Southern Spirits

by Edie Bingham

  ‘Is there a non-humiliating point to this?’

  ‘Yes, dickhead.’ She turned her head to face him. ‘He’s good. But you’re better. Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?’

  ‘Nope. I wanted to hear that he was crap, and that you sent him home to play with his coins.’

  Cat smiled, playing with his chest hairs. ‘Men.’ Her smile dropped. ‘We should get up.’

  ‘No, let’s stay in a bit longer.’

  ‘Why?’ Then she nodded as if in understanding. ‘Ahh right, you older guys need more rest.’

  He twisted suddenly, half on top of her, invading her mouth with his tongue, wrapping one leg around hers, pressing his erection into her thigh. His hand moved up and caressed one of her breasts, enjoying the fullness of it, its heat and softness. Their tongues danced together, and Cat melted and squirmed under his attentions, wrapping her arms around him.

  When their mouths parted, Cat gasped and asked, still teasingly, ‘So, you remain in peak condition, Agent Ames?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Pressing his erection harder against her, Nathan shifted his hand down along her belly, dipping once into her navel before continuing its descent, cupped her mound, feeling the heat, the wetness of individual strands of her bush, and the puffy flesh against his palm. ‘Let’s find out.’

  Cat’s eyes widened in response, and her mouth gasped out as Nathan entered her with his middle finger, gently but insistently penetrating her to the hilt, the walls of her sex tightening ferociously around him. Nathan smiled and leant in close to whisper, ‘Let me know if you find me flagging, right?’

  Cat’s eyes opened wide each time his finger went deep, and she bit her lip before replying breathlessly, ‘Ah . . . ah fuck . . . bastard.’

  He drew closer to her ear and licked it. Cat’s body undulated like waves, her limbs spasming, and a reply she tried to make was lost somewhere. But he still spoke. ‘If I want to stay in bed with you, sleep’s usually the last thing on my mind.’ As his finger continued to thrust into her, his thumb swivelled up to tease and rub against her clitoris. Cat closed her eyes and clenched her teeth in acute concentration. ‘And I don’t want anyone else touching you.’

  ‘Ah . . . ah . . . you . . .’ Words became yelps, yelps became cries, rising, galvanising like her body in the throes of climax, suffused with sensation for what seemed like hours.

  Then she collapsed on the bed, her pussy having squeezed out Nathan’s finger, her head spinning, but her hungers driving her to part her thighs and help Nathan as he rose above her, his cock brushing against her inner thigh, seeking the warmth of her damp, sensitised pussy, moaning as he drove into her. Fully onto her but keeping his weight off her, he pumped with a furious abandon, keeping her on the cusp of another climax. Cat’s pussy squeezed around him, clutching him once more, their mouths grinding with an almost frightening intensity, his grunts as he fucked her a honey coating to her ears.

  As Nathan began losing control, thrusting harder and faster into her, Cat urged him onwards, wanting his seed inside her again. He gave it, moaning and shooting into Cat and completing the circuit for another of her own orgasms, a sustained wave of bliss that sent her flying for the longest time . . .

  Cat dropped back to earth when Nathan’s cock wilted inside her, and she moved off him to clench her thighs and keep his seed inside her. They clung to each other, neither speaking, neither opening their eyes, but remaining close, their skin glistening with sweat. Cat absently reached down and stroked his flaccid shaft, moist and shining with their fluids. ‘Bastard. Now I do have to rest.’

  ‘Aww, poor baby, maybe –’

  ‘Coins?’

  ‘What?’

  She rose a little, frowning. ‘He collects coins?’ It didn’t seem to fit the man’s personality. Perhaps he really had turned over a new leaf?

  ‘Well, I didn’t see any, but he’s got books and notes on them.’

  And with that, it all fell into place for Cat.

  She cast off the bedsheets and padded naked over to where the phone sat, wincing with sweet discomfort at the aftereffects of their sex, and aware of his come beginning to seep from her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Calling Gordy. I have another request I hope he’ll fulfil.’

  Nathan smiled as he watched her. ‘Just describe in detail what I’m seeing now and he’ll move mountains. But are you going to let me in on it this time?’

  She turned back to him and winked. ‘Listen and learn.’

  Nathan did both.

