by Hunter Shea
Unfortunately for him, Teta had just stepped out of the bar to hit the outhouse in the back. He was turning the corner of the saloon when the Mexican busted in.
No dummy himself, Teta walked behind him and shot him in the back. The Mexican was dead before his knees buckled.
As the Mexican crumpled to the floor, according to Teta, a harsh wind blew down the street and into the saloon. Somehow, it plucked the sombrero from the Mexican’s head and deposited it on Teta’s own noggin. He saw it as a sign that the Mexican’s spirit held no ill will toward his murderer. Teta worried a lot about the untethered souls he’d set free, assuming they all had designs on haunting him.
At least with the Mexican he knew there was one soul that would let him be.
He’d been wearing the hat ever since, until we came to New York where sombreros were not appreciated on the police force or in the streets.
“I hope you don’t plan on wearing it today.”
“It needs airing out.”
We stopped at the precinct to hand in our badges and guns with little fanfare. Everyone knew that we were fish out of water and our time as New York police would be short-lived. For a while there, I thought maybe I had managed to get myself stuck in an unstickable rut.
Teddy had helped us a good deal by getting us on the force, and had saved us by providing a way out. Teta had stuck around this long not only for me, but because there were several states that would have been none too pleased to see his ugly tan face, Kentucky, Colorado, Florida and Virginia among the batch. We were pretty sure the heat he had stirred up had cooled down enough for him to emerge from hiding within law enforcement, of all places. After that, we went to Mulberry Street to hunt up some food. The street was a mass of people and food stands and pushcarts. Voices blended into a riot of sound, almost none of it English. We got some fresh oranges from one pushcart run by a man dirtier than a sewer rat. But the orange slices were cool and sweet and hard to turn down.
Teta grabbed a couple of potato pancakes wrapped in newspaper from an old woman dressed in black, complete with heavy scarf over her head. Lots of widows in this section of town.
“Anything special you want to do?” I asked.
“I think I’m going to get a trolley to the Astor Library and do some reading. I doubt there’ll be anything like it in Hecla or Laramie.”
“You want to meet for drinks at Mulligan’s tonight?”
“Sí. I’ll see you around six.”
For a Dominican who had spent the better part of his life as a ranch hand and gun for hire, Teta, whose real name was Nico Delacruz, was about as book smart as any man I knew, with the exception of Teddy Roosevelt and some of the officers we’d fought with in Cuba. He liked to play the part of the dumb foreigner so people would underestimate him. That smoke screen of underestimation was what had kept him alive through more scrapes than he could recall.
The libraries in New York were the one thing that he loved out here in the strange East. More so even, he once told me, than the wife he’d left behind in San Pedro de Macorís. He never talked about her much, just that she could be the best woman a man could want one minute, and the meanest alley cat in the whole Dominican Republic the next. He had a scar that ran down his right arm from the time she’d stabbed him with the filed edge of a coconut. Knowing Teta, I figure he’d had it coming.
Chapter Six
Being a man who had no love of rail travel, the trip to Wyoming was guaranteed to be unpleasant for me. I had resolved myself to it and didn’t bother griping to Teta. I just had to keep reminding myself that I would happily be back in a saddle in a few days. Teddy had been generous enough to get us top accommodations, with a sleeping car big enough for four. Nursing slight hangovers from the night before, we took a couple of shots from the bottle of whiskey we brought on board and settled in for the long ride ahead.
The train left Grand Central Station with a sudden lurch and Teta slipped off his seat. He’d somehow managed to land on his sombrero, squashing it pretty good. He didn’t appreciate my laughter.
“That’s a bad omen,” he said, punching it back into shape and hanging it on a hook.
“For your cap, it sure is.”
“I’m going to sleep. You want another shot?”
I nodded yes and we each took another belt. Then Teta settled into the narrow bed, closed his eyes and was asleep before we emerged from the tunnel.
The heavy rocking and monotonous clanging of a train was like a lullaby for many, my partner included. It just made my stomach queasy. The only good thing about it was the nice breeze coming in from the window. I leaned against it and breathed in the last sharp, acrid smells of the city. I couldn’t say I would miss it. There were a lot of places I’d been I wouldn’t miss. Something about the disjointed facts given to me about Hecla had me thinking I’d be adding that town to the list when all was said and done.
We traveled south into Pennsylvania then headed west. I somehow managed to nod off for a spell. When I woke up, Teta’s head was hidden behind a big book. It was something called The War of the Worlds by a fella named H. G. Wells.
“Picking up some battle tricks?” I asked, rubbing the crust from my eyes with my knuckles.
“I hope not,” he said. “I don’t think we’d do well if this book came true.”
“What’s it about?”
“Creatures from the planet Mars landing on Earth and taking over England. Very brutal. If we had their machines in Cuba, the whole thing would have lasted three minutes, tops.”
