Slocum 419

by Jake Logan

  “Hell no. Hans was a bastard. He was mean and he treated that woman like dirt. Just like he treated our ma. He was no good from the start. I learned a lot from him, but I didn’t give a damn that Clara killed him. He deserved it.”

  “Jesus,” Loomis exclaimed across the room.

  Wolf turned to him.

  “Was that a prayer, Bert, or a curse?” Wolf asked.

  Hobart guffawed.

  Wolf peered into the dark spaces between each of the buildings across the street. Shadows crawled up the fronts of them and pooled up in between each one like some kind of dark tide.

  He had the odd feeling that someone was watching him as he stood in front of the window next to Hobart. But he saw no one. The pane darkened as he watched, and he knew it would not be long until sunset.

  “Time to light the lamps,” he said to Hobart.

  “Want me to stoke ’em up?” Hobart asked.

  “No, I’ll light ’em. You keep lookin’ outside.”

  There was a strange tone to Wolf’s voice as he walked away from the window toward the nearest lamp.

  Hobart looked outside. The street was empty.

  He thought he saw movement between a log cabin and a clapboard house. Something moved, something darker than the shadows, he thought.

  He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

  The blob of black was gone.

  Spiders crawled all over the nape of his neck.

  Had he seen something or someone?

  He wasn’t sure, and now the sting of a lit match’s sulphur crept into his nostrils and he staved off a sneeze.

  No need to mention what he hadn’t seen to Wolf.

  No need at all, because he just didn’t know.

  11

  Slocum made sure that Lou Darvin had regained most of his senses before he headed up the street to follow the blood trail of the man he had winged in the leg.

  “Tell the constable I wounded one of the men and I’m going to track him.”

  “Will do,” Lou said. “God, I’m sick about Jasper. Poor kid.”

  “These killers just didn’t happen by here,” Slocum said. “Somebody sent them here. I have a good idea who. Now I’m going to prove it.”

  “How?”

  “I have a hunch that the man who got away will run right back to the man who gives the orders.”

  “Hellinger would like to know who you think is behind this so he can arrest him.”

  “I think a man named Wolf Steiner sent these backshooters here to kill Jasper.”

  “Huh? Why? Jasper never hurt nobody.”

  “Maybe not. But my guess is that he was the only living heir to his brother Wilbur’s mine. I think Wolf is just waiting to forge papers to take over Wilbur’s mine.”

  “Good God. This is too much for me to handle.”

  “Start strapping on a pistol, Lou. With a man like Wolf, nobody’s safe in this town.” As if to emphasize his advice, Slocum opened the gate on his .45, slid the plunger through the chambers with the fired cartridges. They ejected, one by one, until all three fired chambers were empty. Then he plucked cartridges from his gun belt and inserted them into the empty tubes. He spun the cylinder, pulled the hammer back slightly to half cock, and holstered his pistol.

  “Yeah, I might just do that.”

  Slocum left him and strode to the first spatter of blood glistening the street. That was where he had nicked the fleeing gunman somewhere on his leg.

  From there on, there was a clear blood trail up the street.

  He noted the boot tracks of his quarry, too, and saw where the man had stopped. Little shards of lint lay on the ground. That told Slocum that the wounded man had ripped up a handkerchief to stop most of the bleeding.

  From then on, there was little blood, but the boot tracks were distinct. The man dragged one foot and that left its marks.

  He caught up to the man as he went between two buildings and crossed the street.

  Slocum saw him limp up to the door of a cabin and pound on it with his fist. A man appeared in the window to see who was knocking. Then the man turned away for a moment. Seconds later, he opened the door.

  Once the man was inside, Slocum retreated down the corridor between the buildings, walked to his left, and entered another passageway. He crossed the street, knowing he could not be seen by the man in the window. He hurried between two other cabins and counted two buildings until he arrived at the one the wounded gunman had entered.

