Bill Gaston looked up as Alma sat down. His chins seemed to shrivel when he saw it was Alma. His eyes, sunken into his head, seemed to sink even more. He dropped a bread roll onto his chest and reached for it with podgy arms.
“You spend a lot of time here,” Alma said. “I am surprised you find the time to steal from your partners.”
“You’re a devil woman!” he suddenly spat. Bubbles of spit blew from between his lips. “That’s what you are. A devil woman!”
“As you say.” Alma leaned back. “It might interest you to know that Abraham died this morning. Quite recently, in fact.”
Bill’s face did not change: just a mass of folded flesh and fat and sunken features.
“You do not seem very distraught,” Alma said. “Was he not your friend?”
“Oh, Abraham!” Bill cried melodramatically, and brought his hand to his chest. “Oh, my Abraham!” He picked a crumb from his shirt and flicked it into his mouth. After swallowing, he went on: “He was my brother. I loved him like a brother. I will miss him so much. He was a beautiful man. Oh, my friend, my—”
“Oh, do shut up,” Alma hissed. She slammed the folder down on the table. “Let’s not make-believe, sir, that we are anything other than we are. You are a thief. I am the woman who is going to save your life. There, we have our roles. Now, let’s play them. You have stolen from your partners since the first day you started the business. I have the records right here. I suppose you assumed you didn’t need to cover your tracks. Nobody cared enough to go through them. The funny aspect to this, sir, is that I would not have noticed them had you and DeBell not banished me from making the rounds.”
“What a scandalous, reprehensible, unjust—”
“Shall I fetch the sheriff?” Alma asked. She half-stood. “It really is no trouble to me . . .” She waited, locked his eyes.
“Okay, devil, okay,” he sighed. “How, exactly, do you propose to save my life?”
“Wallace is a kind fellow,” Alma said. She picked up a bread roll, took a bite, and laid it back down on his plate. Then, she sipped from his cup, wiped her mouth, and placed it upon the table. “He does not want to see you, a man who was an uncle to him, fall into ruin. He will buy your share of the corporation and you will leave Calico. You will leave Calico tonight, before sunset.”
“This is my home,” the fat man muttered.
“Not anymore.” Alma smiled. “Nobody blames you for stealing, sir. How can they? Stealing, when the opportunity arises, is extremely difficult to resist. But being so sloppy about it? Eating yourself to death instead of tending to your records? Yes, you can be blamed for that. You have made a grievous mistake, sir, and it is time to take the only lifeline you have. So, name your price.”
“What if I don’t want to leave?” His voice became high-pitched; tears appeared in his pitted eyes. “What if I refuse?”
Alma shrugged. “The sheriff,” she said. “Punishment. Shame. Why must we play this game? Name a price. Let’s begin a negotiation.”
He named a price.
Alma laughed.
“Wallace will pay you one-quarter.”
“That’s less than it was worth when we started!” Bill protested, his whole body jiggling. “That’s outrageous.”
Alma slammed her fist down on the table. “No!” she cried. People in the restaurant turned and stared at the table. Alma ignored them, and spoke in a low, vicious voice. “You stole, you broke the rules. You have no room for protest. You are lucky to be making anything from this, sir. You played, you lost. Now you pay the price of losing. Agree, or I go to the sheriff. I have no time for these games.”
“But . . .”
“I will count to three.”
“You cannot be . . .”
“One.”
“This is . . .”
“Two.”
“Please, please!”
“Thr—”
“Okay!” he huffed. “Okay, okay! I agree! I agree!”
* * *
The sun had set and Alma was having trouble keeping her eyes open. Even so, she smiled, and rubbed Wallace’s shoulders, and looked down with him at the document. Bill had just ridden out of town on a horse that squealed in protest with each step.
“Before you arrived in Calico,” Wallace said, “I had no say in the business. None at all. I was ignored by all. Now, I am two-thirds owner. You are an amazing woman, Alma. You are the most amazing woman I have ever met. How can I ever repay you?”
