The Dublin Detective (11 page)

Weaver came out and stood next to him.

“What?”

“He says one of the men spent the night with Angel.”

“Well, guess what?” Clint said.

“What?”

He looked up at Weaver. “You're going to do the same.”

“You saw my husband behind the bar?” Angel asked.

“Yes,” Ben Weaver said.

“He has a big belly,” she said, “an ugly belly.”

“Yes.”

“And his
pene,
” she said, stroking Weaver's penis, “it is small. He is not beautiful, smooth, and strong like you, my young
gringo
.”

She sat on the bed next to him, naked. She had heavy breasts and wide hips, but her hands and mouth on his body were so knowing that he didn't care. She stroked him with one hand, fondled his testicles with the other. He was already tired out from her, but his penis became engorged at her touch, and when she leaned down and took it into her mouth again, any sign of fatigue in his body faded.

He knew that Clint wanted him to question her, but she had barely given him time to talk. When she walked into his room, it had taken her a second to get naked, and then she was on him voraciously. She undressed him, stroked his cock until it was hard, and then mounted and rode him until he exploded inside her.

Since then she had reawakened his tired body several times, and there had been no time to talk.

And this time was not going to be any different.

She got between his legs, sucking him wetly, avidly, and then she did something no other woman had ever done to Ben Weaver—no other whore anyway, since he'd been with mostly whores all his life. She took his hard cock between her pillowy breasts and rolled it there, rubbed it, kept at it until suddenly his body was jerking and spasming as he covered her breasts and chest with his sticky emission. . . .

 

An hour later Weaver woke to find Angel down between his legs again, sucking him awake. He wondered idly how Clint was going to react when he found out that Angel's husband didn't have to force her to have sex with other men. She was only too happy to do it.

“Okay, wait, wait, Angel,” he said, pulling her off him.

“But
querido
,” she said, “We are not finished . . .”

“I know we're not,” he said. “Believe me, I don't want us to be finished for a while.”

“Ah,” she said, “you do not think Angel is too old or too fat now?”

“I never said that,” he told her. “No, look, I need to ask you some questions before we, uh, get goin' again.”

“Questions?”

“Yes.”

She sat up. The dark brown nipples of her heavy breasts were very hard as he tore his eyes away from them to look at her face.

“A few weeks ago four men came to town,” he said. “You spent the night with one of them.”

“
Sí
,” she said, “with Santee.”

“The Mexican one?”

“
Sí
,” she said. “He usually has me when he comes here.”

“You mean he comes here a lot?”

“Whenever he comes to Mexico,” she said.

“What is it he likes so much about this place?” Weaver asked. “Is it you?”

She ran her hand up his leg and said, “That would be very nice if it was me, but no, it is not me. It is Louisa.”

“Louisa? Another woman?”

“A girl,” she said, “but soon to be a woman.”

“And what is it about Louisa that brings Santee back here again and again?” he asked.

Her hand reached his crotch and she took hold of him.

“She is his
hija
.”

“
Hija
,” he repeated. “She's his daughter?”

“
Sí
,” she said, leaning down to him. She ran her tongue along the length of him, then wet the spongy head of his prick by sucking it noisily. “Is that all we have to talk about?”

“Jesus,” he said, as she took him into her mouth, “there's more, but it can wait until m-morning.”

Clint was sitting at a table in the cantina when Weaver came stumbling out.

“Have some coffee,” he said, pouring it. “You look like you need it.”

Weaver sat down and said, “I can't hardly walk. That woman is . . . you can't hardly satisfy her.” He sipped some coffee and shook his head. “I ain't never been with a woman like that, Clint.” He leaned in. “And her husband ain't forcin' her to do nothin', believe me.”

“Well, seems I misjudged one or both of them,” Clint said. “What was that you said yesterday about her being kind of old?”

“That don't matter,” he said. “That woman . . . she knew things.”

“Experience,” Clint said. “Did you happen to find out anything else while you were . . . together?”

“Oh, yeah,” Weaver said, “I did. Seems the Mexican who's ridin' with Dolan is named Santee.”

“What about him?”

“Apparently, they came here because Santee has a daughter living here.”

“His daughter lives here?”

“That's what she said.”

“And how does she know that?”

“Well, that's interesting, too,” Weaver said. “See, she's the girl's mother.”

“She was married to this Santee?”

“No, she's married to Carlos, the owner of this place, but years ago she got pregnant by Santee.”

“Does her husband know?”

“No, he thinks the girl is his daughter.”

“Her own husband doesn't know, but she told you?” Clint asked. “Why would she do that?”

Weaver shrugged.

“She likes me.”

“And she doesn't like her husband?”

“Not very much.”

Clint looked around to see if the husband was in earshot. At the moment he wasn't even in the room.

“So, does she know where he was going when he left here?”

“No,” Weaver said. “She didn't speak to him. They never speak when he comes to town.”

“What? But . . . what about the daughter?”

“He doesn't talk to her either,” Weaver said. “In fact, she doesn't know anything about him.”

“So, did you find out anything useful at all?” Clint asked impatiently.

“I think they're heading back to the U.S.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The guy who spent the night with Angel wasn't Santee. It was another guy, but she doesn't know his name. He said they were going to look at a couple of larger towns in Mexico because the big Irish guy wanted to see them, and then go back to the U.S. That was weeks ago. They must've headed back by now.”

Clint rubbed his jaw.

“I think you're right.”

“So we head back to El Paso?”

“No,” Clint said. “They won't go back there. I think they'll cross the border somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“That's what we're going to have to figure out,” Clint said.