  * * *

  There weren’t many in the reception carriage at that hour, with most passengers in the rear of the train, availing themselves of the wardrobes to select costumes for the party that evening. At the nearby tables, Richard Newholme sat alone as always, still wearing the suit he wore when he’d boarded yesterday, as if his costume of choice was commuting businessman; he nursed his brandy and otherwise kept to his own thoughts. Ben and Hannah were clad in a white tuxedo suit and red sequin dress, respectively, an echo of Bogart and Bergman.

  Wheeler held out his arms to display the billowy black sleeves of his silk shirt, part of an ensemble of brocaded leather waistcoat, bandana, breeches and knee-high leather boots, threatening a potted plant with his rapier. ‘Louisiana has traditionally been a haven for pirates and privateers, and extends to the moonshiners of Prohibition days. Belle herself has carried a number of modern scoundrels –’

  Tara, dressed in a very attractive biker chick’s outfit of tight leathers, ripped T-shirt and studded belts and collars, looked distracted and annoyed, and sounded it. ‘You talk a lot about Belle, Jack. But you have no idea what’s really behind her. If you did, you wouldn’t be so flippant.’

  Wheeler looked bemused at the interruption, glancing at the door. ‘Is there a problem, Miss Gilbrand?’

  ‘You’re waiting for Cat and Nathan.’

  ‘Uh, yes. I sent someone to their berth inviting them to join us here.’

  ‘Don’t worry; they’re on their way now.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ He turned again; seconds later, Catalina and Nathan Ames entered, striding purposefully towards him. They were dressed in plain dark clothes, a black skirt suit on Catalina and a trouser suit on Mr Ames. Cat reached into her jacket and produced a gold badge and ID card. ‘Jonathan Wheeler, I’m Special Agent Catalina Montoya, and this is Special Agent Nathan Ames. We’re with the Criminal Investigation Division of the IRS.’

  Wheeler smiled and offered light applause. ‘Well presented and very authentic sounding. But a little tip for you: FBI agents are sexy, tax agents aren’t.’

  ‘I’ve had both types,’ Nathan informed him with a smile. ‘And you are dead wrong.’

  ‘And you’re dead wrong about these being costumes.’ Cat put away her badge. ‘They’re real. We’re real. And you’re under arrest, pendejo.’

  Faye stormed into the dining carriage, pushing past the curious, seeking that son of a bitch. ‘Donnie!’

  The man sat alone near the dining-car bar, nursing a shot glass and acquired bottle, looking as if his world had collapsed upon him.

  She drew closer. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  He never looked up from the glass in his hand, his face flushed with previous shots and his voice was slurred. ‘Getting drunk. Can’t you tell?’

  Faye tried to control her temper, turning on the sweetness as she sat beside him, lowering her voice. ‘Stud, if you get drunk, you won’t be able to help me.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s true.’ He downed his shot in one.

  She leant in closer, anger and panic vying for dominance, and set down the folded documents she was carrying. ‘Donnie, I’ve got the transfer of ownership papers ready. But if I don’t take over, you won’t have anything to tell your Uncle Leo.’

  Mention of the man’s name finally brought out a response from him – a face of tight contempt. ‘I’ve got enough to tell him. I’ll tell him to go to hell, for starters. And I’ll follow.’
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  Faye looked around, in case anyone was close enough to hear, before whispering, ‘Donnie, if it’s a case of nerves, you’re not going to get courage from a couple of shots of JD.’

  ‘It’s not about fear.’ He swallowed. ‘It’s about shame. Leave me alone, will you?’

  ‘Donnie,’ she started, reaching under the table to touch him.

  Now he looked up. ‘Leave me alone, or I’ll tell Wheeler about your plans.’

  Faye saw the harsh look of truth in his eyes. She departed quickly and found a vacant lavatory to enter and vent out her frustrations, smacking her fists against the walls. Goddamn it! What had happened to him in just a few short hours?

  Then she calmed down, checked out her appearance in the mirror and nodded with satisfaction. This was just a temporary setback. She’d find some other loser. Maybe Ames? Then this shitty train would belong to her. She promised herself that.

  Calmer now, she moved to leave.

  But the door wouldn’t unlock.

  She tried it repeatedly, cursed, pounded her fists against the door, called out for help until her voice went hoarse, even tried the emergency button.

