“I was impressed by what I heard,” the stranger continued. “I come here today asking you to use that talent in killing me.”
Pete Jenkins’ buddies laughed, but Pete didn’t join them. His grin was plastered on his face, clearly amused by the novelty of the situation. “What’s your name, my friend?”
The stranger’s face shifted in shame. He averted his eyes from Pete’s face, shuffling his feet and looking at the floor. “I don’t think that matters much, don’t you think? But if it matters to you, call me what you want.”
“Fine,” Peter Jenkins said, not liking the looks of this man, and not liking his strange request either. “Normally, I’d be perfectly happy to help you out here. And I suppose it’s none of my business to ask you why you want to die. I believe a man is the master of his own destiny, and if a man chooses to end his life then so be it. I’m not going to try to talk you out of it. But I do have one question for you.”
The man looked up at Pete with his bloodshot eyes.
“Why not do it yourself?” The grin disappeared from Pete Jenkins’ face as he regarded the beanpole thin man standing in front of him.
The stranger opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. He shook his head. “It’s something you wouldn’t understand,” he said softly. “I…I’ve tried already…thought about it, tried it a few times…drinking and stuff…and…” He shook his head and looked at Pete, meeting his gaze. “I try but something stops me. I have to be killed by another.” The sign of a terrible struggle inside shivered through him as he straightened himself up. Pete noticed it and nodded.
“Well then, I accept that,” Pete said, smiling again. “And I’ll be happy to meet your favor. When do you want me to—”
“Now,” the stranger said, his voice deadpan, his eyes hollow and haunted. “Right here. Or outside if you prefer.”
“Fine,” Pete said, grinning wide. He couldn’t believe this joker. Part of him still didn’t believe the guy was serious, so he came up with one more distraction. “Sure you don’t want a last meal? Men sentenced to die are at least offered one last meal, you know.”
The man shook his head. “No.”
“You sure?” Behind him, the bar had grown silent, but Earl and Ray, his two partners with whom he rode most of the time, chuckled in amusement. “I mean, we want to do this as civil as possible. Don’t want you to go out any less than a condemned man. Tell you what? How about one last romp in the sack with one of the gals here at the Brown Jug Saloon?”
The man shuddered and shook his head harder. It looked like the idea of sex with one of the girls sickened him. “No.” And then, in a voice so low that Pete almost didn’t hear it: “Especially not that.”
Pete frowned. “Did I hear that right?”
The man appeared to shrink visibly. “What’s that?”
Pete took a step forward, his right hand over the butt of his gun. “The way you declined my offer for one last romp with one of our girls…you made it sound as if there was something wrong with them.”
The man took a step back, his body language clearly indicating that he wanted out of the situation, but was frozen in fear. “No…I didn’t mean that at all.”
“Then maybe you would like one last romp with one of the girls?”
“No.”
Pete’s eyes narrowed. The man’s eyes flickered around the room; his hands were shaking. “You declined that offer pretty fast, partner. What’s the matter? Like men better?”
This brought a fresh gale of laughter from the rest of the bar. The owner of the Brown Jug Saloon stood behind the bar watching the scene, leaning against the polished oak of the bar top. Pete looked back at his friends and the rest of the room, acknowledging the praise of the verbal insult. He could feel his body grow warm and tingly the way it did when he was getting primed for a fight.
The man practically stuttered his answer. “N-n-no, I’m—”
Pete lunged forward and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt in both fists. “You do like men, don’t you? You don’t want a romp in the sack with one of the girls because you’re a goddamned homosexual, aren’t you?”
“N-n-no, I’m not, I’m—”
Pete backhanded the man across the face, knocking him back easily. The guy was so thin it didn’t take much effort. The man fell and Pete was on him in a flash, hauling him to his feet, shaking him. His two buddies, Ray Palmer and Earl Jones, joined him and together they shoved the stranger around, reveling in the smaller man’s fear. Pete punctuated his shoves with a “not man enough for one of our gals, huh? Like the touch of a man, better? Huh?” Each shove was accompanied by similar catcalls from the other men. Each time the stranger was shoved against one man, he made a scramble to escape, only to get grabbed and shoved roughly into another man.