“Allow me to ride with you again,” Alma said at once. “I wish to be at your side once more. I tire of being stuffed indoors. Also, Roach grows tired. She is not used to being still for so long.”
“DeBell will be angry.” Wallace stroked his beard. “But, then again, I am majority owner. How can he refuse me? And, it is true, I have missed your company.”
“So you agree?” Alma said. “I, too, have missed being out there.”
Wallace waved a hand, as though it was not a big decision. “I agree,” he said. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Oh, you make me so, so happy, my love,” she said, with overacting emotion, melodrama, and not a hint of sincerity.
* * *
“What is that for?” Wallace had asked, when he saw Alma tying the hamper onto the back of Roach, but now he saw.
Alma had thought the men respected her for the mere fact that she rode above them, but DeBell and Bill had been right. It was impossible, she now saw, for a working man to respect a trouser-wearing woman who seemed cold and distant, who seemed, to them, like no woman at all. Whilst she would not wear a dress – she had always hated the things – she could approach her involvement from a different angle. Instead of sitting atop Roach with a regal, distant demeanor, she would play the Kind Mother; and her reputation would flower.
The men emerged from the mines for lunch and Alma climbed from Roach, took down the hamper, and walked among them. She opened the hamper and handed them fresh-baked bread, purchased with her own wages, to accompany their usual midday meal of gruel. The men were awkward as they muttered their thanks – none of them had ever seen a woman as beautiful as Alma – but their gratitude was clear in their eyes.
“It won’t take long for the men to love you for that,” Wallace said, pride in his voice as they rode through the desert from mine to mine. “They’ll adore you. I bet in a few weeks you’ll be a legend.”
That’s the plan, she thought.
“You’re too kind,” she said.
Chapter 12
Autumn’s first whispers came when Alma returned to the hotel one evening to find a rather excited Elise standing outside of her bedroom door. “What is it?” Alma said. “Is something wrong?”
“Wrong!” Elise laughed. “Wrong! Wrong! I want my pay. That’s what’s wrong.”
Alma took the old crone by the arm, unlocked her door, and led her inside. “Keep your voice down,” Alma warned. “Don’t lose control. You’ll get the rest of your pay when you give me enough to work with.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Elise said. “I have details, now. I have many, many details. I have so many details you could fill a book with them. Hair color, where they went, everything . . .”
“Excellent,” Alma said. She led Elise to the chair and sat her down. Alma sat on the bed opposite her. “Tell me everything.”
And Elise told Alma everything, from the first time DeBell had met Bethany right up until her death. About half way through, Alma found her notebook and pencil and made Elise start over. She scribbled down the details, as precisely as she could, and then asked Elise to turn around. She collected the woman’s wages.
“You’ve more than earned this,” she said, handing her the notes. “You’ve helped me a lot.”
“You won’t be seeing me again,” Elise said, as Alma helped her to her feet.
“I won’t?”
“I’m leaving Calico. With the money you’ve paid me and the little I’ve saved, I’m leaving. I have a sister in the east. I reckon I’l
l go there. There are a lot of whores and a lot of old people, but few old whores. I’ve worn myself out. That’s the truth.”
Alma found herself oddly sad to hear this. “Turn around,” she said. She went to the mattress and took out two more notes. “Okay.” Elsie turned back and Alma handed her the notes. “I wish you the best of luck, Elise.” Spontaneously, she wrapped her arms around the old woman. Elise, to Alma’s shock, fell into the embrace.
“I feel blessed,” Elise said, “to have laid eyes on a woman as beautiful as you before I die. I feel truly, truly blessed.”
“I have a favor to ask you,” Alma said, as they stood apart. “When you go east, do not mention me. My name, my appearance, my accent—do not mention anything about me, I implore you.”