“You would have been out a considerable sum.” Teta had been hired by the rebels during the Spanish-American War to help smoke the Spaniards from their nests. He charged by the day. We Rough Riders adopted our little mercenary because he’d done more than his share of fighting and saved quite a few of our hides. Plus, he made Teddy laugh with his stories about traveling the country and all the scrapes he’d gotten in. “Sounds like a hell of a book,” I added. I couldn’t see why a man would want to waste his time reading about invaders from Mars, but like I said, Teta liked to read. “You steal it from the library? I might have to turn this train around and take you in to the chief.”
“I thought about it. I started reading it in the library yesterday. But I decided it was bad luck to do something criminal on the same day I stopped being the police. So I went to a bookstore and picked up a few for the trip.” He tapped a crumpled brown bag on the floor with the heel of his boot.
“So you got a bunch of books, and only one bottle of whiskey. I’m starting to regret my decision to have you tag along.”
“You want one? I have The Sign of Four, a Sherlock Holmes mystery. You like him.”
I had read one of his stories back when we were in quarantine on Long Island when we got back from Cuba. The Red Cross provided food and medicine because a lot of the men were awful sick at the time with malaria. They thought there might have been an outbreak of Yellow Fever, which is why they kept us so long. Some of the volunteers brought us books. That Sherlock Holmes story was the first what they call fiction book I’d ever read. It helped pass the time, but I never felt a desire to read another.
“That’s okay. I actually have one of my own.”
Teta raised his dark, bushy eyebrows in surprise. “Are you bullshitting me?”
“The president himself gave it to me. Said I should read it before we get to Wyoming. I figured I’d start tonight. Maybe it’ll help put me to sleep.”
I opened my leather bag and gave him the book to look at. “Konungs Skuggsjá: King’s Mirror. What kind of book is it?”
“It’s a book about some Norse legends. I don’t know. Why don’t we stretch our legs and see if we can get something to eat?”
“You’re the jefe.”
It felt good to move, even if I was jostled from side to side as the train rolled along. Looking out the window, all I saw was empty spa
ce, with green grass that stretched on until the sunset. The air smelled like honey, which was more than welcome since Teta stunk like a bear cat. I’d told him to freshen up before we left because I didn’t want to have his stink as a third party in our sleeping car. But we did drink a lot the night before and there wasn’t much time to get up and make the train.
An older couple squeezed by us as we entered the dining car. The man – short, balding with a white pencil mustache – saw us heading his way and reached out to grip his wife’s hand. Can’t say I blamed him. We were dressed in our range gear. With me well over six feet and Teta having honed the dark and dangerous look, it was easy to misconstrue our true personas.
It must have been around seven o’clock and the dining car was just about full. Chattering and the sharp clink of utensils on plates and cups hit us like a hot blast from a coal furnace. I was grateful that my earlier headache had left me during my nap.
I spied a small table toward the rear of the car and headed over. As soon as we sat down, a waiter came to hand us menus and asked if we wanted a drink.
“Two bourbons,” Teta said.
“Very good. I’ll be back in a moment with your drinks,” the waiter said and turned to leave. He was young, barely able to grow out a proper mustache with light-blond hair cut high above his ears.
“Wait!” Teta shouted.
The kid turned around, looked nervous. So did the pair of couples at the table next to us.
For a moment, it seemed everyone had stopped to see what would come next, but I think that was just me being paranoid.
“You didn’t ask my friend what he wanted to drink.”
“I…I just assumed—” the kid stammered.
I said, “Not a problem. You just bring me the same. We’ve been cooped up too long and got pretty thirsty. And I’ll have a glass of water too.
“See how you make people nervous?” I said, flicking a crumb off the white linen tablecloth.
The bourbons arrived in record time and I ordered the cold chicken plate. Teta asked for the roast beef, as rare as they could make it.
A table of four unattended ladies was seated behind Teta. I caught the eye of one of them, a fine brunette with dark, curious eyes, apple-red lips and a long, graceful neck that looked as soft and pure as milk. The other three were blondes, one more buxom than the other. Teta had a thing for blondes. And blondes had a thing for Teta. It was that whole opposites-attract thing.
I raised my glass in a toast to the pretty brunette, saw the burn on her cheeks. She whispered something to her companions and they leaned their heads into the center of the table and tittered.
“I smell fresh chicas,” Teta said after he downed his first glass.
“Your nose still works.”
“As do your eyes.” Teta closed his own, tilted his head back and breathed deep through his nose. “Two, or is it three blondes?”
I’d known Teta for years and I was still unnerved by his strange ability to tell what a woman looked like just by using his flat yet talented nose.
“Three.”
Now the brunette and the blonde next to her shifted their eyes to me, both smiling and looking away right quick.
I put my tobacco pouch on the table and rolled a couple of cigarettes. The blonde, I noticed, looked on with barely concealed fascination. Now we had bourbon, good smokes and the attention of four ladies. The only thing that could have made it better was a good meal, and that came before I could finish my cigarette.
The chicken was passable. I assumed Teta’s roast beef was as well, judging by the speed with which it disappeared off his plate. The waiter brought the ladies’ supper at the same time, and while I worked on rolling another couple of smokes for us, they picked away at their plates with long forks.