The dark man at the bar stepped back, baring his Ranger badge and his own side-iron with a flip of his coat. “That’s enough, Pete,” he said in a dry, rough voice.
Pete and his buddies froze, dropping the small man, bearing their own artillery. “What’s that, Lawman? You got something to say to me?”
“You’ve had your fun. Leave him alone now.”
“Why don’t you just get the hell out of here. This don’t concern you.”
The deputy eyed the three gunmen, as if sizing them up. Pete felt his body tense as his hand went toward his piece, primed and ready. He eyed the lawman, prepared for any sudden movement. Prepared for—
The guns came up in a flash. The deputy was fast, but Pete was faster. The lawman fell over, blood flying from his head. He collapsed against a table, then lay on the floor making the sawdust red.
Pete Jenkins didn’t let down his gun. He waved Earl over to check the body. The other man approached with his own gun ready. Earl felt the lawman’s throat. “He’s alive. You just creased him. He’ll wake tomorrow with a hell of a headache.”
“Goddamn tin star. Gotta kill him someday. But not today, eh, my friend?” He turned his attention back to the small man who waited quietly, clutching his hat. Just as it appeared that he was going to start whimpering, Pete grabbed him by the scruff of the collar and started hauling him toward the stairs to the saloon’s second floor. “Let’s go, you damn, homo.”
“What—” The man began.
“Shut up!” Pete growled, shoving him up the stairs, Earl and Ray close behind him, followed by the rest of the saloon. He had been amused by the stranger’s request, but now he was merely annoyed by his weakness in the face of conflict. “You want me to kill you? Fine! I’ll kill you, but first I’m going to torture your man-loving ass.” He laughed. “Boy are you gonna hate this!” And with that he shoved the man down the short hallway on the second floor and stopped him at the middle door on the left. He knocked loudly three times.
The door opened and a woman peered out. She had dirty blonde hair and appeared to be in her late twenties. “What is it?”
“Got one for you, Maggie,” Pete said, shoving the stranger forward. Maggie opened the door quickly as the man was shoved into the room, followed closely by Pete. Ray and Earl hovered at the door, their grins wicked as the rest of the men crowded outside the room in the hallway.
The stranger was pushed to the narrow bed in the middle of the room. There were two other women in the room, all of them dressed in long, frilly dresses. One of them looked no older than fifteen. Maggie turned to Pete “Okay, Pete, what the hell is going on?”
“This guy wants the fuck of his life, Maggie,” Pete said, motioning to the stranger, who was pulling himself off the bed, shaking. “He’s a goddamned homosexual and he needs to be changed from his ways. You and your girls are about the best whores in town that could do that for him.”
“Please,” The man said, no longer comfortable with being passive. His face was pleading, his eyes huge with fright. “Please, you don’t know what you’re doing—”
Pete pulled his gun out of the holster and pointed it at the man’s forehead. “Shut the hell up and get undressed. Now!”
One of the women, dark-haired, slim, piped up from the corner. “Gee, Pete. Don’t you think you’re being a little too hard on the guy?”
Pete looked at her with a grimace. “The last time I was a little too hard was the last time I fucked your ass so hard you couldn’t sit down for a week. Now sit down and shut up!”
The woman closed her mouth and turned away. The younger girl remained silent, her features filled with dread. Pete turned his attention back to the man and pressed the barrel of the gun to the man’s forehead. He cocked the hammer. “Off with your clothes.”
Tears ran down the stranger’s cheeks. It didn’t appear that he wanted to die so badly now. He started taking off his boots. “Please, sir,” he said, his voice high and whining. “Please, not here, please…”
Earl stepped forward and slapped some bills down on the dresser by the entrance. Payment. Pete motioned to Maggie. “Why don’t you get undressed too, honey. This ol’ boy here might as well sample the best. He’s all yours.”
