”
“How ‘bout pizza?” Puma asked, standing and moving toward the bedroom door.
“Pizza?”
“Look out your window. Across the parking lot is Angelo’s Pizza. Phone number is on the sign. He delivers here all the time.”
“Okay. What kind ya want?”
“Just tell ‘em two of Puma’s usual,” she said, poised in the bedroom portal.
“Puma’s usual, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” she said turning in the doorway and looking over her shoulder at Crockett. He couldn’t help it. He stared. Puma smiled.
“Have them put it on my tab,” she said. Crockett watched as she patted herself on the bottom and disappeared behind the door.
“Damn,” Clete said. “And you didn’t…?
“Nope,” Crockett said, perching on the edge of the bed.
“Son, you are a helluva man. I think I wanna have your babies.”
“That’s it for me,” Crockett said, tossing a half-eaten crescent of crust back into the nearly empty pizza box that sat on the corner of the bed. Seductively posed behind it, swaddled in a white robe at least ten sizes too big, Puma, now Terri, took a sip of Coke and belched.
“’Scuse me,” she said, and headed for the bathroom.
Clete rose and began collecting all the trash. “Damn,” he said.
“What?” Crockett asked.
“Kid like that,” Clete went on. “Could be a model, could be a teacher, could be a dental assistant, could be a actress, could be a heart surgeon, could make a helluva living at Hooter’s, for chrissakes. She doesn’t havta hook.”
“She thinks she does. And it reinforces her belief that she’s tough.”
Clete shook his head. “Well, they ain’t no doubt that the lady does possess a certain amount of appeal,” he said. “That big ol’ white robe may have even made things worse. I might have to gouge out my eyes, ard. Godamighty!”
Crockett grinned. “You have any control left?” he asked.
“Not very much. If my neck starts to swell, yer gonna have to lock me in the smokehouse agin tonight.”
“How bout I cuff your wrist to the bed frame?”
Clete thought a moment. “Which wrist?” he asked.
By the time Terri returned, Clete had stuff thrown away and Crockett had put the furniture back to its original positions. The young woman sat cross-legged on the bed, the robe gathered about her knees. Cletus looked at her.
“You’re just a kid,” he said.
Terri smiled. “I’m older than I look,” she said, “but I don’t have to be.” Her eyes became big and a pout overtook her face. “Maybe you could buy me a lollipop, mister. Maybe you already got something I could lick. Do ya? Huh?”
Clete shook his head. “Okay,” he said. “You can quit now.”
“Sometimes I’m bad and need a spanking,” Terri went on, warming to the part. “Would you spank me if I was bad, sir? You know, put me across your lap, pull down my…”
“All right,” Crockett said. “That’s plenty. Knock it off.”
Terri looked at Crockett and the little girl fell away. “This about the lodge again?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’m goin’ out there tomorrow.”
“You are?” Crockett said.
Terri nodded. “Yeah. Six of us are booked for tomorrow night.”
“That’s more than usual, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.” Terry went on. “Six more girls are booked for two nights later. Everybody must be there.”
“Everbody?” Clete asked.
“All the body guards and stuff.”
“How many?”
“Bodyguards?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah, lemme see. There’s Boomer, Razor, Shaz, Ice, and Cactus. That’s five, right?”
“If ya don’t count Sleepy, Doc, and Dopey,” Clete said.
“Hammer and Slick may be there, too. Can’t tell by how many girls are called. They don’t like girls. Then, of course, there’s Phillips.”
“Phillips?”
“Metzger,” Crockett said.
“Cooper could be there, too,” Terri went on.
Crockett looked at Clete. “Boster,” he said.
Clete nodded. “Nine guys,” he said. “Possibly.”
“You know the phone number at the lodge?” Crockett asked.
Terri shook her head.
“Okay. If you could take a two or three weeks off, where would you go?”
“Vegas or Tahoe,” Terri said. “Make it kind of a working vacation. See the sights, make a few bucks, party hearty. Maybe I’d even pay somebody to do it my way for a change.”
“Five thousand dollars do that for ya?”
“Five grand? Fuck, yes! I get enough work and can stay independent, I might not even come back.”
“Okay.
The grand you’ve got, plus five more, payable tonight. Sound good?”
“Yeah. What do I have to do?”