  Nothing.

  Twisting with rage, she lashed out, kicking the toilet bowl and bruising her toes through her best shoes.

  And that was when the toilet erupted its contents like a geyser.

  ‘Arrested?’ Wheeler smiled, looking to the few other passengers in the carriage, most pretending not to be interested. ‘On what charges?’

  ‘Conspiracy to steal government property.’

  ‘Ooh, sounds impressive, but of course I have no idea what you mean.’

  ‘Of course you do, honey.’ Cat walked about, deliberately taking in the other passengers. ‘Let’s talk about the Silver Bell.’

  ‘My ownership of this train is clearly and legally established.’

  ‘I don’t mean Belle with an “e” at the end, but then you know that anyway. In 1875, the US Treasury was looking to produce a commemorative coin of legal tender, to honour the upcoming American Centennial. One prototype – a silver coin worth one hundred dollars – went as far as having a proof run of sixty-four made, but the government rejected the idea due to silver devaluation. The Treasury ordered all but one melted down, sending the last for display in the Smithsonian in D.C. However, it went missing while in transit from the Mint in New Orleans. I’ll let my assistant Agent Ames continue.’

  Nathan shot her a good-natured glare, before proceeding. ‘Over the following decades, various secret service agents had tried tracking it down, with no success. And its reputation among collectors has grown.’ He produced a page, detailing the obverse and reverse sides of a silver coin. ‘From one of your own notebooks. Because of the picture of the Liberty Bell on one side, the coin has earned the nickname of . . . the Silver Bell. And, with the 1933 Gold Double Eagle and the 1781 Ortega Dubloon, it’s considered one of the most valuable coins in the world, with an estimated value among collectors exceeding eight million dollars.’

  ‘Unscrupulous collectors, that is,’ Cat amended. ‘Since the coin is considered stolen Treasury property.’

  ‘Is this charming narrative going anywhere?’ Wheeler asked, his face now taut.

  ‘Si, Jack. The coin was last rumoured to be in the possession of a Chicago mobster named Ira Lebowsky – the same mobster robbed by one Mickey Uscione in 1958. You know all about Mickey, of course, your office is full of notes on him, and his wife, and her lover. You’ve been using the echoes of these three people, not to help them find some peace, but to find the coin. There are no ghosts.’

  ‘What?’

  All eyes turned to Newholme, who’d risen from his chair and approached the group warily, his face an expression of confusion and pain. He fixed a stare at Wheeler. ‘A fraud? This is all a fraud?’

  Wheeler swallowed, looking embarrassed. ‘Mr Newholme, I never intimated that your wife’s spirit was onboard.’

  ‘Bastard. You bastard.’ The old man stormed out of the carriage.

  Wheeler turned back to Cat. ‘Very fanciful story, Catalina, but you have no proof, no witnesses.’ He raised the rapier.

  Nathan immediately stepped in front of Cat, his posture defensive, his face hard. ‘Drop that, bud. Now!’

  Wheeler smiled and released it, letting it hit the carpet with a clang. ‘How gallant, but I think the lady can defend herself. She’s fit, and I know from personal experience, quite limber.’

  ‘Save it, Jack,’ Cat advised, stepping around Nathan and patting him on the arm. ‘Down, boy. He won’t try anything. He’ll be too busy calling his driver to stop at the next station.’

  Wheeler frowned at her, but to his credit nodded and walked to the internal phone by the front of the carriage, Nathan following.

  Ben and Hannah Oliver drew up to Cat. ‘Um, Agent Montoya, is it?’

  ‘It’s still Cat.’

  OK. Are we in any trouble?’

  She smiled. ‘No. This is strictly a Federal matter. We’ll arrange to have the passengers transported back to their points of origin on another train.’

  Now Tara spoke up. ‘But what about the mystery? Val and Enrique?’

  ‘Sorry, but they’ll have to wait with Mamselle Belagrís –’

  Tara paled. ‘Belagrís? Belle is Belagrís?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Cat admitted. ‘Val thought of that name often. My sources tell me she was some sort of spirit protector.’

  ‘She is.’ The younger woman’s face took on a new look, not one of disappointment, but unease. ‘This might not all be over, Catalina.’