Elise held her hands up. “You don’t need to tell me nothing,” she said. “I won’t say a word. I wouldn’t.” Elise leaned in, licked her lips. “Alma, my girl, are you going to be the queen of Calico one day?”
“No, Elise.” Alma smiled and touched the old woman’s face, her wrinkled skin. “I’m going to be queen of the Mojave.”
* * *
When Elise left, Alma began to write the letters. She was not sure if she had done more malicious things than what she was about to do. She consoled herself, briefly, with the knowledge that DeBell was a killer. But so was she. So was Solomon. So were, most likely, half the people in this town. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t focus on that. The plan was all.
She wrote:
Avery, my star.
Do you miss me? It has been a long time, but I miss you. I miss you very much. But, I have to say, I am ashamed by what you tried to do to me. Yes, I should not have been with the tavern owner. Yes, I should not have hurt you. But did you have to try and murder me? Did you have to leave me in that alley, near the drains, like a piece of garbage? Oh, when that doctor found me, I was almost dead!
I am here, in Calico. I am here!
Always watching you,
Your love,
Bethany.
Alma wrote thirteen letters after this one. She wrote by candlelight until the candle spluttered out and she could no longer see the page. She relit the candle and finished the last letter. She would have to wait until morning to buy envelopes, but her plan was set.
She slept for a few hours and then went to the general store, where she bought a variety of items as well as envelopes so it wouldn’t be obvious later on. She sealed the first letter and stored the rest under her bed. Then she stuffed the letter in her trousers and left for the office, half an hour early. As she hoped, it was empty. She crept through – flinching at every creaking floorboard – and came to DeBell’s office. Kneeling down, she slid the envelope under the door and then paced through the offices, to Wallace’s office, and waited, eyeing that throne-like chair that would one day be hers.
Wallace entered, sat down, and smiled at her. “You’re here early,” he said.
“I’m excited,” Alma answered, honestly.
She was excited, oh yes. Over a year it had been – and maybe another year would pass – but she was so close now she could feel it. She thought of Father and how he had hurt her and the things he had said to her. “You will always be a useless whore,” he had said. “Nobody will ever want you,” he had said. “You are a waste of breath,” he had said. Look at me now, Father, richer than you ever were, more successful than you ever were, you piece of scum.
“Shall we get going?” Wallace said.
“Sure.”
They rose to their feet and left the offices. As Alma mounted Roach, she could not help but feel more at ease than she had for a long time.
She was not honorable, proper, ladylike, but she knew how to use what she had. Nobody could take that away from her.
Interlude
The seasons rode on and Alma rode on with them. She kept up the practice of buying gifts for the miners, and soon – as Wallace had anticipated – she became known as a kind, loving woman. She had never been known as a kind woman before. Though it was part of her plan, she also found it enjoyable. She sent DeBell a letter once or twice a month and noticed a marked change in his behavior. Every time she was in the same room as him, she noticed that he looked at the shadows as though they contained monsters, as though the walls could fold inward. She once, as innocently as she was able, asked him what was wrong. He muttered unintelligibly and ran from the room. He was terrified, Alma could tell, and that was good; she needed him terrified. She needed him flinching at shadows.
She approached her sweet Solomon three times over the course of the months. He rebuffed her the first two times, but then he agreed to meet her. Alma had always kept her intimate moments with Solomon innocent, never going beyond simple kissing. Solomon was more to Alma than any other man and so she forced herself to wait, until her urges for him became uncontrollable. She entered the stable which they had agreed to meet in. Solomon was leaning against the wall, moonlight creeping through a window glistened off of the edgy curves of his body. He stayed still as she approached him, she could tell he was mad.
“Solomon I know what I have done has hurt you” she stuttered softly, her usual controlled tone gone. “but you have to understand,” she continued “I have plans,” she hesitated “for us.”
Solomon slowly looked up at her.
“I don’t know if I like these plans,” he said in a low childish voice.
