Five Points (6 page)

“You should have waited.”

“I thought I'd go over to Times Square and do some business but it was slim pickins.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I sure am.”

“Well, come on,” Appo said. “I'm goin' over to the Metropole for some supper.”

“Metropole?” Red said, shaking his head. “They ain't gonna let me in there, George.”

“They will if you're with me,” Appo said.

“You're the best, George.”

“That's what they tell me.”

And, indeed, Appo—the son of the notorious Quimbo Appo, thief and murderer—was the best pickpocket in all of Manhattan. Quimbo was Asian, and Appo's mother was Irish. Like his father, Appo was not a large man. He had even been described as diminutive, but unlike his father, he was a dapper dresser who kept himself well-appointed. When he wasn't picking pockets, he was running cons. But he had never killed anyone, and so was not “notorious” like his father. Rather, he was “infamous” among the lowlifes of Manhattan, who pretty much all looked up to him.

Among those was Bethany, who was a protégé of Appo. She was waiting on the steps of the Metropole when Appo arrived with Red in tow. At nineteen she was less than ten years younger than George, but there was nothing romantic between them. Rather he saw her as someone he could pass his experiences on to, and she had the best set of hands he'd ever seen on a pickpocket, man or woman. She truly had “the touch.”

“Where's Ben?” Appo asked.

“Oh, he's sulkin' in his room,” Bethany said.

“About what?”

“I'll tell you over supper. Hello, Red.”

“Miss Bethany.”

Red blushed furiously every time Bethany spoke to him, because his ten-year-old heart belonged to her. She ruffled his hair and said, “You could use a face washin'.”

“Aw, Miss Bethany . . .”

“Well, work on him at our table,” Appo said. “A napkin and a glass of water and we'll spruce the boy up. Come on, I'm starved. You have to tell me and Red all about your trip out West.”

“Did you see any Indians, Miss Bethany?” Red asked.

“No,” Bethany said, “but I saw a real-life gunfighter. ”

“Wow.”

“Inside, children,” Appo said. “Let's take this inside. ”

Ben heard Bethany leave her room, walk down the hall, and knock on his door, but he didn't answer. He was doing just what Bethany said he was doing, sulking.

He hated when Ma slapped him, and he hated it when she did it in front of Bethany. But there was nothing he could do about it. She was his ma.

And despite what Bethany said, she was the only ma she had ever known. Ben didn't know how Bethany could disrespect her so. Ma was a strong woman who ran her own business, and was successful at it. She knew what she was doing. He wished she and Bethany got along better, so Bethany could learn more from her.

And Ma was right about one thing: Despite the fact that she was his half sister, Ben loved Bethany. He was
in
love with her, but he knew Bethany would never look at him the same way.

Maybe Ma was right.

Maybe he was sick.

True to her word, Angie made sure Clint had the best dish in the house—beef stew. And she kept the cold beer coming, too.

“Ready for dessert?” she said when she picked up his clean plate.

“I'm ready for some pie.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay, pie first, and then dessert.”

He wasn't sure if she was just flirting with him, or if she really wanted something more. He watched her with the other patrons, and while they all seemed to be following her cleavage, she did not seem to be giving them the attention she was giving him. Not that this was something new to him. He'd had connections with many women right from their first meeting, and often it ended up with them in bed.

He was hoping that this was one of those times.

“Wait a minute,” Red said when Bethany was in the middle of her story. “Tall with a scar on his cheek— here?” He touched his own face.

“That's right.”

“That's the Gunsmith?”

“Well, yeah . . .”

Red looked at Appo.

“The man I told you about in the station? The one who caught me? That was him.”

“He caught you?” Bethany asked, eyes widening.

“Now wait,” Appo said. “You can't be sure it was the same man.”

“He had a gun on him,” Red said. “He had it in his belt in the back. I felt it.”

Appo looked at Bethany, who was staring back with frightened eyes.

“Did you have any contact with this man?”

“No!” she said. “I wanted to try . . . but I didn't have time.”

“Could he be connected with this woman who was killed?”

“I don't know,” she said.

Appo rubbed his jaw.

“That'd be one hell of a coincidence.”

“Red's gotta be wrong,” Bethany said.

“Why would Captain Byrnes be meeting this man at the station?” Appo asked. He was talking to himself more than to the two young people with him. “The man would have to be someone of substance. ”

“Like the Gunsmith!” Red said.

“Red,” Appo said, “you put the word out on the street. I want to know what hotel the captain has put this man up at.”

“I can do that.”

“George,” Bethany said, “if it is the Gunsmith—”

“It may just be a coincidence that he's here, Bethany.”

“But you don't believe in coincidences, George.”

“No, you're right, girl,” Appo said. “I don't.”

The pie and coffee at the tavern were excellent. Clint didn't know how the hotel was going to be, but the captain had put him next to a good place to drink and eat.

Angie came over and poured him some more coffee, bending over so that her breasts were nice and close to him.

“You keep doing that,” he said, “and I'm just going to have to take you up to my room with me.”

She stood up straight, put one hand on her hip, and said, “I thought you'd never ask.”

She walked away then, leaving him unsure whether or not she was kidding.

He finished his coffee and when she came over with his bill, he paid it.

“You goin' right back to your room?” she asked.

“I thought I'd have a beer at the bar first.”

“That's good,” she said. “I get off in about half an hour. Unless you were kiddin' about takin' me to your room?”

“Uh, no, I wasn't kidding,” he said. “I just didn't know if, uh—”

“I wasn't kiddin',” she said. “I took to you right off, mister, and I don't like to waste time. If you don't like women like that, let me know now; it'll save us a lot of trouble.”