  Before Cat could ask what she meant, Nathan drew up. ‘The driver’s not answering. The phone seems to work, but . . .’

  ‘Get to the locomotive. I’ll try some of the utility phones in the neighbouring carriages.’ To Wheeler, she added, ‘You’re coming with me. The rest of you, please stay here.’

  Wheeler kept up his enigmatic expression as Cat escorted him to the next carriage in the train, finding no one and no working phone. ‘You’d better get these things functioning, Jack.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me, Special Agent.’

  The second car, the kitchen/pantry/storage carriage, was also empty and without a working phone. ‘Jack, you’ll be charged with obstructing Federal agents in the course of an investigation.’

  ‘I’m telling you, it’s not me.’

  When they reached the accessway to the next carriage, they found the safety door shut, refusing to open. Cat pinned Wheeler to the nearest wall. ‘Enough of this, pendejo! I’m gonna put you away for so long.’

  ‘It’s not me!’ he practically yelled. ‘Belle does these things!’

  Such was the sincerity he showed, the fear, that Cat released him. ‘You’re serious?’

  Wheeler straightened up again. ‘She can disrupt the cameras and microphones, lock doors, lose things on me! She’s mercurial, obstreperous, stubborn – the quintessential female!’

  From the far end of the carriage, Nathan appeared. ‘Cat! You’d better come see this!’

  She did, as did everybody else, it seemed. There was another secured door separating the locomotive from the rest of the train, but a small thick window allowed one to look in and see the intricate workings of the locomotive controls, and the driver himself.

  Except that in this instance, there was no driver.

  Cat was stunned, but turned to see an equally surprised Wheeler. ‘Have you put this thing on some automatic pilot?’

  ‘The old Imperial IIIs didn’t have such features,’ Ben Oliver noted, looking around him in awe, if not fear. ‘They have dead man’s switches, so if something happens to the driver, the train comes to a stop.’

  ‘Last I saw them, the driver and his assistant were in one of the staff berths, from this morning,’ Wheeler noted. ‘Once everyone was back onboard in the afternoon, they start up with a signal from us. Maybe they’re still back there, trapped?’

  Like the rest of us, Cat told herself. She sco
wled at him. ‘Why the hell are you smiling?’

  Wheeler looked insufferably smug. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Belle’s protecting me. She doesn’t want me arrested.’

  ‘She doesn’t give a damn about you, Jack.’

  All eyes turned to Tara, who continued, ‘This is about fulfilling a generations-old pact. She wants the mystery solved. And she won’t let go until it’s done.’

  In the main carriages of Belle, the collective passengers and staff, ignorant of the situation in the front of the train, enveloped by heat and red light and the throbbing waves of the guitarist at the peak of his energies, danced and bobbed and fucked in a collective mass, a bacchanal of energy that fed the force which drove the train into the night.

  Unstoppable.

  14

  They’d returned to the reception carriage to plan their next move – all except for Wheeler, who sat alone in one corner, content to look more insufferable now than before.

  ‘Our own phone can’t seem to get a signal now, and we can’t get to any of the phones in Wheeler’s office,’ Nathan was saying. ‘Maybe we can break a window here, and I can climb outside to the rest of the train?’

  ‘That would be too dangerous, Agent Ames,’ Ben warned. ‘We’re going too fast, in the dark, in a storm.’

  ‘Si, Hound. You’re not Bruce Willis.’

  ‘Bruce Willis climbed out of buildings, Cat, it was Steven Seagal who climbed outside of trains.’

  ‘Steven Seagal es un cabrón estúpido.’ Cat’s eyes locked with Wheeler’s. The man was definitely hiding more than he had told, although she was convinced that, as bizarre as it was, Belle had indeed taken control of itself – herself? – though her brain had started to turn to porridge when Tara had started flinging about technobabble such as ‘psychokinetic manifestations’ and ‘poltergeist-level electromagnetic fields’.

  ‘We might find something in the kitchens to get the safety doors open,’ Nathan suggested.

  ‘Like what, a can opener against the inch-thick steel?’

  ‘Why not just wait it out?’ Hannah asked, sounding a little fearful now. ‘There’s limited fuel, and the rail authorities can sideline us, once they fail to contact us. Belle won’t . . . crash us, will she?’