“What’s your move?” Teta asked with a green broccoli sprout stuck between his front teeth.
“It’ll present itself. No need to rush things.”
We ordered another round of bourbon just to kill time. It was getting late and the dining car started to empty out.
The ladies finally finished their dessert and when they got up, all four looked in our direction.
Suddenly, the train lurched, pitching the brunette forward. I reached my arm across the aisle and gently caught her by her midsection. Her stomach, even beneath her dress, felt warm and soft, yet firm. I helped her to her feet. She smelled like wild flowers.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I can be so clumsy.”
“Wasn’t your fault. These trains can be unpredictable.”
“Well, thank you. You’re pretty fast. It’s a good thing!”
Her breasts had swelled from the top of her dress. They heaved up and down with the rhythm of her breath. They were very nice to look at, but I made sure not to stare.
“If you want, I can walk you back to your car. You never know when the next bit of warped track is going to come up.”
She narrowed her eyes, but I could see the curiosity still burned there. She said, “Where are you from?”
“New York.”
“I assume that’s where you’re coming from, but where did you grow up. You are most certainly not an easterner. In fact, I’d say you were an honest-to-God cowboy.” She looked down at the spurs on my boots.
“Guilty as charged. I grew up out in New Mexico. Been here and there most of my life.”
Teta eyed the three blondes like a starved dog slobbering over a side of beef. He had all the subtlety of a donkey’s kick.
“I have another idea,” I said. “Would you ladies be interested in staying for a drink? It’s a mite too early to turn in and my friend and I would appreciate the company of four beautiful women.”
The brunette and I rocked in tandem as the train came around a bend. She considered my offer without consulting with her companions.
The corner of her mouth curled and she said, “It’d be rude to turn down a chance to drink with a cowboy, now wouldn’t it?”
* * *
Her name was Rebecca. She and her girlfriends were going to Chicago to be teachers.
They had gotten jobs at the same school.
I wasn’t thinking much about this as I drew her dress over her head and pulled her close. Her tongue tasted sweet from the after-dinner wine. My hand wandered down her back and settled on her round and supple ass. Her hands worked at the buttons on my shirt and jeans. Before I knew it, we were both naked as newborns. I was a lot taller than her, so my hard-on pressed flat against her stomach.
She moaned in my mouth as I cupped her breast and stroked my fingers over her nipple.
It stiffened at my touch and I bent down to lick it. “Oh yes, Nat,” she whispered.
She reached out and wrapped her fingers around me, stroking me long and slow. I returned the favor by pressing my fingers into the slick warmth of her pussy. Two of my fingers slid in with ease and I felt her nails dig into my shoulder.
“I want you in me.”
Keeping my fingers inside her, I lifted her in my other arm and laid her on the bed. She surprised me by turning onto her stomach and drawing herself up on her hands and knees.
“Like this,” she husked.
She spread her legs and slid her hand over her ass, her fingertip resting just above where she wanted me.
Rebecca screamed when I entered her, rocking back and forth with an almost-feral abandon. I put my hands on her soft hips and took the lead from her. She buried her face in the pillow to hide her squeals.
For the first time in my life, I kind of liked trains.
Chapter Seven
We had to get off to change trains in Chicago. I gave Rebecca a polite nod as we parted company on the crowded platform. Rebecca winked and flashed me the same grin she had given me after our third go-around last night. It was enough to make a weaker man soft in the knees and ready to ch
ange his immediate plans. She and her friends headed to their futures as shapers of minds in a new city. I had to give them credit for guts.
Teta had dark circles under his eyes but it was hard to notice them above the smile on his face.
“You have fun last night?” I asked.
“Yes. I think I’ll name my next horse Charlotte. She had tits a man could die between.”
Teta liked to name his horses after special women in his life. I’d noticed how he never mentioned naming a horse after his wife.
“You do know how to flatter your ladyfolk.”
He had spent the night in Charlotte’s sleeping car, on account of ours being full. The other two gals spent the night in Rebecca’s. We were all tired, but for a good cause.
The smell of coal smoke was overpowering on the platform, so we ambled into the station. People moved in every direction like ants, all in a hurry to get somewhere other than here. I got a newspaper so I could see how crime fared in Chicago. Call it professional curiosity.
We settled onto a long bench and Teta’s eyes were closed before his ass finished settling. I scanned through the paper, peeking above it from time to time to watch the menagerie of folks around me. It was a very well-dressed, civil crowd. Nothing like I suspected would be waiting for us in Wyoming. There wasn’t much call for suits and fedoras out there.
It didn’t take long before I fell asleep.
The old man with the white pencil mustache woke us both up when the call went out to board the next train.
“I like your spurs,” he said. “Always wanted a pair myself when I was younger.”
“How do you like my sombrero?” Teta asked.
The man gave a polite smile and hurried to join his wife.
“Guess he doesn’t know how lucky it is,” I said, popping my knees as I got up from the bench.