“No trouble, Angie,” Clint said. “I'll just sit at the bar with a beer and wait for you. To tell you the truth,

I've been on a train a long time. I need to do something that'll use a little energy.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, “for me you're gonna need a lot of energy.”

The only one who couldn't wait to get her breasts out of that peasant blouse even more than Clint was Angie herself.

The impressive orbs bobbed free as she lifted the blouse over her head. While her arms were still in the air, Clint buried his face between the luscious globes. The scent was even more heady with his nose pressed against her. There were no more keys, there was nothing between them than more of Angie herself.

Her nipples were pink and erect, and as Clint had predicted, the size of a puppy's nose. He suckled them lovingly, then bit them, causing her to squeal.

“Wow, you're anxious,” she said.

He pulled his face away from her flesh long enough to say, “From the moment I walked into the tavern.”

“Well, that works both ways,” she said. “My nipples don't ever get that hard—no, that's a lie. They do. I'm a girl who loves sex and I ain't shy about it. I know most women don't talk about it like I do—except maybe whores.”

“You're talking an awful lot right now, Angie,” Clint said. “Did you come here to talk?”

“No,” she said, reaching for his trousers. “I sure enough came here to fuck.”

She yanked his pants down, but stopped when she got them over his hips.

“You ain't one of them men who's gonna fall in love with me, are you?”

“Maybe for a few days,” he said, “but that's all. I promise.”

“Good enough.” She yanked his pants and underwear down so that his erect penis fairly popped free. Her eyes got big and she said, “Ahhh.”

Once she got rid of his boots, she was able to toss the pants and underwear away. That done, she fondled his balls with one hand and took his cock in the other. Holding it steady she first licked the head, getting it good and wet, then ran her tongue down it until she could lick his balls. She licked her way back up to the tip, then popped it into her mouth and slid him halfway into her mouth.

Letting him slide out, glistening with her saliva, she said, “I knew you were gonna taste just like candy.”

Her frank talk excited him almost as much as her naked skin. Almost, but not quite. He wanted to see more of her.

“Let's get that skirt off,” he said.

They did so together. When her wide hips and full butt came into view, he was fully and completely impressed with Angie.

The other thing that was impressive was the heat that came off her. It was as if her skin were on fire from the inside.

He wondered what else was on fire.

Appo, Red, and Bethany came out of the Metropole. Appo stopped to light a cigar.

“Red, you better get to work on that information,” Appo said.

“Right, George. See you, Miss Bethany.”

The kid ran off.

Bethany said, “You put a lot of faith in that boy, George.”

“That boy's got more connections in Five Points than anybody I know—except me.”

“Still . . .”

“And I trust him as much as I trust you.”

“That much?”

“Well, maybe not that much.”

They walked down the steps and started strolling.

“When are you gonna get away from that crazy woman?” Appo asked.

“As soon as I can convince Ben.”

“That shouldn't be too hard,” Appo said, looking at her. “He's in love with you.”

“He's my brother, George.”

“Half brother,” George said, “but he's still in love with you. All you'd have to do to convince him is—”

“Oh, George,” Bethany said. “I know what you're gonna say, and that's awful. He's my brother, half or not.”

“How bad do you want to get him away from that woman?” Appo asked.

“She's his mother, George,” Bethany said. “That's a hard connection to break.”

“Not if she was my mother,” George said.

“Well . . . I don't know what to do. I think she'll be the death of him, George. Her or that crazy Willie O'Donnell.”

“Him,” Appo said. “I can have him killed if you like. I've told you that before.”

“You wouldn't kill him yourself, would you, George?” she asked.

“No, no,” Appo said, “but I can have it done.”

“I couldn't do that, George.”

“No, but I could.”

“I'd feel responsible,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I couldn't do that.”

“Well,” Appo said, “suit yourself.”

Byrnes finished up some paperwork on his desk as Sergeant Bill O'Halloran came into his office.

“What have you got for me, Bill?”

“Not much, Cap'n,” O'Halloran said. “No word on the street about haul that big comin' in.”

“Not yet, maybe,” Byrnes said. “Keep your ear to the ground, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

O'Halloran left and Byrnes sat back in his chair. If Clint Adams was right, somebody would be pulling into New York in a few days with two or three wagons full of goods. They might just have to wait and see who it was instead of trying to figure it out ahead of time.

He wondered if a man with the reputation of the Gunsmith could stay out of trouble for that long. It would make Talbot Roper very unhappy if Byrnes let his friend get killed.

Clint found Angie to be a handful of woman—in fact, many handfuls. And he loved having some of her in each hand.

Lying on his back with his hard cock buried deep inside her, he had one of her big breasts in each hand, thumbing those big nipples. She bit her lower lip and rode him up and down with her hands pressed down on his belly for balance.

“Ooh, God, Clint,” she moaned. “You sure do give a gal a good ride.”

“I'm only giving as good as I get,” he assured her.

“Mmm,” she said, closing her eyes and bouncing up and down on him even harder . . .

Later he had his hands full with her butt, one cheek in each as he fucked her from behind, sliding his cock up between her smooth thighs and into her hot, steamy pussy. With every thrust into her, she pushed back against him so that their flesh made a slapping sound. It was a sound he'd heard many times before. It generally meant he was doing something right, and something that felt good, and this time that went double.

He admired the line of her back while he fucked her, and the way her muscles moved beneath her skin. She was a well-padded woman, but also well-muscled. She told him she was Irish, and the way Irish women ate was why she was well-padded. He told her he didn't mind a little extra meat on a woman, not at all, and he was proving it.