“So when do we leave?”

“As soon as McBeth is ready to ride.”

“And when do you think that'll be?”

“A lot sooner than is good for him, I'm sure.”

 

Clint was sitting by McBeth's bed with a cup of coffee in his hand when the man woke up.

“Good morning,” McBeth said, blinking rapidly.

“Thought you might need this.”

“Thank you.”

“Want to sit up and drink it?”

“Yes.” Clint made a move to help him, but the Irishman waved him away, sat up, and accepted the coffee.

“Don't tell Jacinta, but I've been sitting up by myself for a while.”

“Good for you. Want some breakfast? I think Angel is whipping up some burritos.”

“In the morning?” McBeth asked, appalled.

“They've got eggs in them.”

“Well,” McBeth said, “on second thought, that doesn't sound too bad.”

“I'll have her bring them in.”

He stood up.

“Have you eaten yet?” McBeth asked.

“No, I've just had coffee.”

“Join me then.”

“Mind if I bring somebody else in?”

“Who?”

“The kid who's riding with me,” Clint said. “Well, he's not really a kid, but he kind of is, experience-wise.”

“Bring him in,” McBeth said.

Clint nodded, went to get the food and Ben Weaver.

Clint introduced McBeth and Weaver to each other and they had coffee and burritos for breakfast together. Clint noticed Angel making eyes at Weaver, who seemed uncomfortable with it.

“Looks like I'm missing a party,” Jacinta said, walking in.

Angel sniffed loudly and left without looking at Jacinta.

“She doesn't seem to like you very much,” Clint commented.

“She will like me fine next time she feels sick,” Jacinta said. “And how are you feeling this morning, Mr. McBeth?”

“I am a hell of a lot better today, thanks to you, Jacinta.”

She got around behind him so she could look at his wound.

“I think you are just a very fast healer, Mr. McBeth,” she said. “However, you must have that bullet removed as soon as possible. There is no telling what will happen if it starts to move around in there.”

“I understand.”

“Will you have some coffee with us, Jacinta?” Clint asked.

“If I do,” she said, “you'll have to introduce me to this handsome young man.”

Both Weaver and Clint looked surprised. Clint had never thought of the young deputy as handsome.

“This is Ben Weaver,” Clint said. “Ben, Jacinta Hernandez. McBeth's angel of mercy.”

There was an extra cup so Weaver filled it for Jacinta and the two made eyes at each other over the rim. Angel came back in, looked at Weaver and Jacinta, and started to frown. Clint thought it would be a good idea to get Weaver out of Los Ninos as soon as possible.

“When do you think you want to ride?” Clint asked McBeth.

“I would ride tomorrow if I could,” the Irishman said. “Is there any word on where Dolan might have gone?”

“We have some ideas,” Clint said.

“He hasn't even walked yet,” Jacinta said, “so riding is out of the question.”

“Then I'll take a walk today,” McBeth said. “Clint, will you help me?”

“Sure. After breakfast?”

“If you're going to take a walk,” Jacinta advised, “you could use a bath, too. But don't get that wet, just yet.”

“How do I take a bath without getting wet?” McBeth asked.

“Get somebody to give it to you,” she said, finishing her coffee. “Maybe Mr. Adams can help you with that, too.”

She gave Weaver one more look, exchanged glares with Angel, and left.

“Angel,” Clint asked, “do you know someone who can give Mr. McBeth a bath?”

“My daughter,” Angel said. “She can wash him down in bed with a sponge.”

“That sounds good,” Clint said.

“Now, wait a minute—” McBeth said.

“It's settled then,” Clint said. “A walk and then a bath.

Can you please arrange that with your daughter, Angel?”

She took the empty plates and cups, gave Weaver a dirty look, and left.

“What did I do?” Weaver asked.

“She saw you and Jacinta making eyes at each other,” Clint said.

“Well,” Weaver said, “Jacinta was amazing. Did you get a look at her?”

“Yes,” Clint said, “I did. You ready to stand up, McBeth?”

“Ready as I'll ever be.”

McBeth got himself dressed—was even able to pull on his boots—and then he went for a walk with Clint on one side and Weaver on the other.

“You're pretty steady,” Clint said. “I think Jacinta was right. You are a quick healer. But if you're going to ride we're going to have to wrap you up tight to keep the wound from bleeding.”

“You can do that,” McBeth said. “I think Jacinta has done enough.”

“Actually,” Clint said, “if you're a quick healer she hasn't done much, has she? Couldn't remove the bullet.”

“She did stitch the wound closed,” he pointed out.

“Okay,” Clint said, “there is that.”

“Can you remove the bullet?” McBeth asked.

“I've done it once or twice,” Clint admitted, “but that would hold you up for days.”

“Good point.”

“Might save your life, though,” Weaver said.

McBeth looked at the ex-deputy, then said, “Another good point, but no. I've got to ride. If I let Dolan get too far ahead of me, he'll be bloody hard to catch.”

They walked to the small barn that housed all three of their horses. Clint checked briefly on Eclipse just for something to do, and then they started walking back.

“How you doing?” Clint asked.

“I'm actually feelin' pretty strong,” McBeth said, as if he himself was surprised.

“You'd better rest the remainder of the day,” Clint said.

“I want to ride out tomorrow, Clint.”

“Isn't that a little soon?”

“I feel really good,” McBeth said. “Let's make it tomorrow.”

Weaver looked over at Clint, who shrugged.

“Why don't you and Mr. Weaver decide which way we're gonna go?” the Irishman asked. “I'll trust ye to make a good decision.”