“Call me as soon as you’re free of your appointment at the lodge, tell me how many people are staying there and what the landline phone number is.”
“That’s it?”
“Almost. You have to promise that as soon as you call me with the information, you are out of town. You don’t stay here that night, and you don’t come back to Deadwood for at least three weeks.”
“Five grand just for that?”
“Just for that.”
“I don’t have to blow a giraffe or anything?”
“We don’t have a step ladder,” Crockett said, fishing around in his suitcase for the cash. “The room next door is open if you want to start your vacation tonight.”
“Another evening of hot baths and TV?”
Crockett smiled and handed her a wad of cash. “You could use the break.”
“You’re right,” Terri said. “A night off before I have to do Boomer and Razor and anybody else that wants a ride, then whatever I want for three weeks. Deal.”
Ten minutes later, after making it clear that she was at their beck and call and that the door would remain unlocked, Terri had disappeared into her room. Clete pushed himself upright, looked at the connecting door, then peered at Crockett.
“Reckon I’m goin’ to the house,” he said.
Crockett looked at his watch. “At nine o’clock?”
Clete let his eyes travel to the connecting door again and shook his head. “I figure,” he said, “that since it’s gonna take at least three hours for me to cry myself to sleep, I better get started.”
Clete put a little salt on his biscuits and gravy and looked across the table. “You see her this morning?” he asked. They were sitting in a Bob Evans restaurant having breakfast.
Crockett shook his head. “Nope. I did slip a piece of paper with my satellite phone number under her door, though.”
“Dangerous kid,” Clete went on. “You take it upon yourself to help straighten her out, and she just might redirect your thinkin’, son. That there little shit is temptation on fire.”
“And a meth whore by the time she’s thirty,” Crockett said. “Hell of a past and not much of a future. Damn shame.”
“You can save folks from everthang ‘cept they own mistakes,” Clete drawled.
Crockett took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Fuck it,” he said. “Back to Rapid City this afternoon, rest up, go over shit with Stitch, then on the way to the ellzee about four in the morning?”
“Sounds good to me. This is some serious shit, Crockett. You ready for it?”
“I guess.”
“I guess ain’t good enough, Pard.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You got a problem?”
“I don’t know. I mean, were goin’ out there so I can shoot a bunch of people, for chrissakes.”
Clete grinned. “It’s a dirty job,” he said.
“Goddammit, Marshal! You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I know damn well what you mean. But this here is the guy that sent the guys to threaten you, damn near kill ya at the airport, an’ almost blow Satin up with a bomb that was meant for you. This is the guy that ordered poor ol’ Joe Beckner’s throat cut. This is the guy that got Ruby shot to death. And them that are with him are worse than he is. They’re not even operatin’ from passion. They’re just in it for the fuckin’ money.”
Clete paused for a bite of scrambled egg. “I don’t only know what you mean, Crockett, I know you,” he said. “When we’re on site and things start, you will do exactly what you’ve been trained to do. These killers ain’t people. They’re targets. And pard, when it comes to targets, you are the biggest bull in the pasture.”
Crockett’s smile was rueful. “Thanks, Clete,” he said.
Clete nodded. “’Sides, ol’ man, if you got yerself some performance anxiety, maybe I oughta check an’ see if ol’ Puma is in the house. Even at your age, she might be able to straighten you out, if you get my drift.”
Crockett smiled. “Sounds to me,” he said, “like you got lust in your heart for that young lady.”
Clete chuckled. “Not necessarily for her,” he said. “But I shore do admire what she stands for.”
CHAPTER FORTY
I Spy
Crockett and Clete suited up in the Bell on the way to the ellzee. When they were three or four miles out, Stitch stayed deep in the valleys as much as possible to dissipate the sound of the helo. Wearing night vision, he skimmed treetops, skirted bluffs, and just generally made the average roller coaster look like a Tinker Toy. Crockett, well-fortified on Dramamine, kept his oatmeal down.
Barely.
“Ah, about three minutes to insertion,” Stitch said, after a particularly sudden dive into a deep cut. “You dudes’ll wanna set up on a skid about now. You’ll have a couple of feet to the dirt. I’m not gonna set this thing all the way down. You got about a mile and a half to where you figured to dig in. You good to go?”
