Adjusting the katana at her side, Laurinda sat in the shade beneath a large bush. She wiped away the sweat on her forehead, her black leather, while certainly fashionable, wasn't helping in today's sweltering heat.
It was high noon and last night's mission had paid off. As soon as she spotted the gang of riders at the saloon, she knew following them would yield a valuable bounty.
Information was a commodity in the West, and now Laurinda possessed knowledge that would make her a fair penny. Bradacus was planning to steal the McFartland's secret team of horses. How much would Bonnie be willing to pay to keep those horses safe? Quite a bit, she was sure.
Then again, there was something special about the fellow with curly, black hair. Pan, everyone kept calling him. His features were gentle, yet he spoke with command. Would she really want to sell information that would put the extraordinary stranger's life in peril?
She would need to follow the group more closely to determine the best course of action.
“Jingle, I want you with me, acquiring what our outfit will need.” Picard ran a hand across his cleanly-shaven head. He stood next to a hired stagecoach with four horses, his dome shining brilliantly under the full sun.
“Echo, you remember that sneaky woman in black skulking about, the one with blue hair?”
Echo stroked his long beard to indicate he remembered.
“Be her shadow. I want to know what she's doing in Chuparosa.”
Echo turned away, the .207 rifle strapped across his back swaying, and like Burning Zee downing a shot, was gone.
“Driver, take me to the general store at Odd Fellow's Rest.”
“That's quite a long ride, mister,” the driver pointed out.
Picard tossed a pouch filled with gold coins at him. “What do you think I'm paying you for?”
Opening the purse, the driver smiled a toothless smile, snapping the reins as soon as Picard and Jingle were settled inside the coach.
Brad stopped swirling his whiskey at the bar, cocked back his ushanka-ed head, and downed it. It was time to get moving, but first things first. He needed a shave.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Noir,” Brad addressed her, intentionally using the married title. “Where can a man get himself a hot shave?”
“Miss Noir,” she corrected him. “And I told you to call me Dream.”
“My mistake, Dream,” Brad apologized. His tactic worked. She wasn't married.
“Me Schnitzel,” Dream yelled to the barkeep. “I'll be upstairs a minute.”
The barkeep nodded.
“Just right upstairs, if you'll follow me.” She took Brad by the hand and carefully led him up the wooden stairs and into her apartment.
“Rachael, please prepare a pot with hot water.”
“But, Ma! I wanna go out riding!”
“Please, Rachael.”
Rachael stomped into the kitchen, filling a kettle and placing it on the stove.
“Have a seat just over there, hon.” She pointed to a light brown chair near a window, a mirror hanging on the wall next to it.
Brad seated himself and Dream draped him in a white cloth.
“A man like you would look mighty fine with a beard,” she flirted. “Imagine it—Epic Beard Bradacus!”
Brad actually laughed, something he rarely, if ever, did. Dream certainly was something.
She retrieved her shaving kit, pulling out the shaving soap, brush, leather strop, and straight edge steel razor, placing them on the table next to her.
“I see you favor the straight razor rather than the new safety razors,” Brad remarked.
“Naturally. Where's the fun in safety?” She winked.
Brad's heart quickened momentarily. Now this was a woman.
Rachael brought in the hot water and disappeared into her room. She had zero interest in what was about to happen.
Dream splashed her hands in the hot water, working up a fine lather with the soap. She bent over Brad, her chest showing off two porcelain masterpieces, and expertly applied the lather to Brad's face. Gently, she massaged the foam onto his god-like features.
Grabbing something from the table, she straddled Brad's leg. Her knee rested just next to his crotch, her hand wielding a gleaming, steel blade. She leaned forward for each stroke, her body rocking lightly against his. In no time, she felt a bulging next to her knee. She smiled knowingly and continued her long, expert strokes.
Brad had been shaved before, but never like this. Hell, hadn't he asked for a 'hot' shave though? His member pulsed against Dream's leg and he prayed she paid no heed.
Finishing from the top position, Dream circled and took Brad's back. She held the razor high against his throat, the blade angled just so, her other hand sensually holding his neck tight.
If she wanted, she could end it all, Brad realized.
His cheeks flushed with red as he felt her ample chest pressed against the back of his head. “Today is a good day to die,” he thought to himself.
The warm steel slid across his throat, hot liquid flowing down his neck and onto the white cloth. Was that blood or simply water? It didn't matter. The dream he had been lulled into was heaven. He didn't want it to end, no matter the consequences.
The blade slid down his neck several more times, its movement undulating with the promise of pleasure or pain. The combination of sensuality and fear was... marvelous.
When she finished, she came around and looked at Brad.
“I think I may have nicked you.” She bent over and softly kissed the corner of his mouth. “Oh, my mistake. It was nothing.”
