Christie And The Hellcat Part 12

And whoring's better than killing, don't you think?"

Christie blinked. "I . . . er . . . I hadn't thought of it quite that way."

"Why would you?" Liz's voice held no resentment. "As to how or why . . . well, a girl's got to make a living."

She pointed to the buxom woman sitting at the player pianoa prototype given to Angie by its grateful inventor, Christie had learnedpumping its foot pedals, and singing along to the melody in a loud and surprisingly accomplished soprano. "That's Diamond Dust Kate."

The spangled garters must have been the source of her working name, decided Christie.

"Her no good husband," continued Liz, "used to sell her to his friends for a dollar, then drink the proceeds. She figured, since she was already whoring, she might as well do it proper. Left him, and took the kids to her sister's in Phoenix. Sends money home every month."

"How dreadful!"

Liz's gaze traveled on, settling on a lanky blonde in a plunging green dress that left little to the imagination. "Rowdy Molly's husband was a different matter. He gambled their money away then drank himself to death."

77.

As the sad tales about the women's backgrounds continued (she suspected Liz was exaggerating, but there was undoubtedly some truth in them) Christie thanked G.o.d for her own good fortune.

Though their parents had died of the cholera, Aunt Kathleen and Uncle Will had made sure she and her brother were well looked after until they were old enough to follow their dream and head out west.

These poor women though . . . She became aware of Liz's gaze.

"It ain't such a bad life," said Liz. "'Specially when you work for Angie." She regarded the middle-aged woman in the garish Turkish trousers fondly. "She's fair and she looks after us when we're ill, and best of all she bars any man who hurts us."

Christie suppressed a shudder.

"Alice should have told Angie about Gribble." Liz's gaze had drifted to a mousy-haired little wh.o.r.e sitting in one corner talking with some of the other women. Her face was puffy and bruised, and if Christie didn't know better she would have said she'd been pistol-whipped.

"What do you mean?"

"He came near to hurting Alice on several occasionshe was a mean drunkbut she went with him all the same." Liz shrugged.

"Still, Zee took care of him for what he did to her."

"Took care . . ." Christie trailed off as she remembered the red-stained sawdust in the street outside. So that's what that was.

"I've got to go to work now." Clubfoot Liz stood up and straightened her petticoats. "You'll be all right if you stay away from the benches." She pointed to the two benches packed with waiting clients and rolled her eyes. "Going to be a busy night." She turned to go.

"Don't be afraid to slap 'em if they get too familiar. All right?"

Christie nodded and watched the little wh.o.r.e limp over to a bench, pick the youngest and cleanest of the men, and disappear upstairs.

"Good choice," came a voice from beside her. She turned to find Rowdy Molly standing there, a gla.s.s of apple juice in her hand.

"Taking a break," she explained. "He's young and healthy," she continued, "and he ain't learned to despise us yet."

"Does that happen?"

"Sure. The respectable married ones are the worst. Reckon they'd throw us away when they've finished if they could." She took a gulp of apple juice. "Don't know what's worsethem or the thirty-second Charlies"

78.

Christie decided not ask.

"or the great lovers." Molly gave a humorless laugh.

She couldn't resist. "Great lovers?"

The lanky woman nodded. "With them, you have to pretend you're having a good time too or their pride gets hurt. Of course," she gave Christie a sideways glance, "some actually are great lovers.

Deputy Brodie for one. But I expect you've already discovered that."

Her gaze was knowing.

"I . . . um . . . not yet . . . we . . . er . . ." Christie was sure that even the tips of her ears must be red.

Molly began to chuckle. "My, my. The deputy must be losing her grip. Either that, or," she gave Christie a speculative glance, "she's taking it slow 'cause you ain't been saddle broke yet."

Christie flushed. She still wasn't used to all this open talk about "relations," as her mother used to call it.

"After all, she can't risk tarnis.h.i.+ng that famous reputation of hers," continued Molly.

"What reputation?"