“Good to go,” Clete said.
“Far out. Take Crockett with ya, man. I don’t want him blowin’ chunks in my aircraft.”
“Pretty smooth,” Clete said, watching the helicopter climb into the darkness.
Crockett sat on the rocky ground and panted. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Like fucking glass.”
Clete grinned. “You okay?”
“I’m sick to my stomach, I’m old, and I only got one leg. What do you think?”
“You seem pretty good to me.”
“I been worse,” Crockett said, and creaked to his feet. “You know where we’re going?”
Clete consulted his GPS unit, then pointed up a steep slope to their west.
“That way, I reckon.”
“Terrific,” Crockett said, easing the massive rifle in its drag bag onto his shoulder and picking up the pack with his Ghillie suit. “You wake up the Sherpas while I check the oxygen bottles.”
Clete grinned and headed up the slope. As long as Crockett was complaining, he was okay.
The mile and a half took about two hours for the boys to cover. Dawn was just breaking when they topped the last rise and looked across a narrow valley to see the lodge, perched in the glow of a pole light, below the crest of the opposing hill. They moved down the slope about a hundred feet to roughly the same altitude as the lodge, then a hundred yards or so to their right before encountering a reasonably level spot about thirty feet square. Crockett laid the drag bag down and flopped beside it, breathing heavily. Clete produced an entrenching tool and began to scoop out his spider hole while Crockett caught his breath. Thirty minutes later, they were both tucked away, Ghillied to the gills, and virtually invisible to anyone over ten yards distant. They were only about five feet apart and, since no shooting of the big M107 was planned, they didn’t bother with the radio headsets.
“You hungry?” Clete asked, producing a candy bar.
“A Snickers? A real candy bar, not some freeze-dried sawdust plank covered in carob?”
“A honest to God Snickie, son. Complete with chocolate, peanuts, and nougat. I brought it all this way just for you.”
“Always nice to have a little something special on a camping trip, huh, Sweetie?” Crockett said.
“It sure is. What did you bring me?”
“I, uh…well...” Crockett stammered.
Clete stared at him. “Bitch,” he said, and rolled to his left side, turning his back to Crockett.
To Crockett’s surprise, Clete slept for almost two hours. While the Texican was dozing, Crockett unlimbered the massive M107, set up the bipod, fired up the scope, and looked over the lodge. To the right of the structure about fifty feet was a rather large garage. Directly to the right of it was a small machine shed. Behind the lodge and up the slope a short distance was what appeared to be the generator shack that Philo had described. Beside the generator shack, on legs made of pipe, stood an elevated fu
el tank that looked to have about a five hundred gallon capacity. Crockett could see both a fuel line that ran to the shack, and a second hose with a spigot for fueling vehicles. Good. That indicated gasoline as opposed to diesel fuel. To the left of the lodge and slightly to the rear of the structure, a large propane tank squatted on a cement pad.
Behind the lodge a gravel drive snaked down the slope from the dead end of Cotton Gulch Road, making four hairpin turns in its ragged path before it wound its way along the back of the main building and stopped in a parking area beside the garage. Parked in the lot was an H3 Hummer, an old Jeep Cherokee, and an immense black Lincoln Navigator. From his position, Crockett could not see inside the garage.
A little after seven, as the front of the lodge came into full sun, Crockett watched a man walk out onto the expansive porch. He paused by the railing with a cup of something, lit a cigarette, and looked out over the valley in front of him. Wearing a t-shirt and jeans, he rubbed his bare arms in the cool morning air. He was in his mid-thirties with short dark hair and a muscular build, and looked military. Crockett studied him through the scope for a moment or two, centering the crosshairs on his throat. Four hundred and sixty-three yards.
“Bang,” he whispered, and shut down the scope.
Things were quiet for the next hour or so, then Clete stirred.
“Guess I dozed off,” he said, peering at Crockett and shivering a bit. “I’m kinda cold.”
“Could get worse tonight.”
“No sweat, pard. I got a couple of space blankets and some chemical warming packs with me.”
“Good thinking.”
“Yeah, well I didn’t want us to havta spoon all night long to conserve body heat. You know how people talk. Anything going on?”
“Had a guy on the porch about an hour ago,” Crockett said. “Nothing since then.”
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