“You will,” Alma replied quickly with her usual confidence. “But in the meantime can you forgive me?” She said in an even more childish tone than he had just used. Solomon said nothing but held her gaze firmly. Alma felt an overwhelming sensation to kiss him. She leaned in. Solomon didn’t lean in back but he made no effort to stop her. As soon as their lips made contact, Solomon’s tense body relaxed in soft shivers. Solomon slowly moved his hands up to her thighs, then up to her hips and finally up to her breasts. He quickly moved his hands to her armpits and forcefully picked her up, spun her around and pushed her against the wall. Alma had never seen this side of Solomon before but it was enough to put her over the edge. She moaned as he kissed her, she could feel his hard cock pressing against her slit through his tattered britches. Alma decided that she couldn’t take it any longer. She pushed him off of her and dropped to the floor. Her hands went straight to the strings of his pants.
He was not prepared for her aggressive response to his.
“wha what are doi…” his voice cut off as she wrapped her hand around his cock and pulled it from his trousers. She took his cock and pulled it towards her lips. Solomon’s eyes glazed down at her as she slowly placed it in her mouth. His body trembled and his head leaned back from the pleasure. Alma stood up and pushed Solomon onto the dirt floor. She took off her clothes and crouched over Solomon, rubbing his cock on her clit. Solomon’s eyes darted from her eyes to her breasts to her slit. He reached forward and grabbed the inside of her thigh, pulling her towards him.
“Fuck me.” Alma moaned.
She pulled the head of his cock against her opening and slowly inserted it. Solomon moaned loudly as she sat down on his cock. Even though she was the wettest she had ever been, getting his cock inside her was not easy. Almas jaw opened widely as his cock stretched out her pussy. She quickened the pace. He moaned and moaned as she rode him, right there in the stables, and Alma had more orgasms than she remembered having at any other point in her life. She dug her fingernails into his skin as she came—and he came with her.
“I love you,” he whispered, bringing her close.
“Don’t,” she said. “I have to do something that will hurt you.”
“I don’t care. I love you.”
She couldn’t say it back, because she knew what was coming; and she knew that it would be a long time before she and Solomon could openly be together. But there was love in her heart. There was no denying that.
She rode and rode as the temperature rose and once again summer came to the Mojave. She received a letter from Elise, who was living with her sist
er and enjoying a life which did not involve whoring. Alma did not write back. Perhaps it was paranoia but she feared her letter might be intercepted. The sheriff had not mentioned the wanted poster. Nobody had. But she could not be too careful. In any case, she wished Elise luck and good health. She liked the old crone.
She knew she was reaching the last stage in her plans, but she also knew that the last stage could take a long time. But it would be worth it.
She had a clear picture in her mind each morning when she woke: she and Solomon, sitting on a shaded porch, gazing out over the Mojave with servants offering iced lemonade and cakes.
Chapter 13
She knew that the letters had worked when Wallace busted into the office with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. He paced up and down the room, as he often did when he was excited. She had come to know him so well – to be able to read the quirks in his character so well – that she knew by the pulsing of head just beside his eye and the clenching of his jaw that something had happened. She rose to her feet, hardly daring to hope, and then she saw that he had a notice of ownership clutched in his hands.
“He sold it to me!” Wallace exclaimed, waving the paper in front of her face. “I can’t believe it . . . He called me into his office and sold it to me right then and there. Like something out of a romance, he was shaking and trembling, and he said, ‘I want you to have it,’ and when I asked him why he just shook his head and named a price far less than I would have paid. I am now the sole owner of the Silver King Mining Corporation!”
Here it was. This was what her scheming and her fucking and her beauty and her work had led to. Here was the prize laid out before her, a prize that would take years to properly win, but would hinge on the next few moments. If she won now, she would have won forever. She felt certain of that. She arched her back and smiled warmly at him, shining the full light of her beauty at him: aiming it like a cannon.
Romance: Pummel Me: A Boxing Romance Page 86