  He slunk along the side of the cabin toward the front. There were no windows on that portion of the house. He stopped and put his ear to the wall.

  He heard talking, but could not make out the words. He moved closer to the front and pressed his ear against the wall near the front window.

  Then he could hear every word.

  He heard the wounded man speak to another and call him “Wolf.”

  Wolf called the wounded man “Bert” and “Loomis.”

  Another man spoke from the middle of the house.

  Slocum heard the man called Wolf tell the man to go and fetch the sawbones.

  The man he spoke to was named Jimmy John.

  Moments later, that man went out through the front door. Slocum listened to his footsteps until they faded from earshot.

  Slocum waited, but there was little talk. He heard a table being moved and the stamp of boots by the man at the front window. Then there were groans from someone, probably Loomis, and from the conversation, Slocum knew they had helped him get atop a table.

  Some twenty minutes or so later, Slocum heard footsteps scrape on the street. They stopped at the front door.

  “Just go inside, Doc. We got a wounded man in there.”

  “What about you? Aren’t you going in?”

  “Naw, Wolf wants me to buy him a coupla quarts of whiskey. It looks to be a long night. You go on in, Doc.”

  Slocum heard a jiggling noise.

  “It’s locked,” the doctor said.

  More footsteps as the man with the doctor walked to the window and tapped on it.

  “Open up, Hobart. The doc’s here.”

  More footsteps as Hobart went to the door.

  “You better go get that whiskey, Jimmy John,” Hobart said. “We’re dry as camel shit in here.”

  “I’m a-goin’,” Jimmy John said, and Slocum heard his footsteps as he trotted down the street and crossed it.

  The doctor went inside.

  Slocum listened to the snatches of conversation as the doctor cleaned Loomis’s wound, bandaged him up, and then left.

  He shrank back against the building, hugged a shadow when he saw a man cross the street at an angle and head for Wolf’s cabin.

  Later, he heard Wolf call the man “Clemson.” He pressed hard against the wall and listened to the entire conversation about the plan to have him seduced by Clemson’s two daughters. And he heard the story about Clara and Wolf’s brother. Slocum was surprised that the prim and proper “Miss Morgan” had a notorious past.

  He had heard enough, so he went back across the street the way he had come and took up his station in the gathering shadows where he could watch the cabin.

  The sun was easing down over the high peaks, and soon Slocum was immersed in shadow. He still saw Hobart at the window after Clemson left and then he saw a man come to the window, stand there, and look toward him.

  He knew, without ever having seen the man before, that Wolf Steiner was staring straight at him. He could barely make him out, but made note of his features, his clothing, and his build.

  Finally, Wolf turned around and disappeared from the window.

  When he saw the man who had brought the doctor return with a sack that clanked, Slocum eased back along the shadowed side of the building.

  He had seen enough.

  He walked
back to Main Street and headed toward his hotel.

  There were things he knew he had to do before he was approached by the twin girls. It should be an interesting evening, he thought, as he drew a cheroot from his shirt pocket and bit off one end of it.

  Somebody, he thought, was going to be mighty surprised.

  And it wasn’t going to be him.

  12

  Slocum stopped by a small store that advertised LIQUOR & SUNDRIES on its front window in blaring red paint. Inside, he bought a quart of Old Mill, a 90-proof Kentucky bourbon. He walked the dark street to the hotel, which was the only building that boasted an outside lamp. Yellow light sprayed from its front windows.

  Across the street, under the awning of a darkened theater, The Western Globe, Clara and her daughters huddled in a pool of shadows.

  “That’s him,” Clara whispered to Lacey and Stacey.

  “My, he’s very tall,” Lacey whispered back.

  “And very handsome,” Stacey tittered sotto voce.

  They stood in front of a faded poster announcing that Junius Booth was playing the role of Macbeth, a painting of his visage and body dressed in Elizabethan costume.