She removed the cloth and Brad stood uneasily, hunching forward awkwardly, for hiding eight and a half inches of man wasn't the easiest thing to do.
He cleared his throat. “What do I owe you?”
“This one's on the house, sug. Do come back, you hear?” Her Southern drawl made the words all the more sweet.
She showed him to the door, chiding herself she hadn't warned Brad about whoever was following him. But she had, at least, given him something he was sure to remember.
The door closed behind him and Brad waited for his arousal to dissipate before proceeding down the stairs. Now that he was shaved, it was time to recruit Catalysts, Wikki, and Reno.
He summoned his men from the bar and flung the swinging doors open. No sooner had he stepped outside then a snake sprung from its coil.
“Bradacus,” the serpent hissed. “I know you haven't forgotten about lil o' Ange.” She batted her blue eyes at him, placing an arm suggestively around his waist.
“Of course not, dear,” Brad replied smoothly, knowing he had to play his cards wisely.
“I'll be performing at Cowgirl Cabaret for the next month. When will I see you?”
“Not for a while, I'm afraid,” he told her. “Got some business first.”
Ange Ruler narrowed her snake-like eyes at him.
“I will, eventually,” he added carefully. He had to be cautious dealing with Ange. She was rash and impulsive, liable to perform any manner of mischief. How she found him here still made his head swim.
“You better,” she said coldly, firmly grabbing his butt.
He removed her arm from around him and chatted a while, shooing her off with promises of making the wait worth it. By the time she left, he needed another whiskey.
But the whiskey would have to wait. He walked to his tethered buffalo, reached into his saddlebag and removed two of his most prized possessions, two guinea pigs, Collin and Bear. They were a gift from Wilko. How he came about them, he wouldn't say, but it furthered the notion Wilko was actually from Peru. These were, however, no ordinary guinea pigs. They were messenger guineas. They ran faster than a hawk and could memorize countless locations.
“Who's got paper?” Brad asked tersely.
Leaking Pan handed him two scraps of paper from his saddlebag and a bit of charcoal.
Brad scrawled the first message and then the second, addressing them to Catalysts and Wikki Wald.
Meet at Kappa Kafe and Saloon on July 5th, one week from today, in
Chuparosa. Need your help. Glue will flow like wine.
-Bradacus
-Bradacus
The final sentence was code the Glue Crew devised whenever a high stakes glue operation required desperate assistance. It spoke not only of a high reward, but that obtaining it would be bloody, bloody and red, like wine.
Rolling the papers and sliding them into the small cylinders around the guineas' necks, Brad spoke to each guinea before releasing it.
“To Catalysts,” he whispered to one, and then to the other, “To Wikki Wald.”
He placed the messenger guineas on the ground, and like a whip's crack, they were gone.
“Well I'll be damned,” said a slovenly man staring at the glue men openly. “If it ain't the famous Do Gluers.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Zee asked angrily, his fingers reaching for the grip of his gun.
“Easy now,” the man said, holding his dirty hands out. “I have no quarrel with you. I, do, however, take issue with that man there.” He pointed directly at Wilko Nine Shot.
Wilko walked toward him and spat in his direction, eyeing the stranger narrowly. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I should expect such manners from someone as yourself,” he said. “You're speaking with Encrusted Joe, Mev Gamer's new business partner.”
Wilko's lips curled into a snarl. “Best be on your way before something bad happens to you, boy.”
“I ain't scared of you, Wilko,” he said indignantly. “It's sweet serendipity our paths have crossed. Imagine how pleased Mev will be when I return with news of your death, the man who stabbed him in the back!”
“Mev betrayed me!” Wilko bellowed, the memory of this old injury filling him with fury.
“Don't matter. I'm sure he'll pay me handsomely for your head.”
“Where is that filth?”
“Far from here, unfortunately.” Joe stepped to the side, measuring Wilko with his gaze.
“Say, Wilko, I know why they call you Nine Shot,” he sneered. “'Cause it takes you nine shots just to hit your target!”
The men stared at each other in open hatred, pacing in a wide circle, daring the other to reach for his holster. Pulling his pistol first, Joe quickly leveled it at Wilko.
A bullet tore through his head and he flopped to the ground with a thud. Wilko holstered his nine shooter and grinned. In one shot, he'd proven the man wrong. Dead wrong.
“Leave the body,” Bradacus ordered. “Someone will find it and word will reach Mev.”
Wilko spat on the body before walking back to his mount. Fuckin' twat.
“We ride to Reno's!” Brad shouted, mounting his buffalo and pointing to the north.
Wilko One Shot, Agitated Pancake, Leaking Pan, and Burning Zee leapt atop their trusty buffaloes, beginning the long and grueling trek northward.