Maggie looked at her friends and nodded. They headed toward the doorway, squeezed past Earl and Ray who leered as they sidled by and retreated down the hallway to the back rooms. Pete kept his gun trained on the stranger, who was struggling to unbutton his shirt. “Come on, tiger. We don’t have all day.”
“Please,” The man cried. He got his shirt off and let it fall to join his pants. Pete motioned with the gun for the man to remove his skivvies. He did, moving like an automaton, crying “Please, you don’t know what you’re doing…oh, God please…”
It was Maggie who noticed first but they all let out a startled rush of breath at the sight of the man’s body. The skinny, lily-white skin was covered in weird tattoos, scars that made odd patterns on his skin. The majority of the swirls were a combination of mandalas intersected by weird, arcane symbols.
“Well, I’ll be—” Pete blurted out. “He’s a goddamn circus freak!”
“What is that weird shit?” asked Earl.
“Looks Injun. You been tortured by Injuns, boy?” asked Maggie.
“When did he have time to live with Injuns? He’s a greenhorn,” said Pete. “Get on with it, Maggie.”
Maggie removed the last of her clothing and sat down on the bed next to him, already warming to the idea of the trick. She smiled at the stranger. “What’s your name, honey?”
“He wouldn’t tell us,” Pete said, gun trained at the man’s forehead. “I suppose it don’t matter none since you ain’t gonna remember ten minutes from now, Maggie.”
Maggie shot a frown at Pete and turned back to the stranger, mustering up a smile. “How do you want me, baby?”
Pete shot a leering glance back toward the rest of the men crowded around the doorway, then turned back to Maggie. “Let him take you the way a real man takes a woman. Lay on your back and open them legs, darlin’.”
Hoots and hollers rose from the men in the doorway as Maggie complied with a smile. She rested her head back on the pillow, her breasts spilling over the sides of her chest as she opened her legs, exposing her sex. Pete smiled lasciviously, prodding the man with the barrel of the gun. “Okay, partner. You’re gonna thank me when this is over. You get in there and fuck her like a jack rabbit.”
The man was sobbing hoarsely, his face red with tears. He looked up at Pete as he crawled on the bed over Maggie. “Please, you don’t…kn-know what you’re…doing…”
Pete touched the barrel of the gun against the man’s temple, finger tight on the trigger. “I know very well what I’m doing. Now fuck her!”
Maggie cooed something to the stranger as he moved over her, his face still turned to Pete. He was bawling now, his face screwed up. He was mumbling unintelligibly. “I…don’t want to…k-k-keh…oh, God please…” His penis was shriveled; it brushed against Maggie’s sex limply and Pete and Maggie laughed.
“Come on, honey, let’s get your equipment going, okay?” Maggie reached down and began working his limp penis with her fingers. She smiled at him, smirking. “You can do it.”
“No…” The man gasped, still sobbing. “I can’t…please…I can’t do this…I…d-don’t want to…keh…k—”
“Goddamn it, quit your whining!” Pete stepped forward and belted the man in the face. The blow sent him collapsing on top of Maggie, bringing a fresh bout of sobs from him.
Maggie turned her features up at Pete, now angry. “I’ve had enough of you, Pete Jenkins. Get the hell out of my room and let me tend to this boy here in peace!”
“Guy’s a damned crybaby,” Pete muttered.
“I don’t care what you think about him,” Maggie shrieked, holding the man close to her as he sobbed loudly, his face buried in the pillow next to Maggie’s head. “He’s mine, and your boys already paid for his time with me. Now get the hell out!”
Pete stepped toward her menacingly. He hated it when women talked back to him like that. “What did you say, bitch?”
The door to the bedroom opened and the other two whores stood in the doorway, the older one glaring at Pete threateningly. “Let her alone, Pete. She’s just trying to earn her money. Leave her be.”
Pete saw that the men from the saloon were still crowded in the hallway behind the whores. Earl nodded, signifying that it would be best if he let Maggie do her thing. The homosexual had been humiliated enough, and was going to go through even more hell when Maggie got him calmed down and tried to seduce him. He knew that Maggie would fuck just about anything, which was why he had chosen her to screw the stranger in the first place. Maggie could make the limp, scared cock of the shyest virgin spring to attention quicker than a horse could shit.