  They watched Slocum slowly stroll into the cone of light from the lamppost in front of the hotel. He paused there for a moment and looked up and down the street. He carried a package under his arm. The cartridges on his belt glistened golden in the spray of yellow light. Bugs and moths flitted around the coal oil lamp and batted their bodies against the gleaming glass.

  The women under the shingled overhang stared at the tall man in black, their coats wrapped tightly around them against the chill of evening. The moon had not yet risen and the street was bathed in darkness except for the spot where Slocum stood.

  They watched him turn and stride into the hotel.

  “This is going to be fun,” Lacey said.

  “Ummm. I could go for him,” Stacey said.

  “Hurry, girls. Get across the street and go inside. Smile your prettiest smiles and show him some bare legs.”

  The girls left their mother and hurried across the street to the hotel as Slocum walked across the lobby to the front desk.

  Slocum laid a five-dollar bill on the counter in front of the elderly man who stood there with an expectant look.

  “I’m John Slocum. I want another room, but I don’t want it on the books. Right next to the one I have. Just one night and you don’t give out that room number to anyone who calls. You give out the number of the room I’m now registered in. Just one night. You keep the change.”

  “Just a moment,” the clerk said. He consulted the register and his records. He found the name of John Slocum. “You’re in Room 6. I don’t have a vacancy next to it, but I do have one directly opposite, across the hall.”

  “That’s fine, Mr. . . .” Slocum said.

  “Armand, sir. My name’s Jules Armand.”

  Slocum looked at the man, who appeared to be in his fifties. He was short, thin, with an aquiline nose, and wore a black string tie and a white shirt, striped gabardine trousers.

  “From New Orleans?” Slocum asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In the morning, I’ll pay for any damages to either room,” Slocum said.

  “I understand, Mr. Slocum. I’ll take you on your word.”

  Armand handed Slocum the key to Room 7.

  “Just remember I’m not in Number 7; say I’m in Number 6.”

  “That you are, Mr. Slocum. ‘Discreet’ is my middle name.”

  “Do you smoke, Jules?”

  “I enjoy a cigar now and then.”

  Slocum fished out a cheroot and handed it to Armand as he slipped the key into his pocket.

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Slocum. This was what I smoked down home in New Orleans.”

  “Enjoy it and think of home, Jules.”

  Armand smiled. “Indeed I will.” Armand looked past Slocum at the front door. He saw two young women enter and loosen their coats. He opened his mouth to say something to them, but Slocum waved a finger in front of his chest to silence the man.

  “That’s probably the company I’m expecting, Jules.”

  “They’re very young, sir, but also very pretty.”

  Lacey and Stacey removed their coats and slung them over their arms. They were dressed in ankle-length blue dresses and wore patent leather shoes with straps around their ankles. Lacey wore a pink blouse. Stacey’s blouse was mauve. Their rhinestone and turquoise bracelets glittered in the glow of the lamplights.

  Slocum walked toward them.

  “And twins at that,” Jules whispered behind him. “Sacre bleu.”

  “Good evening, ladies,” Slocum said.

  “Good evening,” the girls chorused.

  “Are you staying here?” Slocum asked.

  “Not yet,” Stacey said. She walked up close to Slocum. Her low-cut bodice revealed the rounded contours of her breasts, and her smile was as sweet as a spring sunrise.

  Lacey came close on the other side and touched Slocum’s arm.

  “Will you pet my little pussy?” she whispered, and he gazed down at the mounds of her soft white breasts.

  “Does it meow?” he whispered.

  Both the girls giggled at his joke.

  “It might,” Lacey said. “It might bite you, too.”

  “Follow me,” he said. He held out his arms as he held the package in his left hand. The three of them walked out of the lobby and down the hall. Small candles in glass globes lit their way.

  Slocum stopped in front of Room 7 and dug the key out of his pocket. He slid it into the slot and turned it. The door unlatched and he pushed it open.

  “Oh, it’s so dark in here,” Stacey said.