"Don't you know?" Molly laughed and finished up her apple juice. "You'll find out soon enough. But in the meantime, think on this." She strolled away, and Christie had to strain to hear her next words above the hubbub. "Why do you think we give Brodie our services for free?"

Chapter 15.

Zee followed the wagon tracks for what seemed like hours. They led across desert and scrub, past saguaro cacti and palo verde trees, heading always toward the Rincon Mountains.

The heat was relentless, and she was forced to stop often to water her mare and to s.n.a.t.c.h the odd mouthful herself (that, plus some jerky from her saddlebag, had been her only sustenance since breakfast). Now, much to her relief, dusk was falling and the temperature dropping.

It was also getting difficult to see the trail. Fortunately, she no longer needed to. This was familiar territory; she knew where the train robbers were heading, and it wasn't far.

Zee pulled her horse to a halt. While she waited for Hogan to join her, she removed her hat and ran a hand through damp hair.

"Ain't nothing much out this way 'cept cactus," he grumbled, as he came up beside her.

"There's the old Spanish Mission." She put her hat back on and tried to ignore the fact that her unders.h.i.+rt was sticking to her in all the wrong places.

"Forgot about that." He nodded to himself. "Perfect place to hole up for the night."

Zee nodded and glanced back, wondering what was delaying Fred.

From his drooping head, the figure in the distance was dozing; his horse had seized the opportunity to slow to a walk.

Hogan followed her gaze. "Not much love lost between you two."

"No."

"A leftover from your h.e.l.lcat days?"

She shook her head. "More recent. Remember that little green-eyed gal I told you about?"

80.

Hogan stroked his mustache then nodded.

"She turned up in Benson today . . . looking for me." Zee smiled at the memory. "Found me too. We were just getting . . . reacquainted when news arrived about the robbery." She sighed.

"Danged bad timing," he agreed. "But what's that got to do with Younger?"

"He's her fiance."

Hogan's guffaw made Fred's head jerk up. "Tarnation, Brodie."

He wiped his eyes. "I said you were a hound dog, didn't I?"

She gave him a sour glance. "Keep it down, will you." She kneed her horse forward and the still chuckling Hogan fell in behind.

When the top of a ruined two-story bell tower finally came into view over the rise, as she knew it would, she reined in and dismounted. She grabbed her rifle from its saddle holster and crawled the rest of the way on her belly.

The compound was just as she remembered it, though ten years had knocked a few more holes in the adobe wall encircling the crum-bling mission church and priest's living quarters. Two silhouettes were pacing up and down behind the wall.

Hogan crawled up beside her.

"They've posted lookouts," she whispered. "Two out front, probably more round the back. Don't think they've put one in the tower it ain't safe."

"Why have we stopped?" came a loud voice from behind them.

Zee twisted and saw Fred, still mounted, heading toward them. In a moment, he would be visible to the guards.

Cursing, she scrambled toward him and yanked him out of the saddle. He landed with a surprised squawk. She clapped a gloved hand over his mouth. "Behind that wall are ten maybe twelve killers.

Got me?"

Zee could just make out the whites of Fred's eyes as he blinked at her then nodded. She released him and crawled back to her view-point.

"No reaction from the lookouts," whispered Hogan. "Guess they didn't notice anything."

"Just as well."

Fred crawled up awkwardly beside them. "Is my silver there?"

"Too early to tell," said Hogan. "It's going to get rough when we go in. You stay with the horses, Mr. Younger."

81.

"It's my silver." Fred's voice grew louder. "And I have every right to"

"Shut up," hissed Zee.

There was a moment's shocked silence. His next utterance was a determined whisper. "I'm going."

Hogan sighed. "If you must. But stay down, and keep quiet . . .

and when the lead starts flying, find yourself a deep hole and stay in it."

"There's a corral out back," said Zee. "That's where the wagon will be." She sensed her boss looking at her. "Stayed here a time or two myself," she admitted.

Fred said something uncomplimentary under his breath. She ignored him.

"There'll most likely be extra lookouts posted round the wagon, to keep thieving hands off." She paused. "That's what I'd do anyway."

Hogan nodded. "I'll check it out."