Everything was taken care of. Pete nodded, tipped his hat toward Maggie and the stranger, who was sobbing quietly now, and backed out of the room. “Have fun, partner. When you’re finished we’ll discuss the rest of your proposition in the bar.” He laughed and walked out of the room, joining the rest of the men in the hall amid congratulatory chuckles and pats on the back.
The older whore glanced in the room one last time and Maggie nodded at her to close the door. She did. The door closed softly. Leaving Maggie and the stranger alone.
“It’s okay, baby,” Maggie cooed, holding the man close to her, her right hand patting his scarred back. She shifted slightly underneath the weight of his body, moving her face close to his ear, whispering soothingly to him. “There, it’s okay, baby. Everything’s all right. They’re all gone. There…there…” The man’s sobs began to trickle down. Maggie held him in her embrace, talking to him in soft, soothing tones. Calming him down. And then— “Come on, baby. I’m yours…”
* * *
The bar had grown quiet since they’d all returned downstairs after Maggie had thrown them out. The storm outside had grown stronger, lightning flashing followed by loud rumbles of thunder. Pete Jenkins had gone to the bar for a few shots of bourbon while a dart game resumed in the far corner. The deputy had been hauled off to a back room to sleep off his head wound. Earl and Ray joined Pete at the bar, and for the next ten minutes they slammed down shots and laughed about the stranger and the gunfight.
“So what do you think?” Pete guffawed, alcohol fumes spraying. “Think Maggie will turn that homosexual into a real man?”
“You got that right,” Earl said, flashing a toothless grin. He raised his own shot glass and downed it. The bartender quickly refilled their glasses, joining in with their jokes about the man that had been crazy and dumb enough to walk into the Brown Jug saloon and challenge Pete Jenkins to such a dare.
“Damn fool should thank you for getting him laid before you kick the tar out of him,” the bartender said.
“Wait a minute?” Ray asked. “Ain’t you gonna kill him? It’s what he asked for.”
Pete shrugged. “Don’t know. Poor fool is probably just down on his luck and feeling suicidal. A bit of Maggie and he’ll feel fine again.”
The men mused over this, drinking silently.
The door to the saloon opened, emitting
a pair of cowboys Pete knew from Grand Junction. They sidled up to the bar and the bartender went to tend to them.
Ten more minutes passed. Then five. It was now twenty-five minutes since they’d left the room upstairs.
“That boy is getting the fuck of his life up there, ain’t he,” Earl mused, rubbing his grizzled jaw, looking up toward the stairs that led to the second floor.
Pete frowned. “I reckon so.” A part of him was now worried. The stranger didn’t look like the kind of man that would be able to withstand twenty-five minutes of Maggie. But then he was probably still cowering in fright at the thought of having sex with a woman. If that were the case, Maggie would have thrown him out by now, probably throwing a bottle at him as he came flying down the stairs to boot. But none of that had happened.
Now Pete turned on his barstool, stood and looked up at the second floor landing, frowning. What the hell was taking them so long?
“They been up there a long time,” the bartender said, joining them at the end of the bar again.
“Yep,” Pete said. He got slowly up off the barstool and pushed his hat back from his forehead. “Too long for my comfort.” Without another word, he ambled silently toward the stairs to the second floor. Earl and Ray followed him.
When they hit the landing they headed down the hallway. Pete stopped halfway down and paused, raising his hand to Ray and Earl to stop. They did.
The second floor was quiet.
Dead quiet.
He stood on the landing, straining his ears to try to hear above the steady patter of the rain outside. He couldn’t hear a sound from the room. Pete knew damn well that even if it had taken Maggie a good twenty minutes to calm the stranger down and had gotten him aroused, they would be going at it by now. The noise would give them away. There would be no other choice. What the hell was going on?
From the far end of the hall a door opened and the young whore poked her head out. She looked down the hall. Pete called out to her. “Are they still in there?”
The Summoning Page 11