  “Light us a lamp,” Slocum said as he escorted Lacey through the door behind Stacey, who ventured into the dark room and headed for the nearest lamp on a small table next to the wall.

  Slocum and Lacey heard rustling and the sliding cover on a box of matches. Then there was a scratching sound and Stacey held a lit match in her hand. She lifted the chimney and touched the flame to the wick. She slid the chimney back in place and turned the knob that made the wick rise. The lamp grew brighter and light sprayed into the shadows, made them slink away in retreat.

  “There, that’s better,” Stacey said.

  “Now, we can get a better look at this gorgeous man. I’m Lacey,” she said to Slocum.

  “Hello, Lacey.”

  “And I’m Stacey.”

  Stacey slunk over to Slocum and batted her eyelashes.

  “What do we call you, kind sir?” Lacey asked.

  “John,” he said. He walked over to the bureau and unwrapped the package. He set out the bottle of bourbon and turned to the twins.

  “They gave us three glasses,” he said. “You girls like a drink?”

  “Sure,” Stacey said. “Just a little taste.”

  “If you’re having one, John, I’ll drink with you,” Lacey said.

  The girls threw their coats down on the floor, next to the wall.

  Slocum poured bourbon into three glasses.

  Stacey approached the bureau and Slocum handed her a glass. She held it to her nose and sniffed.

  Then she ran a hand over Slocum’s belt buckle, the one that was attached to his gun belt.

  “You’re a mite overdressed, John,” she cooed.

  “What did you have in mind, Stacey?”

  “I want you to be comfortable. I want to see more of you.”

  “I want you to pet my pussy,” Lacey said. She flashed Slocum an enticing smile.

  “Maybe we ought to play strip poker,” Slocum said. “If either of you has a deck of cards.”

  Stacey’s hand slid down to Slocum’s crotch. She felt the bulge and began to rub her fingers over its contours.<
br />
  “It looks like you’re petting my hound dog,” Slocum said to her.

  Stacey giggled with delight.

  “Ummm. Is he a big dog?” she asked.

  “He grows on you,” Slocum said. He handed Lacey her glass and sipped from his.

  “I’ll be he does,” Stacey said.

  “Maybe we could all sit together on the bed,” Lacey said. She sipped her drink and walked over to the bed and sat down on it. She unstrapped her shoes and kicked them off.

  “Shall we join Lacey?” Stacey removed her hand and grabbed Slocum’s free hand. She led him over to the bed as Lacey began to unbutton her low-cut blouse.

  “You girls look pretty young.”

  “We’re old enough,” Lacey said. “And we’re not virgins, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No, I didn’t think you were,” he said.

  Lacey set her drink down on the nightstand, then took off her blouse. She reached behind her back and began to unsnap her brassiere. She flung it to the floor, and her pert breasts were in full display.

  Slocum gawked at them.

  “Nice,” he said.

  “Well, you’re still wearing your gun and have your pants on, John. And I still want you to pet my pussy.”

  “Ever have two girls at once, John?” Stacey asked, setting her drink down next to her sister’s.

  “I don’t kiss and tell,” he said.

  The twins both laughed as Slocum began to unbuckle his gun belt. He removed it and then buckled it again. He hung it on the bedpost beside one of the pillows.

  When he turned around, Stacey removed her shoes and pulled down her skirt. He unbuckled his trouser belt as she slid her panties down her slender legs and let them fall to the floor. He sat down and pulled off his boots, then slid his unbuckled trousers down and kicked them off on the floor.

  Lacey finished undressing and lay back on the bed.

  Slocum sailed his hat across the room and took off his shirt.

  Both girls looked at his male equipment with eyes that grew wider as his cock began to unfurl and extend.

  Stacey slid onto the bed, stark naked.

  Slocum climbed up and lay between them. He reached over and touched Lacey’s dark thatch. Her hips rose to meet his touch, and he slid his index finger into her slit and flicked it up and down.